Janet went back to her room to pack and came back just a couple of minutes later with her bag. Before that year’s vacation, she said that she was going to travel light since she was sure the Russians would attack during the summer and she wanted to have only what she could easily carry in case we had to walk back to Switzerland as refugees to get to the American embassy and catch the last boat or plane back to America—as the dark clouds of war rolled over Europe. If we didn’t get the last boat or plane, then her bag might be small enough so the Communists would let her take it with her to the concentration camp in Siberia. That’s why she had brought her thick ski sweater with her on our summer vacation to Italy along with the other stuff she really needed—two bathing suits, some underwear, one dress to wear at dinner, a pair of shorts, and a T-shirt with “Summer Bible School—Camp Pocowa ‘57” on it. Janet had also hidden a present from our grandfather, the educated one on Mom’s side of the family, in the lining of the small plaid bag. It was the Amazing Smallest Bible in the World. The whole Bible was printed in tiny letters you could read only with a magnifying glass. It was the size of a big postage stamp and was about an inch thick. The paper was even thinner than regular Bible paper. Janet had made me hide a plastic magnifying glass that was part of my pencil set in my bag. That way, she said, “If they search you and find the magnifying glass and rip the lining out of your suitcase to see if you have the Amazing Smallest Bible in the World and don’t find it, then they might not search me and take away the Bible.” If the Communists stopped us after they invaded Paraggi or caught us walking to Switzerland to our embassy, I should get in line first, Janet said, so she could keep the Amazing Smallest Bible in the World, and that way we could have God’s Word with us in our concentration camp and would be able to “rejoice in all things” and witness to the other prisoners.

When Mom was done packing, she went down to tell Dad that we were ready and to ask him about what should we do now. She came back crying to say he was serious and we had to all go out and sit at the bus stop and wait for the first morning bus to take us to the Santa Margherita station, where we’d get the train to Genoa and then catch the train to Milano and on to Switzerland. “The vacation’s over! That’s final,” Dad had said.