Nora and the porter made their way over to where the sign-wielding man stood. “I’m Nora Lindstrom.” As she did at Penn Station, she showed her ID.

“Excellent. Welcome. If you’ll come with me.” He relieved the porter of Nora’s suitcase.

She barely had a chance to thank the porter before the driver and her suitcase were almost out of sight. She hurried to catch up. “Am I permitted to ask where we’re going yet?”

The driver loaded her bag in the trunk of a limousine. “You’ll know soon enough.” He opened the back door and helped her inside.

They left the station, and with the positioning of the sunrise in the rear window, it became clear to Nora that they were heading due west. She breathed deeply. The air was warm—warmer than at home—and more humid. The smell of pine trees from her hometown were replaced by the aroma of cows. Pastures and rolling green hillsides dotted the land, punctuated by farms and homesteads, barns and hayfields.

She watched the scenery fly by as they traveled in silence. The pinks and oranges of the sunrise gave way to blue skies, and the rocking motion of the car nearly lulled her to sleep.

She hadn’t gotten much in the way of shuteye last night, between the jostling of the train on the tracks, Josephine’s snoring, and the periodic shrill sound of the train whistle blowing in the stillness of the night. The loud pre-dawn pounding on the door and the man announcing that they’d be arriving at the station within the hour added to the disorientation. Now, all Nora wanted was some rest in a comfortable bed.

The limo glided to a halt, nudging her back to the present. She ducked to peer out the windshield and was shocked to see a military checkpoint up ahead, and a line of cars in front of them. “Where are we?”

The driver either didn’t hear her or chose not to answer. A large sign on top of the guard post read: MILITARY AREA, Weapons, Ammunition, Explosives, Cameras, Field glasses, Liquors, Telescopes, Radio Transmitters PROHIBITED. All vehicles and passengers subject to search. Guards with armbands that marked them as Military Police manned the booth.

Wherever they were, it was like no place Nora ever had been before. She swallowed hard when it was their turn and the guards approached the car. The driver opened his window and a stern soldier asked for his papers, the purpose of his request for entry, and whether or not he had anything in the trunk.

If the driver was rattled by the inquisition, he didn’t show it. He explained who his passenger was and that they were headed for someplace called The Castle on the Hill. A second soldier searched the trunk and the undercarriage. The first soldier knocked on her window. She lowered it.

“Do you have some ID, miss?”