Isaac wakes stiff with cold, and for a moment he can’t remember where he is. He’s befuddled and not feeling rested, even though a pale afternoon light streams through the open barn door.

Then he realizes with a start what woke him and feels a surge of joy. His father—his own father—stands over him.

Isaac leaps to his feet and throws his arms around him. “Papa!” He has to squeeze his eyes tight so he won’t cry.

“Isaac.” His father hugs him hard and then pulls away. “We don’t have much time.” He turns, beckoning. “Come quickly.”

Isaac hitches up his pack and follows his father out into a raw wind, making for a small hut. He remembers now that he’s in Scotland, on one of the Orkney Islands. From somewhere—he can’t place it, coming from under his feet maybe—he feels a low, throbbing hum.

“Where are we?” Isaac asks. “Where’s Mama?” He realizes with some confusion that his parents must have arrived in Scotland before him.

“It’s all right,” Papa says, which only confuses him more. His father is moving fast.

“How did you get here?” When his father doesn’t answer, Isaac, tripping while trying to keep stride, adds, “Papa?”

The barn and the hut stand on the edge of a moor so vast and featureless it’s a wonder he stumbled upon them. Crossing the courtyard of this croft he passes a tall standing stone that wears parallel carved lines as if scratched by some great cat. The thatched hut, when they reach it, is small and tidy but spare, lit by a warming low fire. It all feels as if it belongs in another time, hundreds of years past.

But there, standing in the middle of the room, is his mother.

“Mama,” Isaac says, reaching for her.

His mother hugs him tight, then pulls away. She motions for him to sit at the small table. “We have much to explain, and you must listen carefully, Isaac. They’re trying to find . . .” Her eyes shift to the still-open door. “No,” she whispers. “They’re coming.”

His father says to her, “Go. Hold them off.”

She nods and begins to murmur, a low, soft sound.

Isaac demands, “Who’s coming?” He rubs his eyes, trying to get them to focus. He turns to look out the door. A line of gray storm clouds has gathered on the horizon, but he doesn’t see anyone outside. Aren’t they safe now, away from the Nazis?

His father kneels in front of him. “You take this,” he says quickly. He reaches under his collar and pulls at a chain that hangs around his neck. As he slips it off, he lets go a deep breath, as if releasing a long-held thought. He holds the chain up.