Logan seems to read his mind. She lifts an imaginary sword. “I promise, if anything grabs you, I’ll fight it off.”

Cade laughs.

“Come on. I have something important to show you.” Logan starts jogging down the middle of the packed dirt road. Several long beats pass before she turns around, walks backward, and waves at Cade. “Hurry up,” she calls.

On a small rise of land, Logan opens a gate to a fenced-off area. There’s a Star of David above it. Just as Cade wonders why they are there, Logan points to a row of eight headstones. “This is why we’re here.”

“Died at Fort Ontario” is inscribed on many of them. “They were all refugees who didn’t live long enough to experience freedom,” Logan says, leading Cade to the shade of a maple tree. She kneels, rubs the dirt off a flat stone sunk into the ground.

The marker reads, “Rachel Montiljo. Born in Bari, Italy. Jan. 11, 1944. Died on the ship to America. Aug. 2, 1944.”

“Her mom gave birth to her in a concentration camp,” Logan says. “Somehow, her parents escaped and brought her to Naples, Italy. They, too, were refugees on the Henry Gibbins.”

Logan moves next to Cade and, despite her grimy palm, twines her fingers with his. She rests her head on his shoulder. They stare at the tiny grave, lost in their own thoughts. Cade focuses on the Hebrew words on the marker. He’d like to know what they say, even to read them someday. His mind drifts to his grandparents’ families. The desire to learn more about them, about Judaism, tugs on him like an invisible rope tautly tied between his past and present. Maybe after he starts classes in a few weeks, he’ll talk to the rabbi at SUNY-Lakeside?

Perhaps. When he’s ready.

Logan tightens her grip. “What are you thinking?” she asks. Cade remembers the last time he asked her that question. It brought their first kiss. A shiver runs through him as he remembers the snow. He sighs. “I’m thinking about how much has changed since we got the assignment. Do you think five, ten, twenty years from now, what we did will matter? Will people forget?”

“That’s why I wanted to bring you here.” Logan raises their clasped hands, points to Rachel’s marker. “It will matter to us. We won’t forget, Cade. For baby Rachel. For your grandpa, your nana, and your family. For every victim of hate. No matter where we are or what we’re doing, we’ll remember.”

* * *

Rochester International Airport, two hours before Logan leaves for Georgetown: