Heidi—zealous and faithful Christian sister who found excitement in the adventure of it all, and whose servant’s hands and heart were constantly on the lookout for ways to express themselves—had taken up quarters in the southwest corner’s vacant room so as to be closer to the guests.

Not long after the war’s outbreak, the baron also had a serious talk with his daughter.

“Now do you see how big is the danger?” he asked her. “Are you sure you don’t want to reconsider and go to Switzerland or to join the McCallums?”

“No, Papa,” she had assured him. “I want to stay. My place is with you and Mama.”

In the years since, the new and even more important work of Lebenshaus had become a very personal ministry for Sabina. As she entered into the full dimensions of the womanhood her parents had seen emerging for some time, she was all the more aware that God had given her this to do as well.

The baron found himself reflecting often on his talk with his friend Dietrich Bonhoeffer, how they had each faced difficult decisions to make and had been presented with different courses to walk. Now, as he heard it, Dietrich was with the resistance and involved in an effort to overthrow the Nazi government and contact the British for peace.

He could never himself have walked such a road, the baron thought. There was no other place he would rather be serving God than exactly where he was!

What unity of Spirit he was privileged to be part of every day! His admiration grew for Jews everywhere, despite so many surface differences of religion. He could never look upon these descendants of Abraham and not sense a kinship and affinity with them deep within his being.

As he reflected on all the changes that had taken place, and the enormity of kingdom responsibilities the Father had placed within his hands, spontaneously Heinrich von Dortmann slipped to the floor beside his desk.

As the head of the house prayed in the solitude of his office, his daughter, Sabina, walked briskly along the straight second-floor corridor of the west wing toward the rooms of last evening’s new guests.

“Morgen, Fräulein von Dortmann,” a short, balding man standing in an open doorway greeted her.

“Morgen, Herr Müller,” she replied.

“Did your father complete my identity card?” he asked.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know, Herr Müller,” answered Sabina. “He was working on yours and several others last night, but we did have some new arrivals. You will see him at breakfast.”

“Thank you, Fräulein. It is just that I must be on my way.”

“I’m sure my father is well aware of your situation, Herr Müller. Excuse me.”