“Poppy seeds!” they both exclaimed in unison. “We use poppy seeds in our special cakes,” added Ursula.

“I knew that too,” said Sabina.

“Are all the plants from Palestine?” asked Ursula.

“The ones you see right here. This is my mother’s garden. She wants all our Jewish guests to feel welcome!”

The three rose from their knees.

“Oh-oh, I think it is time for us to go in,” said Sabina. “I see Papa coming down into the garden, and I’m certain he is looking for us.”

As the three young women knelt in the dewy dirt of the garden, a pair of binoculars trained themselves distantly on the scene.

Curiosity, revenge, and cunning determination strangely mingled in the mind of their owner.

What could they possibly be doing? he said to himself. Are they burying something, digging something up, planting a new seedling? Why at such an early hour, down on hands and knees in the dirt?

And who were those two girls he did not recognize?

He had personally seen no visitors, though this had to confirm the conjectures of his mother and the report Karl had given him after he’d picked him up at the end of the baron’s driveway three days ago.

Whatever they were up to, he must know. He had a right to know! All of this would be his one day. Whatever concerned it was his business.

He would find out!

83 God's Handmaidens

83

God’s Handmaidens

The three girls were greeted by the baron.

“Did you have a nice outing?” he asked.

Both Ursula and Gisela began talking at once, then stopped, looked at Sabina, and burst out laughing.

The baron smiled, but put his finger to his lips, indicating the need for restraint. Walking back up the hill, he stretched out his arms and shepherded them toward the house like a mother hen her chicks.

A sensitive man like Heinrich von Dortmann could well see that a bond had developed between his daughter and the rabbi’s two girls. Not wishing to break the spell of the morning, he suggested that Sabina take the two younger girls to her rooms. He would have Carola bring breakfast to them there.

“But keep away from the window,” he warned her again, “and don’t use the balcony off the sitting room.”

“Yes, Papa.”

She led the way up to her private sitting room, and soon they were eating and talking as if they had been schoolgirls together. But the course of their dialog was not so typical of common schoolgirls. These were three of that rare breed of pure feminine character, whose fathers and mothers had well trained them in the way of the Father of them all.

“Are you betrothed, Sabina?” asked fifteen-year-old Gisela.

“No, certainly not,” Sabina answered emphatically, thinking unconsciously of Gustav.