“Thank you,” whispered Marion softly. Quiet tears rose in her eyes. “I could never have wished for a more sensitive, loving husband. You have been more good to me than I deserve.”

“There are more facets to this relationship we’ve shared than on any well-cut diamond. That’s what has made my life with you such a treasure.”

“How do you mean?”

“We’ve been lovers in our youth, and lovers ever since. We’ve been husband and wife, Jew and Gentile joined in that wonderful bond of Christian brother and sister. We’ve been parents together. We’ve been privileged to minister hospitality and life to others together. In so many ways our Father has allowed us to be joined, rib to rib, heart to heart, soul to soul.”

“You make it sound so poetic, like a storybook romance,” said Marion with a soft laugh.

“Sometimes when I become pensive,” said the baron, “I think of it exactly that way. Sometimes I fill my journal with such thoughts!”

“I hope no one ever reads it.”

“Why, Marion—I was thinking of making a book out of it someday!” joked the baron.

“No—you don’t mean it?” she said, halfway alarmed, stretching her head up and looking earnestly into her husband’s eyes. The sparkle of fun that danced from them, even in the midst of this most terrible of earthly trials, told her again, as it had so many times before, that she could trust him—with her secrets, with her very life.

Gently she laid her head back down on his great, expansive chest.

“Besides every one of a thousand reasons that I love you,” the baron added, serious once more, “you have been the best friend a man could have.”

“You harbor no regrets?” she said.

“Not one.”

“Not even for the pain I occasionally put you through when I could not trust you?”

“A small price to pay for the honor of sharing life with you.”

“You do me honor by always regarding me so highly.”

“I do regard you.”

“I know. I finally believe you. But it remains a mystery. Even through all the ups and downs, you’ve never been anything but gracious and kind to me.”

“It is no mystery to me. A secret, perhaps—but no mystery.”

“And what is the secret?” said Marion softly, her lips smiling, for she well knew what he would answer.

“The secret of the rose—what else.”

“Oh, Heinrich, I do love you. But I am so worried that my past is now endangering—”

“Speak no more of it, my love,” interrupted the baron. “We will face the danger as we have faced life’s storms—together.”

“I feel so safe and protected by you,” breathed Marion after a moment or two.

“Our Father will keep us in his hands.”