“We are Christians and Jews from the village of Rheinkirkhaus down below,” answered a plump lady in peasant dress with a wide, homey smile. “We have come to take you home with us, to feed you and find you places to stay.”

“But how did you know we were coming?” asked Rabbi Wissen, now stepping forward.

“News of your journey preceded you,” answered the lady. “We heard of your escape from the Gestapo. It is all through the underground. We have been waiting and praying anxiously.”

“Is… everything about the incident known?” asked the rabbi with solemn expression.

“Do you mean about the one whom the Nazis captured?”

The rabbi nodded.

“Yes, we have heard the whole story. Oh, but which one of you is Frau von Dortmann?” the plump woman asked, her red cheeks bulging in a wide smile.

Marion stepped forward to her, Sabina at her side.

“There is a message for you,” the lady said, taking Marion’s hand. “It arrived two days ago. Ever since you left Fürstensdorf, Pastor Stegerwald spread word through his contacts to learn what happened to your husband.”

As the woman spoke, notwithstanding her cheery countenance, Marion could not keep from closing her eyes. Sabina took in a deep breath of air and tried to steady herself.

“We received word two days ago—your husband is alive, Frau von Dortmann! They are holding him in prison, but he has not been sent to a concentration camp. No one knows why, but the Nazis are keeping him alive.”

Renewed shouts of great joy arose.

Rabbi Wissen and Jakob Kropf found themselves on their knees, each in his own way thanking God for preserving the life of their friend.

Marion and Sabina fell into each other’s arms, weeping. They remained there for several minutes, oblivious to all the merriment around them.

At last they released one another.

“He did say that sometimes the fragrance of love must come through the thorns,” said Sabina. “Perhaps he was speaking of this moment.”

“He said he would not say good-bye to me, but auf Wiedersehen,” added her mother. “At first, I must confess, when I saw them taking him away, I did not believe him. I should have trusted him. Now I see that he was right.”

“About what, Mama?” asked Sabina.

“We will see him again.”

Already some of the villagers were leading their fellow new arrivals down the hill toward the Swiss village, whose rooftops were visible below them, with no less triumphant fanfare than had they been members of a victorious army, as in truth they were.

Sabina and Marion gazed into one another’s eyes. There both saw tears—some of joy, some of deep concern. They embraced, squeezed tightly, then turned and walked down the path toward the hope that awaited them.

Epilogue

Epilogue

Still the quiet oak rocker creaked slowly back and forth.