Now that Elfriede owns the clinic, now that the clinic runs not as a mountain retreat for wealthy invalids but as a refuge for the uprooted, the unwanted—Jews, mostly, but also some Resistance, some downed pilots—that daily hour of music is sometimes her only interlude. Still, she tries to spend some time outdoors each day, even in the middle of winter, clearing snow from the pathways and so on. Exercise is absolutely vital for one’s psychological health, she feels. During the spring and summer, there’s the garden to plant and tend, the livestock to care for. In autumn, it’s the harvest. She requires all the able-bodied guests to pitch in. Thus there’s always food to eat, even when they’re snowed in for weeks, and everybody feels as if they’ve contributed, even those who arrived here with only their clothes. Friendships are made, sometimes love affairs. One couple married last October. Shortly after, the American embassy in Zurich approved their visas. (In special cases like that, Elfriede sometimes asks Johann—who seems to have some trusted friends inside the American government—to pull a string or two.)

In fact, she’s holding a telegram from Johann in her hand right now. It was delayed a bit because the melting snow caused some flooding in the valley, blocking the roads, so perhaps the news inside is old. Still, she wants to share it with the man in the garden, soaking up the sunshine on the bench next to the wall. He’s reading a book, and he looks up when he notices her approach. His hat hides his hair, but she knows the color, she knows every note of him. She asks if she can sit with him. He nods yes.

“There’s a telegram from your brother,” she says.

“What does it say?”

“I don’t know. I thought we might read it together.”

She hands him the yellow envelope, and he opens it with his bone-thin fingers. She remembers Gerhard, recovering from typhoid, and she reminds herself that this frailty will pass, that he’s over the sickness, his strength will build rapidly in this good, clean mountain springtime, her abundant homegrown food.

She bends over his arm and reads aloud, because Benedict’s eyesight is still a little blurred at close range.

RECEIVED CABLE AT LAST FROM MRS. THORPE STOP PRESENTLY WITH MARGARET IN SWITZERLAND . . .

“What?” shouts Benedict. “What did you say?”

Elfriede puts her hand on her son’s sleeve. “Shh. Listen.”

. . . WITH MARGARET IN SWITZERLAND UNDER BELIEF BENEDICT DEAD STOP MY REPLY RETURNED UNDELIVERED STOP NO FORWARDING ADDRESS STOP WILL ALERT U.S. EMBASSY ZURICH STOP YOURS ALWAYS=

=JOHANN

The yellow slip starts to crumple. She slides it gently from Benedict’s trembling fingers. He makes an anguished noise from his chest and tears his hat from his head.