She isn’t allowed to see him. The germs, you know. Johann and Nurse sleep upstairs in the nursery wing and take their meals in the nursery kitchen, from food carried there directly from town. Herr Doktor Rosenblatt is specific in these points. Had, in fact, wanted Johann and Nurse to remove from Schloss Kleist altogether, except there’s nowhere to send them except Elfriede’s family, and that’s out of the question, apparently. So Elfriede hasn’t seen Johann once during the three days since her return to Westphalia. She’s looked from the bedroom window, from the hallway, hoping to steal some glimpse of him, but her luck has turned, it seems. Or else luck has nothing to do with it. Maybe Nurse confines Johann strictly outside the potential arc of Elfriede’s gaze, on her own initiative or someone else’s. The aunts. Elfriede’s sisters-in-law, Ulrika, who’s married to the owner of a neighboring estate, and Helga, who still lives under her brother’s roof, a maiden.

Still, her son’s heart beats in her chest. She carries his image inside her skin. She calls his name now, stepping off the terrace to the darkened paths of the formal gardens, the parterres, the silent fountain, the alleys of linden and so on, searching each shadow for a flash of white, reflecting the half-moon. Listening for any rustle of fine gravel, any crackle of fallen leaves, any panting young breath. Anything she can hear above the thunder of her own terrified heart, that is. Surely he could not have gone so far as the lake.

Though she hasn’t yet noticed the chill, this October morning is brittle with it. Spreading from the northeast, from the Baltic, from the Russian plains where the weather has already turned to autumn. Elfriede’s hands and cheeks, if she cares to touch them, will prove icy. But she doesn’t care. She has room in her head for only one thought. Only one sensation. Not fear, or terror or even panic—none of those words quite describes her state of mind, when she considers the possibility of Johann losing his way and wandering into the dark woods, or trundling down the dock to fall into the lake, even merely tripping on a stone and cutting his fat knee. The idea of his blood, she cannot fathom it. She cannot bear it.

Johann.

Johann.

Where are you?