And then she saw the mound of dirt out in the field. They’d buried the bodies. A mass grave that contained . . . She tried to recall how many soldiers had been killed. Ninety-seven. There had been ninety-seven of them killed, that’s what Harry had said. How on earth they’d buried that many men so fast, she had no idea.

Adelaide’s lower back spasmed in protest as she fought to push Peter again, knees deeply bent to help with the load. She’d discreetly asked one of the few neighbors still in residence where the German compound was, and she doubted she’d be able to take another step by the time she got there.

Thankfully it wasn’t too far to go. With sweat making her top cling to her body and her hair damp to her forehead, Adelaide saw movement up ahead. She thought that Peter might have passed out from the pain he was so quiet, but when she set the barrow down and bent forward to catch her breath, he finally spoke.

“Are we there?” he ground out.

She surveyed the chateau up ahead. It looked to her as though the Nazi regiment had set up camp in the old abandoned property, and all of a sudden she felt truly scared for the first time since offering to take Peter.

What if they shoot at me? What if he tells them straight away where Harry is hidden, that we wanted to keep him hidden too? She forced the thoughts away, not wanting to think too far ahead, but it was impossible not to.

Adelaide barely had time to jump off the road before she was retching into the trees beside them, vomiting over and over until there was nothing left in her stomach. She stayed bent over for a moment longer, taking a few breaths before finally standing upright and taking out a handkerchief, dabbing at her mouth, horrified that she’d been so violently ill where anyone could have seen her.

“You’re worried, about me, aren’t you?” Peter’s voice took her by surprise.

“About both of us, actually,” she admitted. “But yes, mostly about you.” And what my sister will do to me when she finds out, she thought.

“I just want to go home.” Tears filled his eyes and he started to cry. “If they let me surrender, maybe I’ll make it back. Maybe they’ll let me go home.”

She was no soldier, and she knew very little about war, but she was sensible enough to know that there was little chance Peter was going home; not if he stayed with her, and certainly not if he surrendered. But she had to believe that what had happened yesterday wasn’t normal, that it wouldn’t happen again.