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Nice work, Cletus—if they were scared before, now they’re terrorized!

He stood up and walked to the children.

Is this smart, or am I making things even worse?

“Good morning,” he said in German. “My name is Clete. I’m the headwaiter. In just a minute, we’ll get you some breakfast.”

They looked at him with sad eyes. No one responded.

The door to the kitchen opened. The odors of frying bacon and freshly baked sweet rolls came into the dining room. A line of maids came through the door carrying silver-dome-covered trays of food.

Thank God!

“See?” Clete said.

Now there was some interest in their eyes.

Another maid appeared, a large glass pitcher of milk in each hand.

“Milch?” the young girl asked softly.

“Enough for you to swim in, sweetheart,” Clete said.

The young girl giggled.

Thank God again.

He put his hand on her shoulder and gently pushed her toward the table. After a moment’s hesitation, the girl allowed Clete to lead her to the table. The boys started to follow.

Thank God yet again.

No. I mean it. That’s not just a figure of speech.

There’s no reason for these kids to have to go through what they have and still be hungry, not quite able to believe they can have all the milk they want.

Thank you, God.

He saw Welner get up from where he was sitting and walk toward them. Jesus H. Christ . . . I’ve got it!

I know how to explain everything to everybody!

Where the hell did that come from?

Doesn’t matter. It’ll work!

The maids began uncovering the trays of food. There were fried and scrambled and soft-boiled eggs, bacon, ham, toast, rolls, two bowls jammed with butter curls, and half a dozen bowls of marmalade.

“My God,” one of the nuns said softly, wonderingly. “So much food!”

That’s somebody’s mother.

Welner, now back at his place at the table, tapped his glass with his fork and, when he had everyone’s attention, began, “Our Father: We offer our thanks for the safe conclusion of our hazardous journey, and for the bounty we are about to receive. In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost.”

Dorotea said, “Amen.”

She then looked at her husband, who finally got the message and said, “Amen.”

He saw tears rolling down the cheeks of one of the nuns-who-had-to-be-somebody’s-mother as she generously buttered a roll and handed it to the girl. Clete had thought it over very carefully as everyone ate. He concluded that not only did he have no choice but to go with the explanation that had suddenly popped into his mind, but also that they very likely just might believe it.