Page 198

Hedvika looked back. She tripped and almost fell while holding her brother in her arms. Had Fred not reached for her, this could have been a disaster. The kid was sobbing uncontrollably.
“Give him to me,” he said, his voice strained with the weight of his decision. The boy fought against him. Fred gripped Jakob with all his strength and held the boy’s face close to his chest, hoping to muffle the sounds of the distraught child. Twigs cracked under their heavy footsteps, and Fred prayed that God would cause a miracle and make them invisible. If they were caught, their lives would be over, right here, in the deep forest. It would be left to his parents to dig shallow graves and cover their dead bodies with dirt. Fred was only sixteen, but he had seen his share of the Nazis’justice.
Hedvika’s dress caught on a branch.
“Help,” she called out in a loud whisper, panting for breath. Fred stopped. Her face was streaked with tears, but she no longer cried. The hair he always so admired resembled a squirrel’s nest. His heart broke, seeing the sorrow in her eyes.
Fred sat sniffling Jakob down into the dry needles of the forest floor. He knelt at Hedvika’s feet and untangled the torn hem from a thorny shrub. After carefully picking up all the threads so no one could track them, he got up and wrapped his arms around her trembling shoulders.
A gunshot cut through the air. A shriek of untold grief followed. A second gun fired. Then, the third. Hedvika stared at him, her eyes wide with horror, a silent plea for reassurance. He couldn’t find a word to say. They both knew. Fred gently pulled her face into his chest and felt her silent scream.
Jakob bolted in the direction of the mill.
“Mama!”
Fred raced after him, gripped the boy with all his strength, and covered his mouth. Jakob bit him.
“Stop!” Fred grunted.
Hedvika took Jakob’s wet cheeks in her hands.
“Papa said we have to run.” Her face was distorted with grief, but they couldn’t stay a moment longer.
“We have to go,” Fred urgently whispered into the mess of her hair. He stared into her vacant gaze. The anguish was unbearable. Shifting Jakob into his left arm, he reached for Hedvika’s hand. “Come!”
Her chin quivered.
“We have to save him,” Fred said firmly.
The girl bit her lip. A trickle of blood oozed down her chin. She gripped the offered hand. They ran uphill, past the deer feeder, deep into the forest. The trees would hide them, or so Fred prayed.
CHAPTERELEVEN
Northern Moravia, 2025
A large wall-to-wallunit dominated the small living room. The back-lit glass shelves displayed a gold-rimmed tea set, including an ornate teapot, creamer and sugar bowl, and a large collection of cut crystal. Meghan sat on a purple plush sofa. Her eyes took in the crystal chandelier hanging over a round dining table tucked into the corner of the room. The TV set in the center of the massive wall unit was on, and even though she didn’t understand a word the show hosts said, Meghan recognized a Czech spin-off onAmerica’s Got Talent. She couldn’t recall the last time she had felt this uncomfortable. Oliver’s mom was sweet and friendly, but despite the smiles and friendly pats on Meghan’s hand, she couldn’t help but feel like an intruder. This arrangement may not work, but where could she go?
Oliver’s mom set a plate of warm apple strudel in front of them.
“More coffee?” She wiped her hands on her apron.
“No, thank you.” Meghan smiled, relieved that Mrs. Skala spoke a few English words, and so far, there was no need for the translating app. If only she could explain to this caring woman that after breakfast in the coffee shop, she couldn’t possibly eat another sweet treat, no matter how delicious it looked.
Mrs. Skala disappeared into the kitchen, and Meghan deduced from the clanking of dishes that she was preparing more food. This was beyond awkward. Perhaps she should tell Oliver she had changed her mind and would rather stay at a hotel.
“Can you please tell your mom that she doesn’t need to go out of her way to make food for me? I’m easy. A piece of toast will do.”
“Let her be,” Oliver sat in the purple chair that completed the sofa set. He rested his elbows on his knees and leaned toward Meghan. “She loves cooking. It’s her way of showing love, so don’t fight it,” he chuckled.
“I just hate to put you guys out. Perhaps you could take me to that hotel where my mom and I stayed. It shouldn’t be too far from here.”
“Nonsense.” He waved his hand dismissively. “You worry too much.”
“Well,” she bit her lip, “maybe I have a reason or two for that, but it has nothing to do with your mom’s cooking.”
“I get that.” Oliver leaned closer. “Have you had a chance to think about what you want to do next about that whole inheritance thing?”
“I want to see the mill. I need to know what my grandfather left me and if it is indeed worth all this trouble. My mom said to find a real estate agent and list the property for a reasonable price so it moves fast.”