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tackled the child to the ground like an American football player.
    Rat-a-tat-tat.
    Renate shrieked in the cart. Gisela flung herself on top of the toddler.
    All around, women and children screamed. They melded with the screams of her aunt and cousins. Screams of the present, screams of the past.
    Gisela clutched her chest, finding it hard to breathe. The Russian pilot continued to shoot in the midst of the stream of refugees.
    Nothing but innocent ladies and babies.
    A bullet screeched past Gisela’s ear.
    She trembled and Renate shook under her.
    Only the dead infant laid still and quiet.

FIVE

    T he whistle of bullets and the screech of bombs scrambled Gisela’s thoughts. The sound of shooting, yelling, dying filled her ears and reverberated in her head. She quivered like a poplar tree in the wind.
    Renate whimpered underneath her.
    “Hush, little one, hush. God will take care of us.” But did she believe that? Had God truly watched out for her that one awful night last fall?
    The pilot wheeled around and the gunfire continued. With her face buried in the duvets, breathing was difficult.
    She didn’t dare raise her head to look for the other members of their party. Was Annelies safe? And the Holtzmanns? What about Mitch and Xavier?
    Time lost all meaning. They may have lain there for five minutes or five hours. The plane flew back and forth along the column of refugees. Would the shooting ever stop? Or did the Russian intend to kill every last one of them?
    The plane’s whine grew higher in pitch, coming closer. The incessant firing fractured the ice. It moaned as it split.
    Another bullet whizzed next to Gisela’s right ear. Renate screamed. Gisela held her breath. Dear God, dear God, dear God. She couldn’t control her shaking. How much longer until she awoke in glory?
    “ ‘When thou passest through the waters, I will be with thee.’ ” Among Opa’s last words to her.
    “Are You here, Lord?”
    Rat-a-tat-tat.
    Shouts and prayers and curses. So much crying. Some of it was Gisela’s. But it surrounded her on every side.
    And then the Russian decided he’d had enough fun. He rose above the clouds.
    All sat silent, except for the cracking of the ice. No one dared to breathe. Was the tiefflieger gone for good?
    Time slipped away. A voice spoke here and there, joined by a few more. The plane had indeed left.
    Gisela gathered her courage and lifted her head. Blood soaked the ice, horses lay fallen, wagons split in two. She rose from on top of Renate and lifted her from the pile of blankets. She checked her over and saw no blood, though the toddler screamed at the top of her lungs.
    Gisela’s heart banged against her ribs, with a beat like a Duke Ellington song. Her knees were so weak she had a difficult time holding herself up.
    And right beside the indentation Renate’s head had made, the hole from a bullet burned through the quilts.
    So close. They had come so close. She held on to the cart to avoid slumping to the ice.
    Mitch lifted his body off of Annelies. She hurried to Gisela’s side and wiggled her way into Gisela’s embrace.
    “Are you okay? Did you get hurt?” With quaking hands, she examined the child. No blood. But the girl didn’t blink.
    Gisela kissed her cheek. “You’re fine now. The plane is gone and can’t hurt us anymore.” Annelies began to cry and Gisela cradled both children.
    She turned to the Englishman. “Thank you.”
    Mitch nodded, his brown eyes darker than she had noticed before. “Are you hurt?”
    She shook her head, then turned to see to the welfare of her other charges. The old ladies knelt on the ice beside a prone form. Gisela set Annelies on the ice.
    The chill permeated to the depth of her being.

    Mitch turned his attention to the place where Gisela’s gaze was directed. The old people huddled together. And Xavier . . .
    Where was he?
    Mitch’s gut clenched and his world narrowed until he saw nothing but the Holtzmanns.
    God, no. Please, not him.
    He hurried