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wanted was to get out of the house and walk until she reached the edge of the village and her favorite structure in the world. The cathedral. How could God not see that?
    Its twin domed towers dominated the valley. From Marta’s bedroom window they looked like two fat fingers stretching toward heaven. Standing so close, the towers and walls were hunkered into the earth like ancient guardians of the unguessable mysteries within.
    Reverend Haas said the Catholic Church was the whore of Babylon, its statues of saints and paintings of the Queen of Heaven graven images. Marta thought sometimes she must be very bad. In her heart, she believed it would be a fine and consoling thing to pray to Saint Henna or the mother of Jesus.   
    The tower bells’ bong, bong began to toll, and Marta turned homeward. She jumped. Oktav was standing in the middle of the road, smiling. Had he been watching her this whole time?
    “Such a pretty young lady out alone,” he said. “Your mother should be admonished.”
    Oktav wasn’t tall but his muscular thickness was imposing. She walked by him and pretended not to see the arm he offered. As she passed a row of overgrown shrubs heavy with white blossoms, he pulled her into the fragrant cover.
    “You are so beautiful.” His mumble was serious and hot. “Your lips beg for kisses.”
    It would be awful if someone saw them, but his melodrama made her laugh. He planted a wet kiss on her neck that sent an electrical thrill of fear and pleasure through her. She gasped and broke free. This wasn’t funny.
    The cathedral door was carved with pictures of Sampson and the lion. It seemed to offer sanctuary, but Marta couldn’t think of going in there. She ran toward the village, away from Oktav’s nonchalant laugh and taunting words. “I will see you soon, my love.”
    She stopped to rest at the place where Lutherans met on Sundays, a small building of good plain Protestant design. No carvings, no decorations. The doors did not even open onto the street, which always made her feel a bit ashamed even if she did know the law: Protestant churches were tolerated, but they were not allowed spires or doors facing the street. She could still feel Oktav’s kiss. What if his father was right and she was as bad as Eve or Gomer?  
    “God’s grace, Marta, are you well?”
    She had walked right by her best friend. “Gabby, I’m sorry. Where are you going?”
    “Mother and I are calling at your house. What’s so funny about that?”
    “Nothing, but if I had known you were coming, I wouldn’t have gone out.”
    “Mother sent me home to fetch a piece of lace to show your mother, but I think they just wanted to get me out of there.”
    “They want to talk about you and Wolfram,” Marta said. The memory of Oktav faded with the sunshine and talk of lace. “I’ll walk with you.”
    Gabby swooned in a mock fever. “Gabby and Wolfie—doesn’t it sound grand?”
    Marta rolled her eyes. Now there was a mystery. How could any girl could love her older brother? He was thick and slow, ignorant of the world, smug in his certainty of inheritance. Yet Gabby clearly longed for him. Marta was full of longing too, but not for Oktav Haas.
    She didn’t know what she longed for. She visited the cathedral not to be near God, but to be where beauty wasn’t suspect. She had become extraordinarily lovely in the past year, and it was hard to bear the stares of men and her mother’s new anger. She’d heard there were marvelous things in the cathedral, beautiful things that God loved. If only she could see them, she knew she’d feel better. But she could never go inside a cathedral.
    They turned the corner to a crowd of jabbering children which circled two little boys in combat.
    “And what goes on here then?” Leopold Singer was eighteen and robust, charms enough for young boys. But before the eight-year-olds saw him, the sound of his voice made them unclench and drop their hands. “Willie. Otto. What can be so bad you