Read The Things We Cherished for Free Online

night, reaching for the knife that he hid under the mattress. And in America, Rebecca would be safe.
    So he had planned their route—a train to one of the North Sea ports, then a ship to America. Going by wagon to the coast would have been cheaper, but Rebecca’s belly was growing every day. Time was of the essence.
    He had of course told Rebecca immediately of his plan. Shewas bright and strong-willed and would not have permitted him to do otherwise, even if he had been that sort of husband. He had discussed it only in the most hypothetical of terms, not wanting to get her hopes up in case something went wrong. He had worried that she would object to leaving her parents before their only grandchild was born. But she simply smiled. “Whither thou goest, I will go,” she said, quoting the Book of Ruth, eyes shining as she reaffirmed the promise she made on their wedding day to cast her lot in with his. She cleverly pointed out that they should sail to Baltimore, where the entry requirements were reputed to be less stringent than the busier New York port. She had a cousin there who might be willing to help. They agreed to tell no one of their plan, knowing that her parents would be enraged, and that their need to depart would signal desperation to sell and bring a lower price for the land.
    He reached the end of the forest about twenty minutes later, and the thinning trees gave way to a wide, rising plateau. In the distance to the south, Johann glimpsed the alpine peaks, snowcapped and breathtaking, ringed by a wreath of clouds. Though he had seen the view his whole life, it still filled him with awe. He had never been as far as the mountains, of course. He’d had romantic notions of taking Rebecca there for a weekend after their wedding, but there had always been fields to be planted, clocks to be made. Now he felt a sense of tugging sadness that he would never go. He would travel many times farther, but in the opposite direction, and the mountains would always remain just out of reach in his mind.
    A few minutes later the land dropped off again, sloping gently downward. Below sat a sea of clustered red rooftops, a lone gray steeple rising from their midst. A wide plume of smoke, yet to be blown away by the fresh spring winds, seemed to hover over the town like a flock of birds.
    Johann navigated the descent carefully, relaxing slightly as the road grew broader, turning from dirt to cobblestone. He crossed the wooden bridge over the small stream by the mill that signaled the edge of the town. Then he paused, studying the two- and three-story buildings that lined the street, their whitewashed fronts stained with the winter coal dust. He shook his head. It was considered a sign of prestige to live in the wood-latticed houses, but the idea of having neighbors so close on all sides made it hard for him to breathe.
    The town had done better than its tiny size might have predicted, the beneficiary of geography that made it the last outpost after leaving Munich before heading over the border for points south in Austria. It was a place visited out of necessity rather than choice, frequented by merchants making their way to and from Vienna, wealthy holiday-goers pressing onward to hike and breathe the restorative alpine air. This weekday morning, the streets were crowded with wagons and men on foot, loading supplies.
    The
Gasthaus
sat just east of the square, set back from the shops on either side, the centerpiece of the nicest street in town. Laborers stayed at the dingy boardinghouse by the depot, but the wealthiest visitors all made their way to Hoffel’s, with its dozen or so bedrooms and stately garden beneath.
    Johann walked up the steps, taking care to kick the dried mud from his boots before entering.
“Entschuldigen Sie bitte,”
he managed, excusing himself to the young woman in the vestibule, whom he recognized as one of the Hoffel daughters. She looked up from the register she’d been studying with annoyance. She was