Spring: 1944

Heart thumping with uncertainty and renewed anguish, Sara choked back a sob and slipped from the house, seeking the shadows of the woods and the anonymity of darkness, anxious to escape. A dull flicker of lighting briefly lit the horizon, followed several seconds later by a dull rumble of thunder. Heavy, fat raindrops landed in the dirt, the scent of wet earth evoking a bittersweet wave of nostalgia within her distraught senses. Her hasty flight gave her no time to mourn Josefs death or to regret her decision to flee. Nor could she ignore the unbidden and equally unpleasant recollection of SS Captain Reinharts expression as he informed her of her husbands death only hours earlier. Trapped within the throes of shock and grief, she nevertheless shivered with the memory of his deep, calm voice threatening her with internment in a concentration camp if she did not produce her husbands private papers the following morning. Shocked by Reinharts accusation that Josef had been a traitor, she had reluctantly sought the mysterious documents the SS captain sought, if only to prove Josefs innocence. Instead, her trust in her husband had crumbled and her heart ached with the unbearable pain of betrayal. Numb with growing disbelief, she not only found the papers, but each stroke of his pen destroying another piece of her heart as she scanned them one after another It was there, all of it. Notes scribbled with information referring to a concentrated invasion of Europe by Allied forces and other official documents containing position reports of Wehrmacht artillery, infantry battalions and elite Panzer divisions. She found maps designating stockpiled oil and fuel depots. Heart pounding, she memorized the valuable information, all the while realizing with a heavy sense of dread that it was now her responsibility to get the

information to the Underground as soon as possible. How to do so without endangering herself posed the problem. Shock and disappointment in her newfound knowledge of Josefs activities added to her grief, as did her instinctive belief that Reinhart would return. She knew men like him, had seen the flare of lust in his gaze as he stared at her and claimed he could not understand why a formerly stalwart member of the Abwehr, the information gathering and counter-espionage service of the German armed forces, could turn traitor. He sneered and posed another angle. It was she, an American, who had instigated such disloyalty to husband's motherland. Though she vehemently denied any knowledge or involvement in Josefs betrayal, it had been obvious that Reinhart did not believe her. In that instant, foolish or not, she had decided to flee.