For hours on end, like an inchworm crossing a twig, the caravan stretched out and then squeezed to a stop, stretched, and squeezed through Barlad and into rolling grasslands that reminded Adeline of the country around Friedenstal. Even though there had been no weather to speak of in several days, the creek bottoms remained boggy. Wagons were getting stuck or sliding off the wood planking the SS put down across the worst of the muck.

Whenever the caravan halted, Adeline could still hear the distant rumor of war behind them. And every now and then, German or Soviet fighter planes would cross overhead, reminding her that danger was never far and could be lurking just ahead, around the corner, or over the next rise.

At the same time, she realized that in some ways she was more frightened of what lay ahead of her than of the war catching up to her. Wasn’t that strange? She could not figure out why that was true, only that it was.

To get her mind off their uncertain future, Adeline worked with the boys on their alphabets and their math. She made it a game that they enjoyed rather than a chore. She even had Emil laughing at one point, though she could see he remained moody and upset about his encounter with Major Haussmann.

The farther they got from the Romanian-Moldovan border, however, the less Adeline could hear the war. The sky cleared in the early afternoon, and the April sun shone down on them. The boys were napping behind her. Adeline thought about Emil and how upset he’d been earlier. But she also felt proud that he’d swallowed his stubborn pride and repeated that loyalty oath to Haussmann for the sake of her and their sons.

Emil would always protect them. He’d do what he had to do, and so would she, whatever it took to find their green valley and build a new life. Gradually, in the heat, she grew foggy and tired. Her eyes drifted shut, and she tried to remember when she’d been in such a state before, frightened to death by someone like Haussmann and then so relieved, she needed to sleep.

August 10, 1941

Pervomaisk, Ukraine

Emil finished buttoning his shirt in their spartan bedroom. In an irritated tone, he said, “I may only have a fifth-grade education, but you should have at least asked me if it was a good idea to help your friend.”

“If she’s my friend, it’s a good idea to help her,” Adeline said. “We went through this last night. I am going to get those documents for her.”

“What if you’re caught?”

“Why would I be? I’ll be carrying the baby.”

He got angry. “You’ll put Will in danger, too? Do you know what these Germans do? My friend at the brewery said he saw a man’s head bashed in with a rifle butt for refusing to cooperate with the new regime.”

“And Jews like Esther are being killed just because they’re Jews. You said the Germans would be good for us. They’re no better than Stalin.”

“If we get back our land, they are better than Stalin,” he snapped as he went to the sink and picked up his razor.

“You just shaved,” she said. “What are you doing?”

“Cutting my mustache to look like Hitler’s.”

“You are not!”

“Watch me,” he said. “And then I’m going with my mother and all our family papers and the Bible to ask the Germans for our land back.”

A minute later, he turned to look at her with the postage-stamp mustache on his upper lip. He smiled, crossed to her, and tried to kiss her.

“Not with that on your face,” she said. “Not even if you get the land back.”

Emil gazed at her then, his eyes flickering over the features of her face, while his own showed both tenderness and fear.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Adeline asked.

“I’m memorizing your face. In case this is the last time I see it.”

“Emil!”

“You need to understand the penalty for the game you are playing.”

“I’m not playing a game. I’m running an errand for an old friend.”

“Good luck with that,” he said, left the room, and slammed the door behind him.

She heard muffled voices, Emil’s and Esther’s, before the apartment door opened and slammed shut. Adeline took a deep breath, believing that she was about to do the right thing helping Esther, and praying that she would be protected while doing it.

After she finished dressing, Adeline went out into the main room, finding it empty except for baby Will sleeping in the cradle Emil built. In the kitchen, Walt was eating breakfast while Esther watched with obvious enjoyment.

“He really eats!” Esther said. “Mrs. Kantor would have loved him.”

Adeline smiled as she folded clothes in the main room. “How could she not?”

Esther’s face sank toward concern, and she came out to her, saying quietly, “Your husband is not happy, I think, Adeline. And the mustache?”

“He’s thinking of what’s best for our family and trying to get our farm back.”

Her expression sank farther. “I understand.”

“But I am doing what’s best for you and for me,” Adeline said. “I could not live with myself if I did not try to help you.”

Esther broke into tears and hugged Adeline. “Bless you.”

The threat of blistering heat was already in the air when Adeline left the flat shortly after feeding and changing Will. She carried him in a sling she’d tied from two scarves. He rode against her belly and lower ribs and laughed and burped as she started the long walk to Bogopol, east of the Golta district where the Martels lived, and across the Bug River.

At that point, less than eight days after the Nazis took the city of Pervomaisk, negotiations had already taken place between the Germans and the Romanians. The Bug River turned out to be the dividing line. Those in Golta were technically part of the new Protectorate of Transnistria under Romanian control while Bogopol and increasingly the lands to the east lay in German hands. The bridge across the Bug River to Bogopol had already become a major checkpoint when Adeline got in line. She had her papers and Will’s papers with her, showed them to a surly Wehrmacht sentry, and spoke to him in German, which improved his mood considerably.

“What is his name?” he asked.

“Wilhelm,” she said. “We call him Will.”

“I am Willy, too,” he said, and waved her through.

As she walked through the central streets, following Esther’s directions, Adeline saw buildings being fortified with fences and barbed wire. German soldiers occupied nearly every corner. There were fewer of them the farther she got from the bridge and none on the street of old warehouses where she found the address Esther had given her. She knocked on the door and got no reply. Will began to fuss. She knocked again, louder this time. Still no answer.

“Hello!” she shouted, and pounded on the door. “Is anybody here?”

She heard nothing and didn’t know what to do. All she had was the address. Esther didn’t even know the forger’s name. Will began to squawk and cry.

Adeline admitted defeat and walked away from the warehouse door while teasing the boy’s mouth with her knuckle. “Shhhh,” she said. “Mama’s going to . . .”

She heard a creak behind her. A woman said, “Patience is not one of your virtues, is it?”

Adeline turned around, seeing a much older woman, holding on to her hip as if in pain and peering at her.

“Who are you looking for?” she asked.

As Esther had told her to, Adeline replied, “Ilse Koch.”

“Ahh, you’re lucky. Ilse Koch only just arrived.”

Adeline followed the older woman into a musty, hot, dimly lit building that smelled of grain chaff and up a set of rickety wooden stairs into a loft where an old man wearing a jeweler’s loupe was crouched over a drafting table. The woman went to a cabinet and retrieved an envelope that she opened. She looked at the picture and then Adeline.

“That’s a problem,” she said.

“I’m picking them up for Ilse Koch.”

The man lifted his head and loupe. “That cannot happen. She must come herself. We told her that.”

“I know but—”

“No buts,” he said. “If you are caught with papers that do not belong to you, they will ask questions, and if they ask questions, they could find us.”

“They won’t find her papers,” Adeline said. “I will wait until my baby has pooped, then put the documents under his back and between these two scarfs. If I need to, I’ll speak to the sentries in German, get them to talk about their sweethearts back home.”

And that was exactly what she tried to do. Except going back west across the bridge toward her flat in Golta, she encountered Romanian sentries, who barely spoke Russian and zero German. It was near noon and brutally hot again, but they started to give her a hard time about going back and forth over the bridge in a single day. Then the breeze shifted, and the stench of Will’s foul diapers reached their nostrils.

The baby was crying again when she arrived at the apartment door fifteen minutes later. She knocked twice softly. A few moments later, the door opened, and she slipped inside.

Esther closed the door behind her. Walt, who’d been playing on the floor, made a disgusted face. “Will stinks!”

“Thank God he does,” Adeline said, reaching into the overlap between the two scarves that held Will, retrieving the forged papers and handing them to Esther.