After another week of hard travel, they were passing through the city of Cluj-Napoca, and Emil was starting to feel hopeful that at long last their luck had changed for the better. In Cluj, the trek was divided yet again, with some refugees directed north to the train station in the city of Dej and others westward. On a hot afternoon, some six days after that division, the Martels entered Oradea, a city in chaos.

Oradea bordered Hungary. Even though Germany, Hungary, and Romania remained Axis partners in the last days of April 1944, there was intense competition for train and road space. When they arrived, a full Wehrmacht division had just come off the most recent train and was trying to move east. Foot soldiers, lorries, and artillery clogged the medieval streets of the city, which had been heavily bombed recently.

The Martels and the rest of the trek inched forward and through the knots of traffic until, hours later, they reached a small plaza in front of the rail station, which was choked with wagons and horses and many Black Sea Germans who looked distraught. Several of the women were hugging their horses and crying, and Emil could not figure out why. A loudspeaker blared.

Emil recognized the voice and felt sickened. He did not have to see Major Haussmann to know it was him.

“You will proceed by train from here to Budapest, where you will find shelter until your next train north to Silesia,” Haussmann said. “Your wagons cannot come on this train. It does not have enough flatbed room. Your horses cannot come, either. The Wehrmacht is taking them as payment for your safety. You will be allowed on the train with what you can pull or push or carry by yourselves and no more. Repeat: whatever you can carry or pull or push by yourselves and no more. You have two hours to gather your necessaries and board the train.”

Not hearing Adeline’s complaints and worries, Emil stared at his horses, already feeling the loss of their calming, dependable presence. He loved horses, especially that pair; how much heart they had. Images of their efforts rippled through his mind, none stronger than when Thor and Oden had galloped for him through the tank battle that first day of the trek, fearless, courageous, as if they had been veteran warhorses familiar with the roar of cannons and the destruction of explosions.

“Emil!” Adeline said sharply.

He frowned and looked over to see tears dripping down his wife’s face.

“What do we bring?” she asked. “How much can we carry? What did we bring all this so far for, anyway?” She flung herself into his arms and sobbed. “They want us down to nothing, Emil, people with no pasts!”

Emil held his wife as she trembled and shook, feeling as helpless as she did.

“No, Mama,” Walt said, rubbing her back. “We can take more than we can carry. We can use the little wagon. Remember?”

“It holds a lot,” Will said.

Up to that point, Emil had regretted taking the little wagon with them. He’d had to unlash it from the big wagon’s back wall every night and then relash it in place every morning before they set off. Now? The toy he’d built for the boys’ Christmas present was the most useful thing they had left.

Even so, being Emil, he decided to modify it before they set off. Up front, he left the wooden handle in place but used his saw to cut pieces out of the side of the bigger wagon and removed its corner brackets, which he used to fashion into a push bar at the rear of the little wagon.

He removed the oilskin bonnet from the big wagon and cut a rectangular piece out of it, using the piece to wrap his tools, which went in the forward bottom of the little wagon. Adeline set aside a skillet, a deep pan for boiling water, two bread tins, two large bowls, four small bowls, five spoons, and all six of her kitchen knives.

Emil cut off two more sections of the bonnet and wrapped the cutlery in one and the cooking utensils in the other. Those went on top of the tools. Food and dry goods, along with bedding and the few extra clothes they owned, went on top and forward in the little wagon.

He gave the rear space to Adeline’s mother and sister. When they were done putting their things in, he laid several coils of rope on top, and then tied down the rest of the oiled canvas as a cover. On one side, he hung the large water bag they’d been using since Friedenstal. He tied the well pail beside the water bag while Adeline rummaged around in the back of the big wagon, looting as a sailor might a sinking ship. Emil had stopped searching for treasures. He already considered what was left in the bigger wagon cast to the wind, open game for wolves and vultures.

That’s how it always was and always will be, he thought a little bitterly. We come in with nothing, and we go out with nothing.

Adeline brought out an envelope that held their wedding picture and a few other photos. He smiled when she showed him.

“We were so young,” he said.

“Weren’t we? And innocent.”

“And look at us,” Emil said. “Still in love.”

Adeline gazed at him with watery eyes and nodded.

German soldiers appeared. One of them started to untie his horses’ leads.

“Whoa,” Emil said. “Hold on a second.”

The soldier glared at him. Emil ignored him, went around to the front of the animals and lowered his head between them, feeling their warm breath on his ears and how good it was to be near them, such magical creatures.

“Thank you, both,” he whispered. “You saved us. We will never forget you.”

“Raus!” the soldier barked in annoyance. Hurry up!

“Okay, okay,” Emil said, and stood back.

The soldier took the leads. Emil patted Thor on the shoulder. Walt, Will, and Adeline stroked Oden’s flanks as the pair began to walk after the soldier. Too quickly, the horses, the big wagon, and the rest of their belongings were gone.

The Martels all stood there in the daze of yet another catastrophic loss.

Emil made peace with it first. “Adeline and Malia are on the push bar. I am pulling the handle. I want Will on the left side of the cart and Walt on the right. Oma Lydia follows. Get in position!”

Emil looked over at his father, who had brought along a small cart that was used in their farmyard. Johann was at the push bar with Karoline and Rese pulling on the handle.

They moved slowly toward the waiting train and the crowd trying to find refuge on it. Others had small carts or wagons like themselves. The less fortunate had crafted packs from their wagon covers and staggered forward under impossibly heavy loads. Too many went to the train with nothing but the ragged clothes on their backs.

Emil led them away from those in the crowd fighting to be in the freight cars closest to the engine. They went instead to the far rear of the train. The last car’s doors were slid back, and it was fairly empty yet. They used ropes and brute strength to hoist the loaded carts into the hold, which smelled of straw and unbathed humans. Then they lashed the two carts together and to the wooden wall in the rear corner of the boxcar.

Will and Walt climbed up and sat on the resulting platform like proud princes. Their aunt Rese flopped back across the top of her parents’ cart, folding her hands across her stomach, and closing her eyes while more and more refugees began climbing into the boxcar with the last of their belongings.

The space was soon uncomfortably full. The SS left open the sliding doors on both sides of the car and hung lengths of heavy chain across the openings. Adeline understood why. They’d need the air. As people had crammed into the car, the air had gotten thicker with stale human sweat and fear of the unknown. She herself began to feel closed in, cornered, claustrophobic.

“I’m going to try to stand by the door for a minute,” she told Emil.

“I’ll go with you,” Malia said.

“I’ll go, too!” Will said.

“You’ll stay with Papa,” Adeline said firmly, fighting the panic growing in her.

She began to slip and to slide forward through the crowd, excusing herself, but insistently stepping over someone’s feet or around their backs and between their belongings. She had to get to fresh air or she’d scream. Finally, she reached the open door and held on to the door frame, gulping the fresh air. Malia did the same beside her.

“I couldn’t breathe,” Malia said. “I wanted to fight to get out.”

“I did, too,” Adeline said, and laughed softly, putting her hand to her chest and her still-thumping heart. “I thought—”

The train lurched and almost threw them off their feet. Adeline had to grab her sister to keep her from falling even as everyone in the car shouted in surprise. The train wheels creaked slowly forward over the rails amid nervous laughter, and quickly chatter of what was to come replaced concern over what they’d left behind. Within one hundred and fifty meters after rolling from the rail yard, the train slowed to a stop again.

Both Adeline and Malia gasped at the scene before them. They gazed out across a still and placid backwater of the Crisul Repede River, which perfectly reflected the purple bruised sky, and the roiling thunderclouds and the shafts of golden last light pouring down on the pool beside the gorgeous pale ruins of a large building on the far side.

“It’s like a painting,” Malia said.