Page 212 of Valor

Fred bit his lip so hard blood trickled down his chin. “For that, he doesn’t deserve to live. Promise me, if I don’t make it back, you will take care of that.”

Mark stared at him.

Fred ripped another mouthful of the bread with his teeth. It tasted metallic as he chewed on it.

“What about your mother?”

“What about her?” Fred glared at him.

“How will she survive without him running the mill? Marta can’t help her.”

The mention of his sister felt like a stab in his chest. Thanks to Father, she was forced to be with that animal day and night. If she had a child with Fritz, how would he ever bring himself to care for his nephew or niece, knowing who their father was?

“Does Karel know?”

Mark nodded.

“How?”

“How do you think?”

Fred leaned closer to his cousin and asked in a hushed voice. “Where is he now?”

Mark gave him a hard stare.

“Need to know.” Fred kicked at the fire. “I get it.”

His cousin moved to the other side of the fire and settled on the makeshift bed.

“Get some sleep. We are leaving before sunrise,” Mark said, adding two small pieces of wood to the fire. “Use this.” He threw Fred a wool blanket. It gets cold once the fire goes out.”

“This is one of our horse blankets,” he looked at his cousin over the flames of the low fire. “Mother?”

Mark met his gaze.

Silence stretched between them. But a few moments later, Mark’s works echoed through the growing darkness. “She also baked the bread and packed enough food so we wouldn’t starve before we got to the camp. Now shut up and let me sleep.”

CHAPTERSEVENTEEN

Northern Moravia, 2025

“I want to go back.”Meghan dropped into the tall grass, exhausted. “Now,” she demanded, silently asking God to forgive her for this stupid idea and protect her from harm. How did things become this bleak so fast? And he wanted her to cross a white-water river? This wasn’t a Mission Impossible movie. She was no spy. Meghan looked at Oliver as the thought sunk in. Was he?

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea.” He sat next to her. “You need to know what happened there.”

She studied her hands, too afraid to ask who he really worked for. What would her counselor say? Meghan silently counted her breaths—a raindrop splattered on her face.

“This is the truth.”

She looked up.

“Your great-grandfather was a collaborator,” Oliver said as a matter of fact. “The family buried behind the mill was trying to escape the Nazis. He gave them up.”

The words hit her like a freight train. How could anyone do such a terrible thing?

“The entire family died? Even the child?”

“The baby’s name was Isaac.”

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