Anton did not know what to say. He and Bubbe watched the soldiers across the field arguing over the bodies of Rina and David.

Why had the gestapo fired their weapons? Surely, to interrogate their prisoners and find out where their friends and neighbors were hiding. He felt responsible. An enormous wave of guilt washed over him. He should have insisted Rina come with them. But she hadn’t wanted to find the Priest’s Grotto. She’d said she and David would be safer on their own. And now they were dead.

“Oh, Bubbe,” Anton moaned. “What have I done? What have I done?”

Bubbe took his hand and squeezed it hard. “Anton, you did nothing wrong. Those men over there are pure evil. You have never seen it before. They have no conscience, no feeling, no remorse. You gave Rina and her son a chance. You did all you could do. Now you must pull yourself together. We will grieve for Rina and David later.”

Anton knew she was right. But still, he felt a sadness he had never known before. It weighed on him as heavy as the boulders that had trapped him only days earlier. The only way he could wash away his grief was to focus on getting Bubbe to safety. But even then, he struggled to keep the guilt he felt at bay.

“I am sorry, Bubbe,” Anton said.

“No, Anton, my child. It was God’s will.” Again, Bubbe spoke of God. Anton wondered how she could maintain her faith in such circumstances.

They walked on in silence. Each potato field they crossed looked the same to Anton. Time seemed to slow, the only marker the growling rumble of his belly. When they stopped to rest, Anton dropped to his knees and pulled a vine from the soil. Raw potatoes were chalky, but they were the only food around. He picked a dozen more and secreted them in his blanket. He and Bubbe would not go hungry. But they would need to find water soon.

“Bubbe?” he asked.

“Yes?”

“What do we do now? How do we find the Priest’s Grotto?”

“We head north. Dmitri says the area is full of partisans. There are people there who have no love for the gestapo. If we can find them, they will help us find the caves where Dmitri and the others are headed.”

“How far is it?”

“I do not know, Anton. I’m not even sure where we are now. Soon, daylight will come. Perhaps then we can determine where we are. But first we must find a place to hide.”

Anton had no idea where that might be. In the starlight, all he could see were potato plants. Bubbe could not move quickly and it would be dawn soon. Already the eastern sky was growing lighter. If the major had indeed called reinforcements, soon the entire area would be crawling with gestapo.

Yet they had no choice but to keep walking. So they did, step after step in the soggy soil. Every bird that fluttered into the sky at their approach caused Anton’s heart to thunder in his chest. He tried to will his grandmother to move faster, but he knew she was going as quickly as she could. Anton kept count, and every ten steps he looked behind him, studying the horizon and making sure that no one followed them.

After another hour, Anton spotted a copse of trees. Even better, there was a farmhouse, barn, and several small outbuildings on the other side of them.

“Bubbe, wait,” Anton whispered. He gestured toward the farmhouse. It appeared deserted. With dawn approaching, someone should have been stirring inside. On a working farm, a lamp would be lit or a fire started before sunup. But the windows remained dark.

Even so, he tried to remain optimistic. “Perhaps the farmer can help us,” he said.

Bubbe shook her head. “No, Anton. You must never approach someone you do not know. We are Jews. Many of our neighbors are not. They will turn us in to save themselves from the gestapo. We should keep going.”

“Bubbe, please listen. I am tired. You are tired. We need to rest. If we cannot knock on the door of the house, perhaps we can sneak into the barn. There must be a hayloft. No one will know if we sleep there for an hour or two. Then when the sun comes up we can figure out where we must go next to find Uncle Dmitri. We can find places around the farm to hide until nightfall.”

“I don’t know, Anton,” she said as she studied the house. Her shoulders slumped and she leaned heavily on her walking stick. He knew she was in pain, though she would die before she admitted it.

“Bubbe, we cannot continue after the sun comes up. These fields are too open. We need to hide. Besides, they have water,” he said, pointing to a hand pump a few meters from the barn.

She studied her grandson. “When did you grow up, Anton?” she asked. “It was only yesterday you were toddling along behind your father, trying to do everything he did. Now you are almost a man.”

Looking up at the barn, she smiled. “All right, we will do as you say. We will hide in the barn. Wait until darkness comes again. Then we will find your Uncle Dmitri.”

Anton felt a tremendous sense of relief. Still, he was cautious. As they approached the barn, he kept the trees between them and the house. His instincts told him the house was deserted. Whoever lived there had packed up and left. But he wasn’t sure enough to take a foolhardy risk. Anton kept his eyes on the house, with its neglected flower trellises and worn front steps, as they crept past it and headed for the barn.

Bubbe started for the door, but he gently took her elbow to stop her. He pointed to the pump. “Water first, Bubbe,” he said. The pump held a tin cup on a hook. It was made of rusted iron, but looked to be in working order. The trouble was, a pump like this needed water poured down the shaft to prime it. And there was no water available to use.

Anton glanced around. If only there were a puddle or a rain barrel nearby. But he saw nothing. Then he spied a watering trough on the side of the barn. He removed the cup and headed around the corner to investigate. A centimeter of tepid water was a most welcome discovery! It would be enough. He scraped the cup along the bottom of the trough. Returning to the pump, he poured some of the water down the shaft and grasped the pump handle. He knew from experience the metal parts of the pump would squeak and groan when he lifted the handle. But if they wanted a drink, he had no other choice.

He pulled the handle upward and was rewarded with a loud shriek. To Anton it sounded as loud as a cannon shot. He poured more water down the pump shaft and the sound softened, but the pesky squeak would not go away. If there was anyone in the house it would surely alert them. Up and down he worked the handle, slowly priming the pump with the remaining water from the cup.

At first he thought the well might be dry, but then he heard a gurgling sound as water worked its way up the pipe and finally spilled out of the spigot. He pumped harder—he knew the water would be dirty and undrinkable at first. When it cleared, he rinsed out the cup, filled it to the brim, and handed it to Bubbe. She drank it dry in about three gulps. He filled it again and again she drank. Only when she was done did Anton take a turn. The water tasted earthy, but he didn’t care. It was like heaven on his tongue. He had not realized how thirsty he was. He and Bubbe each drank another cup. All the time, he kept his eye on the house. Though he suspected it was empty, he couldn’t help expecting the door to open or the windows to illuminate at any moment. But the house remained still.

When he and Bubbe finally entered the barn, he flipped on his flashlight. The room looked forgotten. An old tractor sat in front of a double door, but its tires had long gone flat. A hoe, a shovel, and a sickle hung on the wall. Very little else was left behind.

There were empty stalls where animals had once been kept. Now all that remained was a large pile of hay. The farmers had either turned their livestock loose or hitched them to a cart when they were leaving. Anton took the hoe from the wall and worked it through the hay, making sure it was free of rats and mice. Nothing scurried away.

“We can sleep here, Bubbe,” he said. “If you are hungry, I have a few potatoes.”

“No, Anton. I am too tired to eat, and right now that pile of hay looks like a wonderful, comfortable bed.” She lay down on the hay, groaning in pain. She pulled her shawl around her shoulders and closed her eyes. A few moments later, she was softly snoring.

Anton went to the barn window and stared outside for a long time. If the Germans came, they’d never be able to run—not with Bubbe moving as slowly as she did. So he would have to be prepared. The door to the barn opened inward, but latched shut on the outside. He propped the hoe and shovel against it. If anyone pushed the door open, the clattering noise of the falling tools would wake him. Then he removed the sickle from the wall and checked the edge with his thumb. The blade was pocked with rust spots, but the edge was still sharp.

This will make a much better weapon than my little hatchet, he thought to himself as he lay down next to Bubbe.

Anton’s eyelids felt heavy. Seconds later, he was asleep with the sickle’s handle clutched tightly in his hand.