The towers of Prague shone in the December sunlight. David leaned against the balcony door, taking it all in, his breath misting in the cold. All his life he’d imagined making this trip, seeing Hus’s statue, visiting Bethlehem Chapel where it had all begun, and now here he was.
But Jane wanted to leave already—rent a car and drive to Herrnhut. The place where it had started all over again three hundred years later, another village he’d always wanted to visit, but not in such a rush. He wanted to wait a day, adjust to the time zone and the idea of being here. He’d never left the United States before. He thought that Herrnhut should be approached slowly, savored.
Jane walked out onto the balcony of their suite looking annoyingly fresh. “Ready?”
“Why not stay here for a day?”
“Because these thieves are way ahead of us,” she said, avoiding his eyes. “We need to find out what Leinbach knows.”
He couldn’t argue with that. He had argued that a suite was too expensive, but she told him the suite was leased by Knight’s company, that he’d insisted they stay here for security reasons. Overlooking the river and the Charles Bridge, the whole of Prague laid out at his feet with the castle crowning the hill, he felt like the rich one today. He hadn’t mentioned his disappointment that their suite had two bedrooms. Did she want to stay just friends or was intimacy the only thing she wanted to approach slowly?
It had taken them two days to leave. Dreher had relented once he knew her plans were solid. His son had readily agreed to take the animals, setting the two cats up in the large barn where they could chase mice to their hearts content. The bulldog attached himself at the hip to his grandson, peeling himself away only to see if the cats were still around. Satisfied, David gave his son Jane’s international cell number.
“So you’re serious about this lady?” His son tilted his head toward Jane who sat in the front seat.
David stood there, digging a small trench in the dirt with the heel of his shoe. “I’m helping her out. She’s had some rough times.”
“Yeah, Prague sounds real rough.”
David reached out and mussed his hair. “Watch it, kid.”
“Listen Dad, we all want you to be happy. Mom wouldn’t mind.”
David just shook his head. “You got the phone number?”
“Right here.” His son patted his shirt pocket.
David got in the car and started it up.
“Have fun,” his son shouted out, waving as they drove away.
From there, he dropped Jane off and went home to pack. Not really knowing what to take, he dumped in a week’s worth of shirts and jeans. He wanted to bring his horn, to play in front of Hus’s statue, but it was just too bulky. He tightened all the faucets, set the thermostat low, turned off all the lights except in the bathroom and locked up. His daughter said she’d come by and check on things every few days. Then he drove over to the English Tudor and found Jane in the library finishing up the reservations.
He argued against booking first class.
“You’ll never get any sleep in coach,” she answered.
“Why are you doing this on your computer? I thought you were worried it was bugged.”
“Our passports will pop up on the grid as soon as we check in anyway. They’ll probably notice this reservation in . . .” She looked at her watch “. . . say two more minutes.”
She’d been right. He had slept on the plane. First time ever. But he hadn’t slept much last night all alone in his own room. Not that he wanted to make love with her right away. Well, yeah he did, but he understood her wanting to get to know him better, be sure of him. Was that it? Or was she distracted by Lois’s death? He wondered if something had happened at the memorial service. She’d gone to it, then met him at JFK, but hadn’t said anything about the service.
He squinted at her face now, lit by Prague’s morning sun flooding the balcony.
“Come on.” Jane grabbed his arm and pulled. “It’s at least a two hour drive and we’ve got an appointment to talk to Herr Leinbach at half past ten. We need to leave now.”
David took one last look around at the spires, the castle on the hill, the birds soaring from tower to tower. Then he followed her. Seemed like he did a lot of that.
In the rental office in the lobby downstairs Jane rented a black Fiat 500 Abarth, brand new. David didn’t argue about that. He just slid into the leather seat and nosed it into the rush hour traffic, now in full swing.
Just as he was getting used to the Fiat’s quick responses, Jane pointed. “Here’s the ramp.”
David eased the sports car around a truck parked halfway up a curb, then took the turn and merged onto the highway. The gears shifted like butter.
“We take this road all the way into Poland.” Jane sat back and looked around as they passed through the old city.
But David had to pay attention to the traffic. European cars were small and fast. Up ahead a sign flashed red bars, then a couple of miles later another one did the same. After the third, he figured out it was warning him that he was speeding, like the signs that flashed numbers at home. He pulled into the middle lane and slowed down.
Jane rode in silence. He let her be. Whatever it was, it would work itself to the surface eventually. That’s how it was for him anyway.
The highway narrowed as it wound out of town, settling into a modern separated road, two lanes on each side. Brown fields replaced buildings with some patches of white under the trees. He was grateful there was no snow on the roads. Jane said she could drive in it, but he couldn’t. He’d lived in the south all his life. Snow meant build a fire, make hot chocolate and stay home.
David glanced over at her from time to time, but her head was turned toward the passenger window watching the scenery. Once in a while, she pulled down the visor and looked in the make-up mirror. He knew she was checking to see if anyone was following them. He wondered if she was regretting her decision to bring him.
David settled in, determined not to let her mood ruin his. He enjoyed the scenery, took a sip of the coffee Jane had bought back at the hotel. It was cold, but he drank it anyway.
The road climbed a bit, then the GPS announced in a clipped, British accent that their exit was ahead. They drove off onto a two-lane road, moving through the remnants of primeval forests.
Jane pulled down the visor again. “Looks like nobody’s following us. At least as far as I can tell.”
“Good,” he said. “By the way, what did Knight say?”
“That he’d have someone watch out for us. I can’t see them, either.”
Jane stretched out her legs and David resisted the urge to put his hand on her knee. Then she looked out the passenger window again.
She hadn’t really answered his question. Surely Knight had given her more information, but she wasn’t ready to talk. David suppressed a spike of envy. He wondered what it would be like to meet Knight, to sit in the presence of a living legend. Stories of Knight’s magical feats abounded, and his esoteric knowledge was said to be encyclopedic. What would it be like to visit him? Yet Jane hadn’t mentioned a thing.
He glanced at her again. She stared out the window, her head resting on her hand. She’d never said anything about doing spiritual studies. Perhaps she wasn’t finely tuned enough to pick up Knight’s energy. Why would these people who were supposed to be following her think she would know what to do with a spiritual artifact, anyway? David shook his head against these thoughts. He was just annoyed with her aloofness, he told himself. He turned his attention back to driving.
The car molded itself to the road, handling the curves easily. Stories of the old magical forests of Europe filled his head, replacing his earlier doubts. Most of those forests were gone now, but these young trees shared roots from the old ones and still whispered their memories. The road ducked through Poland, and before he realized it, they were in Germany. No more guards and security checks at the borders. Windmills atop green, rolling hills replaced the trees, whispering of power and cities and the buzz of electricity.
The British lady inside the GPS announced that they had arrived at their destination. Jane sat forward, looking around. He paused at the stop sign, searching for any sign of the old settlement. The village here looked the same as the ones they’d been passing through. Then David spotted the shop on their right. Moravian stars hung, the red and white points crisp and clean.
Jane grabbed his arm and pointed. “We’re here. We’re really here.”
“Sure looks like it.” He grinned, turning left and steering the Fiat down the street.
Jane was now animated. “But where’s the village?”
He spotted a gas station and a bank up ahead. That didn’t look promising, so he turned right down a side street, passed an art museum, then drove into a parking lot and stopped. They both spotted it at the same time, across a yellowed field, rows of gravestones, these darker, more weathered than the white marble of Old Salem. At the back rose a white tower.
“There it is.” David pointed.
Jane pounded on his arm. “Oh, my God. I can’t believe it.”
David whipped the Fiat around and drove back toward the main road, but he turned left a block before reaching it—and stopped dead. “Jane, look.”
At the end of the street stood the church, a large, white almost barn-like building with rows of windows topped by an orange roof. A white clock tower sat atop that, and from the tiptop rose a golden weathervane. The Saal, the first church the Bohemian Brethren had built freely and openly after their long exile.
David parked and they got out, standing on the sidewalk, mouths open, amazed that, like salmon, they had swum all the way back to the place that had spawned them.
Jane’s hand found his. “Come on.”
They strolled down the sidewalk passing more white buildings, large and blousy, big enough to accommodate the refugees of the past. Cables stretched across the street. Moravian stars hung from them in profusion. Stars for Advent.
“I can’t wait to see this place lit up,” Jane said.
“The sun should go down fairly early this time of year,” David answered. “We’re pretty far north. At least compared to home.”
They walked another half-block and a driveway opened into a kind of courtyard. David squinted to read the signs posted in the window. Something about 24-hour prayer and where to take a shift. On the opposite wall a plaque announced this was the Single Brethren’s House. Room rates were posted below.
“We could stay here.”
“You could,” Jane quipped.
“Where’s Leinbach’s office?”
Jane pointed at the church. “He said he’d meet us there.” She took out her phone and pushed a button. “It’s quarter after. We’ve got about fifteen minutes to check out the sanctuary before our meeting.”
They hurried down the sidewalk and crossed the street. A few steps led up to the door of the church. David paused, his hand on the door handle. “This is all happening so fast.” She watched him, her blue eyes lit with a flame of excitement. “I’ve always imagined coming here. And now, here we are.”
“Aren’t you excited to see it?” Jane shifted her weight from one foot to the other.
“It’s like a pilgrimage or something. I don’t feel prepared.”
“You should crawl here on your knees like the Tibetans?” she teased.
“I guess.” He laughed. “Well, not that extreme.”
She leaned in and kissed him, then pulled back before he could respond to those soft lips. “I deem you worthy. Now, open the door.”
He did, mostly to cover his surprise at her kiss, and stepped aside to let Jane go first. He took a deep breath and followed her into a huge, open room filled with simple, white benches.
At first it was hard to figure out where the pulpit was. Perhaps they didn’t have one, following their rebellion against the officiousness of the Catholic Church that far. Then way at the end of the room in front of a bank of tall windows he saw a raised platform. A table stood there, draped in green. A white chair with a cushion in matching green fabric sat behind it. Simple, but elegant candelabras hung from the ceiling at regular intervals, but the candles had been replaced by tall, white cylinders topped with electric bulbs in the shape of a flame.
David sank onto one of the benches about halfway up the aisle. To his right, a balcony hung above the windows. An organ dominated the center, three panels of silver pipes filling the wall, a fourth set as a panel in the balcony’s front. Jane settled next to him. She picked up a hymnal and leafed through it.
David closed his eyes and started the breathing exercises he’d learned in his Masonic lessons, calming himself, trying to capture the reverence he thought he should be feeling. After a couple of minutes, some measure of peace stole over him and he sent up a prayer of thanks for the tenacity and faith of his ancestors, for the morality and strength of character that he hoped had been passed on to him. He prayed for protection while they searched for the treasure some men were willing to kill for. And for guidance about what to do about this woman who sat next to him, her leg pressing warm against his.
Footsteps sounded toward the front of the church and David opened his eyes. A man stood in the doorway on the left of the pulpit—if that’s what they called such a simple platform.
“I apologize for interrupting your prayers,” the man said, his German accent strong. Then he looked at Jane. “Are you Miss Frey?”
Jane stood. “Yes, I’m Jane Frey. Herr Leinbach?”
He gave a clipped bow, then held out his hand in invitation. “Please, my office is upstairs.”
They climbed a set of stairs, then on the landing David stopped to read a plague hanging on the wall. Von Herrnhut in Deit Welt it announced. A history of the Moravian church was painted in sepia on the wall with dates and events. It started in 1458 with the settlement in Kunvald, Moravia, and ended announcing the number of members the church had on five continents in 2008.
Jane climbed the rest of the stairs to join Herr Leinbach who waited on the second floor landing, his hands folded in front of him, the picture of patience.
“I never thought I’d be able to come here in my lifetime,” David said.
Herr Leinbach smiled. “Many of our brethren make the trip now. They say the same.”
David climbed the rest of the steps. Leinbach walked across the wood floor to a white door, but before he opened it, he turned to Jane. “It is an honor to meet a member of one of our oldest and most distinguished families.” He bowed over her hand.
David tried to cover his surprise, but Jane didn’t miss a beat. “Thank you,” she said. She sent a questioning look to David before Leinbach straightened.
Oldest and most distinguished? He frowned. Moravians didn’t hold much stock in worldly position. But then he thought of Zinzendorf. They had recognized his worldly station. Was Jane related to Count Zinzendorf somehow?
Their host invited them into a modestly appointed office with a window looking out on a garden. Leinbach motioned to two straight-back chairs in front of a desk piled with books and papers, uncharacteristically messy for the well groomed and proper man who took a seat behind it.
He folded his hands on top of a well-marked manuscript and said, “How may I help you?”
Jane leaned forward. “We found your name in the papers of my attorney, Lois Williams.”
“Yes, Fraulein Williams.”
“Perhaps you didn’t know. She died last week in a car accident.”
Leinbach straightened with a jerk. “But this is terrible.”
“Did you know her well?” Jane asked in a kind tone.
“Nein, I only made her acquaintance through our correspondence.”
Jane handed Leinbach a copy of her obituary from the New York Times. She gave him a moment to read it, then continued. “Her firm sent me copies of my records related to our business together. I found your name and address in them, but nothing else. May I ask what this correspondence was about?”
Leinbach studied her for a minute. “You’ve come all this way to ask this question?”
“We are on holiday,” Jane said. “We wanted to see Herrnhut anyway.”
Leinbach nodded his head, then opened a drawer on one side of the desk, took out a file and leafed through it.
David restrained himself from leaning forward to get a better look. Jane remained sitting, her spine straight as the weathervane on top of the church.
Leinbach looked up at them, his winter-blue eyes piercing. “Fraulein Williams emailed me about your discovery of the Blake paintings. I wrote back to her through the regular mail.” He spread his hand. “I don’t trust the security of this internet. I verified Blake’s connection to the Brethren.” Leinbach looked down at the file again and turned over a piece of paper. “She called me as soon as she received my letter asking about the house you were living in.”
David noted his use of the past tense. How much did this man really know?
“I had to speak with Reverend Szeges first. After he explained the situation, I called Fraulein Williams back. We discussed the spiritual dimensions of the settlement in Salem, especially the New Marienborn complex.” He folded his hands again, as if they should understand the implications of this.
“I hope you’ll excuse me. I haven’t been in the church since I was a child and am just now learning more about our history.”
Leinbach’s eyes widened in surprise.
“Would you please share with me what you told her?”
“What you have most likely discovered for yourself. That a core group kept to the choir system and made their homes in these four houses. Worshipped at the church.”
Jane let the silence stretch, but Leinbach did not elaborate. “And the Order of the Grain of the Mustard Seed?” she asked.
Leinbach steepled his fingers and his eyes took on a faraway look. “Zinzendorf began this group while at university, then revived it when he began his missionary trips. Count Zinzendorf was one of the first who worked toward interdenominational cooperation. A pioneer. Several distinguished men joined, as perhaps you are aware.” This last had the hint of a question in it.
“And the 24-hour prayer movement? If I remember correctly, the Unity held a prayer vigil that lasted for several years.”
Leinbach pursed his lips in slight disapproval. “Actually, it lasted for a hundred years. It is called the Lord’s Watch. In fact, it is still happening.”
“I see,” Jane said apologetically.
After a pause, she continued. “Information has reached us,” Jane inclined her head toward David, “that a clandestine group believes my family is in possession of something quite valuable. More so than the Blake paintings.”
Leinbach looked from Jane to David. “Indeed?”
“Perhaps some spiritual artifacts brought to the Americas either by the Brethren or the—” she paused, watching Leinbach carefully “—Freemasons.”
Leinbach nodded, waiting for her to say more.
David took the lead. “This doesn’t seem to surprise you.”
“Of course not. Many Moravians have been members of the European lodges. Frederick V himself was a Rosicrucian.”
Jane frowned, obviously not following this last, but David sat up straighter. “So it’s true that the Moravians had deep connections with the Rosicrucian and Masonic lodges.”
Leinbach glanced at Jane before focusing back on David. “But surely this is not new to either of you, especially given Jane’s family background.”
“As I said,” Jane explained, “I’ve lived away from my family most of my life.”
“The Rosicrucians were enemies of the Habsburgs. The Winter King was our last attempt to win Prague.”
“The Thirty Years War,” Jane said.
“Precisely.” Leinbach looked like a beleaguered school master. “And Comenius himself attended university with Andrea in Heidelberg.”
This knocked David back in his seat. “Johann Valentin Andrea?”
“The same.” Leinbach pressed his lips into a tight line. “Heidelberg was a seat of metaphysical teachings. Anyone who attended classes there would have been versed in the mysteries. At least the rudimentaries.”
“And this would not have been considered contrary to our church’s teachings?” David asked.
“In the late fourteenth century, the Catholic Church forbade commoners to study metaphysics. The aristocracy was allowed to continue.” He glanced at Jane. “Of course, those in rebellion against the Catholics continued their connections with the mystery schools. Now, we have abandoned such practices.”
David stretched his senses to detect any deception. He had an uncommon ability to tell when people were lying, and he thought Leinbach had at least stretched the truth.
“So you see, Fraulein Frey,” Leinbach said, “it is entirely possible that your ancestors may have come into contact with some ancient artifact.”
“But the Moravians don’t approve of relics, that kind of thing,” Jane said.
Leinbach puzzled out her idiom. “Relics, no, not as an object of worship. Not as a substitute for a direct relationship with Christ.” He paused and regarded her, perhaps wondering what her relationship with their Chief Elder was. He must have formed some conclusion before he continued. “But we were closer to the Rosicrucians and Masons in earlier times. Perhaps someone in your family did a favor for a friend and that person never returned to collect his property.”
“I suppose that’s possible,” Jane said.
“As to the exact nature of this artifact, I suggest you consult with your own family. This is beyond my knowledge.”
“I see,” she said.
David could tell by the look on Jane’s face that she didn’t see at all. Her cheeks were flushed and she twisted a tissue in her hands. He hadn’t expected the officials in Herrnhut to be in such close contact with the church in Winston-Salem, but then in the past Herrnhut had called the shots in the colonies. Now that the iron curtain had fallen and several decades passed, perhaps they had picked up where they left off. Perhaps they still thought of America as the colonies.
Leinbach pushed back his chair and stood. “I’m sorry to say that I have another appointment, but I will turn you over to Herr Kinne who has kindly agreed to show you through the museum and grounds. Later this afternoon Fraulein Pfeifer, our archivist, will meet with you.”
“Thank you,” David said when Jane didn’t answer him.
“Please do let me know if I can be of any further service while you are in our village.”
Jane stood and gave a stiff bow. “Thank you for this information, Herr Leinbach. I am sorry that I have not kept up with my studies.”
Their host flushed, but returned her acknowledgment with a slight nod of his head, so different from his earlier effusion when they first arrived. He walked to the door and opened it. A small man with graying hair stood near the top of the stairs, hat in his hands, his cheeks apple-red from the cold.
✬ ✬ ✬
Jane greeted Herr Kinne with her professional smile and shook his work-worn hand. She’d actually been hoping for some time alone with David. He seemed to understand what Leinbach had said more than she had. She was still puzzled by his intimation that her family was so important. But her old job had trained her how to put her own questions on hold and play the charmed guest. And indeed, she was anxious to see Herrnhut. Perhaps she could slip in some questions that would shed light on their search.
They followed their guide down the stairs and through a hallway next to the sanctuary. Jane spotted the restrooms and excused herself. Just to have a moment alone. In the stall, she took out her Blackberry and started to text David, but then remembered his phone didn’t work in Europe. Instead she pulled up the list of Masonic treasure to refresh her memory. Then she accessed a map of Herrnhut, trying to imagine where old artifacts might have been kept.
“Jane?” David’s voice reached her through the door. “You okay in there?”
She flushed the toilet and opened the stall door. “I’m fine. Be right out.” She washed her hands, then gave her hair a quick brush. Pushing her brush and phone back in her purse, she pasted on her smile again and joined the men in the hallway.
“I thought perhaps to start in the museum, if this is agreeable?” Kinne asked.
“Please, lead on.” Jane said.
The museum reminded her of Old Salem, except the displays were less rustic. This had not been a colony in the New World, but a new village in Saxony. She looked over old farming tools, dishes, antique books. In the third room, Jane found yet another bust of Comenius. There had been a portrait in the last room, a bust in the first. He seemed much more important to the German community than to the Americans. At least she didn’t remember hearing much about him in Sunday school.
“Herr Kinne?” Jane pointed to a bust inside the glass case they were standing next to. “I keep seeing Comenius. Can you tell us more about him?”
“He was one of the Unity’s most important bishops. An innovator in education. He insisted that all students be treated with respect. Not mistreated by their teachers as he was when he was in school.” The man beamed at her. He laced German with his English, which was passable, but soon he lapsed into German. She understood most of it, but David could translate if she needed help.
“So, he’s best known for his writings about education?” she asked.
“Not just that.” Kinne grew more animated. “Comenius ushered our church through difficult times. Because of religious persecution, he lost his home twice. After he fled the first time, his wife and two children died of the plague.” The man paused to let this sink in. “He was exiled in Poland, then had to leave that country. But he never lost his faith.”
“I’ll have to read up on him again. In Salem, we didn’t hear so much about him.” She turned to David, who stood near the door, his gaze taking a quick inventory of the room. “Did you?”
David focused back on her. “I learned a bit about him in my lodge.” So he had been following the conversation.
“Our bookstore is named after him,” Kinne said, “since he lost his library twice in the fires. In his life, he thought the Unity would fail. His last book is a missive to the future in hopes the teachings would be taken up again. He even recorded his prophecies.”
Jane took a breath to ask about this, until she saw David’s expression.
“Are all his works translated into English?” David asked, drawing Kinne’s attention.
“Nein, we only have them in German.”
“I read German,” David said.
The man’s round face lit up. “Gut.”
David reached his hand out to her. “Perhaps we should go to the bookstore and pick some up.”
“But first, I have a surprise for you,” Kinne said.
Jane was glad their host didn’t see David’s scowl. He seemed to have discovered something and wanted to speak with her in private.
They followed Kinne to the front room of the museum. He exchanged a few words with the woman at the front, then produced a long skeleton key on a chain. “Follow me.”
Kinne walked outside and crossed the street to a green triangle of grass with a street sign above it reading Comeniusstrake.
Jane pointed. “He’s everywhere.”
“Yes.” Kinne acknowledged her comment with a clipped nod of his head. “Now, shall we go to Gottesacker?”
He led them up the hill between close trimmed trees, their large branches ending in large knobs, reminding Jane of gnomes. Two columns held up a white arch that read Christus ist Auferstanden von Den Toten.
“Christ is risen from the dead,” David translated softly.
She flashed on the Easter sunrise service. The first words, “The Lord is risen,” uttered in the predawn chill of early spring.
They walked under the arch. Before them, graves stretched in both directions in neat rows, the marble headstones weathered, but bleaching out at the edge of the cemetery where the more recent interments were. Jane bent down to one. The marker was old and difficult to read. She rose and followed Kinne up the path.
Their guide narrated as they walked. He pointed to a little placard next to the gravestone. “Here is Christian David, the carpenter from Moravia who got permission to begin this settlement here on Count Zinzendorf’s estate.”
David translated the stone haltingly. “Felled the first tree for the building of Herrnhut the 17th of June 1722.”
Kinne continued reading another placard, but the names flowed past Jane. She strolled ahead, listening to the birds, remembering the funerals in her own God’s Acre, the trombone band. Unbidden, the music that had been haunting her played again in her head. It continued past where it had stopped last time, two more phrases sounding. She walked farther up the path and sang it softly, willing herself to remember.
“Jane,” David called, “come here. This is amazing.”
Jane rejoined them, tucking her arm in David’s. He gave a little start of surprise, then pulled her close.
Kinne turned to the women’s side of the cemetery. He pointed to another ancient tombstone. “Eva Maria Spangenberg, the Eldress of the church in Bethlehem. Her husband, August, supervised the churches in the Americas. He went on the scouting trip to find Salem.”
The names tickled Jane’s memory, but David nodded, obviously keeping pace with Kinne’s broad grasp of Moravian history. His eyes shone. Whatever had caught his attention in the museum seemed forgotten. She’d have plenty of time to pick his brain over lunch.
Kinne pointed up the slope to what looked like sarcophagi in the middle of the path. “And here we have the Count and his family.” They made their way to the large graves covered in grey, engraved stone.
“They aren’t with the others.” Jane pointed across the flat graveyard. “Isn’t this against our tradition?”
Kinne shrugged. “The Zinzendorf’s are specially honored. Without them, we would not exist.”
David bent down and translated the inscription. “Here rest the bones of the unforgettable man of God Nicolai Ludwig count and lord of Zinzendorf and Pottendorf.” His family lay next to him on either side. David read each stone silently.
Jane watched him, glad she’d been able to give him this gift.
Kinne stood slightly away from them, his hands folded in front of his body. His grey eyes held a look of approval.
At least one of us meets their standards, Jane thought.
When David stood back up, Kinne pointed up the hill. “Do you know the story of Zinzendorf’s tower?”
“I don’t,” Jane said before David could answer. She moved to his side and took his arm again.
“Some say his first wife reported seeing a rainbow that ended on this spot. It was one of the couple’s favorite walks. Others tell the story that the tower was built to shelter the Lord’s Watch, those who keep the continual prayer.”
They reached the bottom of the white structure. Kinne pulled out the skeleton key and opened the door. “Please, you go first,” he said with a sweep of his hand.
Jane let David climb the spiral staircase ahead of her. They emerged on a circular walkway. Wind turbines dotted the crest of the hill toward Rennersdorf.
“Amazing,” David breathed. He reached for her hand.
Kinne hung back by the door, finally giving them some privacy. But whatever it was David had wanted to tell her was forgotten. He moved around the walkway, Jane at his side. The city of Herrnhut lay before them, its orange roofs nestled amongst the evergreens and bare branches of trees. The fields stretched brown under the winter sun. The soft blue of mountains rose in the distance.
David shook his head and turned to her, his eyes brimming with tears. “Thank you.”
“But I needed you to come.”
“No, it’s not just that.” He pulled her to him, a tear escaping. “I can’t tell you what it means for me to be here.”
Jane nestled against him. His sides shook. She snuggled deeper into his embrace. Footsteps approached, then stopped and retreated. She heard Kinne climb back down the steps.
“I didn’t realize it meant this much to you,” she whispered.
He laughed, released her and searched his pockets for a handkerchief. He pulled out a blue bandana and wiped his eyes, then blew his nose with a honk. “I didn’t either. It’s just so moving—to see what I’ve heard about all my life.”
She turned back to the view. “It’s beautiful.”
“To think this little town sent out missionaries all over the world.”
“And now their descendants are coming back. I’m afraid I’m a disappointment, though.”
David just squeezed her hand. They continued around the walkway until they reached the door again.
“Where did Kinne go?” David asked.
“He left us alone. I think we’ll find him downstairs.”
David started through the door, then stopped and gathered her up in his arms again. Gently, as if he were handling china. She turned her face up to him and their lips met. She started to pull back, but David followed her. Warmth flushed up her torso, and she leaned into him, kissing him deeply. Just as this town had welcomed their bedraggled ancestors, his arms were a safe refuge for her. Finally they pulled apart. Jane blinked, taken aback by her reaction.
David pushed a strand of her hair behind her ear. “Think we can shed our chaperone?”
She chuckled. “I’ll think of something.”
They walked down the steps, Jane tucked under David’s arm, the narrow space pressing them together. At the bottom, Kinne greeted them. He locked the door.
She wondered how much he guessed. “We’d like to explore the headstones. Look for our family names. Then get some lunch before my meeting with Fraulein . . .”
“Pfeifer.” Kinne supplied her name. “I will be working in the labyrinth behind the museum if you have need of me.”
“Thank you,” Jane said.
“I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your help,” David called to his retreating back.
Kinne turned around and regarded him with serious eyes. “Please understand my meaning. It is my pleasure to welcome the pigeons who find their way home.”
David threw back his head and laughed.
Kinne smiled, then walked toward the town.
“Well, my dear, dear Jane. What shall we do now?”
They wandered the rows, reading the dates, finding more than a few names from their family trees. Even a few from David’s late wife. He told her about his own family coming from here to Pennsylvania, then south to the Carolinas. So much like her own family’s story. They stayed close to each other, Jane’s arm in his, but didn’t speak of it. If they pretended not to notice, they could enjoy the closeness. Jane pushed thoughts of her homelessness, of Lois’s death, away. They could make believe this was really just a holiday.
A loud growl from Jane’s stomach broke into their exploration of Gottesacker. They were standing on the far end of the men’s side of the cemetery. Jane looked over toward the parking lot where they’d first spotted the old settlement. A silver BMW was parked by the side and a man in a long black coat stood by it. Her hand tightened on David’s arm.
“What?”
“Over there,” she whispered.
Just as David turned to look, the man raised his hand and made the “V” sign with his fingers, then touched his chest.
Jane slumped against David. “Oh, thank God.”
“What?
“He’s one of Knight’s security team. He told me he’d use that sign so we could recognize them.”
“Is that wise? Some spy might notice and use it, too.”
“Well, I’m glad to know who he is.”
“Let’s go eat.”