“So do you.”

“I have a war to fight. Who knows which of us will survive it? Men are dropping like flies on the battlefields.” And then as he said it, he thought of her brothers, and was sorry to have said what he did. “I'm sure we'll all come out of it in the end, but it makes it hard to think about the future. I've always thought I would stay single, too. I don't think I've ever been in love,” he said honestly, looking at her, and his next words stunned her almost as much as he stunned himself, “until I met you.” There was an endless silence after he spoke, and she had no idea what to answer, except that she knew she was in love with him, too, and they had just met. It was a crazy thing for him to say, and for either of them to feel, but they did, and there was nothing they would ever be able to do about it. It was impossible and they both knew it, but he had said it anyway.

“I'm Jewish,” she blurted out. “I can never marry you,” she said as tears filled her eyes, and he took her hand in his.

“Stranger things have happened, Beata. People do marry outside their faith.” He had been fantasizing about marrying her all day. It was a crazy dream for both of them, but he couldn't deny what he felt. It had taken him thirty-two years to find her, and he didn't want to lose her yet. Or ever, if he could help it. But there were certainly obstacles in their path. It would be difficult at best. His own family would be incensed. He was the Comte de Vallerand, a count, and he hadn't even told her that yet. He was sure it would make no difference to her. What they were drawn to in each other was far deeper than faith or titles or position or birth. He loved everything about her, what she said and how she felt, how she viewed the world, and she loved the same things about him. They were drawn to each other for the right reasons, but their faith and their nationalities and allegiances and families would conspire to keep them apart. The trick would be not to let them win, if they could do it. That remained to be seen.

“My family would never allow it. My father would kill me. They would disown me,” she said in response to his comment about people marrying outside their faith. In her family, it was unheard of.

“Maybe not, if we went to them one day. Mine would be upset, too. They'd have to have time to get used to the idea. And we have a war to fight first. If we decide to do this, we have a long road ahead of us. This is only the beginning, but I want you to know that I love you. I've never said that to anyone before.” There were tears in her eyes as she nodded and looked at him. They sat next to each other on the beach, holding hands, and her voice was only a whisper when she spoke.

“I love you, too.” He turned and smiled at her, and without saying a word, he leaned over and kissed her and held her for a long time. They didn't do anything they shouldn't, he was just happy to be with her.

“I wanted you to know that I love you, in case something happens to me when I go back. I want you to know that this man loves you, and will love you till the day he dies.” It was a huge statement to make after knowing her for two days. But he meant it. She felt that way, too.

“That better not be for a very long time,” she said solemnly, referring to “loving her till the day he died.”

“It won't be,” he said. They sat there for an hour, and he kissed her again before they went back. He didn't want to do anything to jeopardize or hurt her. All he wanted to do was protect and love her, but the very fact that they cared about each other put them both in a difficult spot. Theirs was not going to be an easy path, but it seemed like their destiny to each of them. They both felt that, as they walked back toward the hotel hand in hand.

They worked out a plan to see each other later that night. She said that Brigitte slept like a rock and wouldn't hear her leave. They were going to meet in the garden at midnight, just to talk. It was a risky prospect if her mother found out about it, but Beata said that if she or Brigitte were still up, she wouldn't come. He urged her to be cautious and wise, although what they were doing was anything but. By some miracle, she managed to get out, and every night after that. For three weeks they took walks, had tea together, and met late at night. All they did was kiss and talk. And by the time he left Geneva, shortly before she did, they were deeply in love, and had vowed to spend the rest of their lives together, some way, somehow. They were going to speak to their families after the war, whenever that was. In the meantime he would write to her. He had a cousin in Geneva and would mail letters to him, and he would send them on to Beata in Cologne. He had worked it all out. Otherwise it would have been impossible to get letters into Germany from France.

Their last night together was torture, and he held her in his arms for hours. It was nearly dawn when she went back, with tears running down her face, but she knew that if the fates conspired to help them, they would be together one day. He was due to get a leave at Christmas, but he had to go home to Dordogne. There was no way he could come to Germany to see her, as long as the war was on. Her family had no plans to come to Switzerland again. They would have to wait. But there was no doubt in her mind or his that they would. What they had found came once in a life time and was worth waiting for. They were both absolutely sure of their feelings for each other.

“Don't forget how much I love you,” he whispered, when she left him in the garden. “I'll be thinking of you every moment till I see you again.”

“I love you,” she whispered between sobs, and then she went back and slipped into her bed in the room she shared with Brigitte. Two hours later, still awake, she saw a letter slide under her door. She got up to get it, and when she carefully opened the door, he was already gone. The note told her what she knew already, how much he loved her, and that she would be his one day. She folded it carefully and put it in the drawer where she kept her gloves. She didn't have the heart to destroy it, although to be safe, she knew she should. But being so much taller than her older sister, Brigitte never wore Beata's gloves, so she knew it was safe. Beata had no idea what would happen now. All she knew was that she loved him, and all she could do now was pray that he stayed alive. Her heart was his.

By some miracle, Beata had managed to keep everything that had happened from Brigitte, and she insisted that she and Antoine were just friends. Brigitte was disappointed to hear it, and at first wasn't inclined to believe her, but in the end, she did. She had no other choice. Beata showed no sign of the love or passion she felt for Antoine, and admitted nothing to her. There was too much at stake. She could trust no one with their future except Antoine himself, just as he trusted her. Her mother thought it nice that she had made a friend, and said she hoped to see him again when they came back someday. With the war on, she knew that Jacob would want to come to Switzerland again, for some peace.

It was stressful going back to Cologne in September, when they did. The war raged on, and it was depressing hearing about people's sons and husbands and brothers being killed. Too many had died already, and Monika was constantly worried about her sons, as was Jacob, but he was worried about his daughters, too. He did what he had promised his wife he would do. In October, he spoke to the father of Horst's friend in Berlin, the young man whom Brigitte found so enchanting, and when he spoke to her, she was over the moon. The young man had agreed, and his family thought that a marriage between the two families was an excellent idea. Jacob gave his younger daughter an enormous dowry, and promised to buy them a handsome house in Berlin. Just as Beata had predicted, Brigitte was engaged at the end of the year, when she turned eighteen.

In peacetime, her parents would have given her an enormous ball to celebrate her engagement, but because of the war, it was out of the question. Her engagement was announced, and they gave a large dinner party for both sets of parents and a number of their friends. Several generals attended, the young men who were available and on leave came in uniform, and Ulm managed to come, although Horst couldn't get leave. But it was a proud event. The merging of two fine families, and two beautiful young people.

All Brigitte could think of was her wedding and her dress. She was to be married in June, which seemed an interminable wait to her. Beata was happy for her. It was everything Brigitte had dreamed of since she was a little girl. She wanted a husband and babies, and parties, and pretty dresses and jewels, and she was going to have all of it. And with great good fortune, her fiancé was stationed in Berlin. He was in no imminent danger, and his father had managed to have him attached to a general as an aide. His father had been assured he wouldn't be sent to the front, so Brigitte had nothing to fear. Her wedding and future were secure.

Beata seemed enormously peaceful about it, and was happy to see her sister so happy. She had promised to make all the underwear for her trousseau and sat constantly sewing pieces of pale satin, as she trailed bits of lace everywhere. It didn't seem to bother her at all that her younger sister was getting married and she wasn't. She was far more interested in the war. And once a week, she received a letter from Antoine via his Swiss cousin, which reassured her that he was alive and well. He was near Verdun, and she thought of him constantly as she sewed, and reread his letters a thousand times. Her mother had noticed one or two letters when they arrived in the mail, but most of the time Beata got the mail now before anyone else did, and no one realized how many letters she had gotten, or how steadily they continued to come. They were as much in love as ever, and prepared to wait for a life together until after the war. She had already vowed to herself, and to him, that if anything ever happened to him, she would never marry anyone else. It seemed reasonable to her. She couldn't imagine loving anyone as she did him.

Her father had noticed how quiet Beata was in the past few months, and interpreted it as great sadness on her part in the face of Brigitte's joy. Believing her unhappy nearly broke his heart. It drove him to speak to several men he knew well, and in March, he knew he had found the right one. He would not have been his first choice, but on closer inspection, he knew that the man he had chosen was the best one for her. He was a widower who had no children, from an excellent family, with a large fortune of his own. Jacob had wanted someone older and more stable for Beata than the handsome young man he had secured for Brigitte, who could turn out to be flighty, was still immature and playful, and was definitely spoiled, although Jacob thought him a nice boy. And Brigitte was crazy about him. The husband Jacob had selected for his older daughter was a thoughtful, extremely intelligent man. He wasn't handsome, but he was not unattractive, although he was going bald. He was tall and somewhat portly, and forty-two years old, but Jacob knew he would be respectful of her. The man in question said he would be honored to be betrothed to such a beautiful girl. He had lost his wife five years before, after a long illness, and had had no thought of marrying again. He was a quiet person, who disliked social life as much as she did, and all he wanted was a quiet home.

Jacob and Monika had him to a dinner party at their home and insisted that Beata attend. She didn't want to since Brigitte was staying with her future parents-in-law for a round of parties in Berlin, and Beata didn't want to attend a dinner party without her. But she knew she would have to learn to go to parties without her, after Brigitte moved to Berlin with her husband in June. Her parents absolutely insisted she join them, without telling her why they wanted her there. She appeared in their drawing room looking very regal in a midnight blue velvet dress, with a handsome string of pearls around her neck, and small diamonds at her ears. She paid no attention to the man they hoped she would marry, as she'd never met him before, and seemed unaware of his presence. When they introduced him to her, she shook his hand politely and drifted away a few moments later, thinking he was someone from her father's bank. She sat quietly next to him at dinner, answered his questions courteously, but her mind was full of Antoine's most recent letter, which she had received that afternoon. She could think of nothing else, and ignored her dinner partner for most of the night. She didn't hear a thing he said, which he interpreted as shyness, and found charming. He was utterly enchanted by her, she hardly noticed him, and didn't have the remotest idea that he had been invited for her. She thought she was seated next to him at random, and not by design.