“I'm very glad to hear you haven't reenlisted yet. I was afraid you would before I got to you. And of course, you're perfectly useful the way you are now. Don't be silly. All you have to do is shout at them, and I'll give you a big stick. You can prod them along if you need to.” He was teasing, and she laughed at him.

“When do you want me?” As she asked him, she already looked hopeful and excited. She couldn't wait to meet them. Taking care of them would give her life new purpose, particularly with Rupert gone so much. As they talked about it, she nearly felt married to him again, as she had in Paris and on the trip to Germany in December. They had a very odd relationship. In some ways they were strangers, in others they felt like best friends. And she was happy about helping him with his kinders. The convent could wait for a little bit. The war would be over before long. And once they found their parents and left him… her mind was racing as she sat in the wheelchair talking to him, and suddenly she sat up straighter. She wanted him to write down all their names on a piece of paper before he left that afternoon, and he promised that he would.

He knew he had done a good thing for her morale, and he sat smiling at her as they talked for hours that afternoon, about the children, his estate, the two days they had spent in Paris, the five in Germany. They seemed to have a lot to talk about, and she looked happy and young and was laughing when he wheeled her back to her room. They had agreed that she would come straight to his estate in East Sussex as soon as the doctors released her in four weeks. But he told her he would see her several times before then. He wanted to make sure she was doing well, and besides he enjoyed her company.

He kissed her on the cheek when he left. And after he was gone, she said prayers for his kinders, and for him.

26

THE TRIP DOWN TO EAST SUSSEX FROM THE HOSPITAL WAS uncomfortable for her. She still had some sensation in her lower spine and her legs, though very little. It was more of a tingling sensation than anything, but it was just enough to give her pain if she stayed in one position for too long. She had no control over her lower limbs. She felt completely numb from the waist down when the chauffeur gently sat her in her wheelchair when she got out of the car. Rupert was waiting for her when she arrived. He had come down the day before, to speak to the children. He wanted them to be nice to her, and not give her a hard time. He told them how brave she had been, and that she had even been in a concentration camp for five months, two years before.

“Did she meet my mummy?” a little girl with freckles and no front teeth asked him with interest.

“I don't think so,” he said kindly, as the twins threw bread balls at each other and he told them to stop. “You're going to have to do better than that when she's here,” he told them, scowling and trying to look fierce. But they knew him better than that and paid no attention to him. When he was at the estate in Sussex, they crawled all over him like puppies. And Rebekka, the little redhead, always wanted to sit on his lap and have him read her stories. She spoke no German, only English since she'd been six months old when she arrived. She was now six. But several of the others, who had been older when they got to England, still spoke German. He had told Amadea he thought she should speak German to them at least some of the time. When their parents came back, if they did, some of them would be unable to speak to their own children. He thought that keeping up their German would be a good thing. He had tried it himself, but he always got distracted and wound up speaking to them in English, although his German was as good as Amadea's, for the same reason, their mothers. “She's a lovely young woman, and she's very beautiful. You're going to love her,” he had told the children almost proudly.

“Are you going to marry her, Papa Rupert?” twelve-year-old Marta inquired. She was fair and long and gangly and looked like a young colt.

“No, I'm not,” he said respectfully. “Actually, before the war, she was a nun. And she's planning to go back to the convent after the war.” He knew he had only waylaid her temporarily to help with his kinders. And he really did need her help. But he couldn't think of anything more pleasant now than coming home to the children and her.

“She was a nun?” Ten-year-old Friedrich stared at him, looking worried. “Is she going to wear one of those big dresses and the funny hat?”

“No, she's not. She's not a nun right now, but she used to be. And she's going to be again.” Rupert didn't like it, and thought it a waste, but he respected it, and expected them to do the same.

“Tell me how she broke her back again?” Rebekka asked with a worried frown. “I forgot.”

“She blew up a train,” he said as though it were something sensible people did every day, like throw out the trash or walk the dog.

“She must be very brave,” Hermann, the oldest boy, said in a hushed tone. He had just turned sixteen and had begun to look like a man and not a boy.

“She is. She's been in the Resistance in France for the last two years.” They nodded. They all knew what that meant.

“Will she bring a gun?” a studious-looking eight-year-old boy named Ernst asked with interest. He was fascinated by guns, and Rupert had taken him hunting. They all called him Papa Rupert.

“I hope not,” Rupert said, laughing at the image. And a few minutes later Amadea arrived. Rupert went out to greet her, as she looked around the grounds in awe. The ancestral house and grounds looked very much like her father's family's château in Dordogne. It was less formal than she had feared it would be, but impressive nonetheless.

He rolled her into the living room after greeting her with a kiss on the cheek and a warm welcome. The children were all waiting for her in their best clothes, and Mrs. Hascombs had set up a long table in the library with a proper tea. Amadea hadn't seen anything so lovely since before the war. And the children were beautiful as she looked at them. And a trifle scared. A few of them looked worried by the wheelchair as she smiled at them.

“Now let's see,” she said, smiling at them, and feeling like a nun again. At times it was the best way she had of making herself feel comfortable. If she pretended she was still wearing her habit and veil, she didn't feel quite so vulnerable and exposed. And they were all staring at her, trying to take her measure. But so far, for the most part, they liked what they saw. Papa Rupert was right. She was beautiful. And not old. In fact, she looked quite young, even to them. They were sorry about the chair, and her legs.

Amadea was smiling as she returned their gaze. “You must be Rebekka… You're Marta… Friedrich… Ernst… Hermann… Josef… Gretchen…Berta… Johann… Hans… Maximilian… and Claus…” She had named them all correctly, and pointed to each one of them. The only mistake she had made, and an understandable one even to them, was that she had confused Johann and Josef, but as they were identical, everyone did, even Rupert. He was amazed and so were they. She apologized politely to Johann and Josef for the mistake.

“I can't tell them apart either sometimes,” Rebekka volunteered, and without warning, she hopped into her lap. But Amadea felt little, although for a moment Rupert panicked. He didn't want the child to hurt her, but fortunately she hadn't. And Mrs. Hascombs came to greet her with an extended hand and a kind look.

“We're so happy to have you,” she said warmly, and looked as though she meant it. In fact, she looked immensely relieved. She was in deep water with twelve lively young children, and knew it. As did the kinders, and they took full advantage of it. Amadea wasn't sure she could control them either, but she was certainly going to try. She thought they were adorable and fell in love with them at first sight.

“Tell us about the train you blew up,” Rebekka said cheerfully, as they all ate tea and scones, and Rupert looked slightly aghast as Amadea smiled. He had apparently briefed them about her. And she was sure he had also told them she was a nun, which was fine, too.

“Well, it wasn't a nice thing to do,” Amadea said seriously, “but they were Germans, so for now it was all right. But it won't be all right after the war. You can only do things like that when there's a war on.” Rupert nodded approval.

“They bomb us all the time, so there's nothing wrong with killing them,” Maximilian said fiercely. He was thirteen, and already knew his parents were dead. Relatives had told him. He wet the bed sometimes. And had nightmares. Rupert had told her that, too. He had wanted her to know everything about them. He believed in full disclosure and didn't want her to be shocked. There were times when they made him want to tear his hair out. Twelve children were a lot for anyone, no matter how wonderful or well behaved they were.

“Do your legs hurt?” Marta asked kindly. She seemed the gentlest of all. Gretchen was the prettiest. Berta the shyest. The boys seemed full of life, and were moving all the time, even while drinking tea and eating scones. They were itching to go outside and kick a ball around, but Rupert had told them they had to wait until they'd finished tea.

“No, they don't hurt,” Amadea said honestly about her legs. “Sometimes I don't feel them at all. Sometimes I do, a little.” Sometimes her back was excruciating, but she didn't say that. And the scars from her burns were ugly.

“Do you think you'll ever walk again?” Berta finally asked her.

“I don't know,” Amadea said with a smile, she seemed matter of fact about it, which tore at Rupert's heart. He hoped she would, for her sake. “We'll see,” she said, sounding hopeful. She was philosophical about her fate.