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PART ONE 

THE REFUGEES

CHAPTER ONE 

SEPTEMBER 1, 1939 

WYGODA, POLAND

Adia reached over the fruit cart to accept the canvas bag of her weekly produce from Ludwik and smiled. "Thank you and send my love to Babka."

She fed one of the apples from the bag to their old cart nag, Lyra, one of the first horses Adia had trained when she first came to Jan—w. The horse crunched on it happily and lazily flicked her tail.

"I will," Ludwik said. "Better get on home. Something seems amiss in the air today."

He'd said that every time she picked up groceries for the past few months. Truth was, Adia had felt the same unease throughout Wygoda. Perhaps all of Poland felt the distant storm rising.

She looked down to see Ewan's hand mid-reach into a woman's coat pocket. She cleared her throat, and Ewan flinched and retracted his hand, smiling up at her as if he hadn't been trying to steal.

"What am I to do with you?" Adia sighed.

A distant rumble drew her attention, and a hush fell over the town square. Something roiled deep within, and she put one hand on Ewan's shoulder. The noise, like a swarm of bees building up steam and drawing close, intensified.

Whatever it was—it was headed their way.

The sea of bodies around them swayed unsteadily. Adia had seen the same movements, anxiety, and building tension in livestock herds before a stampede.

From over the ridge of towering trees, two dark gray, single-engine planes with black swastikas dipped over the town square, lighting the fuse of panic and terror.

Shoppers clutched their goods and elbowed through the crowds. It was every man and woman for themselves, seeking refuge. Carts were knocked over, women screamed, dogs barked and fled.

Adia braced herself as she pulled Ewan toward their truck. They needed to get to Jan—w as soon as possible—the town could be the planes' target. From the corner of her eye, she saw Ewan, who'd seen enough terror in his life, reach for a passerby's pocket, and she pulled his hand away.

"Now certainly isn't the time," she called to him among the din of the stampede.

Ewan flushed and tucked closer to her as he avoided elbows and stomping feet.

Time had run out, for all of them. She'd expected the German invasion after they'd seized Austria but had hoped for more time to put precautions in place. She wouldn't allow a repeat of what happened to the Arabian horses of Poland in the Great War, when German and Russian forces had annihilated nearly every horse—priceless champions of distinguished lineage—at Janow Podlaski. Hungry soldiers didn't care about the finely bred horses or see them as art or culture or thousands of years of history in the flesh. They saw only horses to pull their carts, meat to feed their soldiers.

The herd at Janow would need to evacuate to safer regions.

Adia gripped Ewan's hand tighter as they wove through the tangle of bodies and trampled debris. But the unmistakable equine whinny of fear caught her ear, and she looked back upon Ludwik and Lyra.

The rickety wagon was tilted on its side, two wheels broken. The chestnut mare reared in her harness and kicked out in desperation. The leather lines were tangled and tight as the animal pulled harder against the pressure. Her eyes bulged in terror and her body rippled with tension.

Ludwik's hands flailed helplessly as he tried to reach out to untangle the lines.

The elderly man was in over his head. It was only a few months back that the couple had even begun to use the horse and cart instead of the wheelbarrow that Ludwik pulled by himself.

"Come on, Myszko," Adia said, changing their course.

Wood shattered as Lyra kicked panels on the cart, and one of the poles at her side splintered. If she sidestepped, she could be impaled.