I gathered my skirts and hurried down the hall, then the steps, until I reached the foyer, where I froze. Because standing there, clutching a small traveling bag, cheeks flushed, eyes wide, was Elke.
My Elke.
My oldest friend from Berlin.
She squealed, dropped her bag, and flung her arms around me so hard my veil nearly came off.
"Inga!" she cried, voice thick with emotion. "Gott sei Dank! Look at you! A wedding! A ranch!Amerika!"
Tears sprang instantly to my eyes as I held her tight. "Elke… how—how are you here?"
She leaned back, wiping at her face. "Your Gideon arranged it. He sent atelegramand aplane ticket. He arranged for me to stay in town so we couldsurprise you."
I felt laughter and tears collide in my chest. "He did that?"
Elke nodded happily and winked. After all the times we'd talked on the phone during the past two weeks, she had never said a word—I called her regularly at Die Ecke so we could make plans for the Trümmerkinder, plans she had fully embraced.
And goodness, the past two weeks had beenfull. Every hour not spent on wedding planning had been spent building the very first fundraiser. Maggie had introduced me to several women from town—Patti Baker, Mrs. Longwell, and the two Burnham sisters—who welcomed me with warm hugs and fierce determination. They were already organizing bake sales, quilt auctions, and a community dance to raise money.
Hank and a crew of ranch hands had begun putting up the first small cabins on the far side of the property, simple but sturdy, meant to house the first wave of children we hoped to bring safely from Berlin. Families in town had already started asking about adoption. Even skeptical, grumbling husbands seemed to soften the moment they saw the photographs Elke mailed over, those wide eyes and thin faces tugging something tender loose in their hearts.
It was happening. Our dream. Their hope.
And now Elke was standing here in Montana, right in the middle of it.
She looked around at the ranch house, Hank grinning from the doorway, Maggie beaming like she'd claimed Elke as a daughter within seconds, the children peeking from behind banisters.
"This is…" Elke breathed, "…more beautiful than anything I ever imagined for you."
I squeezed her hands, unable to keep the tears from spilling. "You're here. I can't believe you're really here."
She grinned, wiping her nose with a laugh. "Wouldn't miss it for the world. Now come. You have a husband waiting, and I need to fix your veil before you walk out there looking like a windblown goose."
Behind us, Molly barked a laugh. "Good luck trying to tame that hair. It's got opinions."
We all laughed—Maggie, Hilde, Axel, Klaus, Elke, Molly—and warmth washed through me so deeply I could barely speak. Today, surrounded by the family I chose and the family that had chosen me right back, I was about to marry the man who'd saved my life in every possible way.
Gideon.
My pilot.
My dragon.
My home.
Molly placed my veil over my hair, kissed my cheek hardenough to leave a memory, and whispered, "Go. He's been waiting since dawn."
My heart trembled as I stepped through the back door and out onto the porch. And the world… stopped. The backyard had been transformed into something out of a fairy tale, our fairy tale. Rows of wooden chairs filled with neighbors, ranch families, and the women helping with the Trümmerkinder. Children swung their legs, mothers held bouquets, and old men wiped at their eyes as though remembering loves long past.
And lining the aisle on both sides were cowboys on horseback. Standing tall and proud, hats removed, horses still as statues. Behind them rose the mountains, sharp, blue, eternal.
At the far end of the aisle, beneath an arch woven with wildflowers—sunflowers, sage blossoms, white daisies, lavender—my Gideon stood waiting. Axel at his side, tiny but fierce in his little suit, chest puffed out with pride.
But I saw only Gideon.
And he saw only me.
His breath hitched visibly, his hand rising unconsciously to his heart. His eyes—those warm, gold-flecked eyes—shone with a devotion so deep it nearly brought me to my knees.
