Whenever she tried to close her eyes, flames licked at the corners of her mind, the rawness of her father’s screams echoing in her memory. Vati hadn’t been good to her, especially in recent years, but he was still her father. She couldn’t say she missed him, but she missed what had once been. A family who had cared for one another. A job for her father on a beautiful estate. Friendships she had thought would last a lifetime.
Hermann had broken his arm trying to help Vati, but still he helped bury her father in the woods, in a plot marked only by a cross. The memory of her home lingered with the smell of the charred stone and wood. She’d never tell anyone, but she silently mourned the loss of her cottage more than her father.
Knotting her fingers together, Annika bowed her head to pray. Her eyes remained open so the flames wouldn’t lick the darkness.
How she had missed coming to this church each Sunday. Therhythm of the songs and the Bible reading and the curate who spoke with confidence about a God who loved people so much that He was willing to die for them.
She buried her head between her arms, draped over the bench in front of her. Hatred had driven her father to his death, and she feared that the hatred in her heart might kill all the good left inside her.
“Hello, Fräulein.”
Annika glanced up into the kind eyes of Pastor Dietz. He wore a long white robe, starkly clean compared to the state of her heart, and his balding head gleamed in the light of the wooden chandelier that hung as a crown of sorts over the sanctuary. He’d come to the cottage multiple times since her mother passed, but Vati never let him stay long and certainly didn’t allow Annika to return to church.
“I was going to visit you this evening,” he said. “It’s a tragedy....”
She nodded slowly, not able to tell him that her own father was responsible for the fire. She couldn’t tell him, or anyone, what Vati had done. Those who still believed in Austria would run her out of town.
“Do you have a place to stay?” he asked.
She nodded. Until the Dornbachs returned, she planned to borrow the rooms in their home that the fire hadn’t destroyed.
The pastor glanced up at the wooden cross at the front of the sanctuary, the windows overlooking Lake Hallstatt on each side. “It is wise of you to seek solace.”
“It’s desperation that drives me, Herr Pastor.”
“The Scriptures will be of comfort to you.”
“I’d been reading Mother’s Bible, before I lost it in the fire, but I found no peace in it,” she said. “Only violence.”
“Ahh,” he said. “The Old Testament books reflect God’s justice when people chose to follow evil, but He overcame the violence and evil in our world when Jesus rose from the grave.”
“So many people were killed back then and today—”
“Don’t you see,” the man said gently. “Death is no longer a threat to those who believe in Him. The ultimate weapon of our enemy has been stolen away.”
His words washed over her like salt water, stinging at first before they began to heal. Death had always terrified her, but if God had overcome death, perhaps she didn’t have to be afraid.
“Jesus sacrificed Himself like a lamb to atone for all of our sins. His death conquered the fear of it for all who put their faith in Him.”
“I believe, Herr Pastor, but so many people are hurting....”
“The Scriptures say, ‘Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.’” The pastor glanced out the window at thefuhrboat rowing by the church, its long nose curled up like an elephant’s trunk. “May I pray with you, Annika, that you will find peace in Him as you love those around you?”
When he prayed, a flood of peace surged through her. The fire—the evil—may have destroyed her home, her Bible, but she wouldn’t let it destroy her heart.
Late that night, Annika prayed again for peace as the castle walls creaked and groaned, the cold wind rattling the windows. What would Herr and Frau Dornbach do once they realized their caretaker was gone, their beautiful living space charred?
They’d stopped mailing their weekly check after Vati confronted Max, and now they’d probably think her father had gotten exactly what he deserved, especially after threatening them, but still they would grieve over the destruction of their home.
The stench of smoke had settled into the threads of carpets and curtains and the upholstery on every piece of furniture. Even the books in the library had absorbed the pungent memory of fire.
She’d tried to sleep first inside the familiar walls of Frau Dornbach’s dressing room, but the space was too tight, the fear too strong that someone might start another fire while she was locked away. The guest room wasn’t much better, but at least she could breathe here.
She didn’t know if the Dornbachs would approve of her sleeping in this room, under their fine bedcoverings, but she must sleep somewhere, and the barn and chapel were much too cold.
God, she’d read in her mother’s Bible, saw all things that were done in secret. He exposed the heart of the wicked. If God could see things done in secret, then His gaze must roam outside the tiny chapel on the Dornbachs’ property and the churches across the lake. He saw what her father had done, saw what she and Hermann were doing as well, their attempt to save what they could. He knew that she was trying to love those who needed it most.
A door slammed outside, and Annika’s heart plunged. Hermann always came by boat or motorbike, during the day now, so no one would suspect. He told the truth to anyone who asked—he was helping Annika now that her father had passed on.
