Anton and I spent that entire day walking around New York City. As we strolled through Central Park hand in hand, I saw the flowers blooming and heard the birds singing and knew that I was happier than I'd ever been before in my life. "I hope you didn't get into too much trouble on my account." Anton's voice was apologetic.

"Oh, no. Not at all." There was no point in sharing the hateful words my father had spoken to me after it had all ended. "After you left, life went on just like before for me."

"It was never the same for me," Anton replied. "When I had to leave you behind, it was as if all the light had gone out of my life. I was very happy to see my mother again, and to be able to come and go freely, but the whole time, I was wishing I was still with you. I never dreamed I'd miss you so much, P.B. As soon as the war ended, I knew I'd have to come back and look for you. I so hoped you'd remember and want to see me again."

"When I found out that you were back and wanted to meet me, it was like a miracle," I replied. "I was so afraid you'd leave before I could get to the train station." My voice broke, and I could feel tears come to my eyes. Anton cupped my face in his hands and wiped them away with his thumbs. "Dear little P.B., please don't cry. We're together now. That's all that matters."

We stopped at a hot dog stand and got hot dogs and soda for lunch. We sat on a bench eating them and talked some more. He told me about life in Germany, about the desolation and ruin from the war, the struggle to repair a broken country. "When I heard what had happened to Hitler, it was like a weight had been lifted off my shoulders," he told me. "I hated that man with every fiber of my being. I rejoiced when I heard that the camps had been liberated. It broke my heart to think about how those people had suffered."

"Those people are my people," I reminded him.

"I know." He wiped a bit of ketchup from his mouth with a napkin. "I thank God every day that you were here instead of there. I can't bear to think about what might have happened to you otherwise."

"Well, at least it's all over with now." Funny, but it seemed that it was me comforting him instead of the other way around.

We spent the entire day sightseeing. After Central Park, I took him to Staten Island and we rode the ferry, and then we toured the Statue of Liberty. By the time we were finished, it was almost dark, so we parted ways, promising to see one another the following day.

We were married several weeks later. I was able to find a rabbi who would perform the ceremony even though Anton wasn't Jewish. I didn't want any of my family there, and Anton's was all in Germany, so the only people who came were our neighbors and friends from work. We couldn't afford to do anything fancy for our honeymoon, so we spent the week on Coney Island. "Which do you want to do first, the Ferris wheel or the roller coaster?" Anton asked me when we got there.

"The Ferris wheel." I didn't even have to think about it. I used to ride the Ferris wheel every fall when the fair would come to Jenkinsville, but it was nothing to compare with the one on Coney Island. The seat swung back and forth in the breeze as it slowly moved higher and higher, but with Anton's arm around me and his leg pressed against mine, I wasn't afraid at all.

"I can't believe we're actually married!" I cried.

"After all this time, I finally have my P.B. back with me, never to be parted again." The sensation of Anton's lips nuzzling my neck nearly took my breath away. When we finally reached the top, he kissed me deeply, the strongest and sweetest kiss he'd ever given me. His lips were warm and moist against mine, and through our clothing, I could feel how hard his heart was pounding.

We stayed at the amusement park until the sun went down, and then we lay out on the beach looking up at the stars. I dozed with my head resting on his shoulder. When it got very late, we went back to the motel.

It seemed strange and just a little bit frightening to be alone with Anton for the first time since I was twelve, but when he put his arms around me and held me close, all my fear melted away and I knew that I was where I belonged at last.

Our first few months of married life were pure bliss. Anton was able to find a regular job, and every evening after work, we'd have dinner and then go for a walk or out for ice cream or to a concert in the park. On the weekends, we'd sleep in and have breakfast in bed and then spend the day at the park or roller skating or shopping or going to the movies. If it was raining, we'd stay indoors cuddling on the sofa together, reading or talking.

Summer passed quickly, and the leaves began to turn brown and fall from the trees. One chilly evening, I was walking from the living room to the kitchen when I suddenly felt weak all over. My knees buckled, and I slumped and would have hit the floor if Anton hadn't been right there to catch me. His eyes were deep blue pools of worry as he carried me to the sofa and lay me down.

"I'll be all right." I didn't realize how weak my voice sounded until I heard myself speak. "I must have just stood up too fast."

Anton frowned but didn't say anything. The following morning, I didn't get up at all. When I finally awakened, I was surprised to see how low the sun was. I smelled food cooking and, a moment later, Anton appeared, his face lined with worry. He was holding a plate with steaming eggs and toast. "Are you all right?" he asked me.

"I guess so. I just don't know why I feel so tired and weak."

"Eat this. It will make you feel better."

I was so hungry that I quickly gobbled down every bite, and it came right back up. "Maybe I should take you to the doctor," Anton suggested.

"I'll be fine," I insisted. But I was not fine. For days I had the same symptoms over and over again, until Anton finally talked me into going in for a check-up.

"You're anemic," the doctor told me. "You're also going to have a baby in about seven months."

Anton was thrilled when I told him. From that moment on, he became even more protective of me than before. He practically insisted that I spend just about all my time resting and would hardly ever let me lift a finger to do anything at all.

There was one thing that I worried about more than anything else. I discussed it with Anton one evening as we were sitting on a park bench, holding hands. "My father and mother were terrible parents," I said. "I'm so afraid I won't be a good mother!"

"Of course you will be." He hugged me and kissed the top of my head. "You're a kind, loving person, liebchen, and I know you're going to be a wonderful mother." I felt a whole lot better after he told me that.

I went into labor late one evening. We'd just had dinner and I was clearing the table when a contraction ripped across my abdomen, sawing me in half. "Oh!" I gasped, grabbing my belly and doubling over in pain.

Anton jumped to his feet. "Is it time?"

In too much pain to speak, I nodded. He drove me to the hospital as fast as he could. They took me right back and got me settled and hooked up to an I.V. The next thing I remember, it was the afternoon of the following day and I was lying in bed feeling weak and sore. I turned my head and saw that Anton was sitting at my side, beaming at me. "Hi," he said.

"Hi," I replied. Then I ran my hand over my belly, which was now flat, and remembered. "Where's the baby?"

"She's in the nursery," he told me. "We have a beautiful little girl, liebchen. Eight pounds, six ounces. She looks just like you."

"A girl!" Euphoria swept over me. Until that moment, I hadn't realized how much I wanted a little girl of my own. "When can I see her?"

"Why, whenever you want!" Anton told the nurse that I was awake, and our new daughter was brought into the room in an incubator. She had a head full of fine, dark brown hair, pudgy cheeks, a cute little button nose, and the sweetest little heart-shaped lips you ever saw.

We named her Gretchen Elise Rieker.

Gretchen was three when we decided to go to Germany to visit Anton's mother. Elvis had appeared on the Ed Sullivan show from the waist up, Bogie had died, and Eisenhower had begun his second term as President that year.

"You're going to see your grandmother for the very first time, Gretchen!" I told my young daughter. She'd never met either of my parents, as I'd broken all ties with them when I'd moved to New York. "Isn't that exciting?"

She nodded. "Will there be animals on the ship, like on Noah's ark?"

I laughed. "No, but there will be lots of people and interesting things to see and do."

We sailed to Southampton, England and then on to Hamburg, where we took the train to the little village where Anton's mother lived. Gretchen sat in my lap, and we gazed out the window at the green grass and the trees and the charming little cottages with the blue mountain ranges far in the distance behind them.

"This is where I lived when I was a little boy," Anton told Gretchen. "Isn't it beautiful?"

"It's really pretty, Daddy."

At last we reached the little cottage where Anton's mother lived. It was made of stone and had a thatched roof and chimney, and trees and bushes, many of which bore flowers, grew all around it. "It looks just like Hansel and Gretel's house!" Gretchen exclaimed.

Anton knocked on the door, and a moment later, his mother opened it. She was of average height and pudgy, with white hair and a gently lined face. Her blue eyes lit up with joy when she saw her son. "My Anton!" she cried, throwing her arms around his neck. He hugged her back just as fiercely. "I thought I'd never see you again!"

"Of course I came back to see you, Mama. This is my wife Patty and our daughter, Gretchen."

She greeted me warmly and made a big fuss over her granddaughter. She invited us all in and prepared a huge meal for us. All the warmth and love that had been missing in the home I'd grown up in, I found that day in a little cottage in Germany.

"I never want to leave," I told Anton that night, as we lay snug in bed in his old bedroom. Gretchen slept in a trundle bed at our side.

"We can stay as long as you want," he told me. Cuddled safe in his arms, I felt more at peace than ever before.