As a warning of danger trumpeted in her sleep, Roswitha's eyes flew open with dread. Instantly awake, she felt Cameron's reassuringly warm body, heard his steady breathing. Then with a piercing stab to her heart, she was confronted with the realization: The Clock of the Seasons is about to stop running, and Cameron and I have arrived at the end of our road. It was an ironic thought, considering that they had just made love for the first time in the endlessly long months that they had yearned for each other. Icy perspiration blanketed her. Quietly she rose and tip-toed to the open window, straining to listen to the noises outside, careful not to stick her head out and create a target for an errant bullet. She could not detect anything suspicious. The world beyond the thick medieval walls of their hotel room, which faced the ancient Clock of the Seasons in the Old Town by the picturesque river, was still and quiet. Yet the sense of impending doom would not leave her, tightening her throat. Glancing back at Cameron, she shuddered as she imagined the Reaper's gleaming scythe aiming to uproot them: Cameron, American, twenty five years old, and Roswitha, Austro/hungarian, turned twenty one, today. Immediately she felt embarrassed of her cowardliness. Had she not, against Cameron's entreaties, accompanied him on his mission into Czechoslovakia? And did she not believe in him and want to have a part, as small as it was, in the war to liberate Europe from the Nazis? Fluent in Czech and intimate with the land had she not made Cameron's culvert Intelligence mission for the Allied Armies, easier? Squaring her shoulders, she thought: yes, our love for each other and commitment to this cause is too strong to leave room for regrets. No matter what the personal outcome of their venture, she had to go on believing that one day in the future their efforts would end up doing some good, to some people. Nonetheless, presently, the Americans were still far away and the Russians, whom she could not trust as liberators, were advancing towards Prague.... ........... ........... Cameron sat up in bed and reaching for a pack of cigarettes on the night table, lit one up. "I was assigned to recruit you, Roswitha." He continued between clenched teeth, "So even if you had not been motivated by your brother Erno's martyrdom to find me, I was under orders to bring you in. We knew all about your part in the aborted coup and that after they had captured you, that Captain Richter, who was in love with you, had spared your life. His weakness for you and his ties to the Nazi party offered a chance to infiltrate their ranks." A sudden hard rap on the door. Roswitha froze. Cameron's green eyes widened, staring at her. Another rap, an excited male voice shouting in English, "Good news! Just came over the radio! Hitler is morto! The butcher shot and killed himself!"

Disblief, then slowly, inch by inch, relief. They looked at each other, grinning like happy fools. Cameron whispered, "Well, happy birthday to you, my Schatzie." He then shouted back, "How's it outside?" "The news hasn't reached the streets. Not yet. Chances are Prague will officially mourn for a few days. But then the citizens will be out, collecting old debts." Roswitha said to Cameron, " I'm not sure if we should trust the radio. The whole thing could be an evil plot." He shrugged. "No matter." Quickly kissing her lips, "Let's go out and get married." She stared at him. "How can we? You are not free." "In my heart, I am. Yes, let's make this an act of faith." Her lips smiled, but her eyes did not. "In what, beloved?" "Us. Our love. Our future." Roswitha hesitated. Despite her inner optimism, life under extended wartime conditions had made her a realist. Hitler may be dead, but his army was still strong in Prague, and the Russians were advancing, too. Either way, their chance for a tomorrow hung on a frayed piece of thread, precariously swinging back and forth between deliverance nd destruction. Taking a deep breath, Roswitha made her decision. Holding Cameron's hand, she touched it to her burning cheek. "Yes my darling, let's make it an act of faith. In our future."

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