Twice a day the train from Munich stopped at the station of our village. One of these trains would bring Jürgen in the next few days. Would I recognize him after almost six long years? Would I look to him as he remembered me waving good-bye at the Munich train station?

I had put my best dress on, the one with the flower print which he might remember.

"It hangs on you," my sister mentioned. "Our potato diet took some weight off us."

Dragging a handwagon behind me, the 20-minute walk downhill would be a daily routine the rest of the week. The baker's wife was sweeping the sidewalk since all the bread was sold out for the day.

"Why are you pulling the empty wagon up and down the hill?" she wanted to know.

While walking and waiting, I mused what might have happened if Hitler had never started the war. Maybe I'd have been married for four or five years, had kids of my own, even a nice house and garden, have gone to parties and danced away a night here and there.

But now we would make a new start.

After the third day of my trip to the train station I kept the wagon at home. I changed into another dress since I feared the villagers would talk about my strange behavior. The station master cornered me too: "Whom are you waiting for so faithfully? Could they not tell you their arrival time?"

"I got a message that my fiancee was in a discharge camp and would be released one of the following days," I mumbled, my tension mounting.

The train pulled into the station. Hanging out of the window, waving with both arms, was Jürgen. Before the train had completely stopped, he threw out his duffel bag and jumped down. Giving me a big hug, he kept repeating, "I made it, I made it." It was as though we had said good-bye yesterday. Looking at his luggage made me realize that it had been foolish to leave the wagon home. He laughed, "Never mind, the exercise will do me good. We were sitting around the camp too long. I was the last to be released, almost did not make it. All the discharge papers were distributed and everyone hurried away to pack, leaving me standing there all by myself. The corporal had already turned back to his office. I cornered him begging to have another look. We pulled all the drawers out and found my papers stuck behind the last."

Slinging the duffel bag over his shoulder and collecting the rest of his belongings, he and I started slowly up the hill. There was a lot to talk about and we would only stop a few times to catch our breath on the steep hill. The villagers smiled and waved at us. Everyone was happy to see another soldier come home.