The plan was in place. Rosie and Frederich would help facilitate my escape tomorrow at dark, just after compline prayers had been said and the nuns retired to their personal quarters. The time of day when there would still be enough movement, and minds busy with thoughts of the day, that would conceal any noise that I might make as I furtively slipped through the convent.

My hands instinctively went over my heart, bracing against the deep ache that visited me anytime I thought of leaving Rosie in this abysmal place. But we both knew-I was with child and she was not. One of us had to find our way to freedom to help the other, but first we must help this innocent, delicate life growing in my womb, who would not be subject to the realities of this prison. My only hope was that Frederich, with whatever influence and protection he could offer, would keep watch over my dearest Rosie girl until I could return for her.

My hand moved from my heart to my side as I felt the twisting of my sweet one within me, little knees, maybe elbows, pressing into the empty space between rib and hipbone. I closed my eyes and breathed deeply, envisioning the life Rosie and I were giving the child by finally executing this perilous getaway.

I knew every inch of this place in the daylight, I had gone about my usual business over the past several weeks memorizing the doors that squeaked, the paces between thresholds, the regions of brick walls that would give way to plaster. But would my knowledge be sufficient to navigate in the dark? I knew the moon rose on the eastern wing of the building, hopefully illuminating my path, allowing me to focus my energy and attention on any unexpected obstacles rather than blindly feeling my way through the black.

The what-ifs, the unexpected, loomed so large at this point that I knew if I looked it in the face I would be devoured. This fear is where I felt a small inward surrender to something larger than me. Despite all odds, with the nuns painting an angry and vengeful God peering down on me with judgement and wrath, I knew there must be a tenderness in God of which I had not yet heard. Why else would he send a Christ, a mediator? Why else send a Spirit to comfort and guide?

So in the dark, a mere 24 hours before I would slip between rooms unnoticed, just as mama had shown me how to do all my life, I parted my lips mouthing a prayer of protection and favor. If not for me, at least for the child that would be along for the journey, whose life had become so much more precious than my own.