On the outskirts of a small village near Vichy, France, Looms the antediluvian castle the Château des Morelles Housing not grand dukes and duchesses But children from Germany, France, and Italy—waiting Lost from their individual families Scattered by the Third Reich. They eat their meager food Pretending it is the feast of royalty.
In high-ceilinged, large rooms they get ready for bed Resting on cots next to each other, talking about parents Remembering what it was like to be loved by them Recalling their looks, their smells, the joys of being touched by them Finally, they sleep—dreaming of being reunited Waking in the morning, waiting Waiting for some letter to arrive to let them know that they are still remembered.
The director of the children’s home calls, “Come to my office.” Not knowing what to expect, Heart pounding with fear or happiness Running wildly down the winding staircase Opening the large wooden door to her office She smiles and says, “You will be reunited with your parents in the United States.” The letter has come; there will be no more waiting.
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