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Just make sure your papers are in order when you cross the Austrian border. Those officials are strict about paperwork.

A moment later the train lurched forward, and they were off. For the next few hours, Marika passed the time drawing pictures on a pad of paper, reciting nursery rhymes, and telling Zsuzsi stories about growing up in Hungary.

From the window, they could see a series of small towns, farms and open fields, and dense woods. When darkness fell, Marika thought about the border.

Will the guards be satisfied with our paperwork? Or will they force Zsuzsi and me to return to Budapest? The seamstress trade school meeting was crowded with girls and their mothers, all eager to impress the owners and secure a spot for the following year.

By the end of the evening, both Ilona and Marika were chosen by very nice but different owners. They would attend the same school but work in different shops four days a week.

By September both girls were excited to start in their new school. The first week sped by as they met the other students and their teachers, and ventured out into the city on their own, using public transportation to get to school and work.

Getting off the bus, Marika walked along the sidewalk toward the old building where the shop was located on the fifth floor. At the corner she noticed a woman sitting in front of a pottery shop.

Normally Marika was shy. I believe in Jesus, but I go to church on Saturday, the Sabbath. She watched her expression carefully, looking for signs of judgment or disapproval, but the woman just smiled again and shrugged her shoulders.

Me, I go on Sundays. Entering, she climbed all five flights of steps, wrinkling her nose at the gassy smell.

Everything was new and interesting, especially to Marika. No more embarrassingly low grades for her! Mama and Papa had been right.

Seamstress school was the right choice. As for attending church, it was held in the afternoon. This Sabbath the girls would be meeting their parents at the church.

The sisters walked to the trolley stop and waited. The heavy trolley clanged its bell and squealed to a stop. The girls climbed aboard and showed their monthly pass, then found seats near the back where fewer people sat.

After about 20 minutes they had to change trolleys. It was such a long trip! Settled once more on the second trolley, the girls sat back and sighed.

It should be a good service. She could hear the driver calling out the next stop. Somewhere up front a baby was crying.

Marika looked out through grimy windows and watched the buildings going past, some still showing damage from Russian bombs and tanks.

Despite all that, the city was beautiful to her. She was proud of her homeland. Suddenly Ilona gave her a sharp jab in the arm.

Ilona made a slight tilt with her head, directing her eyes toward the aisle. Marika looked and was surprised to see a man in a dark hat staring at them.

She turned to Ilona and tried to whisper inconspicuously. Papa had warned them to be extra-careful riding the trolley on Sabbaths.

If they were caught carrying Bibles, there could be real trouble for the entire family. Marika looked again at the stranger across the way. His harsh gaze moved downward to her bag, then back up at her eyes.

He blinked once, as if to challenge her, and then turned away. When the trolley came to a stop, he rose from his seat and got off.

Marika sighed with relief. She could feel her heart racing. He continued standing, allowing elderly and female passengers to take their seats first.

He looked down at the girls with an inviting smile. The man could be a snitch, an informant for the Hungarian secret police.

They could start a file on the family to be used against them later. Instead, he stared at her bag, just as the older man had done moments earlier.

She pulled the bag closer, wondering how to make it look less conspicuous. You must be in school, right?

Ilona gave her sister a look that suggested this was a stupid question to be asking. Then she caught on. Here, let me fix it. But he never stopped watching them.

Marika felt sure he had guessed what was in their bags. Would he follow them when they got off the trolley?

If he did, would he grab their bags and make trouble at the church? After months of silence on the subject, the teacher was again giving a lesson on evolution.

She knew he expected Ilona to describe the earth as being billions of years old, populated at one time with cavemen and strange creatures.

Marika held her breath. What will he do when Illona does the opposite? We believe what the Bible teaches. After a long pause Ilona slowly sat down.

The teacher raked his fingers through his hair that stuck straight up out of his scalp like pointy needles, and then looked around the classroom.

What I have taught about earth and its creatures is correct. Marika offered a sympathetic smile, and then opened her math book. That afternoon Ilona waited in the hall while the teacher loudly scolded Ilona behind closed doors, warning her not to speak against his teachings in class again.

When they came out, his angry glance made Marika feel like a bug about to be squashed. All her marks were fours or below, except one: It must be a mistake.

After class, she ran to her sister, excited to show off the five. Instead, she stopped short. He nodded at her words and took them, pretending to have a better look.

Then he shook his head and shrugged. Those grades are already in your official records. Now, I have paperwork to do. Oh, what will Papa say when he finds out?

What if he gets mad and yells at the teacher? You only did what Papa told you to do—you spoke the truth. Poor Ilona, who wanted so much to learn science and electronics, would have to go to trade school now too.

That night the family had another quiet dinner. But after dinner the girls explained what had happened in class.

That was a very brave thing to do. Marika could tell her sister was trying not to cry again. He looked to Mama for help and waited.

Papa, what do you think? She and Marika could go together. I like doing hair. But you know, hair salons are owned by the government. That means you would never be allowed to observe the Sabbath.

If you find work with a Jewish owner, you may be able to have Sabbaths off. They were right; seamstress school was the wisest choice.

But, oh, how she loved doing hair! Would you like to go and see what they have to offer? You might even get chosen. Would they find a good shop? Would they be chosen as a pair, or would she and Ilona be separated after years of never being apart?

Inside, it was time again for Mama to sew. Mama had brought her sewing tools and an armload of old dresses from her own wardrobe and those of relatives and set everything in the living room.

It was always a big job to measure, pin, and sew new outfits for the family, but it was even harder to take dresses made for grown women and cut them down for active young girls.

Partly to cheer up the girls and partly out of necessity, Mama chose that day to start making them a fresh wardrobe.

All three wore the required school uniform with a red bandana tied around the neck, but they still needed plain dresses for home, play, and window shopping, and one nice dress for Sabbath.

Marika glanced curiously down at the faded cloth covering her. She knew they were living in hard times; all her friends and relatives wore hand-me-downs that were mended and altered again and again.

Marika was happy to get something newer to wear, yet she still longed for a brand-new dress of her own. Then she pinned in the waist and measured how far up to raise the hemline.

Maybe I can crochet some lace on the collar to make it prettier. A sudden wind outside shook leaves from the trees and tossed them against the window.

A strong wind meant lots of dust; Papa suffered from frequent headaches, and dust could bring on a bad one.

Just then the front door opened, and Papa came striding into the house. All three ran to hug and kiss him. He gave them each a big bear hug in return.

Then he rubbed his wind-blown hair and plopped down on one end of the sofa for a quick rest before washing up for dinner. What should I say when he asks us to talk about it in class?

He opened his eyes and fussed with his mustache, thinking. Ilona nodded and looked to her older sister for support. Marika and Ilona were now in eighth grade.

Marika had hoped this school year would be better than the last, with more friends and better grades. But it was exactly the same as before.

Look here, I can show you where God explains all about it. Here, Ilona, you read it out loud so your sisters can hear while Mama keeps working.

It was a wonderful story, but there was nothing there about evolution or monkeys turning into humans. Then explain respectfully what you do believe in—the Word of God and the story of creation.

Papa was right, of course, and they must obey him. But would they have enough courage when the time came?

Whenever they whispered or pointed in her direction, she felt sure they were making fun of her for being in seventh grade with her sister, Ilona, who was a year younger.

She knew they wanted to embarrass her, to force her to confess that her family, unlike most Hungarians, was not Catholic.

Stalling, Marika fingered one pigtail and looked out the window, pretending to think of an answer while silently asking God to give her the words.

Seconds later she felt a rush of courage. But we do go to church every week on the Sabbath. They gave each other puzzled looks, shaking their heads in disbelief.

My papa works every Saturday in his grocery store, all day long. The priest says so! She glanced at the classroom door, hoping to see the teacher entering.

But the door remained closed while the other students busily talked in small groups. Only God could help her.

You can read it for yourself. The teacher will be here any minute. For Marika and her family, religion was a lifestyle, not something done only at church once each week.

That was sometimes a problem in a Communist country. The year was , and the Russians still governed Hungary. Communists encouraged disloyalty among family members, coworkers, and friends through bribes and other incentives.

This made everyone distrustful of each other. Marika remembered how Mama had told her about losing their house in the small town of Gödöllö, where Marika was born.

After that, the family had moved to the nearby city of Budapest. Two years later Marika had watched the Hungarian people try to fight for more freedom and food in something called an uprising.

But Russian tanks had entered the city to stop it, killing thousands of protestors. The loud noise had woken Mama up and made her cry.

Budapest had been bombed for days, and everyone had been afraid. Because of that fear, Marika was never sure if a question about her religion was just someone being curious, or teasing to be mean, or something much worse, something that could get her parents into big trouble with the government.

Papa had warned his girls to be careful, to watch what they said about God and freedom, even to their friends. As the oldest, Marika understood that if something bad did happen, there would be no way to fight back or force the government to treat them fairly.

The winter air felt chilly as they wound through their neighborhood to the big house they shared with two other families. It was really an old mansion confiscated by the government after a wealthy Jewish family had abandoned it to escape harsh Russian control.

But Mama and Papa did what they could to make their part of the house feel more private. Coming around the path, they entered the house through their own private doorway.

They passed through the front room, where Mama and Papa slept, and went to the larger back room that doubled as a living and dining room during the day and a bedroom for the three sisters at night.

Beyond that room was the kitchen, where Mama was humming and making an afternoon snack. Can you put in extra honey with the club soda?

Its black iron door was open, and the burning logs glowed orange with wonderful warmth. They could have sat on the sofa bed where they slept at night, but they liked being on the rug.

In the other corner were two tall wardrobes for their clothes, with a dining table, a radio, and a record player nearby. She liked creative things, such as cooking and sewing.

Ilona, on the other hand, preferred science and electronics, especially when she could get her hands on a small appliance that could be taken apart and put back together.

She even took apart their electric iron, forcing Mama to use the heavy iron that had to be heated on the stove. They grumbled but obeyed. To disobey Mama or Papa was unthinkable!

Munching the homemade beigli, a pastry with sweet poppy seed filling, Marika thought ahead to the rest of seventh grade.

Would it always be like that? Or would eighth grade open up a whole new world? And the good news is that a neighbor who works in the office at the hospital nearby is willing to take you to and from school every day.

We would all miss you. Tide pools forgotten, they walked together up the beach to the stairs that led to the lawn on the bluff.

Akers gave me a bonus check this week. We can buy you a good pair of shoes. They acted like two schoolgirls themselves.

Sally dug her toes into the sand and stared at the ocean. She suddenly realized that freedom included launching out into the unknown. Now the unknown stared at her.

It beckoned for her to leap in, and yet it scared her, too. She would miss her brothers and sisters. God had opened a door leading into her future.

Sally walked down the sandy beach and climbed up onto the rocks that lay scattered at the foot of the cliff. Waves dashed into the tide pools and returned to the ocean, leaving behind food for the tiny creatures that huddled in them for safety.

Seagulls soared over the ocean beyond the rocks. She could taste the salty air and feel ocean mist on her face.

She spotted a deep, calm pool and sat down on a smooth rock at its edge. I longed for this day and prayed for it, she thought. I want to cry and laugh and shout all at once.

She took a deep breath to calm herself. Sally looked into the pool that held so many treasures.

The clear water shimmered in the sunlight. A miniature starfish climbed up the side of a rock on tiny tube feet.

Hermit crabs teetered about carrying blacktop shells on their backs. Fronds of seaweed undulated back and forth with the coming and going of waves.

The incoming water washed over it and withdrew to the ocean. In high tide and low tide, it clings tightly to the rock, Sally thought.

Through stormy oceans or summer calms, the abalone presses to the immovable rock. My future hides so much, she thought.

She did know that God had just opened a way for her to attend a Christian school. She could dream of new adventures that would come to her in the fall.

And the idea that joy and strength depended upon her connection with Jesus, her rock, had become a strong belief. Standing above the ocean she loved, she made a decision.

He rescued me and put love for Him and His creation in my heart. I will go on adventures and discover new things, then share what God teaches me with others.

Sally and Bob hurried into Mr. Thompson called the class to order. This caused discomfort and, I might add, an outcome that put frowns on most of your faces.

Thompson said with a smile. Almost every student agreed. Use the right words, and you can make people cry or laugh. Words used with skill can start a war or stop a riot.

At home that night Sally thought about words. She opened her Bible and read a few words in Isaiah For he has clothed me with a garments of salvation.

She walked to her window and looked out. Does God use the experiences of each day to create our life and make it take the direction He wants it to go, just like a writer uses words?

The idea pleased her. She plunked herself onto her bed. Sally thought about her love of God and the ocean. She felt curious, and loved adventure.

Now she was developing a fascination for words. Would God put all these things together in crafting her future?

Would you enjoy that? The ocean will pull back and expose acres of tide pools. They all walked into the living room. Mother fixed a delicious taco supper.

Long before sunrise they headed toward the ocean. After almost three hours of driving, they reached the shore.

It stretched out before them like a great, green blanket whipping in the wind. The boys and Anita headed for the waves.

Mother laid out a blanket on the green lawn that hugged the bluff above the shore. Alice and Grover played on an old tree.

Its long branches hung down to the grass, twisting and turning in wild shapes. Aunt Ann taught Sally how to lift rocks and check for brittle stars, seashells, and crabs beneath them.

Just as Sally lifted a flat rock, a tiny brown octopus crawled up onto her hand. She held it beneath the water for just a second.

The tiny suction cups stuck to her skin. She laughed when the little creature shot away. Nearby, limpets clung to the rocks and small hermit crabs teetered around in blacktop shells.

The ocean and I are a perfect fit. This is where I feel the most at home. I love wandering along the shore or snooping in the tide pools.

Suddenly she stopped and bent down. I saw its picture in my shell book. Aunt Ann made her way across the rocks to the tide pool.

It wraps itself in this thin piece of flesh called the mantle. The mantle keeps the cowrie clean and free of barnacles that try to attach to the shell.

This covering hides it from enemies. The idea startled her. Could it be that the cowrie shell is teaching me the same lesson as the Bible?

Sally and her aunt wandered over the now-exposed sea floor for the next hour. Every rock seemed to hide a treasure.

A wish of yours is about to come true. Their school bus made its way down a narrow winding road.

She looked down the face of the mountain and saw all the blackened places where the fire had burned the trees. What hurts most is that no one talks about it, she thought.

I know that Mother does all she can to make every home comfortable, even though many times she has very little to work with. The road twisted and turned so much that it almost ran over itself when it came around a curve.

My stomach almost turned inside out the first time. I think you could learn to skate too. I mean that, she thought. It would be wonderful to do something with Father like her brothers did.

When the bus finally arrived at its destination, they filed out the door and headed toward the school that clung to the mountainside just beyond the highway.

A sign over double glass doors read: He looked at us with a twinkle of amusement in his eyes. Thompson called, motioning to a tall boy on the back row.

Frank swaggered to the front. He grabbed a hunk of clay and carried it to his desk. He banged it onto his desk and attacked it with two knotted fists, his face twisting into a look of determination.

Susan inched to the front of the room when Mr. Thompson called her name. She extended both hands, holding the clay as far from her pink sweater as possible, then dropped the blob onto her desk.

He poked it and rolled it, forming a giraffe with an astounding long neck. Then, dissatisfied with this first attempt, Harold flattened his masterpiece with one slap of his dark hand.

One by one the students, including Bob, picked up their clay and sat down. Once at her desk Sally stared at the red-brown glob. She visualized the form of a fat pig with a curly tail and placed her hands on the clay.

For some unknown reason, her hands could not obey the commands of her brain and the object before her refused to shape itself into something that looked even remotely like a pig.

First it mimicked a basketball with lips, so she rolled it a bit to thin it down. Then it appeared to be a legless lizard with a walnut trapped inside.

The minutes ticked away, and the clay blob came no closer to becoming a pig. She glanced around and saw that the other students sat frowning at their clay objects.

Thompson explained as the bell rang. Please stop by the restroom and wash your hands. The pigs had been baked and cooled. They sat on the windowsill staring at the students, blaming them for their outcome.

I allowed you 30 minutes to produce a piggy bank. Let me ask you some questions. Did you want to make a piggy bank?

A loud bell rang. Thompson said, grinning at them. Father pulled into the parking lot at the Snow Valley Lodge. A police officer directed them into a parking spot.

She pulled a book from her backpack. Soon the lure of tropical islands captured her mind, and she forgot about the fire and dangers around her.

An hour later the boys returned with sack lunches. The wind carried ashes and smoke to Snow Valley. Around the parking lot groups of people stood talking, others paced back and forth, and everyone seemed to wear a frown.

But stay on high alert tonight. All night, planes continued to dump chemicals and water on the fire until it finally burned out.

Then firefighters spent several days hosing down hot spots. Gradually the stores in town reopened, and after two more days the police opened the road down the mountain to San Bernardino.

Schools opened after about a week, and everyone returned to their normal activities. Sally felt excited because this would be her last year in elementary school.

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They chose gold and purple for their class colors. Many suggestions popped up—and got shot down. It made her heart ache.

The next day at school Mr. Hoffman entered the classroom smiling. They suggest that the class earn the money for the trip as a group. Everyone will help, and all will go.

Sally read everything she could find about Catalina Island. Other activities came and went, but all she thought about was traveling on a huge ferryboat to an island where she would be surrounded by water.

The idea put a smile on her face every time she thought of it. Finally the day for the trip arrived. They traveled by bus, down the mountain, across the valley, and over the coastal mountain range to Long Beach.

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Sally stood in the bow of the ship, stretching her hands out to catch the ocean breeze. Suddenly the water below exploded with flying fish.

Their silver backs sparkled in the sunlight as they leaped into the sky.

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