A/N: This chapter was co-written with Carly aka Child of the Dawn!

Once church was over, the orphans, neatly walking two by two, hand in hand, followed Sister Ursula through the large, wooden doors of the chapel. Emma Adeline, who knew the nun’s eyes were still fixed sternly on her, didn’t share the usual giggle with Jozephine, whose hand she held. She instead kept her eyes focused on the back of Alexander’s reddish head- clenching her lips tightly together in what she thought a pious fashion. It even seemed to work.

Indeed- after one more, threatening glare at Emma, Sister Ursula went on walking right after the orphans, somewhat dragging her feet like she always did.

It was not fatigue or indolence that made her drag her simple, leather shoes against the stone floor. No- sister Ursula did not feel fatigue. Or at least her orphans thought she didn’t.

But they all knew why their teacher and caretaker somewhat strayed behind them. She did so everyday- until a very well-known pair of greyish-blue eyes appeared next to the Sister’s dark green ones, and a pleased smile enfolded on her lips.

“Good morning, Father Victor.” she softly muttered in her low, pleasant voice, not looking him in the eye.

“Good morning, Sister Ursula.” the priest smiled, folding his hands before his black, Benedictine habit. The mahogany wooden cross round his neck slightly dangled at its cord as they walked on.

“And how are your little charges today, Sister Ursula?”

The nun could not suppress a faint, proud smile as she observed the four children before her for a moment before answering. Because despite the facts that Emma forgot her exercises, that Ingrid could be terribly whiny sometimes, that Alexander was way too serious for his age and that Jozephine’s reading was nothing to be proud of yet- proud she was. Though she’d never admit it, she was in her way very fond of the four children whom she’d brought up- was still bringing up, that was.

“Very well, Father Victor.”

Emma let out a faint relieved sigh at these words- Sister Ursula apparently didn’t reckon her forgetfulness important enough to discuss it with “their spiritual father”, as the nun often put it. But of course she was wrong- the Sister was way too conscientious a woman to ever forget such a thing.

“Although Emma Adeline here has been rather absent-minded concerning her maths exercises again.”

Emma Adeline stared at her feet, but the stroke of Father Victor’s wrinkled hand on top of her brown hair made her smile again.

“I am sure, Sister Ursula, that little Emma will try harder to fight that particular tendency of hers. Won’t you, Emma?”

Emma half turned around and as the serious, grey eyes of the priest met her own, blue ones, she earnestly nodded. She meant it. That was the effect Father Victor Wallsend had on people.

Sister Ursula, though, faintly shook her head, but could hardly suppress an amused smile as she addressed Father Victor

“You are spoiling them, Father.”

The Priest smiled too as he turned towards the Sister again.

“Ah, Sister Ursula, children have never died of a bit of spoiling, have they? And I am sure our Emma will do everything she can to conscientiously make her exercises everyday.”

Emma Adeline could only nod under his twinkling gaze.

Emma was done with her work that day very early. Father Victor had looked so confident in her that she hadn't the heart to be her usual self. And now she sat on the bench in front of the house where the children lived, idle time causing her mind to wander in directions she was sure were too much for a child her age.

Her parents were completely unknown. That was the thought swirling in her head. Unknown was such a nasty word in her mind. Like being called worthless, it held a special sting that could not be defended. She could not refuse its truth.

" Emma, child, what are you doing here? It’s so cold!"

Her head popped up suddenly at that voice. From her right, Father Victor was walking towards the bench.

" Thinking...Father Victor.." He smiled and took his seat next to her.

Emma felt his jacket falling on her shoulders. She smiled shyly up at him.

" Thank you, Father." She said, immediately feeling a sting at the word 'father'.

Father Victor noticed, and gently held her shoulder.

" Tell me, child." Emma whimpered into his shirt, swallowed, and looked back up at him with tears in her eyes.

" Father, I know neither mother nor father...I have no last name. Why have I no name?" She sniffed, and buried her face back into his warm shirt.

He stroked her back as she began to cry, even though she didn't know why exactly she cried.

" The night you were brought here...Emma, dear child, you were so very young. But it took only a few seconds to see you were no poor man's child nor a Scarlet woman's abandoned one. Your clothes werw white and pressed. And you were the cleanest little thing I had ever seen."

Emma looked up, slightly startled. He was giving her clues, clues that would make her past clearer!

" Sister Ursula never wished you know. She feared it would be too much, but it seems it left holes that bring you pain."

" Was that it Father? We're my parents simply rich?"

He sat there for a moment, seemingly unable, or unwilling, to respond. The he sighed very deeply and looked down into her bright blue eyes.

" My child, do you know what the men running Germany were like?"

" Terrible, Father. They let mean men hurt the Jews in the streets..."

" Yes, they did...Emma, your parents were in with those bad people...I can only think that your father was a high-ranking official." Emma sat stock still, conflicting emotions freezing her to the spot.

A sudden...joy for father's position mixed with a learned fear of the Nazi government...and a feeling she couldn't place, like not caring about what the 'mean men' did. Her head began to hurt something terrible, so she turned back into Father Victor's side, crying softly. The middle-aged man simply sat there with her, stroking her back and singing hymns in a low tenor voice.

Emma unconsciously listened to them, through her own, confused thoughts, and they brought her comfort like no other words could ever do. He sounded so very sad, so- desperate, in a way, and yet his presence calmed her down. When she looked up again from her half-lying position- after what felt like minutes, but must have been more than half an hour- Emma could have sworn that his older, wrinkled cheeks, too, were stained by a couple of silvery tears.

Too shy to ask, and not knowing what to say, she just flung her arms around the older man’s neck- impulsively- and he smiled again.

“Are you sad, Father Victor?”

It was a question like only a small child could ask- and the priest just sighed and stroked the little girl’s dark brown hair.

“We all have our burdens to carry, little Emma. I as well as you.”

And only after a short while he added

“You as well as I.”