Jakob was released in April — not from mercy but because the prison was overcrowded. Seventeen more Anabaptists sat in neighboring cells. The Council decided: cheaper to expel than feed.
'Leave the canton within three days. If you return — the galleys.'
Three days. Thirty years of life — into three days.
Packing
Anna packed what they could carry: clothes, Bible, knife, rope, sack of flour, bundle of candles, blankets. Two children: Hans — four, Maria — two. Sold the cow to a neighbor at half price. The house — simply left. To whom? The canton? God will sort it.
Jakob Ammann waited at the fork beyond the village. With him — eleven families. Forty-three people: men, women, children, one old man (grandfather Stauffer, seventy-two, lame, but refused to stay).
Through the Mountains
Walked at night. By day — hid in forests, in barns of sympathetic farmers. Route: west, through the Jura, into Alsace (then France). Anabaptists were tolerated there — for now.
Hans rode on Jakob's back. Anna carried Maria. Grandfather Stauffer walked with a stick, silent, slowest of all, but never stopping. When Jakob offered to carry his pack, the old man said: 'I carry my own cross, boy.'
Fourth night — the pass. Snow. Maria cried from cold. Anna wrapped her in both blankets. Walked in just her dress. Jakob took off his jacket, threw it on Anna. Anna threw it off. 'You're carrying the child. You need it more.' He put it back on. They didn't argue — no strength for it.
At dawn on the fifth day, Grandfather Stauffer said: 'I see vineyards.' It was Alsace. France. Freedom — for a while.