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The address Pieter had given her was in a shabby, red brick building set between a barber shop and a shuttered camera store.

Mila picked her way around a bombed-out crater in the cobblestoned street and crossed the road.

The sign on the glass door read, Van der Gruden Plumbing Supply . Mila knocked gingerly and walked in.

The man sitting at the only desk in the room was blond and clean-shaven with the greenest eyes she had ever seen. He rose from the desk to greet her, and something in his smile caught at her heart.

“Mila, ja ? Please, come in!”

Shaken, she worked to find her voice. “Pieter? Ja, hallo . It is good to finally see your face.”

What a s tupid thing to say,” she told herself. ‘Good to see your face!’

But he did have a remarkable face, strong, compelling, intelligent. And how could he not be all these things, four years at the head of the Resistance movement in one of the largest cities in the Netherlands?

Pieter only smiled again, indicated a chair facing his desk, and waited for her to sit before he did. “It’s good to meet you, too, Mila,” he said in the resonant voice she knew. “And to thank you in person on behalf of the Council. Your contributions have been invaluable.”

She took a moment to match her tone to his. “Thank you, Pieter, but hardly necessary.”

“But it is. Some of the casual intelligence you have gained and shared with us has been more useful than you know.” He paused.

“Among other things. it has helped us to blow up a German storage facility, raid a stock of Nazi radio equipment, and commandeer more than one hidden store of food or supplies.”

Mila offered a wry smile. “It is the least I can do, given that my father, willingly or not, is collaborating with our German enemies…”

“We all do what we must.” Pieter shrugged. “And despite my misgivings, your scheme at the tavern the other night was a brilliant success. How is the girl? Is she willing to repeat, do you think?”

“I hope so. I will talk with Evi tomorrow. I think she may have been a little – overwhelmed. But she is strong-willed and committed, and I am hopeful she has been able to overcome her misgivings.”

“Good,” Pieter nodded. “It is a small-scale operation and it must remain so, but worth the risk, I think, for the uniforms and identification papers.”

“I hope Evi decides so as well. And her mother.” She sighed. “I only wish there was more I could do!”

Pieter leaned forward. “I hoped you would be thinking that, Mila…because it seems perhaps you can, if you are up to the risk.”

She looked up.

“You were an art major in school, were you not?”

“I did some drawing, yes, mostly fashion…”

“The Allies have determined that the Germans are building more than just a new defensive line in the north. There is construction going on all along the coastline – machine gun nests, observation points, and more. We have been asked by the British to provide a map of the installations. But we need to get close enough to do so.”

Mila listened.

“If we can send such a map through channels, we have reason to hope for a strategic raid by England’s Royal Air Force – possibly even on German submarine facilities, which would severely cripple their nautical abilities.”

She was unsure how she could help.

“Access anywhere near those military zones is highly restricted, as you might imagine, Mila – and to create even a rudimentary map would take an eye for detail, a practiced hand – and enough charm and quick thinking to maneuver past the SS guards.”

She cocked her head.

“It is a dangerous task, Mila, with no less risk than you have assigned to Evi Strobel. You cannot be caught red-handed sketching behind enemy lines – and I am not sure how, or if, we could help you should you need it. But you speak excellent German, your background as an art student makes for plausible cover, and you are a beautiful woman with a proven talent for captivating officers of the Reich.”

Mila was speechless.

“You would, of course, carry forged papers,” Pieter said. “And we can provide you with drawings of the pre-war installations. You can study them as the baseline from which to work if you choose to do this.”

Mila thought for a moment. It was indeed not any more dangerous than what she had asked of Evi.

Pieter did not press her.

She took a moment. “I cannot promise I can manage this, Pieter. I can only promise to do my best.”

He nodded as though he expected nothing less. “Are you certain?”

“I am.”

His green eyes studied her. “You understand the risk – and the danger.”

“I do.”

He watched her for a moment, as though she might change her mind, then reached into a drawer and brought out identification papers for a Trude Altenkamp, 28, born in Zurich, Switzerland. He slid them across the desk to her, along with a thin manila folder.

Trude Altenkamp . Mila memorized the name, glanced at the paperwork, slipped it all into her oversized bag. She held out a hand as she rose to leave, but to her surprise, Pieter came around the desk and took both her hands in his.

“You are a brave woman, Mila – and resourceful,” he told her. “You are a credit to your countrymen….to all of us. ”

It was no more than she had told Evi Strobel. But it warmed her, nonetheless.

EVI

It was cold in the barge, as always. Evi pulled a green sweater close around her, examined her handiwork, and lit another match.

There were enough bits of leftover candlewax to fashion into a new candle, and just enough of a length of wick.

Mam would be pleased. “Waste not, want not,” she had admonished so often that Evi heard it in her dreams.

She looked at the finished candle, reasonably rounded and sleek, marbled with the soft colors of candles past, and she remembered something. She ran to her sleeping quarters, rummaged through a drawer, pulled out a length of red grosgrain ribbon. Perfect!

She tied the ribbon around the base of the candle, wrapped it carefully in tissue. It would make a perfect Christmas gift for Mam.

She sucked in her breath, feeling tears ready to spring, as they so often did these days. She blinked them way, threw her hands over her eyes. It was hard enough to keep hunger at bay, never mind worrying over Christmas.

Still, the holiday was on her mind, and it was something to focus on besides that night in the woods with the SS officer.

She had been scared nearly out of her mind by the time they left the smoky tavern.

She thanked God the German had been too drunk to notice how badly she was trembling.

Then the gun shot in the darkness, the burly body of the drunk SS officer crumpling to the ground, nearly on top of her, literally before he knew what hit him.

She had no pity for the dead Nazi. He and his like deserved to die – and she tried not to picture him being stripped of his uniform, pistol and papers, or his body tossed into the waiting ditch as Mila led her away .

But the boldness of the mission – the sheer daring, and her own part in making it happen, had left her breathless. What if the German had been just sober enough to realize he was being tricked? What if the Resistance shooter had misjudged the rendezvous point? What if she had misjudged it?

She still was not sure how she had felt when it was over…Fear? Pride? Recklessness?

But after three days of thinking it through, she had mostly been able to put her doubts aside. She was ready and willing to do it again if she was asked.

Mam would be against it. She had been reluctant from the beginning, and although Evi had shared with her as little as possible, she knew Mam was anxious for her, protective, as though she were still a child.

Evi moved to the mirror above the bathroom sink, studied her serious face. She was not a child. Not anymore. Not after what she had done in the name of justice and what she hoped she could do again. She was still two months shy of her seventeenth birthday, but she was not a child anymore.

...

At four o’clock, it was nearing dark, and Evi began to worry. Mam had left this morning to work a shift in one of the only pharmacies still operating in Haarlem. But the pharmacy closed at three. Where was she?

Perhaps she had been needed to be at the Dans Hal – or she’d gotten word of new rations. They were living mostly on bread and potatoes, so anything new would be welcome.

The thought of food made her mouth water. Evi went back to her book, but she could not focus. Anything could happen in these dangerous days. Anyone could be stopped and harassed by German interrogators for no reason at all – and Mam took chances every day .

By the time she heard footsteps descending from the wharf, she was nearly frantic.

“Mam – are you alright?”

“ Ja, lieveling , I am fine.” Mam threw off her heavy wool cape, stepped out of her shoes.

“I am sorry. I knew you would worry. Daan Mulder summoned me to the Dans Hal. It seems a major tulip grower outside of Den Helder has plowed up all the bulbs on his land and is giving them away for food. I will take the barge tomorrow, while you are in school. There will be food to share, Evi. Think of it!”

Evi felt her muscles go slack, knowing Mam was all right. But Den Helder… the air base…the bombings…it was a dangerous destination,

“But, Mam…”

“Never fear, l ieveling , I will be careful. I will make the run in the early daylight, and be back here well before curfew.”

Tulip bulbs …Evi wanted to protest. What if Mam was seen – and stopped? But people were starving, and the prospect of food – even starchy tubers – made it difficult to argue.

...

She was rinsing their soup bowls, daydreaming of sausages and fresh eggs, when she heard a light tapping at the door.

“Hallo? It is Mila.”

“Mila!” She let her into the barge. “Come in.”

Mila hugged her, but the look in her eyes when she pulled back was questioning.

“I am fine, Mila, truly,” Evi gestured to the small sofa.