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Rations had been cut once again, and there were reports that SS officers were going from door to door looking for suspects, shooting people on the street for the flimsiest of reasons to avenge the German lives lost in the dual Resistance offensives.

Still, she felt suffocated, stranded in the confines of her flat, doomed to a lonely Christmas and anxious about the fate of the missing farmer. She was helpless, saddened, and silenced, and it made her jumpy

She drank tea, tried to read a paper on canine influenza, took in the seams of two woolen skirts to fit her shrinking frame.

At two in the afternoon, unable to sit any longer, she put down her sewing needle, donned a heavy sweater and one of the newly altered skirts, grabbed her coat and scarf and ran out into the cold.

There were few people on the street. Most families, she imagined, were spending the day at home, doing their best to make the most of a cheerless Christmas. Even the watchful Germans were less in evidence than she had feared as she navigated the windswept streets.

Withered brown leaves found refuge at every curb, leaving the barren trees to stand watch against a threatening, battleship grey sky.

Zoe pulled her scarf up around her face.

She imagined the lot of arrogant Germans, warm and beer-soaked in their stadsplein headquarters, feasting on roasted Christmas goose and strudel while Hollanders survived on hardtack and tulip bulbs .

Jamming her hands into her coat pockets, she walked and walked, and it was not until she rounded a corner and saw it straight ahead of her that she realized where she had been heading.

There were few cars in the hospital parking lot, what with petrol increasingly scarce, but there were bicycles parked near the entrance.

The same guard she had seen the other night stood at the revolving door entrance, stamping his feet against the cold.

He looked up and nodded to her as she slipped inside.

It was marginally warmer inside. She took the elevator up to Gerritt’s office, but he was not in evidence, and the desks outside were mostly deserted. One young woman put down her book to say that several administrators had the day off, and that she did not know the whereabouts of Dr. Visser.

Zoe stood in the hallway and considered.

She doubted her cousin had taken had taken time off for the holidays.

Finally, she pushed the elevator button for the top floor and exited into an eerie silence.

She made her way in semi-darkness past canvas-shrouded windows and construction clutter, and slipped behind the faux wall.

Even then, there was only muted sound. Zoe knocked gently, the pre-arranged knock they had agreed upon to signal that the visitor was friendly. Still, heads swiveled in her direction when she entered.

Gerritt was seated at a ‘patient’s’ bedside. He rose instantly when he saw her, crossed the room and air-kissed her on both cheeks. “ Prettige Kerst , cousin” he whispered. Happy Christmas.

“Happy Christmas,” she said, returning his smile. But her eyes looked past his shoulder, searching the crowded room for the storyteller.

MILA

Her mother was resting with a headache, Reit told her in the kitchen. But her father was waiting to see her .

No doubt , thought Mila, allowing herself a slab of the cook’s brown bread with a dollop of orange marmalade. She chewed slowly, holding off the moment, but in the end, there was no putting it off.

She passed through the great room, taking no pleasure from the enormous Christmas tree, or the fireplace festooned with greenery.

“Come in,” her father responded to her knock on the study door. She slipped into the room.

Blue velvet draperies fronted the windows, tied back with heavy gold cord. The walls were lined with books and trophies, and a small, carved table held an enormous world globe. Mila waited in silence until father put down his pen and looked up. “Mila. You are feeling well?”

“Yes, thank you.”

Another silence. “Then explain to me what in the name of God you were doing near the Cinema when Klaus so propitiously found you.”

Her father rarely invoked a Creator. Mila raised her chin. “I was – merely passing by, Father. I was walking home. I was on my way.”

“On your way home. What about your alleged bridge game?”

“My friends had given up and gone by the time I arrived.” She hoped the heat in her face did not show. “I was late, as you know, as I had stayed home for dinner, and so I left and was walking home alone.”

Her father looked at her through narrowed eyes. “Are you telling me you know nothing about the blast that took so many German lives?”

Mila stood her ground. “I was near the Cinema, and everything went black, and all I remember is the aftermath,” she said, grateful for the shred of truth. “The blast must have knocked me off my feet.”

She jumped nearly out of her chair as his fist smacked the top of his desk.

“Mila, do you have any idea how fortunate you were that it was the Obersturmfurher who found you? Do you have any awareness of what might have happened had you been found by a less friendly Reich officer?”

Mila blinked.

He pounded the desk again. “Do you? ”

“I think so, Father. Ja, it was fortunate that it was he who found me and that he understood my innocence.”

He took a moment. But his voice, when he spoke, held menace. “Swear to me, Mila,” her father said slowly, “that you were in no way involved with what occurred last night at the Cinema…”

“Why would you ask that?” She skirted the question.

“I did not hear an answer.”

She tamped down her dread, raised her chin. “Why do you ask such a question?”

“Because, Mila,” his voice was steely. “I suspect that your actions not only betray me, but that your sympathies lie with the Resistance.”

It took every ounce of calm she could muster. She met her father’s gaze.

“No more so, Father, then you betray our country when you collaborate with the Nazis who are strangling us.”

EVI

There was a flurry of snow on the day before the New Year. Evi let herself out of the barge and let a few flakes melt on her tongue, then shivered, pulled her sweater close around her and let herself back in.

She paced the small cabin, filled with nervous energy. The news from the front was not encouraging. School was closed for the holiday recess, and who knew if it would open again?

She had heard nothing from Mila, and she was eager to know if there would be another rendezvous at a beer tavern. Another German dead would suit her just fine, especially if she could shoot him herself.

She closed her eyes and pictured the scene – the drunken Nazi, reaching for his zipper, then panic on his miserable face at the sight of Evi’s drawn pistol.

“I could do it. I know I could,” she whispered to herself. All she needed was some proper training – and a firearm .

She sat for a moment at the kitchen table, looked out over grey river meeting grey sky at a barely discernible horizon.

She knew where Zoe lived, the little flat she had been to with Mam to deliver an armchair one day. Zoe worked with Daan Mulder, and Daan was one of the Resistance leaders. He surely can arrange for shooting lessons.

The snow had stopped. There were hours of daylight before curfew. Mam was working a shift at the pharmacy. Evi had no way to know if Zoe was at home, but the timing was perfect if she was.

...

Her nose was frozen and her fingers tingled in her woolen gloves by the time she rapped on Zoe’s door.

A long moment. “Who is there?”

Evi thought she heard a tremor in the voice. “It is Evi. Evi Strobel.”

Another moment, then the door opened. “Evi?”

Evi smiled.

Zoe opened the door wider. “Evi, is everything all right?”

“Yes, yes,” she said., the door closing behind her. “I just – I needed to see you. I do not know where Mila Brouwer lives, so I came here with a request of the Resistance.”

Zoe helped her out of her coat. “A request?”

“Yes,” she pulled off her gloves and rubbed her cold hands together. “Daan Mulder is a leader in the council, yes?”

It occurred to her that Zoe might not know that Evi was fighting for the cause.

She pulled off the bright blue her cap Mam had made her for Christmas, shook her blonde hair into place, and assumed what she hoped was an earnest adult pose.

“Sit, please., Evi” Zoe said. “I have tea. Would you like some?”

She turned to put the kettle on before Evi could respond, then busied herself finding cups and saucers from a high shelf. “I don’t often have visitors,” she murmured .

The walls of the tiny flat were painted a pale green, and two braided green and white area rugs brightened the worn wood floor. Evi saw the upholstered chair that she and Mam had delivered in Leela Baakker’s truck. She sat across from it in an ancient wingback, the only other chair in the room.

In minutes, Zoe laid a tea tray on the table between them. Evi took the steaming cup.

“Now,” Zoe said, sitting. “Daan is one of the Resistance leaders, Ja . I am not sure I can help you, Evi, but tell me what it is you want.”

Evi leaned forward. “I am not sure if you know this, Zoe, but twice now, under Mila’s guidance, I have – I have helped to kill Nazi officers.

I flirt with them in a tavern until they are drunk, then lure them into the woods, where Resistance shooters are waiting to kill them, take their uniforms and identification paper, and leave their bodies in a ditch. ”

Zoe’s eyes widened. “I had no idea…how old are you, Evi?”

She was tired of the question, but she told the truth. “Sixteen. Seventeen in February.”

Zoe took a deep breath. “Well. You are a very brave girl.”

“Mila says that as well.” Evi sat up straighter. “Do you know Mila Brouwer? She was the one who recruited me.”

“I know of Mila, yes. I know that she is involved with the Resistance.”

“Well, the last time I – the last time I grappled with a drunken German, I was very nearly…” she could feel her face redden. “The revolting pig was squirming on top of me before he was stopped by a bullet”

“ Lieve god , Evi…”

“I was saved that night by an American airman. His name is Jacob Reese. His plane was downed in a Dutch field and he is in hiding with a Haarlem farm family. It was fortunate for me that he was walking about that night. His bullet saved my life.”

Zoe’s mouth dropped open .

“I should have been able to shoot the bastard, Zoe – and I would have if I owned a pistol. That is what I want from the Resistance leaders – a pistol and the training to use it.”

There was a moment of silence as Zoe leaned back in her chair.

“I think I understand,” she said. “I understand the danger you face. You really are a brave girl, Evi. But you surely know that owning a weapon requires a permit – and that these days, they are harder to get except for a specific purpose – like training to become a police officer.”

“Some of our Dutch police are Nazi collaborators - “

“Yes, but many others work on our side – and in any case, they were almost certainly issued their weapons after they joined the force.”

“But –”

“Evi, even if you applied for a permit, you are not of legal age. I cannot think of a circumstance under which you could legally own a firearm.”

Evi paused. “Illegally, then. Surely the Resistance leaders have their own stash of firearms.”

Zoe’s eyebrows shot up.

“I know they do, because I help to procure them. I think it is only fair to see that I am able to protect myself.”

Zoe looked at her. She poured more tea. “Drink this while it is hot, Evi…I will take your request to Daan.”