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“Thank you, Jacob, but I will not change my mind,” she vowed, helping with the sheets and blankets. In moments they had all retreated down the hall, leaving her in the uneasy quiet.

She imagined Jacob in his bed, eyes wide open, hands behind his head, longing, she hoped, to be as near to her as she longed to be near him.

She imagined Willem, lost in the sort of adolescent dreams that she could barely remember.

She thought of the Beekhof elders, of their faith and generosity, curled, perhaps in each other’s arms, sheltering one another from the frenzied world in ways she could only guess at.

And as the last of the moonlight drained from the sky, and she could no longer battle the insistence of sleep, she closed her eyes and saw the yellow barge bobbing somewhere in the cold North Sea – forever guarded, she wished with all her heart, by the ghosts of her mother and the poor, sick baby, Jacob Rood.

ZOE

Zoe met her cousin’s gaze. “Gerritt, you’ve been kind and patient throughout this whole ordeal,” she said, “and resourceful, hiding these fugitives behind the semblance of a faked renovation.”

“ Ja, but I am increasingly worried as my German friend becomes more demanding,” he told her. “I am not all certain, should he send in troops to search, that they would not simply bully their way past our little subterfuge.”

Zoe pressed her lips together. “I have been wondering the very same thing,” she said.

Gerritt sighed. “The fifth floor seemed like the best option, Zoe, because it is light by day, which is at least a more normal way for people to live.”

He paused. “But the prospect that a German search party might find it fills me with something very close to terror.”

As it should, Zoe understood. Gerritt’s own life would then be in jeopardy…

“Also,” she said, “there is no escape route, Gerritt - nowhere for the fugitives to run. They would be sitting ducks should the Germans find them…”

When he spoke, Gerritt’s voice was firm. “That is something that has nagged at me from the start,” he resumed his pace.

Finally, he sat. “There is another option,” he said.

“The basement. It is where we housed our pathology lab until the power was cut, and we were forced to move it. It still houses the morgue. I rejected it as a hiding place because it is below street level. There is little natural light, to speak of, and space is limited. But there is a doorway there that leads to the ambulance bay outside.”

“Zoe pondered it. “The morgue. I can see your reluctance, cousin. It would be a difficult space for anyone to inhabit…”

Gerritt nodded.

“Also,” he said, “there is a small sub-basement. It was used for storage at one time, I think, but now it is mostly empty. There is a short staircase leading down to it from the morgue that also empties into the ambulance bay – and since the sub-basement is not a part of the elevator system, it might more easily escape notice.”

“That’s perfect,” Zoe said. “A search party cannot find what is not there.”

Gerritt was quiet, but Zoe plowed ahead .

“We would need to be careful about moving the refugees,” she said. “On gurneys, perhaps, a few at a time, as though they are headed for the morgue...If we manage it right, with no undue sense of urgency, it should not alert staff on any of the other floors.”

Gerritt’s face registered his hesitance.

“It will not be an easy place for people to co-exist,” he said. “It will be cramped at best, with little available light. Anxiety levels will soar, and it may be all but impossible to keep the little ones from acting out.”

A vision of Kurt reading stories passed before Zoe’s eyes.

“We can bring in some light – lanterns perhaps,” she offered.

“But people will have to make do with pallets or blankets on the floor.”

Zoe brought her hands to her face. “It is far from ideal, Gerritt. But little is these days – and in the worst case, with the ambulance bay outside, there’s a chance, at least, that some of these people may be able to outrun German bullets…”

MILA

Without a conscious thought about where she was going, Mila found herself staring across the intersection at the closed and padlocked door of the plumber’s office. There was no sign of Pieter or anyone else.

Heartsick, and wary of being seen in the area after her father’s admonition, she tugged gently at Hondje’s leash and turned the corner – and realized almost instantly that she was not far from the auto parts shop where she had met with Pieter and Johan Steegen.

She stood for a moment outside the shop, and watched as Steegen slid out from under a silver-colored Porsche. Hearing the tinkle of a bell over her head, she opened the door and ducked inside, Hondje close at her heels.

Steegen, seeing her, rose and looked around him, as though to be sure no one was watching. Then he nodded formally. “ Missen Brouwer. ”

He reached down to ruffle Hondje’s topknot. “We have not seen you for a while. Is there a problem with your father’s Daimler?”

Mila smiled. “Not that I am aware, dank u . I was – I thought perhaps you might know how to help with another matter.”

His heavy brows knit together.

“Is there something else?”

Mila bit her lip. I have been trying without success to contact Pieter,” she whispered. “Have you by any chance seen him of late?”

“I have not,” Steegen said “But it is quite possible he is in Amsterdam.”

Mila’s brow furrowed. “In Amsterdam?”

Steegen inclined his head. “It appears there is – a mission he is intent on completing.”

Surely not, Mila’s mouth fell open. Surely, Pieter would not have gone back to mount a second attempt on de Boer’s life…

Steegen’s expression did nothing to dispute it.

“Is there something else?” he asked.

Oh, Pieter….

She cleared her throat. “As a matter of fact, there is,” she murmured. She told him briefly about the assault on the barge, the Nazis’ cold-blooded murder of Lotte Strobel.

“There is no way to know how far the barge might have floated,” she told him, “Or if it can even be located. But if it can be found, is there a way, do you think, to bring it back here to Haarlem?”

The tall Dutchman met her gaze. “Off the coast of Rotterdam, you say?”

“ Ja.”

Steegen passed a big hand over his face. “I cannot promise,” he said at length. “But we can try. I will need help. Let me talk to Bakker and some of the others.”

Mila bit her lip. With Daan gone, and Pieter who knew where, she understood their resources were dwindling.

Steegen lifted a tray full of nuts and bolts. “I must get back to work,” he told her. “One never knows who may be watching… ”

Mila nodded, backing toward the door, winding Hondje’s leash around her wrist.

EVI

It seemed to Evi that the morning sun was warmer on her back. It made her feel less burdened, somehow, as though winter might after all come to an end – that soon there would be spring vegetables, and some of the grief that still consumed her might begin seep away in the sunlight.

She had followed Jacob out the back door of the farm house, her jacket open, the Colt tucked into the waistband of her skirt. A target practice, Jacob had suggested, might be just the thing to keep her focused.

“I have butchered a chicken,” Mevrouw Beekhof had called from behind them. “ Behagen , the two of you – remind Papa and Willem to be here in time for Evi’s birthday dinner at noon.”

Evi’s eyes widened. It was a difficult choice, she knew, for Mevrouw to deal with the few chickens left in her yard – whether to keep them for the occasional egg, or surrender them one by one for food.

That she had sacrificed one of them on Evi’s behalf touched her to the core – and the very thought of roasted chicken for lunch was enough to lift her spirits.

“I will race you to the targets,” she shouted to Jacob, running through the cleared brush. “The last one there is a kaskop !”

“What’s a kaskop ?” Jacob took up running beside her.

“I think in English, it means, cheese head,” she called. “And that will be you! You are a cheese head!”

“So, you say,” Jacob panted, picking up enough speed to pass her, but flagging at the end so that he nearly collided with her when she turned, hands triumphantly on her hips, at the target range.

“Whoa,” he managed, grabbing her by the shoulders. “Damn, I am seriously out of shape! ”

Breathing hard, Evi said nothing, just stared into his amber eyes. He was close enough that she could feel his breath, and she all but swayed at the memory of the single kiss they had shared that night under the oak tree.

She willed him, yearned for him to kiss her again. But he blinked after a moment and pulled away.

“Good job, Itty-Bitty,” he said.

Embarrassed now, she backed away and reached for the Colt. “I’ll bet I can out-shoot you, too.”

“Hah!” he retorted, bringing out his pistol. “That will be the day You’re on!”

...

After an hour, it was quite clear Jacob could absolutely out-shoot her, hitting the collection of makeshift targets very time. But Evi hit them often enough to take pride in her own skill.

He looked at his watch. “Time to round up the Beekhof men for your birthday lunch,” he said. “Wait here. I’ll go down and get them.”

Evi cocked her head. It was not the first time she had observed Jacob and the Beekhof men going off to work in the lower field.

“It is too early to be planting,” she said, “What are the three of you doing in the lower field?”

“Clearing,” Jacob told her. “Just clearing the field. It’s a long, tiring job.”

She shaded her eyes, watched his broad back recede, shifted her weight from one foot to the other. After a moment, the earlier playfulness returned.

“Wait,” she called. “I will race you!”

She could not be sure whether his silence was assent, or whether he simply had not heard her, but she began to lope after him, through tall grasses that seemed to go on forever. She thought she heard voices, stopped to listen, but saw no one.

“Jacob? Willem! Where are you?”