Tears filled her eyes, but not because she was afraid. Ans knew how much Erik’s work meant to him, how committed he was to upholding the law. The Nazis would execute him if they suspected he was collaborating with the underground. Her tears were for what he had just risked for her. And because she feared he would ask her to choose between her love for him and her work for the Resistance.

“I’m okay,” she said again. She had a twenty-five-minute wait until the return train to Leiden. Maybe her knees would stop trembling by then.

When it was time to leave, she and her contact said farewell and picked up each other’s bag. The new one had a botany textbook in it and a bird guidebook. Ans had no idea what messages, if any, were sewn into the lining.

She boarded the train, hoping the Leiden station would be crowded when she got off, hoping Erik would be gone. What could she say to him? No explanation or apology seemed sufficient, no expression of gratitude enough to thank him for saving her.

She hurried home without looking up at anyone, then picked at her supper and went to bed early, telling Eloise she felt unwell.

Ans wept and worried all night long. She loved Erik. She feared this would be the end of their relationship, and she didn’t want it to be. She raged at the war that had made their love impossible. Erik had been trained to obey authority. How could Ans explain that she had to obey a higher authority?

The first thing she said when Erik arrived at her door early the next morning was “I’m so sorry. I know you must be angry with me and —”

But he pulled her into his arms, cutting off her words. He held her tightly, his face pressed against her hair. “Do you want to come in out of the rain?” she asked when he released her again.

“I’m already wet. Let’s walk.”

Ans tied a kerchief over her head and went outside with him. They walked with their arms around each other. Rain dampened her face along with her tears as they followed the street beside the canal until it joined the Rijn, the trees sheltering them from the worst of the rain.

“May I explain why I —?”

“Do you have any idea what would have happened to you if one of those Nazi soldiers had been the one who’d looked in your bag instead of me?” He halted, letting go of her. His voice trembled with emotion. She couldn’t tell if it was sorrow or relief or anger. Perhaps all three. “They would have arrested you. And when you got to the police station, they would have tortured you until you gave up the names of all your contacts. All of the people who were responsible for that newspaper.”