“What about your violin, Miriam?” Ans asked. “Shall I take that for you too?” Miriam froze for a moment, unable to imagine being without it.

“I think it’s a good idea,” Avi said.

“Y-yes. Thank you.” She went into the bedroom to get it, pausing to run her hand over the violin’s smooth wooden case. She opened it and peeked inside as if checking to see that a baby was safely asleep, then closed the lid and fastened the latches. She held it to her chest for a moment, feeling foolish. After all, it would be waiting for her at the town house tomorrow. Yet it was much more than that. This move brought another change in her life, wrenching her from a place of relative comfort and security to a new and more dangerous stage. She pulled air into her lungs, determined to be strong for Elisheva’s sake.

They didn’t talk about Ans’s plan after she left. Avi lit the havdalah candle that evening, reciting the words that marked the end of the Sabbath day, then blew out the candle, plunging their apartment into darkness.

When church bells tolled across Leiden on Sunday morning, Miriam left her little home for the last time, wearing white gloves and a summer dress without a yellow star. A flowered straw hat covered her head, which felt lighter without her long hair. Ans had cut it for her, declaring her new style a fashion success. Avi said he liked it too.

Elisheva had stared in confusion at her father and grandfather, as if not recognizing them without their beards, but then Avi had laughed and tickled her and all was well. Miriam would have laughed at how different Avi looked too, with his bare face and strange tie and even stranger hat, but she was much too nervous as they prepared to leave for church to think anything was humorous.

She walked down the apartment stairs and propped Elisheva in her baby carriage. They had already said a tearful goodbye to Mrs. Spielman last night. She would go with the authorities to Amsterdam, she’d said. She would live with her sons and grandchildren in the resettlement camp.

Abba had acted oddly all morning, staring at Miriam and Avi and the baby as if memorizing their faces. When he halted in the downstairs doorway instead of continuing forward, dread suddenly filled her. “Come on, Abba. The church bells are ringing. We need to go.”

“I’m not going with you, Miriam. You and Avi and Elisheva will be safe with the Huizengas.”

“Abba, no!”

“When the authorities come, I will tell them you already moved to Amsterdam so Avi could find work. I’ll give them an address there.”

“Abba! No! You can’t do this! I won’t let you! You have to come with us!”

“Shh . . . shh . . . you mustn’t make a fuss. Someone will hear.”