She was out of breath by the time she reached the doorway leading out to the third floor. She closed it behind her quietly and paused to listen, trying to catch her breath, her heart somersaulting. The Gestapo moved swiftly through the house, tromping in their heavy boots, shouting to each other in German. They were already on the second floor, searching the Huizengas’ bedroom. Ans hurried to the third-floor bedroom that the Leopolds had used and made sure it looked untouched. Then she ducked into Eloise’s office and switched on the lamp. The soldiers were right below her now, searching her bedroom. The workroom was strewn with Eloise’s papers. Would the soldiers read them and see what she’d been typing? Ans spotted a copy of the underground newspaper beside the typewriter and her heart leaped into her throat. She snatched it up and thrust it under her blouse, then tucked her blouse into her slacks. They would need to be more careful next time. Would there be a next time? She stood in the doorway as if she’d been working and had been startled by the commotion downstairs.

Moments later, two soldiers thundered up to the third floor, demanding to know who she was and what she was doing here. She shrugged and spread her shaking hands, pretending she didn’t understand. They searched both third-floor bedrooms, flinging open the closet doors, pounding on the walls as if looking for secret compartments. Ans watched to see how thoroughly they searched so she could write a newspaper report about it. When they finished, the soldiers opened the attic door and climbed the steep steps. Ans and her friends had practiced moving around on the narrow joists, but she didn’t think the soldiers could balance their way to the attic window in their heavy boots.

She waited, barely breathing, until they came out again. She got a good look at the two men and saw how young they were, no older than Erik. She longed to ask them how they could do this terrible work and if they missed their families and their homes in Germany. Were they so committed to Adolf Hitler and the Third Reich that they were willing to sacrifice their humanity? She didn’t want to hate them, knowing it was wrong to hate, but she couldn’t help it.

After the Gestapo left, Ans hurried downstairs to console Eloise. She sat frozen on the sofa as if she wanted to disappear into the cushions, while her husband knelt on the floor in front of her, holding her hands. She was trembling from head to toe, staring into the past.

“Eloise! Look at me,” her husband said. He waited until she did. “You’re all right, darling. They’re gone. The soldiers are gone.”

“But those dear people . . . Did the soldiers find them?” she whispered.

“No. They’re safe. All three of them.”