She made it safely to her first stop and waited on a bench in the station to transfer trains. Again, there were no Nazi soldiers in sight, and she boarded the second train without incident. She was almost home. But as the train pulled into an out-of-the-way station, Ans saw Nazi soldiers on the platform waiting to board. They entered one of the middle cars and moved in opposite directions, one going toward the front of the train, the other toward the rear, asking everyone for their identification card. Ans prayed that the train would depart quickly and that the soldiers would get off again. But when the whistle blew and the train lurched forward, the Nazis were still on board.

Ans couldn’t act nervous. She needed to sound convincing. Her turn came and the soldier halted beside her seat. “ID card, bitte.” She took it from her purse, hoping he wouldn’t notice her trembling hand. He took an eternity to look it over, studying her face and comparing it to her photograph. Her heart froze when he pointed to the card, then to the baby.

“You are not married,” he said in accented Dutch. “Who is child?”

Ans swallowed a knot of fear. “Her mother died of consumption, and her father can’t take care of her. They were from Noordwijk, on the coast, and had to evacuate. I’m taking her to live with relatives.”

He stared at her for so long she wondered if he’d understood her. Then he held out his hand again. “You show proof of this?”

Ans dug into her bag for Elisheva’s birth certificate. Would he be able to tell that it was a forgery? Ans looked down at the baby’s beautiful face as the soldier studied the papers for another eternity, praying as she never had before. At last he gave back the papers and moved on to the next passenger. Ans battled tears of relief as she thanked God.

The sun was low on the horizon when the train pulled into Ans’s village. Havik had said it wasn’t safe to telephone ahead, so she’d planned to walk to the manse and ask her grandfather to drive her to the farm. She climbed down from the train without waiting for a porter and hurried away from the station, struggling with the sleeping child and the awkward suitcase. Elisheva didn’t wake up. Ans crossed the street, walking quickly, her head lowered, hoping she wouldn’t meet anyone she knew. Her hope collapsed when she heard someone call her name.

“Ans? Ans de Vries, is that you?”