“Erik, if I didn’t believe with all my heart that the Nazis are going to lose, I wouldn’t be able to get up in the morning. And if I couldn’t keep telling Eloise that we’re certain to win, she would give up living.” Ans opened the cupboard above the stove and took out two dinner plates. “Besides, we aren’t hearing the real news about the war, you know —only what the Nazis want us to hear. And they aren’t telling the truth.” It was the closest she’d ever come to hinting at the foreign radio broadcasts she and Eloise listened to and the news reports from the underground papers.

“I suppose that’s true,” he replied.

Again, Ans’s thoughts returned to the unsettling prospect of Erik being considered a collaborator and a traitor to his people. “So when the Nazis do lose and the Netherlands is free, what will happen to the people who’ve joined the NSB and collaborated with the Nazis?”

“I haven’t collaborated!” He stopped stirring the vegetables and glared at her. He had never directed his anger at her before, and it shocked her. Then his expression softened and he reached to take her into his arms. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to shout at you.”

“I know.” But he hadn’t answered her question. Erik had done a lot of things that people in the Resistance would consider collaboration. He’d helped the Nazis put down riots. He’d helped them round up Jews. He’d helped them search for people in hiding. And he hadn’t done anything to stand up to the Nazis or try to stop them. The thought chilled her. She shook her head to displace the image. “Is dinner almost ready?” she asked. “I’m starving!”

In May, the Nazis announced that all private radios would be confiscated. Anyone who failed to hand theirs over to the authorities would be arrested. Eloise still hadn’t fully recovered from her melancholy, and when she and Ans could no longer listen to foreign news stations and report what was happening beyond the Netherlands, she began to spiral down even further. “There’s nothing I can do to fight back,” she said. Ans watched in helpless frustration as Eloise stowed her typewriter in the closet. She hadn’t dressed that morning and was still in her bathrobe, her dark hair uncombed. “You can help me turn this back into a bedroom again, Ans. I won’t be needing an office.”

“Listen, Eloise —”

“My ears are closed to your cheery reassurances, so save your breath.” She went back to bed, refusing breakfast.

Ans stopped Professor Huizenga inside the front door the moment he returned from work that afternoon. “I’m worried about Eloise,” she told him. “I know I need to stay here with her, but I also need to go to Amsterdam tomorrow to deliver the ID cards Max altered.”