Ans agreed, happy to see her friend so alive and animated again. The gardens were a short walk from the zoo, and the spring afternoon was sunny and mild. The gardens were also near the Jewish cultural quarter and the huge Portuguese Synagogue, a landmark since the seventeenth century.

But when they got there, they were both stunned to see that all of the Jewish districts in Amsterdam had been cordoned off, creating ghettos. A loudspeaker blared from a van trolling the streets a block away. They stood still to listen as it approached, and Ans’s outrage grew with every word that spewed out. All Jews must report to the authorities to be transported to Westerbork, the loudspeakers were saying. All houses would be searched, and any Jews found hiding would be sent to the prison camp at Mauthausen.

Eloise grabbed Ans’s arm so tightly she wondered if she would have bruises. “Why are they doing this?” she asked. Ans could only shake her head. It had been one thing to read news of what the Nazis were doing to the Jewish people, but to see proof of it again left her baffled and angry. There was no explanation for such hatred toward innocent men, women, and children. She thought of Miriam’s father and their Jewish landlady, and it renewed Ans’s determination to do whatever she could to help, in spite of the risks.

Eloise spoke very little as they returned to the train station. Once again, she seemed to be taking note of everything they saw on the trip home. The moment they were inside the town house, she turned to Ans and said, “Tell your contact with the underground that we’ll gladly hide more people here. Whole families, even. Herman has lots of distant ‘relatives,’ doesn’t he? And we have a spare bedroom again.” Her gaze was intense, her eyes alive with purpose. “And tell them they’d better hurry.”

Ans followed Eloise upstairs, watching as she pulled out the military maps and quickly sketched in everything she’d seen. Ans added everything she recalled, as well. “I want to go with you again,” Eloise said when they’d finished. “You must help me convince Herman.”

“I’ll do my best,” she said, trying not to smile.

“He thinks I’m like my fine china downstairs, that I need to be protected and kept behind glass, but what good are all of those beautiful things if they never get used? What good is a chest filled with gold that never gets spent? And what good is my life if I selfishly keep it to myself and don’t spend it for others?”

Ans hesitated for a moment before asking the next question. “Is that how your parents felt? Is that why they were willing to die working for the Belgian Resistance?”