“But we can light a candle for you, Christina,” Lies said. Miriam heard her rummaging around nearby, and a moment later a match flared, blinding her temporarily. There was the sharp scent of sulfur, then warm candlelight bathed the tiny space. “We keep our things over here during the day,” Lies said. She pointed to a crude set of shelves that Miriam hadn’t noticed before, made from wooden crates. Four suitcases were stacked neatly inside. Plates and bowls and cutlery lay on top, along with a small basin. A bucket of water stood next to the shelves. “We usually use the outhouse before we undress,” Lies said.

Julie pushed open the back door, making the sound of insects louder. She took her sister’s arm. “Come on, Betsie. I’ll go with you.” The girl still hadn’t spoken. Miriam knelt and opened her suitcase, unwinding her clothes from around her violin and bow.

“Is that a real violin?” Alie asked. “Do you play it?”

“Yes —that is, I used to play it. I didn’t dare at the last place I stayed. The houses were too close together, and we worried that the neighbors would hear me.”

“I would love it if you would play something for us,” Alie said. “We haven’t heard music in ages!”

“I don’t think so,” Lies said quickly. “Who knows how far the sound might carry in the night?”

“I know I’m not allowed to play,” Miriam said. “I was just checking to see if it made the journey safely.” They cleared a space for Miriam’s suitcase on the shelves, and when Julie and Betsie returned, Alie offered to go to the outhouse with Miriam. As they took the short walk down the dirt path, a memory suddenly flashed through Miriam’s mind of her grandmother’s beautiful home in Cologne, the way it had been before the Nazis came to power. She remembered the black-and-white marble floor tiles in her bathroom and the deep porcelain bathtub. Her grandmother’s maid would fill the tub with warm, rose-scented water for Miriam. But before the memory could erode the iron shell Miriam had erected around her heart, the stench of the outhouse brought her back to reality.

CHAPTER 39

SEPTEMBER 1943

The wet ground tried to suck Lena’s wooden clogs from her feet as she and Pieter crossed the cow pasture. They had poled their little wooden boat down the narrow canals to their neighbors’ farm, traveling as close to it as they could before tying up. Now they headed across the field, taking the long, indirect route to avoid going near the village, where the Nazis and the Resistance had been active in recent weeks.

“I hope there are other people here to help Mrs. Boertjens so we can finish quickly,” Lena said. “I’m nervous about leaving Wim and the girls home alone.”