“They’ll be fine. The Boertjens family needs our help.” They reached the edge of the field, and Pieter held the fence wires apart so Lena could duck between them. Normally Wim would have gone with Pieter to help their neighbors, but Wim had grown to be as tall as his father and looked older than his fifteen years. The Nazis conscripted all men over the age of eighteen now, and Lena and Pieter feared Wim would be snatched up and sent to a work camp.

“Has there been any more news about Mr. Boertjens?” Lena asked as they reached the dirt road and started up it to the farm. “Surely the Nazis will release him to finish his harvest, won’t they?”

“He was caught with a hidden radio, Lena. He won’t be coming back.”

She shuddered, remembering how they’d debated whether or not to hide their own radio when the Nazis had ordered all of them to be turned in last May. More than ever, Lena relied on the underground newspapers that Wolf brought to find out what was happening.

They had walked only a short distance when they heard the rumble of Nazi motorcycles behind them. The sound filled Lena with dread. “What should we do, Pieter?” There was no place to hide in the flat, open countryside. Thank God Wim had stayed home.

“Nothing. Just keep going.”

They stepped to the side of the narrow road to give the motorcycles room to pass, but Lena could tell they were slowing. Her heart raced.

“Halt!” one of the soldiers shouted. “Halt where you are!”

The engines roared in Lena’s ears as they idled. Heat radiated from the machines. One of the soldiers pointed to Pieter. “You —come with us.” He gestured toward the village, the direction the motorcycles had come from. Lena’s heart raced faster as the men wheeled their vehicles around.

“What could they possibly want?” Lena whispered. Pieter shook his head. As a farmer, he was exempt from the labor camps. She wondered if they’d caught up with him for working with the underground these past few months.

“Faster,” they told Pieter.

They didn’t seem interested in Lena, but she gripped Pieter’s hand tightly as they hurried toward the village, the motorcycles growling behind them. It was only a ten-minute walk, but Lena’s fear mounted with every step she took. She was powerless. And terrified. She tried to pray, but her thoughts galloped and careened like a runaway horse, and all she could manage was a silent, desperate prayer. Please, God. Please help us!

They reached the market square and saw six men from the village standing in a line in the street across from the church. The soldiers halted their motorcycles and waved Lena away, pointing for Pieter to go stand with the other men. He squeezed her hand before releasing it.