He paused again and Lena heard the unmistakable sound of Nazi motorcycles approaching. Papa ignored them and continued to preach until they halted outside. The church grew very still. The church door banged open and the congregation turned. Three Nazi soldiers walked inside. The spokesman’s Dutch was poor, but everyone understood. They had been dreading this moment since yesterday’s explosion.

“A train was destroyed. One man from each town must pay.”

Silence.

“Take me.” Lena’s father stepped from behind the pulpit. “I’ll go.” He slipped the stole from around his neck as he walked toward the soldiers.

No! Lena tried to cry out but terror clogged her throat. Pastors and priests were exempt from Nazi reprisals. They couldn’t take her father!

He reached Lena’s pew and handed her his stole. His gaze met hers for a moment as he told her without words that he wasn’t afraid. And that he loved her.

No . . . no . . . no! Why didn’t someone stop him?

He unfastened his clerical robe as he walked and shrugged it off, laying it over a pew near the door. He seemed so calm. So at peace. Lena pulled Maaike and Bep close, crushing them to herself to shield them.

Dear God, no . . . Please don’t let them do this! Please!

They shoved Papa through the door, leaving it open. She heard others weeping. Where was the miracle that would save her father? Angels with flaming swords. Allies dropping by parachute to destroy the Nazis. God had saved Pieter from the firing squad at the last minute.

Oh, God, please, please don’t let —

A single gunshot rang out. It reverberated through the building, making Lena’s skin crawl. The stench of gunpowder drifted in with it. No one moved or breathed as they sat frozen in shock. The motorcycles started up and drove away.

One of the elders leaped up and rushed outside. Another followed, then another. The first man returned a minute later, gripping the backs of the pews as he stumbled forward as if to keep from falling over. He looked at the waiting congregation —at Lena —and shook his head.

Papa was dead.

CHAPTER 46

By the end of the summer, Ans had done so much walking that her shoes wore out. She had no money for a new pair. She showed Mrs. Dykstra the holes that she’d tried to cover with layers of newspaper. “But now the soles are tearing away from the uppers,” Ans said. “Do you know where I can get a new pair?”

“New shoes in wartime? Keep dreaming, Bernandina! But I’ll ask at church and see what I can find for you.” She came home with a pair of well-worn work boots. They were a little large for Ans but better than the shoes that had fallen apart.