Wim grieved at home, alone, unable to attend his grandfather’s funeral. It wasn’t safe for him to be out. Lena had no way to contact Ans to tell her that Opa had died, since Max and Ina had told her Ans, too, had gone into hiding.

Lena heard the muffled tears of the people around her as the elder officiating at Papa’s grave site read Jesus’ words. “‘My command is this: Love each other as I have loved you. Greater love has no one than this: to lay down one’s life for one’s friends.’”

After the service, the women offered a small lunch in the empty manse. No one seemed able to eat. Then Lena climbed onto her bicycle with her two girls and pedaled home.

She stood in her bedroom later that night, gazing out the darkened window, unable to sleep. High above, shadowy airplanes blotted out the moon and stars as they moved across the sky, and she remembered Papa’s words about finding refuge in the shadow of God’s wings. It didn’t seem real that he was gone. Below in her kitchen, the shadow people made soft rustling sounds in the dark. Lena was accustomed to them by now. But when she heard footsteps coming up the stairs, she turned. Pieter stood in the doorway. She ran to him, clinging to him, unable to stop weeping. His body shook with sobs as well.

She finally pulled back to look up into his beloved face. “Is it safe for you to be here?”

“I heard about your father. I had to come.”

“He’s dead . . . Papa’s dead . . . ,” she sobbed. “He volunteered to die! He offered his life so that no one else would be killed.”

“I’m so sorry that you and the girls had to witness that.”

They lay down on the bed together until nearly dawn, sharing their love, telling each other all of the things that the chores of daily life never allowed enough time to say. Pieter left again before dawn. When the sun rose and Lena’s grief returned, she wondered if she’d only dreamed that Pieter had come.

CHAPTER 51

Miriam shielded her eyes against the light shining in her face. “Get your things and come with me,” the guard said. Miriam struggled to breathe, her chest aching, constricting, as she hurried to fetch her suitcase from beneath her bunk. Her fingers trembled as she quickly packed her violin and bow inside it. The barracks had fallen still as if no one dared to move or breathe. She sensed her fellow prisoners watching her in the darkness as she shuffled through the rows of bunks to the door where the guard with the light stood waiting.

“Thank you,” she heard someone whisper as she brushed past. Then another voice and another. “Thank you.” “Thank you for your music.” The whispers multiplied in the darkness, bringing tears to Miriam’s eyes.