“The camp Kommandant decided that the prisoners would be much happier here if he organized some entertainment for us in the evenings. He ordered all of the musicians to form an orchestra. We now perform a variety of music —everything from cabaret to classical pieces. Even a ballet. We could use another violinist.”

Miriam could only stare at him in amazement. She wasn’t going to be punished. She was being invited to perform with other musicians.

“I’m the manager and conductor,” Herr Lubbers continued. “If you decide to join us, you’ll be given a regular work assignment like the rest of us, but also time off for rehearsals when we have an event coming up.” When she still couldn’t reply, he added, “I understand you were in the punishment block?”

“Yes, the Nazis found me in hiding.”

“Well, you’re out of there now. You’ll live in this barracks with some of the other musicians. And you’ll be exempt from deportation for the time being. So what do you say? Would you like to join us?”

“Yes! Thank you!” The tears she’d held back all morning rolled down her face.

“We have a rehearsal this evening after supper. I’ll see you then.”

When he was gone, Miriam sank down on the nearest bunk, weak with wonder and relief. Music had been part of her life for as long as she could remember, bringing her joy, challenging her, giving her a purpose. She had brought her violin with her when she’d fled Germany because she couldn’t imagine her life without it. Then, miraculously, her music had drawn Avi to her. It had soothed baby Elisheva to sleep. And it had provided a way for Miriam to express all of her sorrow and fear and grief. And now, most assuredly, her music had saved her life.

CHAPTER 52

Boots tramped down the prison corridor. Ans and the other women in her cell went still when the steps halted outside their door. The key rattled in the lock. The door was solid wood, so there was no way to know who the guard was coming for until it opened.

“Bernandina Kamp,” he said.

Ans went cold as she struggled to her feet. The fox-faced Gestapo officer stood beside the guard, his brass buttons and belt buckle gleaming. It was the first time she had been out of her cell in Kasteel van Woerden in two days. A tremor of fear shivered through her as she walked the long corridor and up a flight of stairs to the windowless room where the officer had interrogated her before. This time he made her stand in front of him.

Lord, help me . . . Please help me . . .