Lena set down the milk cans so they wouldn’t slip from her shaking hands. Which of her neighbors had told them about Wim? She held her palms out, shaking her head, pretending not to understand. “Your son!” he said in Dutch. One of the soldiers went into the barn. The second one started to follow him, then something caught his eye in the distant pasture.

“Over there!” he shouted. He pointed to Wim, who was trying to crawl toward the ditch. “Halt! Halt right there or I’ll shoot!”

Lena closed her eyes. Oh, God . . . oh, God . . . oh, God . . . She heard the door to the kitchen open and saw Maaike and Bep peeking out. She shook her head at them and they disappeared inside.

It seemed to take forever for the soldiers to cross the field and haul Wim back with them. And yet it took only an instant. “No! You can’t take him!” Lena screamed. “He’s only sixteen!” One of the soldiers blocked Lena’s path to keep her from going to him. “Please! No!” she begged.

They parted the canvas flap and Lena saw that the back of the truck was filled with young men Wim’s age. “Get in,” they told him. He looked at Lena, his face white with fear.

“No!” she screamed. Everything in Lena wanted to run forward and save her son. But she couldn’t. The soldier pushed Wim’s shoulder, and he climbed on board.

A moment later, the truck was gone. They had taken her son! Why hadn’t Wim stayed inside where it was safe? They’d been so careful all these months. Why hadn’t she walked the cows out to the pasture instead of him?

Lena sank down in the doorway of the barn, rocking in place, screaming and wailing with grief. “God, why? How could You let this happen?” There was no answer.

Lena hadn’t slept well in days, waiting for her contact to come, hoping and praying that he would know what had happened to Wim. She was sitting with Ina at the kitchen table after midnight when Wolf slipped through the door from the barn to join them.

“Do you have any news of my son?” she asked, rising from her chair.

“Your son?” He glanced around the darkened kitchen as if Wim were playing a game and might leap out of the shadows.

“The Nazis took him away.”

“I’m sorry . . . I’m so sorry . . .” He sank onto a chair as if burdened by the news.

“They put him in a truck full of young men. Do you know where they were taking them? To a factory in the East, do you think? The Allies are bombing those Nazi factories, and . . .” She couldn’t finish.