If Miriam had survived and Avi and Elisheva hadn’t . . . then what? Miriam didn’t know. She would have to wait. And pray. And try not to lose hope.

CHAPTER 61

MAY 1945

Lena dug her fingers into the soil of her garden, lifting a damp clump of it, rubbing it between her fingers. The May sunshine had warmed it sufficiently. Today she would begin to plant. She picked up the pitchfork to turn the soil. In the distance, their fruit trees blossomed in a frothy display of beauty that never failed to awe her. A new season of planting and waiting, a new season of hope was beginning.

Farming the land year after year should have prepared Lena to trust God. Every seed she’d planted had been an act of faith. Every day and week and month spent waiting and praying for sunshine and rain and a good harvest required trust. She couldn’t do anything to make the plants grow. Nor could she do anything to ensure her family’s safety, their future. They were in God’s hands.

Liberation had come. Her country was free. She’d returned from the village yesterday with the good news, the joyous sound of church bells still clamoring in her ears. Lena had spent most of that long-awaited day celebrating with her shadow people, helping them get ready to go back to their homes, their families. Perhaps her loved ones had spent yesterday doing the same.

She thrust the pitchfork into the ground, pushing it deep into the earth with her foot, then lifted it to turn the soil. She remembered asking God to teach her how to release Ans into His hands when she’d left home for Leiden. Now, as Lena watched Maaike and Bep search for worms in the newly tilled soil, squealing as they held the soft, squirming creatures in their hands, she realized how well God had answered that prayer. The war had forced her to release not only Ans, but Wim and Pieter, too. Bep had been a daily reminder of another mother’s decision to trust the Almighty. The only thing Lena could do was pray —and she had never ceased praying.

The barn door creaked open behind her. Lena turned, thinking it was the wind.

It was Pieter.

She dropped the pitchfork and ran into his arms, her wooden clogs flying off her feet in her haste. He held her so tightly her ribs ached, but she would never let him go again. Never.

“Papa! Papa, you’re home!” Maaike shouted. She and Bep dropped their worms and ran to him, calling, “Papa! Papa!” Lena released him so they could hug him too. He looked dirty and ragged and bone weary —and wonderful! She caressed his whiskered cheek, brushed his hair from his eyes, and kissed him. And kissed him. Pieter was alive and whole and well —and home! Thank God, thank God, thank God.