Miriam began trembling again when they halted outside the farmhouse, an earthquake deep in her soul. Ans waved at the two men standing in the barn doorway. “That’s my papa and my brother, Wim.” She thanked the driver and helped Miriam from the truck. Miriam longed to run, but her legs could barely hold her. “This is Bep’s mother, Miriam Leopold,” Ans told her father.

“Bep’s playing out back. I’ll take you to her.” Ans and her father had to hold Miriam up as they walked through the barn and outside again. She saw a woman working in the garden and two girls playing nearby. The beautiful child with the long dark braids was her daughter.

“Bep, Lena, come here,” Ans’s father called.

“You must be Miriam. I’m Lena,” the woman said. “I’m so happy to see you!” Lena had tears in her eyes. Elisheva was holding the other girl’s hand as they walked over. Miriam knelt down to face her daughter.

“Elisheva . . . ,” she breathed. She ached to hold her, but Elisheva didn’t remember her.

Lena rested her hand on Elisheva’s back. “Bep, honey . . . this is your mother, from the photograph album. She’s here!”

“May I give you a hug?” Miriam asked. Her daughter looked up at Lena, and in a heartbeat, Lena knelt down and enfolded both of them in her arms, holding Elisheva between them so she wouldn’t be afraid. Her little body was warm and sweaty and alive. Miriam could feel her heartbeat. She inhaled the scent of the wind in her hair. Until the day she died, Miriam would never forget the exquisite joy of this moment.

With Lena’s patient help, Elisheva warmed up to Miriam in the hours that followed. Bep showed her the doll she’d received for a present and the clothes her sister Maaike had sewn for it. “What’s your doll’s name?” Miriam asked.

“Nollie. She sleeps with me.”

Miriam held Elisheva’s hand as she and her brother, Wim, gave a tour of the farm and all the animals. Miriam couldn’t take her eyes off her child. She especially loved hearing her laugh. She had Avi’s wonderful smile. He would always be with Miriam in their daughter’s smile.

Miriam slept on a mattress in Elisheva’s bedroom that night to be near her. And so she could gaze at her in the moonlight and watch her sleep. She was alive. She was real. They were together again. Miriam helped her dress in the morning and brushed and braided her hair. Each simple act was a gift.