“Tell me what you have in the house and I’ll help you make something with it for supper.”

Miriam hung her head, embarrassed. “I have nothing. I must go to the market later.”

“No wonder you’re so thin! I’ll write a grocery list for you. Show it to the Jewish butcher on the corner and tell him I sent you. He’ll help you. Then bring everything home and I’ll teach you how to cook it.”

Miriam ran upstairs for her coat, purse, and shopping basket after finishing her tea and the gingery cookie Mrs. Spielman offered with it. “We Dutch love our tea biscuits,” she’d said, laughing.

Thirty minutes later, Miriam was hurrying through her door again with the groceries while Mrs. Spielman wrestled with the cat to keep it from escaping. Miriam’s eyes watered as she peeled and sliced the onion. She added it to the roasting pan and learned how to sear and season the meat before putting it into Mrs. Spielman’s oven to roast.

“Tomorrow I’ll teach you how to make soup for the cold winter months.”

“How will I thank you, Mrs. Spielman?”

“There’s no need. It isn’t only your father you must think about, little Miriam,” she said as they peeled potatoes and chopped carrots to go with the meat. “A pretty young girl like you will surely have a husband to feed one of these days.”

Miriam decided to confide in Mrs. Spielman. She struggled with the language as she groped for words. “I am in love with a man from the refugee camp. His name is Avraham Leopold. He must have a visa to be a student, but the needed papers are in Berlin.”

Mrs. Spielman saw Miriam’s tears. She dried her hands on her apron and pulled her into her arms. They were soft and warm and wonderfully comforting. “You poor dear.”

“I am sorry. I didn’t mean to cry.”

“That’s okay. You can go ahead and cry anytime you want. That’s what my arms are for.”

“I miss Avi so much,” she said, wiping her cheeks. “We write letters but it is not the same. Avi thinks of running from the camp, but if he is caught, they will send him back to Germany.”

“What a tragedy that would be.” She smoothed Miriam’s hair from her face with her knotted fingers.

“In Germany, they made Jews suffer —what is the word? —persecution. I didn’t think anything worse could happen. But now there is a war, and we have no letters from our family. We are so worried.”

“That’s the worst thing about war —all the separations.”

“To me, the worst thing is not dreaming of a future. When there is peace, anything seems possible. Now, nothing does. The future is taken from us and we cannot get it back.”

“At least we’re at peace here in the Netherlands.”