“Yes. And Abba is happy at the university.” Miriam pulled out her handkerchief to wipe her eyes and blow her nose. “When Avi and Mama come, everything will be perfect.” She stuffed her handkerchief back into her pocket and returned to peeling. It seemed like half of the potato was coming off with the peels. “I am not good at this,” she said with a sigh.

“Cooking takes practice. Like learning the violin, I suppose.”

“What about your family, Mrs. Spielman? Have you always lived in Leiden?”

“My husband and I both grew up here. He was a pharmacist and owned a shop on Rapenburg for years. We raised two sons who both live in Amsterdam now, with their families. And I have eight grandchildren.”

“How wonderful!”

“They surely are. You’ll meet them when they come for a visit. I’ve had a happy life, Miriam. The Netherlands has been a good place for Jews to live.”

“You give me hope, Mrs. Spielman —and cooking lessons.”

“Here, let me finish peeling,” she said, taking the knife and potato from Miriam. “By the time your young Avraham arrives, you’ll be able to cook him a feast.”

“That will be wonderful. But will this food be cooked when Abba comes home?”

“Oh yes, my dear. And won’t he be surprised?”

“He will think he’s in paradise.”

CHAPTER 10

Lena’s days fell into a lonely rhythm without Pieter. She did the farm chores —her own as well as his —bundled the children off to school each morning, listened to the news and did mending every evening, tossed and turned in the cold, empty bed at night until the sheets were rumpled and loose, then rose before dawn to do it all over again. There was less laundry to wash, fewer people to cook for, no one to talk to during the day. Winter brought short days and endlessly long nights. She wasn’t sleeping well. Pieter was a quiet man, but she missed his warm, solid presence during the day, his gentle snoring at night.

December could be a dreary month, but today, December 5, the wind blew the clouds toward the sea and a wintry sun made an appearance for the first time in days. Lena put on her warmest coat and tied a kerchief over her hair to bicycle into the village, hoping for a letter from Pieter. He wrote once a week. Lena could tell that he struggled to find something different and interesting to say each time. Tonight was Sinterklaas Eve, and she would love to have a letter to read aloud to the children since Pieter himself couldn’t be home.

She climbed off her bike when she reached town, stopping first at the post office, where her cousin Truus’s husband worked as postmaster. He was five years older than Pieter and hadn’t enlisted in the reserves. “No mail for you today, Lena. Sorry.”