“The village looked unchanged as I cycled through it,” Ans said as they sat around the table. “I didn’t see any red banners or swastikas like the ones all over Leiden.”

“I suppose that’s one advantage of living in an unimportant, out-of-the-way village,” Mama said. The village Ans had been so eager to leave.

“They’ll find us eventually,” Papa said.

“Have there been a lot of changes in Leiden?” Mama asked.

“Everywhere you look it’s obvious that we’re under enemy occupation. Yet some people think everything will be fine, and life will be just as it was before, so let’s all go back to work or to school. They think nothing has changed except for the handful of people at the top who are in power.”

“We’ve heard their propaganda too,” Opa said. “They say, ‘Come under the protection of the Reich. Don’t be afraid. The Dutch are fellow members of the Aryan race.’”

“They’re tempting a lot of people to trust them,” Mama said. “The war unnerved them, and people want to believe the lies. They want to go back to how it was before. After all, there aren’t any signs out here in the country that we’ve lost our freedom.” She passed the bowl of potatoes to Opa, but he held up his hand and shook his head.

“There’s a story in the Old Testament,” he said, “about a time when the Assyrian army laid siege to Jerusalem. They surrounded the city with their superior forces and demanded that the king surrender. The enemy leader shouted to King Hezekiah and the people who were watching from the top of the wall, saying, ‘Make peace with us and come out to us. Then you’ll be able to eat from your own vines and fig trees.’ But King Hezekiah placed his trust in God and stood firm. His tiny nation was outnumbered, just like ours, but he refused to surrender.”

Papa frowned and pointed upward. “I don’t think Hezekiah’s enemies had airplanes dropping bombs.”

Opa tilted his head, acknowledging Papa’s point. “But God performed a miracle,” he continued, “sending the angel of the Lord and killing 185,000 enemy soldiers with a plague in a single night.”

Papa’s frown deepened. “The time to perform a miracle would have been before the Nazis bombed Rotterdam or while we were still fighting for our freedom.” His face flushed a deeper bronze, a signal of his growing anger.

Ans had rarely seen Papa lose his temper. He usually would simply walk away. She knew he wasn’t angry with Opa, but with the Nazis. Or perhaps with God.

“I watched men die,” he said.

“Pieter . . . the children . . . ,” Mama whispered.

“No, Pieter made a good point,” Opa said. “A timely miracle would have been welcomed by all of us. But the point of my sermon isn’t going to be the miracle.”

“Is this your Sunday sermon?” Ans asked.