As Maaike went over to take a peek, Lena lifted the studio photograph of her family from the top of the piano. It had been taken in 1939 during a trip to Leiden, a year before the Nazi invasion, before any of them ever imagined the war would come to Holland. Lena’s oldest daughter, Ans, had been eighteen —so beautiful with her pale-blonde hair and slender frame. Her bold smile and confident stance revealed her strong will. Wim stood beside his sister, already as tall as she was, his fair hair bleached nearly white by the sun. Before the invasion he’d been a curious eleven-year-old who loved to swim in the canals and tease his sisters. The war had forced Wim to become a man before his time. Five-year-old Maaike nestled on Lena’s lap, her surprise baby, born when Lena was thirty-four. Lena had convinced her father to pose with them for the portrait, too. Tall and dignified, with a fringe of white hair and a trim white beard and goatee, he stood behind Wim and Ans, every inch the stern pastor. Papa’s gray eyes looked pinched behind his wire-rimmed glasses as if he was in pain or had stared at the sun too long. He’d still been grieving the loss of Lena’s mother, who’d died a few months earlier. Pieter, the love of Lena’s life, stood behind her with his hands resting on her shoulders. How she loved his strong, calloused, sun-browned hands. Would she ever take them in hers again? Out of the six people in the photograph, only Lena and Maaike were safe at home.

Jesus had told His followers, “Anyone who loves their father or mother more than me is not worthy of me; anyone who loves their son or daughter more than me is not worthy of me. Whoever does not take up their cross and follow me is not worthy of me.” It was a hard, hard truth, put to the test by the fires of war.

Lena felt a tug on her skirt. Bep looked up at her with a worried expression. “Is Papa going to come home now?” she asked.

“And Wim and Ans, too?” Maaike added.

Lena didn’t reply. She didn’t know. A tendril of fear sprouted and curled around her heart, and she knew if she allowed it to grow, it would strangle her faith. She used to believe that the enemy of faith was doubt, but she’d learned that faith’s destroyer was fear. “Let your fear drive you into the arms of God,” her father had said.

“Well, we will hope and pray that they do come home,” Lena replied.

“I miss Opa,” Maaike said. She was studying the photograph, too.

Lena stroked her daughter’s fair hair and thick braid. “So do I.”

“Are you crying, Mama?” Bep asked.

Lena brushed away her tears. “Sometimes we cry because we’re happy.”