“What do they want, Papa?” Wim asked. “Do you think they’ve come to make sure we’ve turned in all of our copper?” There had been rumors about such searches.

“It’s possible,” Pieter replied.

Good thing we buried it. Lena didn’t say the words aloud, not wanting the children to hear. The Nazis had ordered that all metal be turned in to the authorities —especially copper, which was needed for bullets. They kept careful records, making sure everyone in the village and surrounding farms had complied. Pieter had turned in some of their things so they wouldn’t attract suspicion, then Lena had helped him bury the rest in her kitchen garden after dark so the children wouldn’t know.

The motorcade came to a rumbling halt. Lena’s knees trembled, not with fear so much as anger. “They have no right!” she said through clenched teeth.

“Hush, Lena. We need to remain calm. Wim, take your sister into the house. Stay there until I say so.” Wim obeyed, but he walked backwards all the way as if unable to take his eyes off the motorcycles. He hadn’t seen a Nazi soldier before. The children disappeared inside, and a moment later, Lena saw the lace curtains part in the front room and Wim and Maaike peeking out. She turned her attention to the vehicles again as the motors switched off. Her heart pounded faster than the ticking car engine as it cooled.

Pieter leaned down to whisper in her ear. “Don’t let them know you understand German.”

She nodded in agreement.

The soldiers dismounted their motorcycles and removed their goggles. They wore pistols in holsters at their sides. The car door opened and a Nazi officer stepped out, smoothing the front of his uniform. Lena heard him issuing orders to the others, telling the soldiers to begin the inventory of her farm. A second man in uniform stepped from the car, older than the others and stoop-shouldered, lacking the bearing and authority of a soldier. “Tell them we’ve come to take inventory,” the officer told the man in German.

The little man stepped forward. “We must make lists of your farm,” he said in clumsy Dutch. He mimicked writing on his hand as if it were a tablet. “A record of all animals. The crops. Everything.” He swept his arm wide to encompass the barn and fields and pastures. Lena stared at him as if she didn’t understand, but she did. And it made her furious. They were going to inventory the farm so they could steal everything from them. Conquering armies always did. It was summer, and the pigs and cows had growing offspring. The hay had been mowed and stored away. Sugar beets, cabbages, and potatoes grew in neat rows in the fields. Fruit ripened on the trees. Everything they’d worked so hard for would go to feed the Nazis.

“They have no right,” she whispered again.