A HAND WAS at her shoulder, pulling her from the comfort of sleep.

“Nina. I need your help.”

“Papà?” It had been so long since he had woken her in the night.

“No, darling. It’s Nico. I’m sorry to wake you, but I need your help.”

“What’s wrong? Is it one of the children?”

“No, no. They’re fine. I have some people with me. They need food, a safe place to sleep, and—”

“I only need a moment to change.”

“Thank you. I’ll leave the lamp behind.”

She dressed quickly, slipping on a pair of Nico’s socks in lieu of stockings, and tiptoed downstairs.

A family, a very tired and frightened family, was huddled around the kitchen table, and Rosa, from the smell of things, was heating up some soup. Two children, hardly more than toddlers, clung to their mother, and the father held a young baby tight to his chest.

She’d taken care to be quiet, but all the same they were startled when she came into the kitchen, their eyes widening in alarm.

“It’s all right,” Nico said, his voice low and soothing. “This is my wife. She will help.” And then, turning to Nina, “The little boy here has a sprained ankle. Took a tumble in the dark. And they all have cuts and scrapes.”

“Do you want me to see to them now?”

“They should eat first.”

“Where will we put them?”

“I’ll show you.”

She followed him upstairs and into their bedroom. “Shall we make up pallets on the floor for the children? I’m not sure the bed will hold all—”

She watched, astonished, as he took the chair from its usual spot by the window and carried it to the far corner of the room. Standing on it, his head just brushing against the crossed beams, he reached up and pushed at the ceiling. Something heavy moved back with a faint groan—a trapdoor. In one fluid motion, he pulled himself up and through, vanishing into the dark.

She edged forward but could see nothing in the space above. “Nico?”

The lower rungs of a slender wooden ladder appeared, followed by his face, gaunt and unfamiliar in the shadows.

“Help me set it down—there. Yes. And I need the lamp. Just to make sure the bedding isn’t full of mice.”

She heard him walking about, then the familiar sound of cornhusk mattresses being shaken, and then his returning steps. He handed her the lamp and climbed down the ladder.

“But I’ve been in the granary. There’s nothing—”

“A partition wall.”

“You never told me.”

“I had planned on telling you when I came home this time. In case you ever need a place to hide.”

“Will the Germans come looking for them?”

“I don’t think so, not tonight. But they could, which is why I’m cautious.”