“I cannot give up,” I said before Anna could suggest just that. “I have to keep going.”

“But what else can you do? Paris is too far. How can you fight war from a distance?”

“You are right. Paris is out of my reach now. I must look closer.” I sank back into my chair, and she sat next to me, our chairs turned together. An idea blossomed slowly in my mind. “Who better to appreciate Vincent’s talent than the Dutch, the Netherlands, the country of his birth? I shall start over right here.”

“In Bussum?” Anna drew back. “Of course, Jan makes do, but Bussum is no center of the arts. If Vincent was too advanced for Paris to appreciate him, then how will he be received here? Even Jan has some trouble, and he paints portraits, which are easier to sell. The rich tend to be in love with themselves, he says. And yet his paintings cannot pay the bills. He has to teach too, and sell his poetry when he can.”

“Maybe not Bussum.” Inspiration struck me. “But how about The Hague? Theo managed to include Vincent’s work in exhibits in The Hague, twice. They must remember him.”

Anna gave my suggestion several seconds of careful consideration. “Jan has a good friend there. Richard Roland Holst, a commissioned artist. He painted a mural in The Hague.”

My heart thrilled. “Then he has influence.”

“You should write him a letter. And I shall also have Jan write a recommendation.” My friend’s smile was the very smile of spring. She stood, tall and confident, ready to go into battle on my behalf.

I stood with her and hugged her fiercely before I let her go.

Wil tottered over. Our voices must have woken him. He left the kitten behind in the basket this time. “Sasa?”

I looked from him to Anna. “Where is Saskia?”

I had never seen anyone turn so white, so fast. “I left her at the milliner’s—”

And then she ran.

I watched her from the window, patting Wil’s head. The milliner was a mother of four, her two older daughters always in attendance at the shop with her, learning the trade. I had no doubt sweet Saskia had been sufficiently fussed over and spoiled in Anna’s absence.

I picked up my little son. “She will be fine. But I am glad you remembered her.”

“Sasa love.”

“I know, my sweet. Now, how about you finish your nap?”

He scrambled toward the kitten in the basket.

“How about you finish your nap in your own bed? You can take the kitten with you.”

The smile he gifted me held more sunshine than any artist could ever capture. Its brightness warmed my heart. However badly I stumbled with everything else, at least I was succeeding at motherhood. My son was a happy child.