Frankly, I could do without visions of any calamity, let alone one in the focal area of my search. “That’s very intriguing,” I reply kindly in Dutch, anxious to regroup. “Well, I should be all set now.”

But she doesn’t exit. “You already saw the bathroom is down the corridor?”

“I did, yes. Thank you.”

“As soap is limited, I do ask that you use it sparingly.”

“Certainly.”

“Also, we launder on Wednesdays. Tell me, when shall I expect your cousin?”

To best account for my lone visit, I’ve stuck to my tale about Martha, whose ballet studies in The Hague make this an ideal halfway point for a sojourn.

“Within a few days. Just as soon as her rigorous training permits.” Beyond that, a minor misfortune will have to cancel the poor gal’s trip. “In the meantime,” I add brightly, “I plan to thoroughly explore the beauty of your city.”

The cat hisses, as if detecting my half fib. Mrs. van der Meer lets the animal down on the wooden floor, saying, “Oh, I nearly forgot. Before my food shopping tomorrow, we must coordinate use of your ration coupons. I do have a small plot in a community garden, so your room fee will cover any vegetables from there.”

My stomach belts out a growl, either coincidentally or advocating for itself, and diverts the woman’s speech. “You must be hungry from your travels,” she says.

If only she knew how truly far I’ve come.

“A bit.” I smile.

“I will bring you a snack if you’d like.”

The thought of being slowed by a meal makes me even more restless, but I do need to eat. “That would be lovely.”

She nods. “Now, should any needs arise at night, my living quarters are on the third floor.” Behind her in the hall, the cat’s slinking movements snag a portion of my focus. “Between breakfast and dinner on workdays, you can call on me downstairs, where I manage the pharmacy while my husband is stationed away.”

Stationed? The choice of word, unreflective of forced labor, recaptures my attention. Did I wind up with a detrimental host?

I interject, conversationally, “He’s with the German military, then? Your husband.”

She pauses but a second. “His medical expertise makes him quite valuable to the war effort.” Her statement emits pride while also seeming rote, making the situation challenging to assess.

Either her husband and sons have been forced to assist the Nazis and she’s wary of grousing to a stranger, or they’re serving voluntarily and she’s guarded against judgment.

“Well,” she says, “I’ll leave you be.” She reaches for the doorknob, taking her leave—which is what I wanted, until this moment.

“I do hope he’s back soon,” I assert. It’s a subtle invitation to share more. But she just nods and shuts the door, giving no hint to where her loyalty stands.