“But that makes no sense. If it were true, she could have handed them over a year ago instead of taking huge risks by helping them hide. Not to mention feeding and caring for them all. Arie, there has to be another explanation.”

The rationale settles on him, rendering him mute. But then he shakes his head as if to shed the theory. “Even so, what difference does it make now?”

“You said Mr. Brouwer deals in shipping.”

He gives a shrug, more of a puzzlement than dismissive. “And?”

“Shipping companies are allowed to travel. Who knows how far they can haul cargo without raising suspicion?” For me, it’s a question made rhetorical by Houdini’s tours, moving freely about Europe with supplies in tow. Perhaps secretly with even a person or two. “At any rate, I’d say it’s worth a visit to Mr. Brouwer. And if by chance he’s willing, we could decide what to do then.”

I wait as Arie rubs the back of his neck, frustrated. “I don’t know. Maybe. I’ll chew on it.” He peers at me. “Either way, this is my responsibility, my family. I can manage from here.”

“You’re wrong.” Before the remark can be misread, I assert, “It’s my family too, Arie. The only one I have left.” I’m immeasurably grateful he doesn’t argue. “How could I ever face your parents knowing I could’ve done more?”

“Fen, I assure you, the last thing they’d want—”

“Above all, I owe this to Thea.”

He stops and looks at me askance. But I’m not reaching for excuses.

“Without her realizing it, she left me a spot in a home with a bed and meals and folks who cared, keeping me safe.” I’d slipped into Thea’s shoes, quite literally, while her own journey took a heinous, undeserved turn. “Her daughter needs those very things now. Once I have a better sense you’ll both be okay, I’ll leave. I give you my word.”

There’s another reason, of course, which I choose not to voice—two, in fact, instilled by last night’s dream: my yearning to protect a motherless child, to the point I’m able; and from the woman in a yellow dress, a reminder: when amid a tragedy of many, sometimes you can save just one. So regardless of the costs, you do.

Arie, surely comprehending this already, submits a nod.

Chapter 67

The cerulean dome of sunlit sky should induce tranquility. Instead, apprehension slinks through me as, once again, the minutes count down. Together yet separate, Arie and I left his rented room and rode the streetcar across the city, or “tram” translated from Dutch. With directions set to memory, I then followed him at a distance to a back alley. Behind the building that neighbors the tall brick structure housing Brouwer Transporten, I wait, obscured from the street.