She has every right to be wary, but with the guard out front, a hospital alert surely issued and, just as urgent, the need to tend to Arie’s wound, we don’t have time to waste.

I bend down and summon my cheeriest Dutch voice. “Want to know something, Evelien? When I was only a little older than you, I lived right next door to your mama and uncle. He’s here, actually. Would you like to come see him?”

Her head swivels partway toward me. She doesn’t move otherwise, just gauges me through the corner of her eye.

It occurs to me that her sole encounter with Arie was brief and frightful, and in a prison cell for that matter. But from stories and photographs, she’s known of him all her life, the same way she’s learned of her grandparents. This is according to Thea’s letters, Arie has said, and I borrow that knowledge now.

“Eventually, your grandparents even let me live with them. And they became like a family to me, which means you and I are like family too.” For emphasis, I give her shoulder a tender squeeze.

She only withdraws farther.

I scour for another tack. For years, my interactions with youngsters have largely been limited to those at my matinees, on the other side of an orchestra pit and with their parents at their sides. Although, I do recall how onstage as volunteers, they’d often beam from feeling in the know.

“I could be wrong,” I muse, “but I’d venture to guess you’re a big fan of secrets. Want to hear a splendid one?” Heartened by the flash of curiosity in her face, I lean forward and cup my mouth by her ear, not only to seem sly. It’s best if Gerda doesn’t know more, just as much for her sake.

I impart in a whisper, “Your uncle Arie and I are going on a thrilling adventure, to a place that’s lovely and safe. We’ll be staying at a farm with lots of space to run around. And loads of animals too, I’d bet. Do you like animals?”

I lean back to collect her answer. Her cupid lips twitch. Then she ekes out a nod.

“Well, marvelous.” I smile. “Because if you come with me, you can see them too. How does that sound?” Encouraged by her pondering, I dare to reach for her hand. She accepts, thank goodness. As I draw her toward me, however, she recoils with a squeal.

Gerda is fast to soothe her. “It is all right, child.” Then with an undertone of angst, she presses, “You need to go. Be a mindful girl.”

Evelien clings even harder to Gerda and the doll.