I’m fighting back a rise of panic. Arie is waiting. What am I to do? We’ll never make it out if she explodes into a tantrum. I scan the room for a solution: a bribe, anything.

Rather, I’m jarred by the array of frills, so colorful and vibrant amid the grayness of war. The wallpaper of ivy and sunflowers, the chest of dolls and toys, the quilt-adorned bed sized for a child. I find myself wondering, in an elegant home scented by pastries, her clothing as neat and clean as her face and hair, could she be better off as she is? The world beyond these walls is far from paradise.

Just as soon, of course, I recall the horrors that led her here, the frailty of her position, the risks inherited through her blood. That’s to say nothing of Ziegler’s wife and the twisted nature of a relationship that crawls over my skin.

With tentative care, I reach for Evelien again, only to provoke another squeal.

In this disguised prison, she brings to mind a similar girl. Poppy at the orphanage. How she too feared leaving the comforts of her cage, needing just the right nudge, a small incentive to break free.

I don’t have a magic book at my disposal. Perhaps second best is the very trick that first delighted Poppy, earning her initial trust.

Willing to try, I exaggerate a gasp. “Why, I almost forgot. I brought my special button.” I yank the lowest button from my coat, and Evelien watches from behind her hunched shoulder. “Would you like to see what makes it special?”

I don’t bother waiting for a reply that may or may not come. I simply dive into a quick succession of sleights of hand, making the tiny disc disappear and reappear, each time luring out more of Evelien’s interest and the width of her smile. When it comes to the button dropping from her nose, eliciting a stifled giggle, I pray I’ve baited her enough.

I let out a forlorn sigh. “I’m afraid it’s time for me to go now.” Her brightness dims as if on a switch. “But,” I tell her, “if you come with me and your uncle, I’ll not only let you guard the magic button, I’ll also teach you how to make it vanish. Would you like that?”

The girl is tempted, debating.

Gerda chimes in. “Your real mother would insist that you go. You may even take Marie with you.”

Evelien studies her doll. After a moment, she eases away from Gerda and once more accepts my hand. This time, to my grand relief, she doesn’t change her mind. As Gerda assists with the girl’s coat and shoes, I stuff the bed with clothes to mimic a body. Should Ziegler’s wife peek into the room tonight, as I suspect she’s prone to do, any delay of discovery would help.