It’s a testament to her youthful innocence that she’s still able to trust anyone, much less me. A practical stranger. She even grips my hand while accompanying me over to Arie. When I guide her to sit nearby, he gazes at her with a smile that emits both gratitude and pride.

“You’re safe now.” He sounds tired from our hastened trek. “You’re going to be safe.”

Surely bewildered by all that’s happened, she simply regards Marie on her lap. As she smooths the doll’s dress, I kneel before Arie and confer in English so as not to alarm the girl.

“The belt on your arm, is it tight enough? I can get something else, if there’s anything you’ve packed in…” I glance around for the duffel, and my stomach sinks. “Oh no. Your bag—it’s in the courtyard.”

“I’m fine… The belt’s plenty tight.”

There was no time to do a single thing but race away. I’m frustrated, nonetheless, by my inability to better contain the damage. “Now we need to find you help.”

“And we will,” he agrees, “at the farm.”

For a second, I think I’ve misremembered the timeline. “That’s not till tomorrow.”

He doesn’t respond.

“Arie—”

“Check for our papers,” he rasps. “Will you?”

“What?”

He raises his chin toward a back corner of the room. “Papers. Under the machinery, you said.”

Indeed, they’re one of the main reasons I suggested coming here, but our priorities have since changed. “Yes. But first, we need to figure out—”

“Just check. Please.” His priority—Evelien’s safety—plainly remains the same. And really, it’s taking longer for us to quibble than for me to tackle the request.

“All right.” I stride over to the machinery, discernible from the lightness of its cobweb cloak. I squat and thoroughly search the contraption’s underbelly, just as I did earlier today—a period that feels like ages ago.

Same as then, I find no packet or papers waiting.

I can’t say I’m surprised. In fact, given my recent second-guessing of Willem, even coming here seems a risk. Although, where else would we go?

Again I lower onto my knees before him, empty-handed. “I’m so sorry.”

He assures me with a tender smile, face glistening from the rain. “Worth a try.” Shifting his body for comfort, he muffles a gasp, then closes his eyes and lays his head back against the wall.

From my desperation to do something, anything, an idea comes to me.

“Mrs. van der Meer—the druggist’s wife. She’ll be at a shelter now, but when the air raid is over, I bet she can send me to someone.”

“No.”

“By that, I mean any doctors she knows in the area—”

“Who could all be on alert,” he finishes, eyes still shut. “Even trying to bring one here is bound to get us caught.”