Come to think of it, we never discussed how he’d handle the deliveries not initially planned for this area. I ask him, “How will you manage the drive back, what with all the cargo you have?”

“I have some ideas,” he assures me. “And all include taking a vastly different route.”

A necessity, I realize. The same checkpoints could be problematic.

He adds, “I am just sorry I cannot take you farther.”

“Please don’t be. Your help has been tremendous.”

“It is small in comparison to what I wish I could do. But thank you.” While his eyes remain pensive, a hint of relief rides his exhale. “Now then.” He checks his watch. “A train from Utrecht should be coming through soon.”

The prospect of what awaits, a gauntlet that spans all the way to Switzerland, tempts me to keep myself and Evelien right here in the truck. Of course, any such safety would be fleeting.

“We should go,” I announce, more for me than anyone. “Thank you again, Mr. Brouwer.”

He offers his hand with a caring look. “May our paths cross again,” he says, “in a better world.”

It’s impossible to envision any future beyond the immediate challenges ahead. Still, I accept his handshake, grateful for the notion.

***

Beneath the arched cover of the station platform, shaded from the morning sun, a pair of teenage boys sprints past to catch a departing train. The sweep of air causes me to shudder, sweat still dampening my scalp. Blindly I tuck errant strands of hair into place. I’d have applied powder and lipstick to lessen my dishevelment if I could.

Then again, a blander look is wise. Who knows how soon an alert of Evelien and our murder involvement will spread?

As it is, I’m wary of any stares. Given the Germans’ Gilze-Rijen Air Base located just west of Tilburg, numerous airmen from the Luftwaffe are among the travelers awaiting our train. At my side, Evelien holds Marie in the crook of her arm while fiddling with her newly prized button, a token the girl has well earned. It was one of the few items still in my pocket, perhaps anchored by the last of my ale-soaked cards. Or maybe it’s magical after all.

One can hope.

A dog erupts into barking, and Evelien grabs my hand. On a neighboring platform, the German shepherd stands leashed by a guard. Even after quieting, the animal appears eager to attack. Same for any number of soldiers patrolling the station, stopping people at will.

In my left pocket, I fidget with the tickets I’ve purchased, ready to show them to a train conductor when called for.

Evelien lets out a tiny groan, looking up at me. “I’m hungry.”

Once more, I lament the belongings left behind, including the snacks for our trip. Crud—my ration coupons too. I glance about, weighing a desire to search for food at the risk of missing our transport.