On the bed, I sink onto my side. Tears pour, soaking my pillow, until my whole head throbs and my mouth goes dry. Until all I can do is shut my eyes and breathe and miss him so much it hurts.

Through the quiet, a soft noise enters the air. Raindrops on the window.

Tap. Tap-tap. Tap.

The sounds form a gentle rhythm, almost hypnotic, drawing me back in time. I’m in the Jansens’ home, curled up on my old bed, my cheeks barely dried of tears. It’s on the night of my quarrel with Arie, and he’s sending a message through the wall, his last coded taps I’ll ever hear.

FORGIVE ME? he says.

And I realize, at this moment, my answer to him is the same as it will always be.

OF COURSE

Chapter 85

Securing a sponsorship for Evelien takes close to six months. Hutton’s suggestions prove sage. In a letter to the Jansens, I brought myself to pen words that no parent should have to read, sharing what I was able, concluding with a request for help. The couple’s letter in response included no outpouring of grief—handled privately, as expected—and focused outwardly on their assistance in locating Father Lawrence. Evidently, the priest spared not a day before using his church connections, persisting with the Jansens against any obstacle, of which there were many.

Now Evelien, at last, has been cleared to immigrate.

After my initial burst of joy, the news settles on me as bittersweet. Beyond the cherished friendships I’ve made, I’ve become part of a team, even in the shadows, to win an unquestionably worthy war. To leave before it’s over, with the outcome still very much unknown, feels wrong. Still, Evelien’s safety has to come first, making the choice irrefutable.

Over our months of waiting, though I was replaced at MI9 as requested, I couldn’t sit idly by. With Crockatt’s permission and Hutton’s quiet input, I’ve continued to tinker with gadgets—and with a bit of added help. Evelien has revealed herself to be a wonderfully curious child, especially while testing my prototypes, her questions increasing as her comfort grows. She reminds me of Arie in that way: puzzling over details of why and how contraptions work. A few of her queries have even led me to solutions.

That being said, there’s less and less work to be done. At Hitler’s prison camps, expanded distribution of X-ray machines now frequently catch our escape tools upon arrival. Fortunately, most of our POWs have already accumulated a surplus of supplies. Some of the prisoners’ coded messages have even asked for the halting of shipments, as finding new hiding places has become a challenge.

An ironic problem to have, no doubt.