The library was nothing fancy, a large room with bookshelves and a comfortable table and chairs. But it had been Marianne’s idea, and she had been right—it was a great success. The DPs had relished access to books. And Marianne had collected and organized them herself.

As Marianne and Ania approached, a few children ran toward them—Aarne Alver, Lev Pulvel, Janna and Eha Masing. These last two were sweet, rosy-cheeked twins born right here in the camp, members of a surprising peacetime baby boom.

“Have you brought things for the party?” Lev asked in his near-perfect English.

“Kuchen?” Eha asked, bouncing with excitement. This was a German word all the children had learned, whether or not their parents approved.

“Cake, yes,” Marianne corrected, in deference to their mother, Jutta, who stood in the doorway of their apartment. “And lots of spinach soup.” The children squealed and shrieked in mock horror. Spinach soup was what they had eaten for breakfast, lunch, and dinner during the early days of the camp.

“Süssigkeiten?” Janna tugged Ania’s skirt. Sweets? The children loved Ania, who spoke little English, and no Estonian, but somehow seemed, always, to grasp what they wanted. In the presence of these children, Marianne saw her smile far more than she ever did with her own sons.

Ania had cared for some of the children since they were newborns. When the camp administration had placed an ad in town for local women to serve as nannies for babies whose mothers were too sick after the war, or too traumatized, Marianne had pressed Ania to apply. And Ania had proved a deft and patient nanny, swaddling the babies in old army blankets, coaxing them to swallow their sugared vitamin water from medicine droppers. Her silence put the families at ease. You’re so good at this! Marianne had once remarked, and was startled to see tears spring to her friend’s eyes.

“Let us arrange the party and we’ll call you in,” Marianne said to the children. She nodded her head toward the residence where she could see Jutta waving. How tall and strong the woman looked—so different from the diminished figure she had once been. Marianne waved back, surprised to find tears pressing at her own eyes. All the men in Jutta’s family were dead: executed by one of Hitler’s Einsatzgruppen.

“Now,” she announced, once they had entered the library, “we must make a beautiful end.”

The party was set to begin when Benita burst through the door. “There you are!” she exclaimed, her cheeks flushed. “I can never find my way in this place!”

She looked particularly lovely this morning—and the waft of high spirits she brought with her was contagious.

“Ania,” Benita said, beaming. “How is this new married life?”

“Not so different than before.” Ania shrugged.

“Oh really,” Benita said with a twinkle in her eye. To Marianne’s surprise the other woman did not blush.

“A man wants what he wants,” Ania said demurely, and they both laughed.

Marianne busied herself with the tablecloth.