We donât know where. Ellen doesnât know either. But they are safe.â
Ellen sobbed aloud, and put her face in her hands. Papa put his arm around her. âThey are safe, Ellen. I promise you that. You will see them again quite soon. Can you try hard to believe my promise?â
Ellen hesitated, nodded, and wiped her eyes with her hand.
âBut, Papa,â Annemarie said, looking around the small apartment, with its few pieces of furniture: the fat stuffed sofa, the table and chairs, the small bookcase against the wall. âYou said that we would hide her. How can we do that? Where can she hide?â
Papa smiled. âThat part is easy. It will be as your mama said: you two will sleep together in your bed, and you may giggle and talk and tell secrets to each other. And if anyone comesââ
Ellen interrupted him. âWho might come? Will it be soldiers? Like the ones on the corners?â Annemarie remembered how terrified Ellen had looked the day when the soldier had questioned them on the corner.
âI really donât think anyone will. But it never hurts to be prepared. If anyone should come, even soldiers, you two will be sisters. You are together so much, it will be easy for you to pretend that you are sisters.â
He rose and walked to the window. He pulled the lace curtain aside and looked down into the street. Outside, it was beginning to grow dark. Soon they would have to draw the black curtains that all Danes had on their windows; the entire city had to be completely darkened at night. In a nearby tree, a bird was singing; otherwise it was quiet. It was the last night of September.
âGo, now, and get into your nightgowns. It will be a long night.â
Annemarie and Ellen got to their feet. Papa suddenly crossed the room and put his arms around them both. He kissed the top of each head: Annemarieâs blond one, which reached to his shoulder, and Ellenâs dark hair, the thick curls braided as always into pigtails.
âDonât be frightened,â he said to them softly. âOnce I had three daughters. Tonight I am proud to have three daughters again.â
5
Who Is the Dark-Haired One?
âDo you really think anyone will come?â Ellen asked nervously, turning to Annemarie in the bedroom. âYour father doesnât think so.â
âOf course not. Theyâre always threatening stuff. They just like to scare people.â Annemarie took her nightgown from a hook in the closet.
âAnyway, if they did, it would give me a chance to practice acting. Iâd just pretend to be Lise. I wish I were taller, though.â Ellen stood on tiptoe, trying to make herself tall. She laughed at herself, and her voice was more relaxed.
âYou were great as the Dark Queen in the school play last year,â Annemarie told her. âYou should be an actress when you grow up.â
âMy father wants me to be a teacher.He wants
everyone
to be a teacher, like him. But maybe I could convince him that I should go to acting school.â Ellen stood on tiptoe again, and made an imperious gesture with her arm. âI am the Dark Queen,â she intoned dramatically. âI have come to command the night!â
âYou should try saying, âI am Lise Johansen!ââ Annemarie said, grinning. âIf you told the Nazis that you were the Dark Queen, theyâd haul you off to a mental institution.â
Ellen dropped her actress pose and sat down, with her legs curled under her, on the bed. âThey wonât really come here, do you think?â she asked again.
Annemarie shook her head. âNot in a million years.â She picked up her hairbrush.
The girls found themselves whispering as they got ready for bed. There was no need, really, to whisper; they were, after all, supposed to be normal sisters, and Papa had said they could giggle and talk. The bedroom door was closed.
But the night did seem, somehow, different from a
Janwillem van de Wetering