The Frisian

Friesland, Netherlands, 1942

Famke did not look at Luuk in church. She did not like the way his eyes rested on her as she moved quickly to an open pew, her child trailing the skirt of her dress. Luuk was tall and thick across the chest, with auburn curls that were far too long for a man, Famke thought. His body and clothes still smelled of the earth he toiled day and night with his father, harvesting potatoes and beets. She knew he had travelled a good two miles to attend the service, and though he had started out clean, the early morning sun had covered him with sweat and dirt from the road. He was a good, Christian man, but Famke could not find a charitable bone in her body for him. She licked her hand and smoothed her son’s hair to his skull.

No, Famke did not need distractions of this kind. She was there for God. She was a young widow, only twenty-four, and in her mind she was now and had always been devoted to the Saviour. She did not mourn the loss of her husband; one ill-tempered man was plenty enough. His sudden death afforded her a quiet she hadn’t known in the five years her husband was alive. She missed his income, but she managed to feed herself and her son by washing clothes in her kitchen and in the stream that ran behind her home. The soap made her hands burn and her skin was red and veined, but she didn’t mind the sound of the water swirling gently around her and the occasional visit from a mallard or a spoonbill. She was born in watery Friesland and the water ran in her blood.

Since her husband’s death, Famke ruled her household and her child with an iron fist, deciding how they moved and lived, and the boy needed it. Not that Sem was disobedient, quite the contrary. He was a good boy, and he feared God. But he needed to be watched. There was something about him that irked Famke, and if she thought too much about it she could not sleep at night. The way he moved in the grass behind her house, the way he chased butterflies and spoke to the wind. Something was definitely not right with that child.

Famke sat straight-backed on the edge of a pew and nodded at the familiar faces, all of them weary from two years of war. She tapped her son’s arm quickly so he understood that he should not stare behind him, but he did not turn his eyes front. His features crumpled as they did before he cried, and a quiet came over the congregation. Famke looked behind her in irritation. Two German soldiers had entered the church and were making their way towards an empty pew. The Germans were scattered in Leeuwarden, but it was rare to see them in her small church. The pastor emitted a deep, audible sigh and clasped his hands to contain his fury, turning his body to the cross.

Famke twisted her child’s head to the pulpit with three clawed fingers.

“Do not look at them and do not cry,” she hissed. She pointed to the psalm in her Bible and the boy sang.

Luuk lingered after services, watching Famke in the aisle, positioning himself close to her so he could catch her in conversation and she could not refuse. It was the Christian thing to do, to be polite, as much as she did not see the use of it. Words were for the communication of what was absolutely necessary, and the rest was all annoyance.

“Good morning, Famke,” said Luuk.

She glanced at the door, but the path was now littered with worshippers engaged in quiet, pointless conversations. They could not speak openly until the German soldiers left.

“Say goeiemoarn to Mr. Dykstra,” she told Sem, and the boy smiled when Luuk extended a hand to shake his heartily. The brief moment filled his soft heart, and she could not help but stiffen.

“I have a few potatoes for you, Famke,” Luuk said. “I’ll accompany you home. They’re much too heavy for you to carry.”

This she could not protest.

*

Luuk drove the wagon carefully through the farm roads and avoided deep puddles and areas that had been muddied by rains. Usually Famke made the journey on foot; everything she required was within walking or biking distance in Leeuwarden, even if it took an hour or two. Cars and trucks had invaded the city after the Nazi occupation, but when the streets quieted and petrol became scarce, horse-drawn wagons and bicycles began to fill the roads. This suited Famke as she did not like progress of any kind, and the odour of exhaust made her eyes weep. She attached her laundry to the back of her bike and trailed it behind her, one hand clutching the hem of her dress to keep it in place.

When they arrived at her wooden farmhouse, now bereft of its farm, Luuk handed her the potatoes and told Sem to play in the yard. The thought of being alone with Luuk alarmed her and she moved towards the door of her home, but he caught her arm.

“I need to speak with you, Famke.”

He would not go until she agreed, of this she was certain. She brushed a loose blonde lock from her neck and tried to tuck it back under a pin.

“It’s quiet here,” Luuk said. “No light or noise from the city.”

“Yes. I only hear the waters at night.”

Luuk shifted his weight and she noticed his shoes were caked in mud. “You’ve heard talk, I’m sure,” he began.

“Yes,” she answered, but she didn’t understand what he meant. Talk of what? She had no one to speak to and passed most of her days in silence, save a few words to Sem. The only people she conversed with outside her home were the women who handed her their clothes for washing and mending, along with a handful of coins.

“They’ve begun to deport the Jews,” said Luuk.

“Yes,” Famke replied. The Jews of Leeuwarden had entirely disappeared and she was glad of it. For more than a year they had been forbidden from public spaces, and Famke thought this was right. Jews did not accept the word of Christ; they were ungodly. Before the war she had not liked to see Jews in the streets or the shops speaking their foreign language, and this dislike intensified once they began to wear the yellow stars on their chests. When she first saw the stars, she had not felt pity for them, as other Christians did; she felt they were deserving of it. It was only logical that they had killed the son of God and they would not receive His grace.

Luuk watched her carefully. “They are even taking the children.”

Famke lifted her chin and pressed her lips together, searching for Sem in the grass. She caught sight of him staring at an insect in his fingers, gently holding its wings to prevent it from flying.

“Who told you this?”

Luuk dabbed at his forehead with a handkerchief, the veins in his arms like rivers.

“It’s God’s truth,” he said.

“What of it?” she answered. “What do you want me to do? I’m a widow and I wash clothes. I have no direct line to Hitler.” The last sentence was meant to carry levity but Luuk did not see it as such.

“I know I can trust you because you fear God, Famke. The Germans are watching my family.”

“The Germans are watching every family.”

Luuk ignored this. “I need a place for a Jew to hide and you can take him into your home. The Nazis have raided many farms and if they catch me I’ll be deported along with them. God would not want us to turn our backs.”

Famke stared at him. “So you are asking me to harbour him, so that I will be deported instead of you? For a Jew?”

“You are a woman, and it will only be for a few short nights, until we can move him again. We have to keep them moving.”

“Them?”

“There are many. Most are Jews, some are good Christians in the resistance.”

“Our Christians?”

“Yes. Surely you must know.”

“Of course I do.” Though she didn’t really know, and had never really understood why people continued to resist. The Germans were clearly here to stay.

“Is your boy old enough to be trusted?” he asked.

“He is soon five,” she replied irritably, because she had not agreed to take the Jew, so what did his age matter? “Sem does not yet go to school and does not speak to anyone but me.” She put a hand to her lips, thinking of the cool water just inside her kitchen. “Jews are not the children of God. Their souls are damned to the Devil himself.”

The oak tree above them stirred, and Luuk shaded his eyes to look at it. “Will you take him?” he asked.

Famke felt the blood rush to her face. Her words made a hard, angry stone in her throat and would not come. She smoothed the fabric of her dress.

“He will arrive tonight,” Luuk said. “After your boy is asleep. Hide him in the attic. He’ll be quiet, I can promise you that. And I’ll bring you more vegetables, maybe even a little cheese, if I can find a coupon.”

“Why are you helping him? Did he work on your farm?”

“Nee, I did not know him before a few weeks ago.”

All this trouble. She turned her back to Luuk and walked into the house.

“Tonight,” he said. “We will come on foot.”

*

Famke knew she would have to prepare a lie for her son. He would sleep through the night, but in the morning he would hear sounds from the attic above. She pulled on the line to check the clothes for dampness and began to fold them on the table. She made crisp, exact lines in every garment, careful to hide the mended holes. It would be all right, she thought. The Jew would stay for a night or two and then leave, and life would be as it had been. Her old house and sodden land were too far north of the city to be of interest to any German, or to anyone, for that matter. In the city she hid her bicycle so it would not be stolen for its rubber tires or metal, but here, she left it leaning against the shed.

At eight o’clock she drew two carrots from her small garden, fried them with a potato in a quarter of her butter ration and placed the dish in front of Sem. He ate without speaking and obediently put himself to bed. Famke thought she would not be able to sleep, so she picked up an armful of soiled clothes. Smearing a little oil over her hands to try to protect them, she dropped undergarments into hot water on the stove. For two hours she washed, her face wet from steam, until her arms ached and she rested her head on the kitchen table, which rocked to one side under her weight. She woke hours later to Luuk gently touching her shoulder in the darkness.

“Where is he?” she asked.

“Hjir,” Luuk took a step to the side and Famke’s hand went immediately to the silver cross around her neck.

The child could not have been more than seven.

He stood in dark shorts and a beige collared shirt, stained with dirt and food, maybe blood. Famke noticed an odour in the room, but could not know if it was Luuk, the boy, or herself, as she had not bathed. Luuk must have carried him almost four miles. The boy’s mouth did not close, and his breathing was audible.

Famke rose instinctively to get a cloth from the sink, poured two cups of water for them and then washed the boy’s face, rubbing at the caked-on dirt until his skin reddened. She took a piece of rye bread from the counter and buttered it lightly, handing it to him.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice as frail as a little girl’s. He stood and ate the bread, careful not to let any crumbs fall.

“He is Frisian,” Famke said.

“Yes,” said Luuk. “They’ve lived here for years.”

“Where are his parents?”

Luuk looked at her. “In a labour camp. They’re fine.”

“How long will he stay?”

“A few days,” said Luuk. “He’s safer than most because he has forged papers, though they’re not very good. Until I come, if anyone happens to see him, he’s your family. You have a cousin?”

Famke thought. She had a cousin in the coastal town of Tzummarum, just a few miles from the sea. “Ineke,” she said. “In Tzummarum.”

“Fine, you’re Ineke’s son. Say it to me, Pieter.”

“My mother is Ineke Atsma,” replied the child. “From Tzummarum.”

“Atsma?” Famke asked.

“The last name from the identification papers. Say it again, Pieter.”

“Ineke Atsma.”

“Good boy,” said Luuk, touching his hair. “I’ll be back for you. Just a few more days.” The child stepped closer so Luuk’s hand covered his head, and they stood like that for a moment until Famke scraped her chair along the floor, breaking their communion.

Luuk looked at her. “Put him to bed. I’ll wait.”

She helped him up the ladder to the attic and gave the boy a chamber pot. Even though it was summer, the room was not hot. The sea was close and its arms reached into Leeuwarden to cool the air at night. She unfolded two winter blankets to make a bed on the floor, leaving the quilt she had sewn with her grandmother on the shelf. That was not for him.

“You sleep there,” she said. The child obeyed, dropping onto the blankets and closing his eyes almost immediately. The fact that he did not remove his shoes irritated Famke, but she did not want to pull them off herself.

Luuk stood in the kitchen, his body too large for the room.

“There’s really no one here?”

“No one,” said Famke. “The neighbour’s dog comes to visit Sem from time to time. But he lives half a mile away.”

“That’s good,” said Luuk. “That’s very good. You’re doing the work of God, Famke. Thank you.”

“A few days,” she said.

Luuk nodded, drank the rest of his water and disappeared into the trees.

Famke did not think it was the work of God. She looked down at Sem, who was sleeping quietly in the small bed beside hers, his feet and head almost touching the boards. She didn’t know what her child was doing on this earth, or what would become of him, or how to make something become of him. She knew she had to feed him and see that he followed the path of Christ, but she did not know how to be his mother. War or no war, she didn’t understand women who clung to their children’s hands in the street or kissed them fervently when saying goodbye. Half of Sem’s years had been lived in war, but this was his life. He knew no other. He feared Nazi soldiers and burning planes dropping from the sky like pieces of the sun, because there had been a few near Leeuwarden, but at home he did not seem to be unhappy. He was used to the silence.

When she woke in the morning light she almost forgot the Jew was above her. She listened carefully but no sounds came, so she dressed and started a porridge on the stove, which she made with water, not milk. When the grains were soft, she climbed the ladder with a bowl in her hand, only half-filled. She did not have the means to give him more, she told herself, and she would not waste good food if she didn’t have to. The boy was still asleep, so she left it beside his small body, his chest rising and falling.

When she stepped off the ladder she saw Sem sitting up in bed, watching her.

“Sem,” she said. “A cousin arrived last night, and he is sleeping upstairs. A nice boy named Pieter, Ineke’s son. He will be staying with us for a short time and you must be quiet when you play. No loud talking, no running far from the house. You’re to stay close. If someone comes, you must hide Pieter in the grass or the attic. Is that understood?”

“Pieter?”

Famke ignored him.

“Why must we hide in the grass?” he asked.

“Because it is so,” Famke said, trying to think of a reason. “Because it’s a game,” she offered.

“Can I see him?”

“When he wakes, you’ll see him. He’s tired after his journey from Tzummarum. For now, you can wash and eat.”

Sem raised his head to look at the attic door and did not move.

“Wash,” she instructed, silently asking God to grant her patience.

She heard a small, almost imperceptible noise from the attic at eight o’clock and realized it was the spoon against the bowl. Sem looked at her, his eyes hopeful. Famke climbed the ladder and found the boy fully dressed and in the shoes that had not left his feet. His mouth still hung open like a gaping fish.

“Come,” she said. “And bring the bowl.”

He moved slowly down the ladder, careful not to drop the dish, which was licked clean.

Sem and Pieter stared at each other.

“Hallo,” Pieter said. Sem rose from his chair and looked from the boy to his mother.

“You can play outside,” she said, sorting clothes.

“Nee,” said Pieter. “I’m not allowed.”

“It’s fine here,” she replied. “It’s fair enough today that I’ll be working by the stream in the morning. Enough talking now.”

Pieter stared at her. “I only go out at night. Luuk will be angry.”

“Go now,” Famke said, taking his arm and moving him firmly towards the door. “I told you, it’s fine here.”

The boy followed Sem into the grass, his hands clasped in front of his chest like an old woman. They would sort it out, Famke thought. She had a few hours of work and then she would return the dry clothes to a client in town on her bicycle. The child would go to the attic then.

The boys did not disturb her all morning, and she again forgot the Jew was there. She concentrated on removing stains and the marks under the arms of the men’s shirts. One of her clients, Arlette de Vries, swore that the laundry service in town could never clean or iron like Famke could, and she smiled to herself when she thought of it. She was not much in this world that had stood still for her, in this world that would keep her a laundress forever. She never would be anything to speak of, but what she did, she did well.

When it was time for her to leave, Famke fed the boys potatoes and milk and sent them both to the attic with strict instructions not to touch anything. She waited near the gate for a few minutes, listening to see if their voices were audible. Hearing nothing but the water and a few birds, she loaded the clean laundry, climbed on her bicycle and rode towards the city.

This was how it went for three days. Famke was surprised that her life did not change much, though she resented sharing her rations with an extra mouth and became even more bitter as the potatoes began to disappear. She counted them to make sure the Jew did not steal, but the number was always the same.

What did change was Sem. As each hour passed, he seemed to burst out of himself. He and Pieter kicked a ball in the grass, built towers out of sticks, and sat near the stream watching insects. They spent hours whispering about nothing that Famke cared to listen to, or to understand. The Jew clearly had practice being quiet. Sem begged to sleep upstairs in the attic with him, but Famke refused because people were meant to sleep in beds, and she did not want him behaving as though the Jew was his brother. Every evening after dark she lit a single candle on the kitchen table and kept watch, not for the Germans, but for Luuk. If he did not arrive soon she would seek him out herself. Sunday was too long to wait.

The night before church Luuk arrived and immediately scolded her for leaving three pairs of different-sized shoes on the floor. Famke ignored him, watching the bag on his shoulder and hoping it contained appropriate compensation for her troubles. She was not disappointed. Luuk had brought cheese, rye bread, potatoes, and three apples, and Famke understood that the food was his apology, and her right to take. She rose to wake Pieter.

“Nee,” Luuk said. “I cannot take the boy.”

Famke stared. “You will take him,” she said. “As we agreed.”

“Please, Famke,” Luuk pleaded. “There are men and women in grave danger, much more danger than Pieter, and they need safe passage before the child. You can keep him a few more days. Maybe a week until I can arrange everything.”

“A week? Impossible.”

“Why?” he asked. “Has anyone seen him?”

“No. He plays freely in the yard with Sem, and no one is the wiser.”

“You allow the boy to play outside?”

“I told you, there is no one to see him. Not even Guus the dog.”

“It’s too dangerous. What if someone comes?”

Famke didn’t speak. No one ever came, but she did not want to say this to Luuk. “Then take him,” she said. “Take him and leave us in peace.”

Luuk shook his head. “We have nowhere to go, Famke. My farm was raided by the Nazis but praised be God, the men had left the day before. Keep Pieter a little longer, Famke. I’ll come for him soon, I promise.”

She did not answer. She handed the empty satchel to Luuk, who took it gently. “God sees all, Famke,” he said quietly. He slipped into the dark, holding a small flashlight to light his way.

All these troubles, she thought, and for what.

In the morning Famke bathed both boys, dressing Sem in his church clothes. “We’ll be home in three hours and you’re to go to the attic the moment we leave,” she told Pieter. She opened the front door and collected laundry from the line, piling the garments onto a wooden table for ironing. She stopped when she heard Pieter singing quietly to Sem, his voice as pure and clear as water. It was a song she recognized from her childhood: Suze nanepoppe. As a girl she hadn’t understood the words, but she had sung it with her grandmother, who would smile and rock her head back and forth like a pendulum.

Quiet now, little baby,

 little calf lying in the ditch

 your father and mother are so far away

 they cannot hear you calling.

 She straightened her back behind the pile of clothes. “Where did you learn that song?” For once the boy’s mouth was closed.

“From my neighbour, Eltje,” he said, pulling on the collar of his shirt, which was, Famke noticed, cleaner than it had ever been.

“Do you understand the words?”

The boy’s eyes were glassy. “Yes.”

She pushed him gently towards the ladder. “Up. Go on,” she said. But the child did not move.

“What is it now?” she asked.

Teun, the owner of Guus the dog, was leaning on his cane just a few feet from the house, watching them all through the open door.

“Goeiemoarn, Famke,” he said. “I hope I didn’t startle you.”

Farming onions and potatoes for fifty years had done the man in. He looked as though all his limbs had been broken and never reset.

“Not at all,” she said. “What brings you here? Is everything all right?”

“You have a visitor?” Teun smiled.

“My cousin’s child,” she answered. “From Tzummarum.”

“Ah, well,” said Teun. He lifted his cane and pointed it at Sem. “I’ve come to see about Guus, actually. I haven’t seen the dog for five days, and I know he likes to visit the little one. Has he been here, that you remember?”

“Nee,” said Famke. “He hasn’t.”

Teun looked distraught, but tried to smile again. “Well, I’m sure he’ll turn up. He’s still young, or fairly young. Only seven, I think. Maybe eight. I’m sure he will outlive me.”

“Seven years is a good life for a dog,” Famke said, though she could tell from Teun’s face that it was the wrong thing to say.

“Off to church?” asked Teun, trying to keep the weight off his twisted leg.

“Of course.”

“And the cousin isn’t going?”

She realized Pieter was not dressed for church. “He feels poorly,” she said. “Just a slight fever, I think. Pieter, change into your nightclothes and get in bed.”

Sem looked like he might cry, and Famke quickly turned his face away from Teun.

“Well,” she said. “I’ll let you know if I see Guus. In fact I’ll bring him home for you, if I find him.”

Teun looked past her at Pieter, who was hiding behind the ladder to the attic. “That’s kind of you.”

“We’ll catch up to you,” she said, knowing full well they were all walking in the same direction. There was nowhere to go other than south from her home; head north or west and one would fall into the sea, and east, into the marshlands.

“There’s no need,” he said, starting down the road. “I’ll only hold you back with this leg of mine. And there is rain to come, so best take an umbrella.”

“I will, Teun.”

Famke closed the door and sat both boys at the kitchen table. Tears fell down Pieter’s cheeks, one after another, but the child did not make a sound.

“Pay no mind to the old man,” she said. “His wife is long dead and his daughter is in Groningen, so he has no one to speak to but the dog, if he ever finds him. No one will know you’re here, Pieter, I promise you.”

“But where is Guus?” Sem whispered, his lip beginning to quiver.

“How could I know?” Famke cried. “Perhaps he is with God.” She grew more irritated with his softness and pushed in a chair until it banged against the table. “Pieter, go upstairs and do not make a sound until you hear us come home.”

Famke gripped Sem under his arm, dragging him out the door, his feet an inch off the ground. She greeted old Teun and fell back into silence for the hour walk in front of them.

Luuk was standing near his wagon in front of the church, waiting.

“My old horse is glad you’re here, Sem,” he said. “He’s been hoping for a pat.”

Famke turned so her face could not be seen.

“My neighbour saw the Jew,” she whispered. “Teun. But no harm will come from it. He believes Pieter is my cousin.”

Luuk’s eyes darkened. “Why was he not in the attic?”

“He was on his way up the ladder. The neighbour was searching for his dog.”

Luuk did not hesitate. “Go straight home after the service,” he said. “We move him tonight.”

“Yes.”

“I’ll come after dark,” Luuk whispered.

Famke did not protest when he took her arm to guide her into the church.

*

The skies opened on the walk home, white, solid sheets of rain, as though the sea had chosen to rise up and fall to the earth. The rain covered them both with mud from the road, their umbrella useless. Famke had still not spoken to Sem, because she could not think of what to say, and she did not wonder what was going on in his mind.

When they reached home, Sem went straight to the attic to liberate Pieter, but descended just as quickly.

“He’s not there,” he said, his tears coming fast. He ran behind the house and called his name.

“Go to your usual spots and look for him,” Famke told him. “And do not yell.” The Jew was surely sulking in the garden somewhere, or waiting under a tree to take shelter from the rain. But her breath quickened and she could not stop it.

She watched Sem from the window until he disappeared from view. Little calf lying in the ditch. Famke did not know if she had thought the words or if she had spoken them out loud. She scrubbed the mud from her arms and Sunday dress, but she lost sight of Sem and found herself outside in the rain, shouting his name. She saw him on the banks of the swollen stream and called him back.

“Go to the house,” she cried. “I will find him.”

He stood staring at her, his body twisted towards the fields.

“Hûs!” she pointed, and Sem obeyed.

Famke went to the water and moved quickly along the bank. Heit en mem sa fier fan hûs. Father and mother so far from the house. She began to repeat the song to herself, her wet clothes clinging to her body and her legs heavy from the mud. She searched the stream and imagined his bloated, drowned face, his mouth still open like a speared fish. Trees and bushes scraped against her forehead and hands, but she did not call his name for fear she would be heard. She walked like this, the song and rain flooding her, until she realized she was singing the words out loud. Kealtsje yn ‘e groppe. Little calf, lying in the ditch.

She saw the face first, half-covered in leaves, and the eyes closed as though he were asleep. The dog was not moving and Famke touched its chest briefly, feeling for a heartbeat, but the animal’s body was stiff. She kneeled and rested her hand on the dog’s head. Straightening herself, she left the animal as she found him and tried to brush the fur from her wet hands. Little calf, she sang, little calf. She imagined his voice answering her, that small voice, weak as a two-year-old child’s. She turned in a circle, wondering if she was lost, but she listened to the waters to find her bearings. She wiped the rain from her face and walked, singing the tune, her grandmother’s tune, and now Pieter’s. And when he answered she did not know if it was her own voice, or his, or Sem, or God calling to her. She raised her head to the sky. The wind shook and water caught in tree leaves fell to the earth like a cloudburst. She stood still and listened, sure that the voice was not hers. Little calf lying in the ditch.

She was strong, and the child was thin and small, so she picked him up from the mud and carried him in her arms to her home, past Sem, who stared at them both in terror.

“Get a blanket from the attic and put it on the bed,” she said. She lay the child down and he closed his eyes immediately. She took off his wet clothes, and then her own, dropping them into a laundry tub. She pulled on her nightgown and fell beside the child, into a sleep that swallowed every part of her.

She woke two hours later to Sem touching her shoulder.

“We’re hungry,” he said. The Jew stood behind him, silent, his face cleaned of mud.

Famke nodded and went to the kitchen, where she cut the last apple in half and handed a piece to each child. She pulled up three carrots from the garden, the earth saturated from the rain. She sliced cabbage, onions, and potatoes, and poured water into a pot to make a stew. She cut two thick pieces of bread and buttered them while the scent of vegetables filled the room. When they were soft she salted them and gave each child a large bowl, full to the brim. She sat with the children at the table and did not speak of Pieter’s disappearance, or of anything else, because there was no need.

“Your face,” said Sem finally.

“What of it?” she asked.

She looked into her spoon and saw her reflection. She was covered in splashes of mud and dried blood, crusted to her cheek. She unpinned her hair, filled with dirt and twigs, and worked to free them. Sem went to her night table and handed her a brush, but when he saw how tired she was he brushed her hair himself and she let him.

Luuk arrived after midnight, his face damp from sweat and humidity. The water in us, Famke thought. It will live inside us until our last breath, until it rises up and drowns us, all of us sinners. She woke Pieter and told him it was time to leave, and the child did not protest. He took Luuk’s outstretched hand and did not look back at Famke.

Let the Devil have him, she thought.

It would be just her and Sem now, as it had been.

*

The following Sunday, Famke did not see Luuk or his wagon before church. She took Sem to a pew near the middle of the room and sat silently, waiting for the service to begin. Arlette de Vries slipped behind her, wincing as she landed.

“My knees,” she said. The old woman took hold of Sem’s hand and placed a red candy in his palm, looking at him knowingly. She touched Famke’s shoulder.

“They’ve arrested Luuk,” she whispered, “but the child fled into the fields before he was seen. Keep an eye out and send word if you see him.”

Famke wasn’t sure she had understood until her burned hands began to tremble and she clasped them together. Luuk was caught. Luuk was caught and the Jew was free. Little calf. The pastor lifted his arms to welcome the congregation and she gathered herself, turning her shoulders to the front and her attention to the opening psalm. Blessed is the one who does not walk in step with the wicked, or stand in the way that sinners take.

 It took two days for the child to arrive at her home in the night, long after Sem had fallen asleep. The windows were open and a breeze from the north made the air heavy with salt. The Jew did not knock and did not speak. He watched her in the shadows like a ghost, a few feet from the oak tree, his face white from the moon.

Famke rose from her chair, locked the door, and turned out the light.