CHAPTER 12

“Now, Beatrix, let’s hear it,” prompted Lieve. They had returned from church and now sat in Mrs. Vos’s house enjoying a cup of watery tea and dry, sugarless biscuits. For Beatrix there was a special treat—orangeade.

Beatrix liked church. She liked the smell of incense and wax. Most of all she liked the funny hats the priests wore. In the beginning she had giggled a lot, but now it was all familiar and comforting. Uncle Lars always gave her a few coins to buy a candle. He never asked her who she lit the candle for, but he knew that it was for her mother.

“Come, Beatrix, you can do it,” Lieve coaxed her in a gentle singsong voice.

Mostly Beatrix liked being with Lieve. It wasn’t that she didn’t love Uncle Hans and Uncle Lars, and Mrs. Vos too, but sometimes she could pretend that Lieve was Mamma. It was silly. Lieve was tall and blond and Mamma was tiny and dark. And they didn’t sound alike either. But they were both gentle and kind, and they both hugged her the same way. It was a big, rocking hug, ending with a kiss on the top of her head.

Beatrix bounced off the chair, flattened her dress with her palms, and took a deep breath.

“I believe in God, the Father Almighty, maker of heaven and earth. And in Jesus Christ, His only Son, our Lord…”

The words rolled off her tongue. On she went, without making a single mistake, right up to the ending, “… and the life everlasting. Amen.”

She curtsied as everyone applauded. Uncle Hans beamed, there were tears in Uncle Lars’s eyes, and Mrs. Vos marveled at it all.

Religion was not terribly important to Hans and Lars. What was important was that Beatrix was safe. And if being a Catholic would keep Beatrix safe, then that was what she would be. They thought of her safety from morning till night.

“My girl!” Lieve threw open her arms as Beatrix fell into them. “Well done, my darling,” Lieve whispered in her ear.

“You have taught her well, Lieve.” Mrs. Vos gave a regal nod of approval. “Beatrix, fetch a few more biscuits from the tin in the kitchen, please.”

Beatrix, still grinning from her performance, skipped toward the kitchen.

“And does she still cry for her mother at night?” Mrs. Vos fixed her sights on Hans and Lars, rather like a searchlight scanning the night sky for enemy planes.

Hans and Lars shook their heads, and Hans leaned forward and whispered, “No, but she still has nightmares.” Lars nodded. Beatrix’s cries woke them from the deepest sleep. They would rush into her room, sit at her bedside, and whisper, “Hush, hush. You are safe. We love you.” She would nod off back to sleep and not remember a thing in the morning.

“And does she still sleep with that old train of yours?” asked Mrs. Vos.

“It is wrapped in a towel,” said Hans, rather defensively.

“To make it soft,” chimed in Lars.

“And she won’t sleep without it,” added Hans.

She pursed her lips and shook her head as Lieve laughed. “What she needs,” announced Mrs. Vos, “is a doll.”

Startled, Beatrix stopped in the threshold between parlor and kitchen, carrying a plate with the last few biscuits on it. She could not help but overhear. A doll? She almost lost her breath. She squeezed her eyes shut.

“Beatrix, what’s wrong? You are as white as a sheet.” Lieve stood up, her empty teacup in her hand.

Beatrix shook her head. She heard Mamma’s voice: Tell no one.

Lieve put her teacup down and crossed the room to Beatrix, taking her back to the kitchen, where they could speak quietly. “Come, sit,” she said. “Tell me.”

“It’s about the doll,” whispered Beatrix.

“Do you not want a doll?” Lieve spoke gently, carefully, searching Beatrix’s face for clues.

“I had a doll once,” Beatrix said.

“What was the doll’s name?” Lieve ran her hand over Beatrix’s hair.

“Sophiia.”

“I love that name. Sit beside me and tell me about Sophiia.”

“I promised Mamma…”

“Your Mamma wanted to keep you safe. You were younger then, and she was afraid that you might tell the wrong person something that could get you into trouble. But you are safe now, Beatrix. We love you. This is your home.” Lieve pulled Beatrix in close. “Tell me about Sophiia.”

“Mamma and I were living in a room on the top floor of a building. One night there was hammering on the door downstairs. We could hear the neighbors crying out. We heard, ‘Aufmachen!’—Mamma said it meant ‘Open the door!’—and then there was shouting.” Beatrix stopped and covered her ears with her hands.

“You are safe, Beatrix. What happened next?” Lieve gently pulled Beatrix’s hands forward and held them in her own.

“The Nazis had come for everyone in the building. We were always afraid of that, so Mamma and I slept with our clothes on, every night, and we packed a little bag and left it by the door. We heard the soldiers coming up the stairs. They banged on the Livermans’ door. We could hear their baby crying too. And over and over, at every door, we heard, ‘Aufmachen,’ ‘Aufmachen,’ ‘Aufmachen.’

“Mamma grabbed the bag, opened the window, and crawled out onto the fire escape. She said, ‘Give me your hand, Beatrix.’ I was so scared. Mamma took hold of my hand and I climbed out onto the fire escape too. We pressed our backs against the outside wall and looked down into an alley. It was dark, but we could see soldiers with big flashlights. The lights flashed on big, mean dogs. We could see the Livermans and the Goldbergs getting into army trucks. There were other families too. Then we heard soldiers in our room, right behind us. And that’s when I remembered Sophiia,” Beatrix cried. “I’d left her behind.”

Beatrix rested her head on Lieve’s shoulder, and for awhile it was enough to just rock back and forth.

“Come, we will make another pot of tea,” said Lieve as she kissed Beatrix on the head.

In the parlor, the conversation about a doll continued. Hans and Lars looked at each other, then back at Mrs. Vos.

“Where would one get a doll?” Lars asked.

“Next Saturday afternoon, while Beatrix is having her lessons with Lieve, you will go to the shop and buy her one,” said Mrs. Vos with her usual authority.

Hans and Lars nodded. They had learned many things over the past year. They knew how to braid hair (Lars was very good at it, although it took him many tries to get the braids even on the opposite sides). They could hem dresses, help with homework, and meet with teachers. They had attended school recitals and tea parties, skated on the canals in winter (Hans fell down), and gone on bicycle rides in summer (Lars fell off). Now they would go doll shopping. And, in fact, they wondered why it had not occurred to them to do it sooner.