1“Do you really think anyone will come?” Ellen asked nervously, turning to Annemarie in the bedroom. “Your father doesn’t think so.”

2“Of course not. They’re always threatening stuff. They just like to scare people.” Annemarie took her nightgown from a hook in the closet.

3“Anyway, if they did, it would give me a chance to practice acting. I’d just pretend to be Lise. I wish I were taller, though.” Ellen stood on tiptoe, trying to make herself tall. She laughed at herself, and her voice was more relaxed.

4“You were great as the Dark Queen in the school play last year,” Annemarie told her. “You should be an actress when you grow up.”

5“My 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.” Ellen stood on tiptoe again, and made an imperious gesture with her arm. “I am the Dark Queen,” she intoned dramatically. “I have come to command the night!”

6“You should try saying, ‘I am Lise Johansen!’” Annemarie said, grinning. “If you told the Nazis that you were the Dark Queen, they’d haul you off to a mental institution.”

7Ellen dropped her actress pose and sat down, with her legs curled under her, on the bed. “They won’t really come here, do you think?” she asked again.

8Annemarie shook her head. “Not in a million years.” She picked up her hairbrush.

9The 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.

10But the night did seem, somehow, different from a normal night. And so they whispered.

11“How did your sister die, Annemarie?” Ellen asked suddenly. “I remember when it happened. And I remember the funeral—it was the only time I have ever been in a Lutheran church. But I never knew just what happened.”

12“I don’t know exactly,” Annemarie confessed. “She and Peter were out somewhere together, and then there was a telephone call, that there had been an accident. Mama and Papa rushed to the hospital—remember, your mother came and stayed with me and Kirsti? Kirsti was already asleep and she slept right through everything, she was so little then. But I stayed up, and I was with your mother in the living room when my parents came home in the middle of the night. And they told me Lise had died.”

13“I remember it was raining,” Ellen said sadly. “It was still raining the next morning when Mama told me. Mama was crying, and the rain made it seem as if the whole world was crying.”

14Annemarie finished brushing her long hair and handed her hairbrush to her best friend. Ellen undid her braids, lifted her dark hair away from the thin gold chain she wore around her neck—the chain that held the Star of David—and began to brush her thick curls.

15“I think it was partly because of the rain. They said she was hit by a car. I suppose the streets were slippery, and it was getting dark, and maybe the driver just couldn’t see,” Annemarie went on, remembering. “Papa looked so angry. He made one hand into a fist, and he kept pounding it into the other hand. I remember the noise of it: slam, slam, slam.”

16Together they got into the wide bed and pulled up the covers. Annemarie blew out the candle and drew the dark curtains aside so that the open window near the bed let in some air. “See that blue trunk in the corner?” she said, pointing through the darkness. “Lots of Lise’s things are in there. Even her wedding dress. Mama and Papa have never looked at those things, not since the day they packed them away.”

17Ellen sighed. “She would have looked so beautiful in her wedding dress. She had such a pretty smile. I used to pretend that she was my sister, too.”

18“She would have liked that,” Annemarie told her. “She loved you.”

19“That’s the worst thing in the world,” Ellen whispered. “To be dead so young. I wouldn’t want the Germans to take my family away—to make us live someplace else. But still, it wouldn’t be as bad as being dead.”

20Annemarie leaned over and hugged her. “They won’t take you away,” she said. “Not your parents, either. Papa promised that they were safe, and he always keeps his promises. And you are quite safe, here with us.”

21For a while they continued to murmur in the dark, but the murmurs were interrupted by yawns. Then Ellen’s voice stopped, she turned over, and in a minute her breathing was quiet and slow.

22Annemarie stared at the window where the sky was outlined and a tree branch moved slightly in the breeze. Everything seemed very familiar, very comforting. Dangers were no more than odd imaginings, like ghost stories that children made up to frighten one another: things that couldn’t possibly happen. Annemarie felt completely safe here in her own home, with her parents in the next room and her best friend asleep beside her. She yawned contentedly and closed her eyes.

23It was hours later, but still dark, when she was awakened abruptly by the pounding on the apartment door.

24Annemarie eased the bedroom door open quietly, only a crack, and peeked out. Behind her, Ellen was sitting up, her eyes wide.

25She could see Mama and Papa in their nightclothes, moving about. Mama held a lighted candle, but as Annemarie watched, she went to a lamp and switched it on. It was so long a time since they had dared to use the strictly rationed electricity after dark that the light in the room seemed startling to Annemarie, watching through the slightly opened bedroom door. She saw her mother look automatically to the blackout curtains, making certain that they were tightly drawn.

26Papa opened the front door to the soldiers.

27“This is the Johansen apartment?” A deep voice asked the question loudly, in the terribly accented Danish.

28“Our name is on the door, and I see you have a flashlight,” Papa answered. “What do you want? Is something wrong?”

29“I understand you are a friend of your neighbors the Rosens, Mrs. Johansen,” the soldier said angrily.

30“Sophy Rosen is my friend, that is true,” Mama said quietly. “Please, could you speak more softly?” My children are asleep. ”

31“Then you will be so kind as to tell me where the Rosens are.” He made no effort to lower his voice.

32“I assume they are at home, sleeping. It is four in the morning, after all,” Mama said.

33Annemarie heard the soldier stalk across the living room toward the kitchen. From her hiding place in the narrow sliver of open doorway, she could see the heavy uniformed man, a holstered pistol at his waist, in the entrance to the kitchen, peering in toward the sink.

34Another German voice said, “The Rosens’ apartment is empty. We are wondering if they might be visiting their good friends the Johansens.”

35“Well,” said Papa, moving slightly so that he was standing in front of Annemarie’s bedroom door, and she could see nothing except the dark blur of his back, “as you see, you are mistaken. There is no one here but my family.”

36“You will not object if we look around.” The voice was harsh, and it was not a question.

37“It seems we have no choice,” Papa replied.

38“Please don’t wake my children,” Mama requested again. “There is no need to frighten little ones.”

39The heavy, booted feet moved across the floor again and into the other bedroom. A closet door opened and closed with a bang.

40Annemarie eased her bedroom door closed silently. She stumbled through the darkness to the bed.

41“Ellen,” she whispered urgently, “take your necklace off!”

42Ellen’s hands flew to her neck. Desperately she began trying to unhook the tiny clasp. Outside the bedroom door, the harsh voices and heavy footsteps continued.

43“I can’t get it open!” Ellen said frantically. “I never take it off—I can’t even remember how to open it!”

44Annemarie heard a voice just outside the door. “What is here?”

45“Shhh,” her mother replied. “My daughters’ bedroom. They are sound asleep.”

46“Hold still,” Annemarie commanded. “This will hurt.” She grabbed the little gold chain, yanked with all her strength, and broke it. As the door opened and light flooded into the bedroom, she crumpled it into her hand and closed her fingers tightly.

47Terrified, both girls looked up at the three Nazi officers who entered the room.

48One of the men aimed a flashlight around the bedroom. He went to the closet and looked inside. Then with a sweep of his gloved hand he pushed to the floor several coats and a bathrobe that hung from pegs on the wall.

49There was nothing else in the room except a chest of drawers, the blue decorated trunk in the corner, and a heap of Kirsti’s dolls piled in a small rocking chair. The flashlight beam touched each thing in turn. Angrily the officer turned toward the bed.

50“Get up!” he ordered. “Come out here!”

51Trembling, the two girls rose from the bed and followed him, brushing past the two remaining officers in the doorway, to the living room.

52Annemarie looked around. These three uniformed men were different from the ones on the street corners. The street soldiers were often young, sometimes ill at ease, and Annemarie remembered how the Giraffe had, for a moment, let his harsh pose slip and had smiled at Kirsti.

53But these men were older and their faces were set with anger.

54Her parents were standing beside each other, their faces tense, but Kirsti was nowhere in sight. Thank goodness that Kirsti slept through almost everything. If they had wakened her, she would be wailing—or worse, she would be angry, and her fists would fly.

55“Your names?” the officer barked.

56“Annemarie Johansen. And this is my sister—”

57“Quiet! Let her speak for herself. Your name?” He was glaring at Ellen.

58Ellen swallowed. “Lise,” she said, and cleared her throat. “Lise Johansen.”

59The officer stared at them grimly.

60“Now,” Mama said in a strong voice, “you have seen that we are not hiding anything. May my children go back to bed?”

61The officer ignored her. Suddenly he grabbed a handful of Ellen’s hair. Ellen winced.

62He laughed scornfully. “You have a blond child sleeping in the other room. And you have this blond daughter—” He gestured toward Annemarie with his head. “Where did you get the dark-haired one?” He twisted the lock of Ellen’s hair. “From a different father? From the milkman?

63Papa stepped forward. “Don’t speak to my wife in such a way. Let go of my daughter or I will report you for such treatment.”

64“Or maybe you got her someplace else?” the officer continued with a sneer. “From the Rosens?”

65For a moment no one spoke. Then Annemarie, watching in panic, saw her father move swiftly to the small bookcase and take out a book. She saw that he was holding the family photograph album. Very quickly he searched through its pages, found what he was looking for, and tore out three pictures from three separate pages.

66He handed them to the German officer, who released Ellen’s hair.

67“You will see each of my daughters, each with her name written on the photograph,” Papa said.

68Annemarie knew instantly which photographs he had chosen. The album had many snapshots—all the poorly focused pictures of school events and birthday parties. But it also contained a portrait, taken by a photographer, of each girl as a tiny infant. Mama had written, in her delicate handwriting, the name of each baby daughter across the bottom of those photographs.

69She realized too, with an icy feeling, why Papa had torn them from the book. At the bottom of each page, below the photograph itself, was written the date. And the real Lise Johansen had been born twenty-one years earlier.

70“Kirsten Elisabeth,” the officer read, looking at Kirsti’s baby picture. He let the photograph fall to the floor.

71“Annemarie,” he read next, glanced at her, and dropped the second photograph.

72“Lise Margrete,” he read finally, and stared at Ellen for a long, unwavering moment. In her mind, Annemarie pictured the photograph that he held: the baby, wide-eyed, propped against a pillow, her tiny hand holding a silver teething ring, her bare feet visible below the hem of an embroidered dress. The wispy curls. Dark.

73The officer tore the photograph in half and dropped the pieces on the floor. Then he turned, the heels of his shiny boots grinding into the pictures, and left the apartment. Without a word, the other two officers followed. Papa stepped forward and closed the door behind him.

74Annemarie relaxed the clenched fingers of her right hand, which still clutched Ellen’s necklace. She looked down, and saw that she had imprinted the Star of David into her palm.