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“That’s a pity. I’d like it to snow today—it’s such a big day for us.”

Two days ago, Andrée and her parents told Josie of the invitation to celebrate Hanukkah with Dancer and Philippe. It was obvious the conversation triggered memories, painful and happy. Josie was silent, staring down at her hands in her lap.

Finally, Louis broke the silence.

“Can you tell us what Hanukkah means to you, Josie?”

Barely above a whisper they heard the word Papa.

“Do you want to tell us what it is about your Papa and Hanukkah you remember?”

Josie remained silent for several moments, tears streaming down her face. “Last year Maman wouldn’t let us light the candles because it was our first year without Papa and he always lit the shamash, the candle used to kindle the others, and as he wasn’t there to light it, we didn’t light any. I really miss him. And I miss lighting the candles too.”

Now Andrée turns to the girl standing next to her.

“It is a big day for all of us. For Grand-Père Grand-Mère and I, it will be our first Hanukkah celebration. I can’t wait for this evening to come, to watch you light the first candle. You know we are relying on you to tell us what to do.”

“I think I can remember, but Philippe and his Maman might need to remind me, and then I will show you.”

“It’s still early. What do you want to do between now and school?” Andrée asks, knowing full well what the answer will be.

She follows Josie’s eyes as they turn to the piano.

“Can you love something that isn’t a person or even an animal?” Josie asks.

“Of course you can. You can love anything, not just anyone.”

“I know it’s yours, but I love your piano.”

“What are you two doing up when your bed is the warmest place to be right now?” Louis enters the room and comes to stand with them, noting the fine flakes drifting past the window. “Could get our first snow soon.”

“It’s only threatening, Grand-Père, see? They’re melting as soon as they reach the ground.”

Louis shivers. “Cold enough to snow, that’s all I know. Is the coffee on?” he asks Andrée.

“Not yet, Papa. Josie and I were just talking about Hanukkah later today—she’s going to show us what to do.”

“Are you excited, Josie?”

“Oh yes. I might get a little sad because I will be remembering Papa and Maman and Léon, but I want to do this for them.”

Louis pats her on the shoulder. “Good girl. We’ll be there with you.”

The afternoon light is fading when they set out. The streets are still deserted, but all three of the adults are alert for the possibility of soldiers. If stopped, their story is ready: They have their niece, Joséphine Levallois, with them, and they’re off to see another family member, Louis’s brother Jean-Paul, who lives nearby, as he hasn’t been well. Andrée carries a basket with what little they’ve managed to save: half a baguette, some cheese, a small jar of preserved fruit that Tina has been hoarding since summer. Not much, but something. Doctor René’s ration card for Josie has helped significantly. Louis has a bottle of wine tucked under his arm, one of the last from before the war. Tina holds Josie’s hand, and together they navigate the darkening streets.

Josie is quiet. Not the silence of fear, but something else. Anticipation, perhaps. Or memory. Andrée watches her, sees the way she holds herself a little straighter than usual, the way her free hand keeps reaching up to touch the collar of her coat, a nervous gesture.

“Are you all right, Josie?” Andrée asks.

“Yes. I’m just thinking about last year. And the year before that. All the Hanukkahs with Papa and Maman and Léon.” She looks up at Andrée. “Is it wrong to be happy about tonight when they’re not here?”

“No, Josie, it’s not wrong. Your Papa would want you to celebrate. Your Maman sent you to us so you could be safe, keep being Jewish. This is part of that.”

“I know. It just feels strange.”

“Strange is all right. Strange is normal right now.”

Andrea rings the bell on the street, three long bursts, three short. Dancer comes down to let them in, and before speaking or greeting one another they climb the three flights of stairs, their footsteps echoing in the stairwell.