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“Thanks, Andrée. I’ll pick her up in an hour,” Stéphanie says, turning to leave.

“A moment.” Andrée moves closer to Stéphanie and speaks softly. “I was wondering if I could see you in the next day or two? There’s something I’d like to talk to you about.”

Stéphanie looks around Andrée to the two girls making their way to the piano. “I take it this has nothing to do with Monique’s progress on the piano?”

“No.”

“How about tomorrow morning while the girls are at school? I can come here, or you are welcome to come to me.”

“Thank you. I’ll see you at your apartment around nine.”

Stéphanie takes Andrée’s hand and squeezes it.

Their apartment is two streets away. Andrée has been here once before, dropping Monique off when Stéphanie wasn’t able to collect her. But this morning, climbing the stairs, Andrée feels the weight of what she’s about to ask.

Stéphanie answers on the first knock. “Come in. I’ve made real coffee—just don’t ask where I got it.”

The apartment is warm, neat, filled with morning light. They sit at the small dining table, cups between them. Stéphanie waits, doesn’t push, gives Andrée time to find the words.

“I want to ask you something,” Andrée begins. “Something difficult.”

“Go on.”

“If something happens to me . . . to my parents . . . If we’re arrested, or worse . . . I need to know that Josie will have a safe place to turn to. That someone will take care of her.”

She looks up, meets Stéphanie’s eyes. “Would you and your husband take her? Would you keep her hidden, keep her safe?”

Stéphanie sets down her cup. Her face is grave. “You know what you’re asking. If they discovered I was hiding a Jewish child . . .”

“I know. I know exactly what I’m asking. And I have no right to ask it. But I don’t know who else to turn to. You know her. Monique loves her. She trusts you all.”

Andrée’s voice cracks. “I can’t bear the thought of her being alone. Of her being taken.”

Stéphanie is quiet for a long moment. Andrée watches emotions cross her face: fear, calculation, compassion. Finally, she speaks.

“Yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yes, we’ll take her. If it comes to that, if you’re arrested, if you can’t care for her anymore, we’ll take Josie. We’ll keep her as safe as we can. We’ll treat her as our own.”

She reaches across the table, takes Andrée’s hands. “But you have to promise me something in return.”

“Anything.”

“You must survive. You and your parents. You must come back for her. Because Monique, my husband, and I, we can hide her, we can feed her, we can keep her safe. But we can’t replace you. If her own family doesn’t come back, she will need you. We can’t be her family. You are. So, you stay alive, Andrée. You stay alive and you come back.”

Andrée’s eyes burn with tears. “I’ll try. I promise I’ll try.”

“Good. Now, practical matters—if something happens, how will I know? How will Josie get to me?”

“I’ll tell Josie that if we’re arrested during the day when she’s at school, she is to come to you. I’ll show her how to be discreet, how to avoid being followed from our building, and to enter your building only when she is sure she is alone.”

“And if she’s home when they come?”

Andrée hesitates. “They came once before for her, and she got away and came to us. If she can’t get out of the apartment, she knows where there are hiding places. But if she can’t hide, if they find her . . .” She can’t finish the sentence.

“Then we pray they don’t.” Stéphanie squeezes her hands. “We’ll take every precaution. We’ll be smart. We’ll be careful. And when this war is over, we’ll sit together and remember this morning. We’ll remember being afraid. And then we’ll laugh about it because we survived.”