Chapter 1 Autumn 1940 I wasn''t always an only child. Sitting on the chipped sink before me, the silver bird waits, frozen in flight, a silhouette like a bomber plane with two wings outstretched, tail swirling into a flirtatious spiral. A sparrow. I''d tried it on the last time I went to a music concert. Months ago. It was Annie''s pin, of course. Father gave it her after the real sparrow flew away. I was young, about four at the time, so Annie was nine.
It had been after midnight, and I was asleep when Annie poked me in the arm. "Johanna, look." Holding a candle in one hand, she pointed with the other to the floor beside the bed we shared. There stood a small brown-and-gray bird, his head cocked to look at us as if listening to Annie''s words. He peeped. I gasped and Annie threw her hand across me. "Shh!" "Let him fly out the window," I said. "I tried," she said.
"But he flew right back in." I didn''t believe her. Peering over my sister''s shoulder, I watched the ball of fluff bob and strut, his tiny claws a whisper on the floorboards. He finally fluttered up to the open window and flung himself outside. "See?" I said. "He''s gone." But half a second later the bird was back at the window, flapping against the glass in a zigzag panic before slipping inside, landing, then hopping to his chosen spot on the floor beside our bed. He peeped at us again.
"What do we do with him?" I asked. "We keep him," Annie said. Annie always knew the answer. We did keep him, for a while. When he finally flew away for good, Father gave Annie the silver bird pin, a hand-me-down from our oma. I was jealous, but it made sense: Annie was sparrowlike in her energy, her spark, her curiosity. They said Oma had been like that, too. A few months later, Father gave me my own pin: a small silver fox.
It was brand-new. "Mijn kleine vos," he said, "for you." My little fox. "But I didn''t find a fox," I said, confused. "Annie found a bird." He laughed. "Your red hair, silly." He picked me up and buried his face in my curls.
It was the first time I understood that there was a difference between who I knew I was, on the inside, and who other people thought I must be. Just pin the damn thing on. I snatched the sparrow from the edge of the sink and poked its pin through the double-ply wool of my coat''s lapel, instantly piercing my thumb on the other side. "Damn it." "This is why they warn innocent young girls about the evil big city," said Nellie. "She''s swearing like a pirate already." She and Eva tumbled through the door of the attic apartment we shared, laughing. "Damn it, damn it.
" I''d tried to remove the brooch with my bleeding thumb and now the camel-colored wool was stained. I thrust it under the tap. "Here, let me," said Eva, the mother of our group. The three of us had gone through school together in Haarlem, though we hadn''t been close. They''d picked me because they knew me: the shy girl who did as much extra credit work as the teacher would give her; the girl who wore two sweaters on a spring day because her mother was sure she''d die of the common cold. I wasn''t the type to cause trouble. "My, where did this come from?" Nellie held up the pin, glinting in the low light. "It''s pretty.
" "My sister," I said, grabbing it back. "Thanks, I''ve got to get going, I''m late." "Sorry," said Nellie. "It''s fine, I''m just late," I said, already out on the landing and headed down the narrow stairs. My cheeks flamed and my lashes were wet. Annie had been dead thirteen years now. Stupid sparrow. I was an expert at being nobody.
I''d practiced it for years. So that evening I took my place in the university''s grand ballroom in the spot I always felt safest: the back of the room. I made sure to take a glass of seltzer when it was offered to me, to have something to do with my hands. I sipped it while the room filled with university students, their conversations humming around me. The girls on the entertainment committee of the AVSV, the Amsterdam Female Student Association, flocked by the entrance with their bright dresses and musical voices. They welcomed everyone inside, especially the boys, whose arms and shoulders they touched as they talked. Sometimes they even hugged the boys and kissed them on the cheek. What did it feel like to be so relaxed with boys? Was I supposed to call them men? They seemed so boyish.
"''Scuse me," said one now, a male student backing into me as he searched for his companions. "Excuse you," I agreed. Like baby giants, these young men, trampling on the world around them. "Can I have a light?" I flinched, annoyed. But it was a young woman about my age. "Didn''t mean to scare you," she said. She was taller than me by several inches, which made her about five foot seven, but her presence was so grand she seemed even taller. Glossy brown-black hair fell to her bare shoulders in waves, the midnight darkness of her hair contrasting with the pale blue sky of her crinoline party dress.
Her eyes were amber, with long, curled lashes and a surprisingly innocent gaze. Her lips were painted a tropical coral pink. She looked like a movie star. With my beige skirt and plain white blouse, I was surprised she''d even noticed me. She kept smiling. She blinked. "Sorry," I said. "I don''t have one.
" I really was sorry because I didn''t want her to walk away yet. I''d tried smoking; it made me cough. But now I made a mental note to try again. It might make moments like this easier. "What, a light?" she said. "Or a cigarette?" "Either," I said, then corrected myself: "Neither." She laughed, a chiming giggle that was friendly, not mean. "Philine! Over here.
" She waved at another dark-haired girl weaving her way through the crowd. This new girl, Philine, was a bit taller than me and slightly less of a spectacle than her friend. She was pretty, but in a more approachable way. Brown hair, brown eyes, a relaxed smile. Her dress looked as if it had been taken in and let out a few times at the hem, following the fashion. Mine had, too. Like her friend, Philine carried herself with a natural confidence. I could picture both of them on a movie screen.
I, on the other hand, might be eligible to audition for the heroine''s plain but intelligent friend. The sensible one. "Why are you hiding back here, Sonja?" Philine asked her friend. "Trying to escape your suitors?" "Something like that," Sonja said. "I thought members of the AVSV were supposed to look out for each other, but this one won''t give me a light." She winked at me. My face flamed with embarrassment. I was twenty; I should have learned how to smoke by now.
Philine smiled at me. "I''m Philine. What''s your name?" "Hannie," I said, shocking myself. Everyone had always called me Johanna or Jo, but I had been contemplating giving myself a new identity when I started at the University of Amsterdam a year earlier. I hadn''t actually tried it until now. The name seemed pretentious. Too bold. And I wasn''t sure I''d really earned the right to think of myself as a different person.
"Hannie," she said, accepting my name without a blink. Like anyone would. Mother always said I thought too much. Philine shook my hand. "And you''ve already met Princess Sonja." My eyes widened. "She''s not a real princess," Philine said, smiling and still clasping my hand. "Well, I am related to the Habsburgs on my mother''s side," said Sonja with a hint of pride.
"I''ll believe it when you marry a prince," said Philine. "What about you? Are you a princess? Or just a normal boring law student like us?" I beamed back at them. They were so smart and pretty and bursting with energy, and I was desperate to keep talking to them. I''d hoped to make more friends at university than I had in high school, but I was making the same mistakes all over again, turning down invitations for coffee by claiming I had too much homework to do. I didn''t have more than anybody else, but the thought of socializing with strangers made my palms sweat. They were damp now. I was only at this party because I''d made a vow earlier in the week to go and stay for at least thirty minutes. There were eight more to go.
"Just a boring law student," I said, feeling a bit more relaxed in the sunny presence of these two. How novel. "I''m from Haarlem." "Lovely," said Philine. "Never been," said Sonja. "Sonja!" said Philine. "What?" "You''ve been to Paris and Rome, but you''ve never been to Haarlem? It''s ten miles away." "Well, Paris has the Louvre and Rome has the Colosseum.
What does Haarlem have?" "Sonja!" Philine slapped her on the hand. "Sorry, sorry," Sonja said, turning to me. "I''m sure it''s lovely. I''ll go this weekend." "No, you won''t." Philine turned to me, too. "You can see why we call her Princess." "Princess?" a deep voice interrupted our circle as a tall young blond man in a pressed navy suit approached us.
"Sonja? Here you are. I''ve been looking for you." Hair smoothly groomed, a confident smile, he was the kind of handsome that made me nervous. Too good-looking. Too sure of himself. I avoided men like him because how would I ever speak to them? Fortunately, in Sonja''s presence, Philine and I seemed to be invisible. "Piet!" Sonja cried, draping her elegant arms around him in the.