Several weeks pass. Through the shortening school days I sit, worrying and wondering. Is Father alright? When is he coming home?

Business at the shop is slow, but steady. Constantly making more uniforms, Mother hardly leaves the rocking chair, so I conjure up dinner most nights. Since I am quite limited when it comes to cooking, we've been having a lot of soup. Boil water, add meat (if we have it), chopped up vegetables, and spices. Voilà.

One day at school, I am sitting with Caroline and Hazen under a tree eating lunch. I've already finished some potatoes and am working on my pinto beans when I hear footsteps coming toward us. Looking up from my food, I see Christoffer in front of me, holding his lunch.

"Mind if I sit with you?" He asks.

"No, go ahead," I say, scooting over.

Caroline raises her eyebrows at me and grins. Frowning at her, I then turn to Christoffer, who is leaning up against the trunk of the tree.

"Why are you sitting with us? Don't you have your usual group?"

Christoffer smiles and rips off a piece of bread from a small loaf. "Yeah, but I decided I needed a break from them."

I squint out towards the schoolyard. Through the undulating ribbons of heat waves, I can see a group of girls standing by the steps, most of them with their hands on their hips, staring at us. Laughing, I pop a bean into my mouth. "Ditched them, huh?"

"You could say that. It was boring being the only guy."

Caroline snorts. "You're the only guy here, too."

"This is different," he says.

"Because I'm your sister?" Hazen asks.

The patters of shade cast by the leaves dance across his face. "That, but also because you guys are my friends. They are just annoying."

We all laugh, and I smile again when I realize that he called me his friend. I guess that's what we are now. After a few more minutes of silent munching, Christoffer turns to Hazen briefly. I can't hear if he says anything, but he continues eating again so quickly that I ignore it. Several minutes later, Hazen jumps up from her seat.

"Come on, Caroline, I want to show you something!"

Caroline, her eyes wide and her mouth half full, says, "What? What is it?" while Hazen pulls her up. Soon, they are dashing across the schoolyard.

With a sly smile, Christoffer watches then go. I swat at his shoulder.

"That was a trick?" I cry. "Christoffer Einhardt!"

"Relax, I just wanted to say something to you alone," he says, pretending to look hurt.

Exasperated, I sigh and move back to lean against the tree with him. "What then?"

"You know how I told you about Peter?"

"Of course," I say. "But we haven't talked about it since."

Christoffer nods. "Because there was really nothing else to say until now. My point in bringing this up again is that I told Peter about you. And now he wants to meet you."

I'm shocked. "What?" I stammer confusedly.

Casually, Christoffer picks up his bread again. "Yes. Something the matter?"

"It's illegal what you're doing, Christoffer!" I blurt out. "And you expect me to waltz in and meet a criminal?"

"It's not illegal to exist, Evelyn," he says quietly, not meeting my eyes. "Besides, is it his fault that he was born with dark hair and brown eyes? Is it his fault that his parents are Jews?"

My incredulity shrivels inside my chest, and I finally find Christoffer's eyes below the sandy blonde locks that have fallen over his forehead. "You're right. I'm sorry. I'll come to see Peter."

He gives me his award-winning smile and stands up. Holding his hand down to me, he says, "We should go, or else Caroline is going to wonder what we're doing."

I give him my hand and he pulls me firmly up. "When should I come over? And what about Heidi?"

"Oh yeah. It probably wouldn't be good for her -- or Caroline -- to know about Peter."

Thoughtfully, I bite my lip and try to come up with a solution. After a minute, I snap my fingers. "I've got it!"

Christoffer laughs. "I just got an idea, too. Let's hear yours."

"I actually do need your help with some homework, a map for class. Hazen told me you're good at that kind of stuff. Have her go home with Heidi and I'll follow later," I say.

He starts walking away before I can ask him what his idea was. "Just forget about mine then. It was nowhere near as good anyways!"

Calling after him, I hurry to catch up. "See you after Band of German Maidens?"

He turns around and smiles. "Yes."

~

When BDM lets out, Heidi and Christoffer are waiting for their sisters, as always. Heidi is distracted with talking to Hazen, so Christoffer steps up to me.

"Did you tell Heidi what we're going to do?" He whispers.

His breath tickles my ear, and I put a hand up to scratch it. "No, but we can tell her on the way. She'll be fine."

While we walk, I run my hand through Heidi's platinum hair. "Heidi, I'm going to stay at the Einhardt's house for a little while, because I need to do some school with Christoffer. Hazen will walk you home, okay?"

"Can't I stay?" She asks.

"Not this time," I reply. "It'll only be a minute."

"Evie!" She sticks her lower lip out and pouts playfully.

"Silly girl! Go on with Hazen now."

I watch them wander down the road for a few moments before following Christoffer to the front door of his house.

"Does your father know about this?" I ask softly.

Waving his hand as if swatting at an annoying fly, he says, "Oh, he won't mind. And anyways, he's not here right now. I think he's running errands."

Frowning slightly, I enter the house after him. For some reason, I don't feel completely comfortable with this.

Nothing unusual strikes my eye when I walk in. The house has a cold smell, and something tells me no one has prepared a hearty stew in a long time. Underneath the simple paintings and black and white photographs, the walls are plastered with plain white wallpaper and spotted with infinitesimal flowers. I see country scenes, a sunset over a lake, a woman with extremely curly, light hair cradling a baby in her arms. The woman's body looks young, but there is something in the shadows around her eyes that tells me she is older than she looks. Pressed against her chest is a tiny, soft looking hand, emerging from the bundle of blankets, and one of her fingers traces it lightly. Mrs. Einhardt and Maddalene.

A dark grey, dusty couch sits in one corner of the room, and a coffee table half its size is placed directly in front of it. A vase of flowers (asters I realize, the same kind Christoffer left me) adorns it, giving the room a feminine touch.

The kitchen looks just like ours. Several cabinets, a plain sink in need of scrubbing, and warm, mustard colored curtains framing every window. As I take in the little house, Christoffer leans against the entry to a hallway. After I am satisfied that I have seen all I need to see for now, he beckons me to follow him. Down a hallway and through a door on the right, I find myself standing in a tiny room. Crammed into it's space are a desk, a neatly made bed covered with a faded, thin quilt, a built-in bookcase overflowing so much that books are stacked beside it, and, of all things, snail shells covering every flat surface.

Walking over to the bookcase, I pick up a shell with a white stripe. I eye Christoffer through the hair that has fallen over my face. "Snail shells?"

He scratches the back of his neck and blushes slightly. "Yeah. I've collected them as long as I can remember. It's weird, I know."

"I think it's great," I say. "Did I ever tell you that I collect birds eggs?"

"No, but that's not strange. Mollusks, on the other hand . . ."

Giggling, I set the shell down. "Didn't we have a specific purpose for coming here?"

Christoffer pulls out the desk's chair. "Oh, right, the map."

As I cross my arms, he laughs. "I'm kidding, I'm kidding." He walks over to the bookshelf and begins sweeping his collection into his cupped hand.

Confused, I say, "I thought--"

Without looking at me he dumps the shells into my arms. "Hold these." Okay . . .

Soon the whole first shelf is clear except for one book. When Christoffer pulls it away, a tiny handle appears. I stifle a gasp. Carefully, he eases it out and tugs.

To my shock, the bookshelf slides open and reveals a gaping hole in the wall.