girl. And I will spoil her for the rest of my life.” She paused, looking a little guilty. “But I’ll do the same for a boy.”
“Have you settled on names?”
“If we have a boy, Manfred insists we name the baby after him. He’s still upset he named my stepson Kurt.”
“And if it’s a girl?”
She rolled her eyes. “He prefers Wilfrieda, after his grandmother.”
Erika cringed. “And what does the mother-to-be prefer?”
“I like Elisabeth.”
“A beautiful name. It sings like a bird. Appropriate for a third generation violinist.”
Amanda thought of her father, a violinist for the London Symphony Orchestra. She wished he were still alive; they had left so many things unsaid. Although she knew he tried, he really wasn’t a very good parent, even to his only child. He was cold and distant, a brooding loner, more of a shadow than a man. But he might have done better with a grandchild.
Captain Klein approached. “I was able to change our tickets, but we must hurry. Come with me. Quickly.”
They rushed through the terminal and stepped on the train. Amanda and Erika moved to the front of the car, sitting just past the door. The three men turned in the opposite direction, moving towards the rear, near the baggage rack. Kaiser and Klein sat together while Gerhard Faber, the newest member of the group, sat in front of them.
They were barely seated when the doors closed. The train began to pull away from the station, moving very slowly, the engine struggling to pull the cars behind it. But the speed gradually increased from a crawl to a run, and soon the buildings of Amsterdam moved past in a swirling sea of colors, the narrow townhouses wrapped in beige, mauve, amber, and crimson, separated from interlaced canals and narrow bridges that spanned them by cobblestone lanes.
Amanda looked out the window as the train gained momentum, watching the city of Amsterdam glide by. She put her camera to her eye and snapped a series of photos, capturing the houseboats that lined a canal and six bicycles stacked against a lamp post, secured with a single lock and chain.
“I’m glad we got the earlier train,” Erika said. “I can get to the War Ministry on time in the morning.”
Amanda lowered the camera and turned to her friend. “I wish you didn’t have to work so hard.”
Erika shrugged. “I don’t have much choice. I need the money. You know how sick my mother is. And I have other relatives I care for, too.”
“I would be glad to help you,” Amanda said.
Erika smiled. “I know you would. But I can’t let you. It’s my family, and my responsibility. The work keeps me busy. I don’t think about Wilhelm as much.”
Amanda covered Erika’s hand with hers and gently squeezed it. Wilhelm was Erika’s husband, killed in Russia the year before. He was an artist, a woodworker who made beautiful cabinets, a craftsman with talents few could mimic. A uniform never fit him, mentally or physically; he looked out of place. A man with a big heart, a ready smile and a gentle soul, he was better suited for heaven than the Third Reich.
“Maybe I can help with your mother,” Amanda suggested. “I could spend some time with her while you’re working.”
Erika considered the offer. “I wouldn’t want to impose,” she said reluctantly.
“You’re not imposing. Ask your mother. She might like having some company.”
Erika motioned to the camera hanging from Amanda’s neck. “But then you wouldn’t have time for photographs. Or your violin.”
“I can spare a few hours. It’ll be nice to get out of the house. Manfred is rarely home, the war keeps him so busy. Kurt is growing up. He’s always with his friends.”
The train increased its speed as the last of the townhouses yielded to scattered homes and then forest and fields. The steady motion, and rhythmic sound of the train’s engines, lulled Erika to sleep, her head resting on Amanda’s shoulder. Amanda’s eyes closed a few minutes