her, his brows sinking. “I will arrange for you to leave as soon as possible, and you will go. But I’ll stay behind.”
“Now who’s the fool for choosing Belgium over freedom?”
“Call me what you like. I cannot go.”
“Then none of us will go,” Genny broke in.
“That’s fine with me,” Isa said.
“Not with me.” Edward retraced his last two steps, approaching his mother. “This is almost as foolish as Isa coming back in the first place. Although,” he added with a glance her way, “seeing what she’s returned with, I may have to recant some of what I’ve said. That only makes your refusal to go more foolish, Mother. She’s done something extraordinary, something unbelievable. She’s brought with her the means to get you out of this hell. Imagine eating a meal not provided by a soup kitchen. Imagine taking a walk anytime you please, in a garden—or wherever you like—without running into a German soldier. Imagine not fearing a night raid or Germans ransacking your home. Imagine never again hearing the sound of executions at Tir National. You must go, Mother!”
“You might as well give up, Edward,” Isa told him. “She’s not giving in. And neither am I. If you stay, we all stay.”
He touched his fingertips to his temples and rubbed as if to erase pain. “This is outrageous. I can’t . . . Listen, Mother.” He put his hands on her shoulders. “Jonah is nearly twelve years old. Who knows how much longer this war will last? Before long we’ll have to spirit him away to keep him out of the work camps, unless he finds a way out himself and joins the Allies on his own. I’ve heard some soldiers are getting so young they’re barely old enough to shave. If you take him to safety now, you can spare him all of that.”
“Yes, that’s all true. And a good reason for you to let us all go by leaving with us.”
His lips tensed.
“You dress yourself like an old man to escape notice of the soldiers, but I know that’s not the only reason. I know you, Edward. I know how you were before the war, how you wanted to join, how you argued with your father about it. Except for his good judgment delaying you until it was too late, I’d have lost you by now. Somehow, though, someone else reached you. I may not know what you’re involved in, but I know you’re fighting this war with every breath you take. Not in a uniform, not with bullets, but you’re fighting every time you disappear from me. And that’s why you won’t go.”
“It doesn’t matter why, Mother. All that does matter is that Isa has come with a way out. For you and for Jonah. Take it; please take it.”
Genny closed her eyes. Isa put an arm around her shoulders, effectively brushing Edward’s hands aside. “Can’t you see she wants to go, Edward? But you must come too!”
He started to run his fingers through his hair, then pulled back, as if remembering the dye that colored various strands gray. That same hand started toward, then pulled back from his neck, too. When he looked at Isa, the fatigue in his eyes almost matched the worn look of the false wrinkles on his skin. “If I tell you it would be safer for me if all of you were gone, would you listen then?”
“I don’t understand,” Isa said. “Surely you trust your own family?”
“It isn’t a matter of trust,” he said. “It’s a matter of leverage. If I’m caught, they won’t stop at punishing just me. They’ll use whomever they please against me.”
Genny sat on the nearest chair. She leaned back and closed her eyes for a long moment. When she opened them, she spoke softly. “Did you listen to what Isa said before about having come back because this is her home, about belonging here? Do you realize what it meant? She didn’t mean Belgium or her fancy home here in Brussels. She meant us. You, Jonah, me. We’re home to her, Edward. If we’re here in Brussels, then we’re home. If we go to Holland, then that is home, too. Home is wherever we all are—together. So if you choose to stay, then we’ll call Brussels home for a while longer.”
Edward looked from his mother to Isa, and she saw his silent plea for help. But she couldn’t help him. Not this time.
“Edward,” Isa whispered, “I know you think we don’t understand all you’ve