right and then put him—and myself—to bed. I suggest the two of you get some sleep as well, after such a long night.”
Isa nodded, but she no longer suffered the fatigue she’d felt a while ago, trying unsuccessfully to rest in a chair, still worrying over Jonah. And now here she was, alone with Edward. Adrenaline spread from somewhere in her middle, shooting out to her limbs, tingling her fingers and toes.
“What we should do is properly thank God Jonah’s all right. When Mr. Whitlock’s clerk told me about the deportations . . .” She shivered, pretending leftover worries to be the cause of her jitters.
He nodded.
“Hmm . . . you didn’t deny God’s involvement in bringing Jonah to safety. Have you come back to acknowledging His existence, after all?”
He grinned. “Must be the effect of the new disguise.”
“One that will allow you to visit now, since even the Major knows you as part of the family.”
“This doesn’t change anything, Isa.”
“It could. I could show you the room right now.”
He stepped closer. “You did the right thing in coming to me, and I’m grateful for the money. But I want nothing to do with that room. And furthermore, don’t use any more of your money; you’ll need it for when you leave.”
“When we all leave, don’t you mean?”
He didn’t answer but took his leave by way of the front door.
* * *
Edward went straight to Jan’s. Since the most recent arrests, Jan had taken a new address and with that yet another identity: he was now a baker for the CRB, a profession that made him practically exempt from German interest or attention.
Edward made sure no one was around when he entered the seven-story apartment building. Some of his clothes were at Jan’s, and Edward needed to take at least one set of street clothes with him to the church, where he would spend much of his time from now on. But he couldn’t very well nap on a pew bench dressed as he was, so perhaps he’d snatch a few hours of rest at Jan’s before asking Father Clemenceau where he was to quarter himself in his new identity.
Jan was just emerging from his bedroom, fully dressed as if ready to go out.
“Going somewhere?”
Jan straightened the collar on his shirt as he spoke. “I was about to look for you, actually. Is there news of Jonah?”
Edward rubbed his eyes as he removed the three-edged black biretta from his head and loosened the cincture at his waist. Then he started on the buttons . . . all thirty-three of them. One for each year Christ was on earth—even Edward remembered the symbolism of that. But at the moment thirty-three buttons seemed too much trouble. All he wanted to do was change his clothes and get some sleep.
“Jonah is home. I’m going to sleep a couple hours, if you don’t mind.”
Jan didn’t reply, only stood in Edward’s way. Edward looked at him expectantly, too tired to be annoyed.
“Last night Isabelle Lassone mentioned a room in her home where she’d hidden her money. When I asked about it, she said it was a safe room.”
Fatigue no longer outweighed annoyance. His pulse picked up. “Nothing is safe with a German Major living there.”
“Exactly what I thought,” Jan said. “But when I asked her, she seemed certain—”
“It’s out of the question.” Edward stepped around Jan to go to the empty bedroom.
“Why? What kind of room is it? How big is it?”
“It’s nothing.”
“I want to see it.”
“We can’t use it, Jan. So just leave it.”
Jan looked at Edward with a snort. “I didn’t know you thought so little of the paper. A paper you said you’d give your life for, if it came to that.”
“I said I would give my life, not anyone else’s. That’s where my mother lives, Jan. Do you think I’d put a press under her roof? Would you?”
“I know what I’d do. I’d let them decide.”
Edward shook his head, turning away and continuing with the buttons.
Jan circled around. “Why not? Don’t they have a right to decide what they’ll risk and what they won’t? Isn’t Belgium theirs, too? Or do you make all the decisions for them, the way you’ve done for Rosalie and me?”
“If ever I’ve made a decision, it’s because one needed to be made, and neither one of you seemed inclined to do it.”
“Is that the way you see it? Fine. But you’re not even giving them a chance.”
“The simple act of asking puts pressure on them to