A girl with bright red hair speaks to Stephie, who shakes her head to show she doesn’t understand. The girl giggles. There’s no ill will in her laugh.

The blond girl pedals off; the others follow. They bike in a group down the hill, bathing suits blowing in the wind.

“They must be on their way to the beach,” says Nellie. “To swim. I want to go swimming, too.”

“We can’t,” Stephie says in her sensible, big-sister voice. “We haven’t got bathing suits.”

For a long time they hadn’t been allowed to go to the beach in Vienna. Not since signs prohibited them, signs that read JEWS FORBIDDEN. When Mamma was helping them pack, she had pulled out their old bathing suits, but it was clear they had outgrown them.

Aunt Märta arrives on her bicycle, a big bag dangling from her handlebars. Holding Stephie’s letter, she points toward the village.

The post office, Stephie thinks, and decides to go along. She needs to see with her own eyes when her letter is mailed, to feel confident it is on its way.

“Wait here for me,” she says to Nellie. “I’m going to the post office. I’ll be right back.”

The post office and the village shop are in the same building, a big, rectangular, flat-roofed structure. Stephie stands next to Aunt Märta, watching her buy a stamp from the lady at the window.

“It’s for Vienna,” Aunt Märta says. “ Vienna, Austria.”

“The German Reich,” the lady corrects her. “Here you are, Mrs. Jansson. I didn’t know you had friends abroad.”

“The letter’s from this girl,” Aunt Märta explains. “She’s sending it to her parents.”

“And who is she, precisely?” the lady asks.

“A young Jewess,” Aunt Märta tells her. “There’s trouble in that part of the world, so Evert and I agreed to take her in. Until her parents can leave the country. I understand they’re hoping to emigrate to America.”

The post office lady sighs. “Poor little thing. All alone in the world.”