No grown-up comes forward.

“Stephie,” asks Nellie, her voice trembling, “doesn’t anybody want us?”

Stephie doesn’t answer, just clutches Nellie’s hand tightly. The lady with the list turns to her.

“You’ll have to wait a bit longer,” she says, moving the two sisters to the side. “If you’ll just stand here, I’ll be back shortly.”

The older woman takes over the roll call. After a while, all the other children are gone. Stephie and Nellie are alone with their suitcases.

“Can we go home now?” asks Nellie. “Back to Mamma and Papa?”

Stephie shakes her head. Nellie begins to cry.

“Shhh,” Stephie hisses. “Don’t start blubbering, now. You’re not a crybaby, are you?”

Heels clatter against the marble floor. Footsteps approach. The younger woman quickly explains something to the older one. She takes a pen out of her bag and writes on Stephie and Nellie’s name tags: These children do not speak Swedish.

“Come along,” she says to Stephie. “I’m going to take you to the boat.”

Stephie takes her suitcase in one hand and Nellie by the other. Silently, they follow the lady out of the station.

two

The sun is bright, the August heat oppressive, as Stephie, Nellie, and the lady from the relief committee clamber into a taxicab outside the train station. Stephie is all itchy inside her heavy new coat. Before they left for Sweden, their mother had a winter coat made for each of them by Fräulein Gerlach, the seamstress. Mamma asked Fräulein Gerlach for especially thick linings; she knew Sweden was a cold country.

The coats are light blue with dark blue velvet collars. Their matching hats are blue velvet, too. Stephie would have loved the coat if it hadn’t been made because they were leaving.

After a long ride the taxi stops at the harbor and they get out. Ships as large as buildings are docked along the pier. A little white steamer out at the far end resembles a toy boat as it bobs in the waves.