Number the Stars Read Free Page B

said the wrong thing, the thing that would bring the pained look to her mother's face. The days when little Kirsti slept in Mama and Papa's room were the days when Lise and Annemarie shared this bed.
    But Mama was laughing quietly. "I remember, too," she said. "Sometimes she wet the bed in the middle of the night!"
    "I did not!" Kirsti said haughtily from the bedroom doorway. "I never,
ever
did that!"
    Mama, still laughing, knelt and kissed Kirsti on the cheek. "Time to leave for school, girls," she said. She began to button Kirsti's jacket. "Oh, dear," she said, suddenly. "Look. This button has broken right in half. Annemarie, take Kirsti with you, after school, to the little shop where Mrs. Hirsch sells thread and buttons. See if you can buy just one, to match the others on her jacket. I'll give you some kroner—it shouldn't cost very much."
    But after school, when the girls stopped at the shop, which had been there as long as Annemarie could remember, they found it closed. There was a new padlock on the door, and a sign. But the sign was in German. They couldn't read the words.
    "I wonder if Mrs. Hirsch is sick," Annemarie said as they walked away.
    "I saw her Saturday," Ellen said. "She was with her husband and their son. They all looked just fine. Or at least the
parents
looked just fine—the son
always
looks like a horror." She giggled.
    Annemarie made a face. The Hirsch family lived in the neighborhood, so they had seen the boy, Samuel, often. He was a tall teenager with thick glasses, stooped shoulders, and unruly hair. He rode a bicycle to school, leaning forward and squinting, wrinkling his nose to nudge his glasses into place. His bicycle had wooden wheels, now that rubber tires weren't available, and it creaked and clattered on the street.
    "I think the Hirsches all went on a vacation to the seashore," Kirsti announced.
    "And I suppose they took a big basket of pink-frosted cupcakes with them," Annemarie said sarcastically to her sister.
    "Yes, I suppose they did," Kirsti replied.
    Annemarie and Ellen exchanged looks that meant: Kirsti is so
dumb.
No one in Copenhagen had taken a vacation at the seashore since the war began. There
were
no pink-frosted cupcakes; there hadn't been for months.
    Still, Annemarie thought, looking back at the shop before they turned the corner, where was Mrs. Hirsch? The Hirsch family had gone
somewhere.
Why else would they close the shop?
    Mama was troubled when she heard the news. "Are you sure?" she asked several times.
    "We can find another button someplace," Annemarie reassured her. "Or we can take one from the bottom of the jacket and move it up. It won't show very much."
    But it didn't seem to be the jacket that worried Mama. "Are you sure the sign was in German?" she asked. "Maybe you didn't look carefully."
    "Mama, it had a swastika on it."
    Her mother turned away with a distracted look. "Annemarie, watch your sister for a few moments. And begin to peel the potatoes for dinner. I'll be right back."
    "Where are you going?" Annemarie asked as her mother started for the door.
    "I want to talk to Mrs. Rosen."
    Puzzled, Annemarie watched her mother leave the apartment. She went to the kitchen and opened the door to the cupboard where the potatoes were kept. Every night, now, it seemed, they had potatoes for dinner. And very little else.

    Annemarie was almost asleep when there was a light knock on the bedroom door. Candlelight appeared as the door opened, and her mother stepped in.
    "Are you asleep, Annemarie?"
    "No. Why? Is something wrong?"
    "Nothing's wrong. But I'd like you to get up and come out to the living room. Peter's here. Papa and I want to talk to you."
    Annemarie jumped out of bed, and Kirsti grunted in her sleep. Peter! She hadn't seen him in a long time. There was something frightening about his being here at night. Copenhagen had a curfew, and no citizens were allowed out after eight o'clock. It was very dangerous, she knew, for Peter to visit at this time. But she