Whisper on the Wind by Maureen Lang

escort, no gloves, no hat. What would your father say?”
    “He might have said plenty, but he lost that right when he left Brussels, didn’t he?”
    Then she left his office, refusing to think of her parents. They were likely too busy to have noticed she’d even left home. She caught back the thought; it was too late to try convincing herself her parents deserved whatever worry she’d caused.
    Anyway, the false pass in her hand had survived Whitlock’s scrutiny and that filled her with confidence.
    Isa headed to the heart of the city she loved. German uniforms abounded. Once-pristine parks were shut off to the public but used by German officers and their mounts—something never before allowed. Once-manicured trees, hedges, and lawns now grew untamed. Once-perfect gardens now sported weeds.
    Armed military police patrolled the streets; guards stood at train stations. The only passengers on trams were soldiers. Few motorcars used the streets, and there was not a bicycle to be found.
    Though her beloved city lay untouched by the cannonballs that had destroyed so many Belgian villages, Brussels was desecrated nonetheless.
    Isa hid her disgust from the soldiers roaming the streets, but when she caught a glimpse of a civilian eyeing her with a scowl, she hurried on her way. Passive resistance must extend to refusing to read the German placards posted everywhere. She should have guessed as much. There were only so many ways to resist.
    She found her way to Lower Town, where there were fewer placards and fewer soldiers. Fewer people were outside, and those who were ignored her, until a short shadow jumped into her path. “There you are!”
    “Jonah!” She hugged him close.
    At nearly twelve, he’d grown in the two years since she’d seen him. He had wavy dark hair like his older brother’s and the merry green eyes of his mother. But his nose and mouth were his father’s, and even as she welcomed that smile, the memory of Genny’s husband reminded Isa of the hole his absence had left in her heart.
    “Mother told me you came back during the night. I wish you’d have awakened me. I would’ve liked to see you first thing.”
    “Well, here I am, just a few hours later.”
    “But where did you go? Mother’s not home; she went to wait in the lines to bring back bread with Miss Viole. I don’t know where Albert is. And Edward’s still gone. Mother said he’d be angry you left without him.”
    “But I’m back, safe and sound, so he has no reason, has he? And why aren’t you in school?”
    “No electricity today, so they sent us home. That’s fine, if you ask me. None of my real teachers are there anymore anyway, and I don’t like the German ones.”
    “But you must go to school, no matter what. Even the Germans value education.”
    “Well, I don’t value what they have to teach, none of it.”
    She put an arm around his thin shoulders as they neared the door to Viole’s home. “What if I told you there’s a chance we might move to my old home in Upper Town? And you could go to school in that neighborhood? Perhaps they have Belgian teachers there.”
    “That would be fine . . . only . . .”
    “Only what?”
    “I’ve been by your old house, Isa. I don’t think it’s yours anymore.”
    She sighed. “Yes, I know about the soldiers. Hopefully they’ll be moving soon.”
    “Out of Brussels?”
    “Well, out of my house, anyway. And then we’ll go and live there. You and your mother and Edward and me.”
    “Edward too?”
    “Does that surprise you?”
    By now they’d let themselves inside the modest home, which was dark even on an uncommonly sunny day due to so few small windows.
    “It’s only that he hasn’t lived with us since he came back, so I’m wondering why he would now.”
    “Since he came back from where?”
    Jonah’s brows lifted. “Don’t you know? The Germans took him, way back when they first came to Belgium.”
    “What do you mean, took him?”
    He took her hand in his and