Chasing Shadows

by Lynn Austin

  “What is that sound?” Ans asked.

  “Airplanes. And they’re dropping bombs.”

  “That can’t be true. We aren’t at war. Why would anyone bomb us?”

  “Because Hitler intends to conquer all of Europe, and we’re next. Remember Norway and Denmark?”

  Ans couldn’t reply. She didn’t want to believe it. “Lightning warfare” they were calling it—Blitzkrieg. Hitler’s armies invaded with lightning speed and overwhelming power, forcing a quick surrender. Had the lightning struck the Netherlands? Ans wanted to go back to bed and wake up all over again.

  “Come on,” Eloise said. “We need a better view.” She turned and raced up the stairs, climbing all the way to the third floor before Ans could catch up with her. Eloise opened the child-size door that led up narrow wooden steps to the attic. Ans followed her, barely able to see in the dusty gloom at first. But as her eyes adjusted, she could make out an old dresser, a battered steamer trunk, a chair with a broken leg. Cobwebs draped from the rafters above her head. The attic didn’t have a floor, but Eloise was already navigating across some loose planks between the joists, making her way to a dormer window in the rear of the attic as if she knew every inch of the space. She dragged a wooden crate closer to the window and climbed up on it.

  “Eloise, wait! What are you doing? Maybe we should—”

  “We have to go out on the roof. We’ll be able to see above the trees from there.”

  “The roof? I-I don’t think that’s a very good idea. We don’t have shoes on, and—”

  “Help me open this window. It’s heavy, and I think it’s stuck.” Eloise grunted as she strained to open the grimy window. Dust and filth soiled her hands and beautiful nightgown. She beckoned to Ans. “Come on! Hurry!”

  Ans picked her way across the splintery boards, arms outstretched for balance. This made no sense at all. She needed to stop Eloise, but how? “Maybe we should wait until morning.”

  “Why wait? They’re bombing us right now.” The drone of airplanes sounded louder up here. There must be hundreds of them. “I told you this would happen, didn’t I, Ans? It’s just like the last war when they didn’t care if Belgium was neutral or not, and they marched in and took whatever they wanted, but this time they’ll not only take Belgium, but the Netherlands, too—you can be sure of it.” Her voice had the manic intensity that Ans recognized as a sign of danger. The higher Eloise’s mood soared, the further she might eventually fall.

  “I still don’t think we should go out on the roof in the dead of night and—”

  “Fine!” Eloise gave an exasperated sigh. “Stay inside if you’re afraid of heights. But help me open the window.” Eloise seemed determined, and Ans didn’t dare let her venture out onto the roof by herself.

  She climbed up on the crate beside her. “I’m not afraid of heights,” Ans said. “I used to play up in our hayloft and climb to the top of our windmill. It’s just . . . it’s dark outside. And cold. And we’re in our nightgowns. Shouldn’t we get dressed first? Or at least put on shoes and coats?”

  Eloise ignored her.

  “One . . . two . . . three!” They shoved together and the window slid open, bringing a blast of damp air. Ans was slightly relieved to see a flat, narrow ledge about two feet below the dormer where they could stand. But they were four stories above the street and the wind was blowing. And there was nothing to hang on to. Eloise braced her arms on the windowsill and hoisted herself through the opening. Her silk nightgown snagged and tore. Ans’s instinct was to stay inside on the crate, but she had no other choice but to follow Eloise outside into the cold, clear night. She linked arms with her, gripping the window frame with her other hand.

  “You’re shaking,” Eloise said.

  “It’s cold out here. And it’s an awfully long way down.”

  But Eloise was looking up, not down. “There! Look!” she said, pointing. “Den Haag is in that direction.”

  Ans saw faint flashes of light on the horizon, followed by a rumbling sound several seconds later. “Are they bombing the city?”

  “My guess is they’re bombing the airport. There’s an army airfield over there.”

  “Maybe it’s a training exercise.”

  “Why would our army use Nazi airplanes for training? Look, over there.” She pivoted in the narrow space and pointed to an entire formation of planes that filled the sky like migrating birds. Ans felt the deep throb of their engines in the pit of her stomach. Dread filled every inch of her.

  “See? Nazi planes,” Eloise said. “It looks like they’re heading toward Scheveningen on the Noordzee coast. And look! They’re dropping paratroopers!” Ans watched in disbelief as the planes spewed out tiny specks like soot that drifted slowly to the ground. “See? They’re invading us.”

  “Heaven help us . . . ,” Ans murmured.

  “You can save your breath, Ans. Heaven didn’t help us the last time.”

  Ans studied Eloise’s face in the dim light, searching for signs of an emotional collapse. The professor said that sights and sounds or even smells might act as trip wires, triggering dark thoughts of harming herself. If the news from Norway had nearly created a crisis, what would the sight of a Nazi invasion do?

  “Oh, my poor, dear Herman,” she said. “He’s caught in the middle of that mess.”

  “I’m sure he’ll be fine, Eloise. They’ll have shelters and a safe place for him to go.”

  “Yes, but how will he ever get home?”

  Ans scrambled for a reply. “I’m sure our soldiers are fighting back. We have troops stationed in Den Haag to protect the queen and the royal family.”

  Eloise gave a harsh laugh. “Our tiny Dutch army doesn’t stand a chance! Name one other country that has been able to stand up to the Nazis.”

  Paratroopers fell from the armada of airplanes, filling the distant horizon. Ans’s stomach churned as she thought of Erik fighting against such an overwhelming enemy. And Papa would be deployed in this crisis too. “I heard that there’s a plan to open the dikes and flood the land so enemy tanks can’t get through,” Ans said, desperate to offer hope.

  “A flood won’t stop paratroopers from dropping out of the sky. Look at them all!” Eloise made a sweeping gesture with her arm, and for a moment, Ans feared she would lose her balance. She had to get Eloise off this roof.

  “Can we go inside now? I’m cold.”

  “Our brave Belgian army tried to fight back in the Great War, but they were outnumbered.” She seemed immune to the cold.

  “Please, Eloise. My teeth are chattering.”

  “Oh, I suppose. If you must.” She led the way inside and they closed the heavy window together. Then Eloise trotted across the rickety floorboards and down the stairs to the front room while Ans struggled to follow her through the darkened house.

  “Shall I turn on the lights?” Ans asked.

  “What for? We’ll need to get used to the darkness.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Eloise didn’t reply. She switched on the radio and turned the dial through the haze of static until she found a station. Any news was certain to be devastating, and Ans knew she had to keep Eloise calm until the professor came home, but how?

  Oh, Lord, please help me, she silently prayed. Please show me what to do.

  CHAPTER 13

  Lena startled awake. Pieter had suddenly thrown back the covers and leaped out of bed. She sat up in alarm. “Pieter? What’s wrong?” Their bedroom was dark. Not even a crack of light appeared on the eastern horizon.

  “Shh! Listen!” He held a finger to his lips. A low thrumming sounded in the distance, like a tractor running. No, like dozens of tractors.

  “What is it? What’s that noise?”

  “It sounds like airplanes. A good many of them, I would think, to create such a roar.”

  The telephone downstairs began to ring, never a good sign in the middle of the night. Pieter hurried down the narrow stairs to answer it with Lena close behind. She glanced at
the tall clock in the front room. Four thirty in the morning.

  “Hello? . . . Ja, this is he . . . ja . . . ja . . . I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  Lena’s first thought—her greatest fear—was that something terrible had happened to Ans. “Pieter, who was that? What’s wrong?”

  “The Nazis are invading us.”

  “What?” It wasn’t what she expected to hear. She gaped at him in astonishment.

  “That sound is their planes. They’re bombing our airfields, dropping paratroopers.” He raced back up the stairs, calling behind to her. “I’ve been deployed, Lena. I have to go.”

  She watched him put on his uniform and gather his things as if he knew exactly what he was doing. She couldn’t comprehend what had happened. “I-I don’t understand . . .”

  “Remember how Hitler invaded Norway and Denmark last month? Now it’s our turn.”

  “Oh, Pieter! What are we going to do?”

  “Fight back. We’re not giving up without a fight.”

  Lena closed her eyes. It had been bad enough when he’d gone off for training and she’d worried endlessly about him. But this wasn’t training. This was the real thing. She longed to cling to Pieter and never let go, but their homeland, their very existence was being threatened. She couldn’t beg him to stay. Lena yanked him into her arms, holding him tightly. “I love you.”

  “I love you too, Lena. Pray for our soldiers and for our country.” He pried her arms away and hurried downstairs again. Lena followed and wrapped bread and cheese and an apple for him to take. “I’ll ride my bike into town,” he said. “They’re sending a vehicle to pick us up.”

  “No, take the truck. It will be faster. I’ll ride my bike there when the children wake up and drive it back home. I don’t think they’ll have school today, do you?” She wouldn’t send them even if they did, unwilling to let her children out of her sight with the Nazis invading. Yet she knew it was a delusion to think she could protect them or that they would be safer with her. “What should I tell them, Pieter?”

  “The truth.”

  “What’s going to happen to us? Do you think we’ll be able to stop the invasion? Will England and France help us, do you think?”

  “They weren’t much help to the other countries the Nazis invaded.” He seemed distracted. She knew he was eager to leave. She started to cry, unable to stop her tears as fear engulfed her. “Lena . . . don’t,” he said. “You have to be strong. We both do.”

  “I’m sorry . . . I’m sorry . . .” She wiped her eyes but couldn’t stop crying.

  He held her again, kissing her one last time. Then he was gone. She heard the truck’s sputtering engine start up. The headlamps shone briefly into the front windows as Pieter turned and drove away. The house was quiet again except for the ticking clock. The hum of distant airplanes seemed louder, closer. Lena went upstairs to get dressed, feeling chilled. She saw the rumpled sheets where Pieter had slept only a few minutes earlier, and dropped to her knees beside the bed to muffle the sound of her weeping as she prayed.

  By the time the children awoke, Lena had regained control. She fed them breakfast and calmly explained what was happening. “Your papa left to join the other soldiers. He took our truck early this morning, and we’ll have to go pick it up after our chores are finished.”

  “Are Nazi tanks and soldiers coming here?” Wim asked.

  Lena hesitated. Pieter had advised her to tell them the truth. “They will probably try, Wim. But our army is going to fight back.”

  “Do we have tanks like they do?”

  “I don’t know. You can ask Opa when we see him today.”

  Later, Lena, Maaike, and Wim climbed onto their bicycles and pedaled into town to fetch Pieter’s truck. She felt exposed and vulnerable riding through the open flatland with Nazi planes overhead, and she breathed a prayer of thanks when she finally saw houses and the village church steeple on the horizon. Pieter had parked the truck in the square beside the church. “Load the bicycles, Wim, while I talk to Opa.” Lena took Maaike’s hand and went inside.

  The manse was empty. Lena came outside again and crossed the market square, finally finding her father in the bakery, talking with a group of villagers who had gathered there. He kissed the top of Maaike’s head and steered them in the direction of the church. “Pieter has been deployed,” she said.

  “I know. I prayed with him and the other men before they left this morning.”

  “I’m so scared, Papa.” She spoke softly as they walked toward the truck, hoping Maaike wouldn’t overhear. She saw Wim waiting beside the truck and told Maaike to run across the street to join him. “I’ve been praying all morning that our country will be safe and that Pieter and the others will be safe, but—”

  “Do you want your way or God’s way?”

  She stopped walking. The question made her angry. “Of course I want my way. Isn’t that why we pray and bring our requests to Him? But I’ve never understood why He doesn’t answer our prayers if He loves us. He didn’t keep Mama from getting sick and dying, even though everyone in the village prayed for her. Now we’re at war, and if anything happens to Pieter or one of our children, I . . . I don’t think I could handle it.”

  “God has His reasons for allowing this great upheaval. Maybe He’s asking us to join the fight against evil and help redeem this fallen world.”

  “I don’t have enough faith for this, Papa.”

  “None of us do. All we can do is ask Him each day what He wants us to do.”

  She nodded, keeping her tears at bay. She saw Maaike gazing up at the distant airplanes and Wim pointing to them. Two of his friends had stopped to talk with him. “Mama! There’s no school today!” he shouted when he saw her. The seriousness of the war would impact him soon enough, but for now he seemed to think of it as a holiday.

  “I need to go home, Papa.”

  He stopped her as she started to cross the street. “Lena, never forget that God is in control.”

  CHAPTER 14

  “Please, Abba,” Miriam begged. “We need to find out exactly what’s going on.” They had awakened to the sound of airplanes, some flying so low she wondered if they would crash. Sirens had wailed, adding to their panic. She and Abba had been sitting beside the radio since the early morning hours, trying to interpret what the Dutch newscasters were saying. “I hope we’re wrong and that this country isn’t at war. But please, let’s go downstairs and ask Mrs. Spielman what’s going on.”

  “Go without me,” he said. His voice was soft, and Miriam could see that he was struggling to control his tears. He didn’t know Mrs. Spielman as well as she did, and he probably didn’t want to lose control in front of her. Miriam understood Abba’s distress. She shared it and had been battling for the last several hours to draw a deep breath.

  “Please, Abba. If we’re right about what the broadcast is saying, and Hitler’s armies have truly invaded our new home, then I need you beside me when we hear the news so we can decide what to do.”

  “Give me a moment, then.” He went into the bathroom, and Miriam heard water running in the sink. Then he went into his bedroom, and when he came out, his dark hair was slicked back. He was wearing his suit coat, as if the news would be easier to bear if he was in a suit. He followed Miriam downstairs as she knocked on the landlady’s door.

  “Mrs. Spielman, it’s me, Miriam.” Every breath she drew felt labored.

  “Come in, come in,” she said, opening the door a crack. “But be careful . . . don’t let Oliver out!”

  Miriam bent to hold back the squirming cat while Abba hurried inside and shut the door. “We’re very sorry to bother you, Mrs. Spielman, but we have been listening to the radio and we want to make certain we have not misunderstood.”

  “Ja,” she replied with a sigh. “I’m afraid the news is bad, no matter which language you hear it in.” She beckoned them into her sitting room, where her radio was on, and invited them to sit down.

  “We cannot stay,” Abba s
aid, refusing to sit. “But we need to know for certain.” Miriam hoped Mrs. Spielman would understand his need to digest the news in private.

  “We’re at war,” she said. “Hitler’s armies invaded the Netherlands early this morning, dropping bombs and soldiers from the sky with parachutes. Our army is fighting back, and we’ve opened the dikes to stop them with a flood. But we don’t have news from all the battlefronts yet, and no one really knows for certain how the battles are going.”

  A sharp pain twisted through Miriam’s stomach at the news. Abba groaned and ran his hand over his face. “Where can we go now?” he said, speaking in German. “Where is there a place where we’ll be safe? That monster and his goons have found us again.” Miriam hugged him tightly and felt his body trembling. “Your mother should have come with us. She should have gotten out while she had a chance,” he said. “At least we would die together. Now I don’t think we will ever see her again.”

  “Don’t say that, Abba. We have to hang on to hope—”

  “How? We will be trapped again with no way out. Once the Nazis take over, how long do you think it will be before they do the same things to us here that they did in Germany?”

  Switching to Dutch, Miriam said, “Mrs. Spielman, my father is afraid the Nazis are going to take over like they did in Germany. Is he right?”

  “According to the news, our soldiers are putting up a very brave fight.” But Miriam saw the fear in the older woman’s eyes and was concerned for her.

  “What about your sons in Amsterdam? Will you try to go to be with them?”

  “I don’t think I can. It’s not safe for any of us to go outdoors until the fighting stops.”

  Abba crouched in front of Mrs. Spielman’s chair, facing her, speaking in broken Dutch. “Do you know how Nazis do to Jews? Do you hear what happens to us in Germany? Why we leave our home?”