by Lynn Austin
“It feels wonderful.”
“Where is home for you?”
The question stopped her. She was afraid to say too much to this kind stranger or talk about her work with the Resistance. The Nazis still might be searching for her under her real name, and if she went home, she feared they would hurt her parents—and discover Elisheva. “I was living in Leiden when the war started,” she finally said.
“I think we can help you get to Leiden if that’s where you’d like to go. Until recently, we always provided rail tickets to paroled prisoners, but train travel is impossible right now. Our relief vans travel to the various jails and prisons around the country, so we might be able to shuttle you from place to place and eventually get you to Leiden.”
“Thank you. I would be very grateful.” She would find a way to get home to her farm from there, but first she needed to make sure Eloise was all right. Ans’s greatest fear was that Eloise had sunk so deep into despair after her husband was arrested that she would try to harm herself.
“But before you go,” the woman continued, “you should know that many, many people are starving in the western part of our country, especially in cities like Amsterdam and Leiden. The Nazis were so furious when all of the railroad workers went on strike as our queen asked them to do that they stopped distributing food in order to punish us. The Nazis have also destroyed many of our harbors to prevent the Allies from using them, and that means there are no food shipments by sea, either. Our Red Cross has organized soup kitchens in the cities, but we’re running low on food ourselves.”
“It’s a good thing I learned to get by without much food in prison,” Ans said. She pulled the waistband of her slacks out to show how huge they were. The woman looked away.
It took nearly a week of shuttling from place to place, but eventually Ans said goodbye to her Red Cross hosts outside Leiden’s train station and walked across the bridge into the old city. The train station had suffered bomb damage, and the city’s buildings and streets looked tired and beaten down—as did the people she passed. The Red Cross had fed Ans along the way and she’d regained some of her strength. They’d also given her a secondhand winter coat.
She took a detour past the café where the Resistance once relayed messages, hoping to contact Havik again, but the café was closed and shuttered. She drew a deep breath, steeling herself for the worst, and hurried to the Huizengas’ town house on the Witte Singel, walking around to the rear and knocking on the kitchen door. She had no idea what she would find.
Ans was relieved when Meta, the Jewish housekeeper, opened the door a crack and peered out. It meant that the Nazis hadn’t arrested her and Sientje.
But Meta didn’t seem to recognize Ans. “Yes? May I help you?” she asked.
“Meta, it’s me—Ans. I’m back. Is . . . is Eloise here?”
The door swung wide and Meta threw her arms around her. “Oh, my goodness! It is you! I thought you were another beggar asking for food. Come in, come in! Eloise will be thrilled that you’re here!”
Eloise is here.
The town house’s kitchen was filled with strangers, all huddled around the range, all wearing coats. A large pot of something that didn’t smell particularly good simmered on the stove. Ans was glad to see Meta’s sister-in-law, Sientje, holding Mrs. Spielman’s cat on her lap, but she didn’t recognize anyone else. “Everybody, this is Ans!” Meta announced. “She’s home at last!”
“Eloise told us all about you,” one of the women said. Someone was chopping something in another room. And she heard a ball bouncing.
“Is Eloise here? I want to see her.”
“I’ll take you to her,” Meta said. They stepped around the gathered people, passing two boys in overcoats bouncing a ball back and forth in the frigid dining room. And there was Eloise! She stood in the foyer, supervising a boy of twelve or thirteen as he chopped one of the spindles off the bannister. Most of the other spindles were also missing. So was the door to the front closet. “Eloise, look!” Meta shouted. “Ans is home!”
Eloise turned, and Ans was relieved to see how well she looked. She was much thinner, and the white streak in her dark hair had widened and spread since Ans had last seen her, but her eyes sparkled with excitement as she hurried toward her.
“Ans? . . . Is it really you . . . or just your shadow?”
“It’s me!” They fell into each other’s arms.
“I can’t believe you’re really here,” Eloise said. She ran her hands down Ans’s arms as if to convince herself she was real. “We heard you were in prison.”
“I was, but they released me a few days ago.”
“Thank God! That gives us all hope that maybe Herman and the others will be released too. You can stop chopping now,” she told the boy when the spindle finally broke free. “That’s enough wood for today. Besides, I believe in miracles now that Ans is here, so maybe we’ll have another miracle and the weather will warm up, or the war will end before our town house is chopped into pieces. How are you, Ans? And don’t say ‘fine.’ I can see that you’ve suffered. Come sit in the parlor with me so we can talk. I would offer you tea, but . . . well, there isn’t any.”
She was the same Eloise that Ans knew and loved, talking rapidly and without pause, gesturing with her fluttery hands. There were more strangers in the parlor too, including a young woman holding a baby, both heavily bundled against the chill. “Everyone . . . this is Ans,” Eloise announced. “She’s . . . well, she’s like a daughter to me, and she’s home!”
There were dozens of questions Ans wanted to ask as everyone chimed in to welcome her, but she knew Eloise would answer them in time. At last, she and Eloise were able to sit down at the little table where they’d had tea on Ans’s first day. It seemed like a hundred years ago. “How are you, Eloise? And—” she leaned closer to whisper—“who are all these people?”
“I’m as good as can be expected, with good days and bad days. Today is a wonderful day now that you’re home.”
“And the people . . . ?”
“They’re the families of Herman and Aalt’s bank employees. When the Nazis arrested them, they also arrested the men who worked with them. Many of their wives and children had no way to support themselves and no place to go, so I invited them to live here. We’ve become our own little family. So you see, Ans? I’m still fighting back.”
“Yes, I do see.”
“I took them in because they’re important to Herman and his brother, so they’ve become important to me. And after that, I couldn’t break down or withdraw from the world, no matter how hard it was, at times, not to give up. To abandon them would be selfish of me.” Ans wanted to ask how Eloise could afford to support them all, but as she gazed around, she noticed how ravaged the once-lovely town house looked and how many of Eloise’s treasures were missing—the Meissen china, the sterling silver, valuable paintings. She remembered Eloise’s words on the day they’d traveled to Amsterdam and saw the Nazis rounding up Jews: “What good is a chest filled with gold that never gets spent? And what good is my life if I selfishly keep it to myself and don’t spend it for others?”
“Now that you’re back, you can help us search for food every day. It’s becoming quite a challenge, believe me, and the others are getting discouraged, but I know you, Ans. You don’t let anything discourage you. We’ve learned to make do without fuel and electricity, but it’s impossible to get by without food.”
“How many people live here?”
“I don’t know. Besides the bank families? I’ve lost count because it varies. I can’t ignore people who are freezing and starving and begging in the street, can I?”
“Listen, if I go home to the farm, I can bring some food back. I want to see my family and let them know I’m all right and—” Eloise winced, sending a shaft of fear through Ans’s heart. “What? Do you know something about my family?”
“No, I don’t. I’m sorry. It’s isn’t that. It’s just that it’s going to be impossible for you to go an
ywhere because of all the roadblocks and Nazi activity.”
“I know—it was hard for the Red Cross to get me here, but—”
“No one under the age of forty is allowed to travel. The Nazis will arrest you on sight if you’re caught. And the countryside is very dangerous these days because of the hunger trippers. People are so desperate they defy the law and go to the country to hunt for food. Robbers lie in wait to steal from them on their way back.”
Ans longed to go home in spite of the danger. But before she could argue further, Eloise reached across the table to take both of her hands. “Please don’t leave me again, Ans. I would be sick with worry for you out there. And I could use your help.”
Ans looked down at Eloise’s elegant hands, gripping hers. The beautiful rings she’d always worn were gone. “Of course I’ll help. Tell me what to do.”
“We’re eating whatever we can find these days. A horse dropped dead in the street last week and there was practically a stampede to carve it up. Mrs. Spielman’s cat wouldn’t last five minutes out there. People call cats ‘roof rabbits’ and eat them as fast as they can catch them.”
Ans smiled. “And what is Mrs. Spielman’s cat eating these days?”
“She’s a very capable mouser, it turns out. She does well for herself. Meanwhile, I’m selling or swapping anything I can find to buy food. Rabbits cost thirty guilders each at the butcher’s last week, and they barely had any meat on their bones. They set up mobile soup kitchens around town from time to time, if we can get there before the soup runs out. And you’ll love this—they passed out pamphlets with instructions for cooking tulip bulbs. One recipe said to fry them, but we haven’t seen cooking oil in years, so the only choice was to boil them. Meta dug up all of my bulbs, but they tasted ‘like a slap in the face,’ as the old Dutch expression goes. Not that rabbit or horse tastes any better.”
“I’ll be another mouth to feed.”
“True, but I’m guessing you’ll know how to skin a squirrel if we manage to catch one.” Eloise smiled, then leaned forward, serious again. “The Nazis now pay ten guilders for reporting a Jew in hiding. Can you believe there are people so desperate that they’d trade a person’s life for ten measly guilders?”
“I often wonder how Miriam and Avi are. And Elisheva.”
“God knows, I pray for them every day.” Eloise sighed and ran a hand through her hair. It was no longer perfectly cut and styled, but Eloise was still a beautiful woman.
“Have you seen Erik?” Ans asked. “He’s been on my mind for days as I made my way home, and I can’t wait to see him. I’m so afraid he’s angry with me for disappearing.”
“He came by the day after you left, and I gave him your letter. He returned the following day asking for directions to your parents’ farm. I could honestly tell him that I didn’t know.”
“Did he seem angry?”
“Frustrated, I think.”
“I need to go see him after I wash and change my clothes. I know I look horrible at the moment—”
“There’s no hot water, but we can warm some for you on the stove. But, Ans . . . do you think it’s wise to see him?”
“What do you mean? We love each other. He warned me about the Gestapo raid and saved my life.”
“You’ve been apart for nearly a year. He may have changed his mind about you since then. And . . . and he works for the enemy.”
“I know. And I’ve seen my share of cruel policemen and prison guards. But Erik isn’t like them.”
“I hope you’re right.”
It felt wonderful to bathe and change into fresh clothes. But the mirror told Ans why Meta hadn’t recognized her. Her skin was gray, her blonde hair thin and limp. Dark circles rimmed her eyes like bruises. She had the figure of a ten-year-old girl. She wondered if Erik would be repulsed.
The walk to his apartment across town tired her out. The trek up his stairs left her breathless. But the joy she felt when Erik opened the door and pulled her into his arms was worth all the pain of getting there. “Ans! You’re skin and bones!” he said after holding her tightly and kissing her.
“I’ve dreamed of your kisses for months. I can’t believe we’re finally together again!”
“Come in, come in,” he said, opening the door wider. Erik seemed exactly the same, as if he hadn’t suffered from wartime hunger like everyone else—a privilege for Dutch Nazi Party members, she guessed.
“Are you all right, Ans? When did you get back?”
“Today.”
“From your parents’ farm? You’re so thin!” She didn’t want to lie to him, but a niggle of doubt made her afraid to trust him after so much time. What if Eloise was right and he had changed?
“I . . . I’ve been in Vught Prison.”
“Ans! I begged you to stop fighting the Nazis! I knew something like this would happen!” His anger surprised her.
“That isn’t why I was arrested. I was on my way back to the farm when two Nazi soldiers stole my bicycle. I had to walk a very long way, and it made me late. The police arrested me for breaking curfew.” He stared at her without speaking, and she couldn’t tell if he was shocked or if he didn’t believe her. “Will it jeopardize your job to be seen with a convicted felon?” she asked, trying to make light of it.
He pulled her close and held her again without answering. Erik seemed different after all these months. He’d always been alert and on guard, but now that alertness made him seem restless and jittery, like a mouse watching for a cat. He seemed happy to see Ans, but at the same time, he seemed to be holding back as they chatted, as if she’d hurt him and he was afraid to get close to her again. She knew that a measure of trust between them had been broken. After a few minutes, she saw him glance at the clock. He was in his uniform, and there was a suitcase open on his bed and piles of folded clothes.
“Are you going somewhere or did you just get home?” she asked, gesturing to the suitcase.
“I’m being sent away on a special detail.”
“For how long?”
“I’m not sure. Will you be at the town house when I get back? May I come to see you?”
“Absolutely!” They kissed again and clung to each other, but somehow, being with Erik wasn’t the way Ans had remembered—or how she had long dreamed it would be.
CHAPTER 58
Lena stood in the doorway to her cousin’s apartment above the post office, trying to unroll the flimsy newspaper after hiding it inside the handlebars of her bicycle. “Here, I brought you the latest news, Truus. It’s good, for once. The Nazis can’t last much longer.”
“Come upstairs,” Truus begged. “We haven’t had a chance to sit and talk in such a long time.”
“It will have to be quick. My girls are with me, and we need to get home before the next bombing raid starts. I try to time our trips into town to avoid the worst of them.”
“I admire your courage,” Truus said as she led the way upstairs. “Riding out in the open countryside leaves you so exposed.” She gestured to the kitchen table, and Lena sat down, pulling Bep onto her lap. Maaike didn’t want to sit but went to the window that faced Papa’s church across the square. “All I have is ersatz coffee,” Truus said, “but at least there’s gas today.” She lit the burner under the coffeepot, then placed cups and saucers on the table. “Remember the days when we drank real coffee together, with pastries from the bakery? Something buttery and flaky?”
Lena smiled. “I would be happy with just the coffee nowadays. With maybe a tiny pinch of sugar.”
“We have to keep believing that better days are coming and that everything will be the same as it used to be, soon.” Her words bothered Lena.
“The war may end, but I wonder if any of us will ever be the same. And I wonder if we’ll be changed for the better or for the worse.”
Truus gave a little frown. “What do you mean?”
“Are you the same person you were before the war?”
“I should hope so!” Truus had always been a pra
ctical, down-to-earth woman, never one to ponder her own motives or look too deeply into her own heart. It would never occur to her to question God or examine her own faith too closely. But the war had changed Lena. Her faith had been shaken, challenged, destroyed, and rebuilt into something completely different. It was stronger—she was stronger—and yet she knew her faith was more fragile than ever, reduced to a childlike trust in the face of circumstances she was helpless to control. Surrendering control, which she’d learned had been a mere illusion all along, had altered her relationship with God forever.
“Well, I hope I’m not the same,” Lena said. She waited until Truus filled their cups and sat down before leaning closer, still trying to probe her cousin’s faith. “What went through your mind when your husband knelt in that lineup, facing execution?”
Truus looked away. “I’ve tried hard to forget that day, so please don’t remind me of it. Besides, he was saved in the end.”
“But what if he hadn’t been saved? What would you have said to God then?”
“I don’t know. And I never will know, because he didn’t die. And neither did your husband, so can we please talk about something else?”
Lena took a sip of the hot, bitter liquid, conceding to Truus’s wishes. Pieter was still out fighting the Nazis somewhere. For all Lena knew, he might be dead, and she might be forced to answer her own question.
A Nazi motorcycle rumbled up the street outside. Maaike drew away from the window as if trying to hide behind the curtain. “She’s so jumpy and fearful,” Lena said softly. “The Nazis stole her childhood. She and Bep can’t even remember a time when there were no planes overhead or firefights and explosions during the night.”
“I can barely remember, myself,” Truus said. As Bep played with the doll she carried everywhere, pretending to feed her imaginary food, Truus seemed to be studying Bep’s face as if trying to find a family resemblance. “She’s a beautiful child. Are you and Pieter going to raise her as your own after the war, or will Ans take her back?”
