by Lynn Austin
Ans spent all day and most of the night weeping and praying, reliving every wonderful moment she and Erik had spent together—and all of the dark, disappointing ones. When she opened the door the next morning and stepped outside to talk with him, she was trembling from head to toe.
“Did you find someone to help me hide?” he asked.
She drew a shaky breath. “Even if I still knew people in the underground, they would never agree to help you because you didn’t help them when they needed it. You worked for our enemy. You chose the Nazis’ side when you decided to stay on the police force. You joined the Dutch Nazi Party and attended their rallies. You made your choice. You can’t expect the underground to help you now.”
“Please! Let me hide here with you!”
“This isn’t my home. There are a dozen of us living here, families whose husbands and fathers are in a Nazi prison for helping Jews. We’re chopping up the furniture and woodwork to stay warm. We’re eating horse food and tulip bulbs to stay alive. I can’t ask these poor souls to take pity on you.” She paused. “I can’t help you, Erik. I’m sorry.”
“I thought you loved me!”
“I thought so too.”
CHAPTER 60
It was still night when the tremor of vehicles and voices roused Miriam from sleep. Everyone in the barracks heard it too, and questions whispered through the darkness. “What’s going on? What are the Nazis doing?” Miriam and most of the others were too afraid to open the door and venture outside. The darkness, inside and out, magnified her fear.
As the uproar continued, the barracks supervisor peered cautiously through the window, then said, “There’s no guard outside. He’s not at his post.” The supervisor and two others decided to take a chance. They opened the door and disappeared into the night. They returned minutes later, barely able to keep from shouting the news. “The Nazis are packing up! It looks like they’re leaving! There are no guards anywhere, even in the towers!”
“Will we have to go with them?” someone asked.
“I don’t see how they could take all of us unless there’s a train coming.”
“If there is a train, we’re all done for. They pack a thousand people at a time on those trains, and there are fewer than nine hundred of us left.”
The thought made Miriam’s lungs squeeze. “Have mercy on me, my God, have mercy on me, for in you I take refuge. I will take refuge in the shadow of your wings until the disaster has passed. . . .” She recited the verses silently while she and the others waited. She’d lost track of the number of times she’d been forced to wait through endless minutes and hours of dread this way, her life, her hope, dangling by a thread. She struggled to breathe, listening for the rumble of the train. Gradually it became apparent that the Nazis and their vehicles were in fact leaving, yet no one had ordered the prisoners to collect their things or stand for roll call in the center of the camp. The train didn’t come.
The sun rose, bringing light and hope as shafts of sunlight streamed through the grimy windows. The commotion outside had faded into the distance with the departing vehicles. More prisoners slipped outside, and Miriam heard shouts from all over the camp. “They’re gone! They’re gone! The Nazis are gone!” She joined the rush of women leaping down from their bunks and streaming through the door into the chilly April morning, shivering with cold and joy.
“We’re free to go?” someone asked.
“They left the main gate wide-open!”
The shouts and cheers could probably be heard for miles. Yet after all these years of being hunted and hounded and demeaned and imprisoned, Miriam was afraid to believe she was finally free. She went in search of the orchestra director, Ernst Lubbers, and found that several other musicians had done the same, gathering around him for advice. “What do you think we should do, Ernst? Are you leaving?”
“I think I’ll wait and see. For my wife’s sake.” Frau Lubbers was a flautist who seemed as ethereal as the sound of her flute. It was a tribute to Ernst’s love that she’d survived persecution this long. “There’s food and shelter here,” Ernst said. “And who knows what we’ll find out there. As far as we know, the Netherlands is still at war.”
“What if the Nazis return? Won’t we be sorry we didn’t run while we had the chance?”
“Undoubtedly. Listen, I can’t speak for anyone else or advise you what to do. We each must decide for ourselves.”
Miriam knew she wouldn’t survive on her own. Avi had faced myriad obstacles when he’d escaped Westerbork and walked across the country to Leiden. And that was before five years of war and bombings and Nazi occupation. Some of her fellow prisoners were already hurrying down the road to Assen with their loved ones and suitcases, but like a caged bird, she was afraid to fly through the open door.
She knew how helpless and dependent she’d been these past years—on Abba and his student and the German guides who’d helped them leave Cologne. On the Dutch people who’d fed and housed them with the other refugees here at Westerbork. On Ans and Eloise after she and Avi fled the Nazi roundups. And on Dr. Elzinga and his underground network who’d risked their lives to hide her and care for her. She hadn’t survived this long by her own strength and wits, but because of the courage and love of others. Miriam had tried to wall herself off from people, afraid to get too close, afraid of experiencing the blinding pain she’d felt after losing Avi and Elisheva. Trusting was a risk. Loving was a risk. Now she owed a debt to love in return. She made up her mind to return to the camp kitchen and resume her work duties. In a few hours or a few days, perhaps she and a group of fellow prisoners would band together and decide on a plan. But for now, everyone needed to eat. She was surprised to find that nearly all of the others had chosen to work as well.
Shortly before noon, as pots of soup simmered on the stove, they heard the unmistakable sound of heavy vehicles approaching. Everyone in the kitchen froze. The woman working alongside Miriam collapsed to the floor with a moan of despair. “They’re back; they’re back! Oh, why didn’t we run while we had the chance!”
Miriam tried to help her to her feet in spite of her own longing to run and hide. The others had all rushed to the door. “Come, let’s see if it is the Nazis before we panic,” Miriam said. “Maybe someone has come to rescue us.”
Before they reached the door, shouts of joy resounded outside. “It’s the Canadians! Canadian soldiers!”
The woman clung to Miriam, laughing and weeping at the same time. “We’re free! Really and truly free!” Miriam couldn’t comprehend it.
The prisoners swarmed the Canadian troops and their vehicles, applauding, cheering, begging for news. “Is the war over? Have the Allies defeated the Nazis?”
The Canadian commander stood on the fender of his vehicle, his hands raised to call for silence as an interpreter came forward. “The war isn’t over yet. Parts of the western provinces, the cities of Amsterdam, Rotterdam, and Den Haag, still haven’t been liberated. But the Nazis are on the run. It won’t be long until they’re finally defeated.” Miriam was afraid to believe it, afraid to hope. “Anyone who wants to leave this camp may certainly do so,” the commander continued. “But I recommend you wait here until all of the hostilities cease. After that, we’ll figure out how to get you back home.”
Home. To Leiden. To her family.
Dutch Red Cross workers arrived the next day, bringing more news. Miriam and the others hungered for it even more than for food. She was sitting in the warm sunshine outside the dining hall with Ernst Lubbers and a group from the orchestra, discussing the railroad strike that had halted the deportations from Westerbork, when one of the Red Cross workers made a comment about the trains’ destinations in the East. “You’re among the lucky ones who didn’t end up in Poland in those horrible concentration camps. The others . . . May God rest their souls . . .” Her words brought silence as if everyone had stopped breathing.
“What do you mean?” Ernst asked an eternity later. The worker hesitated, her hand over her mouth a
s if she’d said more than she should have. Ernst sat forward, pleading with her. “We’ve had no news in months—years. Please, tell us what you know so we can face whatever it is.”
“I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything. It might be better to wait and hear about it with people you love.”
“Most of us don’t know what has become of the people we love! Tell us!” He was demanding, not asking. Part of Miriam wanted to run out onto the heath and keep running rather than hear the truth about where Abba and so many of her loved ones had gone. But the anxiety she saw on her friends’ faces made her decide to stay and face the news with them.
The worker spoke quickly now, as if unloading an unbearable burden. “Our Soviet allies have liberated the labor camps in Poland. They discovered that the Nazis have been sending people to their deaths, killing women and children and the elderly the same day they arrived on the trains. Thousands more starved or died of diseases in the camps. From what I’ve heard, Westerbork is a paradise compared to the other camps. I’m so sorry.”
“You mean they’ve been killing all of the Jews who were deported from the Netherlands?” Ernst asked.
The worker’s eyes filled with tears. “Not only from here . . . The Nazis deported and executed Jews from every country, including their own. Austria, Romania, Hungary, Belgium, France . . .” She couldn’t finish.
“This can’t be true,” someone murmured. “That would be millions of people.”
The Red Cross worker lowered her face, tears falling onto her lap. “I’m so sorry.”
Miriam pictured her family’s home in Cologne and the Jewish streets and neighborhoods surrounding it. Thousands of Jews had lived there, worked there. Hundreds had attended the synagogue in Leiden. Tens of thousands lived in Amsterdam. Had the Nazis killed all of them? It seemed impossible. And for what reason?
Abba. Avi. Elisheva . . . Mother. Aunt Louisa and Uncle David. Aunt Shoshanna and Uncle Nathan. Saul and her other cousins . . . Mrs. Spielman and her family . . . the families of the women she’d hidden with . . . Impossible.
If Miriam had survived and Avi and Elisheva hadn’t . . . then what? Miriam didn’t know. She would have to wait. And pray. And try not to lose hope.
CHAPTER 61
MAY 1945
Lena dug her fingers into the soil of her garden, lifting a damp clump of it, rubbing it between her fingers. The May sunshine had warmed it sufficiently. Today she would begin to plant. She picked up the pitchfork to turn the soil. In the distance, their fruit trees blossomed in a frothy display of beauty that never failed to awe her. A new season of planting and waiting, a new season of hope was beginning.
Farming the land year after year should have prepared Lena to trust God. Every seed she’d planted had been an act of faith. Every day and week and month spent waiting and praying for sunshine and rain and a good harvest required trust. She couldn’t do anything to make the plants grow. Nor could she do anything to ensure her family’s safety, their future. They were in God’s hands.
Liberation had come. Her country was free. She’d returned from the village yesterday with the good news, the joyous sound of church bells still clamoring in her ears. Lena had spent most of that long-awaited day celebrating with her shadow people, helping them get ready to go back to their homes, their families. Perhaps her loved ones had spent yesterday doing the same.
She thrust the pitchfork into the ground, pushing it deep into the earth with her foot, then lifted it to turn the soil. She remembered asking God to teach her how to release Ans into His hands when she’d left home for Leiden. Now, as Lena watched Maaike and Bep search for worms in the newly tilled soil, squealing as they held the soft, squirming creatures in their hands, she realized how well God had answered that prayer. The war had forced her to release not only Ans, but Wim and Pieter, too. Bep had been a daily reminder of another mother’s decision to trust the Almighty. The only thing Lena could do was pray—and she had never ceased praying.
The barn door creaked open behind her. Lena turned, thinking it was the wind.
It was Pieter.
She dropped the pitchfork and ran into his arms, her wooden clogs flying off her feet in her haste. He held her so tightly her ribs ached, but she would never let him go again. Never.
“Papa! Papa, you’re home!” Maaike shouted. She and Bep dropped their worms and ran to him, calling, “Papa! Papa!” Lena released him so they could hug him too. He looked dirty and ragged and bone weary—and wonderful! She caressed his whiskered cheek, brushed his hair from his eyes, and kissed him. And kissed him. Pieter was alive and whole and well—and home! Thank God, thank God, thank God.
They went inside and Pieter sank onto a kitchen chair as if his legs could no longer hold him. “I must have walked a hundred miles to get here,” he said. “It was so late when I arrived that I didn’t want to come into the house and frighten you, so I slept in the barn.”
“Are you hungry? We don’t have much, but I’m sure I can find something. I gave almost everything to the shadow people.”
“Is there any milk? I would love a glass of milk.” Lena poured him one and watched him guzzle it down. Her tears of joy were still falling. “Best milk I ever had,” he said.
“Oh, Papa!” Bep laughed. “It’s just milk!” She tugged his hand, dancing with delight until he lifted her to his knee and kissed her forehead. He gazed at Bep for a long moment, then looked up at Lena.
“Any word . . . ?” He was asking about Bep’s parents. Lena shook her head. “And Ans?” he asked. “Have you heard from her?”
A knot of sorrow choked Lena, making it impossible to reply. The news of Ans’s imprisonment had been difficult for her to hear, and she hated to spoil Pieter’s joy by sharing it. But she had to.
“Wolf told me she was arrested and sent to Vught . . .” She swallowed and reached for his hand. “And . . . the Nazis took Wim, too.”
The color drained from his face. “When?”
“Months ago. Wolf said they were grabbing men off the streets to dig trenches and build earthworks.”
“We’ll find them, Lena. If we have to spend the rest of our lives searching, we’ll bring them home.” He squeezed her hand, then released it.
They talked while Pieter ate the last of the watery bean soup Lena had warmed. He insisted that the stale rinds of bread—all that was left of the loaf—were the most delicious he’d ever tasted. Lena didn’t want to let Pieter out of her sight and neither did the girls, but she saw how weary he was. “You look as though you could use a bath and a shave and a long nap. I think we have hot water today.”
He pulled himself to his feet, leaning against the table, and gathered Lena in his arms again. “I love you,” he whispered. “I love you so much!”
After he’d bathed and changed his clothes, Pieter went into the barn to tend his cows while Lena looked for something to fix for their dinner. She was searching through the cupboard when she heard Pieter shouting, “Lena! Lena, come here! Quick!” She left the sack of withered apples on the kitchen table and hurried out to the barn. Pieter stood in the open doorway, pointing down the road. “Look! It’s Wim!”
Lena ran to her son, stumbling forward, her legs unable to carry her fast enough, and embraced him with all the joy and love she’d felt on the day he was born. He was so tall! She’d forgotten how tall he was. Had he grown taller while he’d been away? His fair hair was long and ragged and needed to be cut. His chin felt stubbly when she kissed it. Pieter would have to teach him to shave. She was holding Wim at last! It didn’t seem real. Her husband was home and now her son. Thank God, thank God!
Lena laughed when Wim also asked for a glass of milk. She poured him one, remembering that he’d been caring for the cows when the Nazis took him. Unlike Pieter, who didn’t want to talk about the past few months, Wim told his story as if it had been an adventure. “We weren’t treated badly,” he said. “But when the Nazis heard that the Canadians were coming, they just left us in the camp and drove awa
y. The Canadians fed us and told us we could all go home, but we didn’t even know where we were. They had to draw us a map!” He chuckled before adding, “I guess I should have paid more attention in geography class.”
“Were you scared?” Maaike asked. “I would be.”
“When they shoved me into the back of that truck and we drove away . . . and I had no idea where . . .” He paused, gathering himself. “Ja, I was scared. I prayed the Lord’s Prayer, over and over, because those were the only words that came to mind. And it helped.”
Lena gazed at this boy, soon to be a man, and her heart swelled with love and pride.
“The work got so hard that sometimes I thought I was going to drop . . . and they would beat us if we stopped working . . . so I started saying the Twenty-third Psalm, too. The others heard me mumbling all day and started calling me Dominie—but I knew they meant it in a good way. We were all young, all scared. I wasn’t the oldest, but I was the tallest.” He smiled, then took another gulp of milk. “After a while, the others started asking me to pray for them, too. They sort of depended on me. I knew I had to stay strong and ask God to keep me going because I didn’t want to let the others down. I thought of Opa so often. Things he said in his sermons . . . I remembered how he’d held all the people in his church together.”
“Yes . . . he did do that,” Lena murmured.
Wim looked up at her. “Do you think I could really be one someday?” he asked.
Lena caught her breath. “A dominie? Of course you could, Wim! You’d make a wonderful pastor.” Maybe God would use the ordeal of the war and Wim’s capture—the very things Lena had wanted to protect him from—to show her son a glimpse of his future.
“You wouldn’t mind?” Wim asked, turning to Pieter. “If I didn’t take over the farm, I mean?”
“Mind! Wim, your mama and I would burst with pride!”
CHAPTER 62
