Snow on the Tulips

by Liz Tolsma

  “He has a place to hide, but we have to figure out a plan for Wim. The hiding place is too small for two, and his shoulder would prevent him from making it in there, you know?”

  “Where is it?”

  Even in the dim room, Anki could see her brother’s baby blue eyes light up. “Under the house. I crawl into it from the storage area next to the bedstee. Corrie puts the potatoes back and no one even knows it is there.”

  The more she heard of this, the less she liked it.

  Corrie tented her fingers. “He’ll leave as soon as he is better. Please promise me you won’t let out even a squeak of this. Promise me.”

  Anki sat next to her sister at the smooth dining room table that had once belonged to their parents. “You are in so much danger.”

  “We’ll be in far more if anyone finds out Wim is here.”

  “What about Piet? I told him you had a friend with an emergency and you couldn’t reach the doktor. I could say that much without telling a lie.”

  “You can’t tell him the truth. Not ever. Even if he asks you a direct question about this. And don’t tell any of your neighbors or your girlfriends or anyone from church. You must keep this secret. Do you promise?”

  Anki folded her hands in front of her. “I promise, Corrie. I promise.”

  She didn’t like it, but she would keep her word.

  LOUD, INSISTENT BANGING at the door jolted Cornelia. The thumping, the shouting came straight out of her restless, nightmare-drenched sleep. In her dream, she rode a stuffy, crowded train due east. Sweat covered her body and she shivered.

  Guttural German voices filled the dark night air. “Open the door. Now. Let us in.”

  She came fully awake.

  They pounded without stopping while she roused herself. She had slept in her clothes, knowing this would happen. The Gestapo had arrived, searching for Wim. And here he lay, unconscious, in her very own home.

  All of the years of the occupation, she had lived in apprehension of this. For some reason, the Nazis would come for her, would arrest her, would take her away and she would never come back. That happened to people. They vanished off the streets one day and were never seen again.

  And now she had Johan to shelter.

  He appeared as if she had conjured him. “Quick, help me in.”

  With shaking hands, she slid the false panel out of place in the storage cupboard. He slithered in and wriggled into the tiny space under the floor. She slid the panel back.

  Umpka Kees helped them construct this when Johan first came home. They told her it was not quite a meter high, and about two and a half meters wide and long. She had not gone down to check the dimensions for herself.

  After she handed him Anki’s supplies, she plunked the potatoes back in place and closed the cupboard door. Wim stirred in the bed. She leaned over and whispered in his ear, “Quiet now, be quiet. The Gestapo are here looking for you. Just play along with us.” She prayed he heard her.

  The pounding on the door continued, as did the commands to open up.

  Everything inside her turned to water. Her mouth went dry as she ordered her legs to carry her to the front door.

  Anki met her in the hall. “Do you remember what to do?”

  She nodded, only her sheer will holding her upright. Her sister left her side to put their plan into motion.

  She prayed Anki’s theatrics would convince the Germans.

  CHAPTER 5

  The pounding of the German soldiers on her door matched the painful pulses in Cornelia’s head. She straightened her skirt. “I’m coming, I’m coming,” she called in Dutch, though fluent in German. Her small act of resistance.

  She pulled the door toward her a few centimeters, giving her sister more time to prepare. Five Gestapo stood on her front step, their green canvas-topped truck idling in the street, waiting to haul them to prison. She forced her words to be calm and sure. “What is going on? What do you want? It’s the middle of the night.”

  The men pushed the door open wide and marched inside, shoving her away. “I want every centimeter of this house combed. A thorough search. Don’t miss a thing. Schnell, schnell.”

  One of the soldiers, a wiry man with a mustache like Hitler’s, spoke Dutch. “We are looking for an escaped prisoner. He has been shot and is very dangerous. Goes by the name Jan Aartsma. Have you seen him?”

  Cornelia shook her head.

  Wim had been lying about his identity.

  The man left her to do his investigating while Cornelia stood by the door, a cold sweat drenching her. She hugged herself. Oh Lord, oh Lord, oh Lord. She could manage nothing more.

  One of the Nazis opened the yellow-painted door of the bedstee where Wim lay on his side, his back to the room. Anki, lying beside him, rubbed her eyes and sat up, pulling the blanket to her neck. “What do you want? Why are you here?”

  The soldier who spoke Dutch took charge. “Out of bed, both of you.”

  “We can’t. My husband had a wee bit too much to drink last night.” Anki put on a great acting show, even slurring her words. Cornelia prayed they wouldn’t realize that Wim and Anki didn’t reek of alcohol. “He’s out passed. No, no, that’s not right.” She giggled. “He’s passed out. Out passed.”

  “You then, get up.”

  “But, Herr Hitler, you don’t want to see me in my altogether.” She flopped back on the mattress, pulled the blanket over her head, and engaged in peals of laughter.

  The Nazi was not amused. He jabbed Wim with the butt of his gun. Not a flinch. Unconsciousness had claimed him.

  The clamor her blood made as it coursed through Cornelia’s ears almost drowned out their words. “Drunk. We aren’t going to get anything out of them.”

  Another answered, “What about this other one? She must know something.”

  The one Anki called Herr Hitler faced Cornelia. “What about you? Did you see the execution earlier?”

  Out of the corner of her eye, she spied the rest of the soldiers continuing with their search. Some of them went outside to investigate the yard.

  Her examiner shifted his weight and leaned in farther. “Did you watch the execution?”

  She faced him and stared straight into his blue-black eyes. “Nee, I was at my front room window and I saw you march the soldiers out, but when I knew what would happen, I turned away from the window and covered my ears.”

  “One of the bodies is missing. What happened to it?”

  Cornelia couldn’t keep the tremor from her words. “Missing? I would never touch a dead body.”

  “Did you see someone come and take it?”

  “I never looked out my window again the rest of the evening.”

  Herr Hitler leaned toward her, his hot breath reeking of sauerkraut. He tapped his finger against her chest. “That man is alive and here. Where is he?”

  Cornelia shrank back. “I don’t know. Perhaps a family member came and took his body. All I can tell you is that no man named Jan is here.”

  “What about her?” He pointed to Anki, now quiet under the blanket. “Who is she? Did she see anything?”

  “My sister. They got married a few weeks ago. They live with me because, well, they drink. A lot. I take care of them, try to keep them sober enough to work every day, you know.” The story slid off Cornelia’s tongue like a skater down the frozen canal.

  The German stood back. “Identifications. I want to see everyone’s papers. Right now.”

  What would they do? They hadn’t thought about that. Cornelia had hers and assumed Anki grabbed hers when she came. But what about Wim? The Gestapo must have confiscated his when they arrested him. And they couldn’t use Johan’s because of his age and lack of an ausweis, a special work permit. Their little play was about to have the curtains pulled shut.

  If only she could think of some reason why Wim wouldn’t have an identification card. Had he lost it somewhere during his supposed drinking binge? Would the Gestapo believe her, or would they want to take him until they could ver
ify the story?

  Trying to give herself time to concoct a believable tale, Cornelia dug through her handbag as if the identification had sunk to the bottom, pushing aside her ration coupons, an empty tube of lipstick, and her identification. She stretched out her rummaging for as long as she dared before she produced the little booklet and handed it to Herr Hitler. He ummed and ahhed, then slapped it shut but didn’t hand it back.

  “Your sister and brother-in-law. I have to see theirs too.”

  She went to Anki and nudged her. “They need to see your papers. Both of yours.”

  Anki’s head peeped from under the blanket. “Hmm? What?”

  Cornelia had never seen a motion picture, but the actresses in them couldn’t be as good as her own sister. Even her medium-length, always-perfect auburn hair fell into her eyes.

  “Both papers. Where are they?”

  Anki handed them to her. “Now leave me alone.” She dove under the covers once more.

  Cornelia dragged her feet as she made her way back to the officer. Her throat closed. In prison they tortured you and left you in a cramped, filthy cell to die. They starved you. If you made one wrong move or said one wrong word, they beat you. And if they thought you did something like hiding Juden—or escaped prisoners—they killed you without a second thought. Perhaps they would shoot her right in her own home.

  To top it all off, she had gotten Anki involved.

  Taking a deep breath, she fingered the paper book. Nee, two paper books. Anki had given her two sets of identification. She didn’t understand. Whom did the second card belong to?

  Her fingers shook so much she had a difficult time holding them. With knots in her stomach, she handed them to her interrogator.

  Please, Lord, please.

  All of her thoughts fled from her brain. If they questioned her about either of the identifications, she didn’t know how she’d answer.

  Please, Lord, please.

  More hemming and hawing from the German. The soldiers who searched the backyard returned. Herr Hitler questioned them. “What did you find?”

  “Nothing, sir. No sign of anything.”

  Herr Hitler handed the paper books back to Cornelia. “Everything is in order. We didn’t find anyone, but you watch out. This man is very dangerous. We think he is alive and someone is hiding him. If you see him or hear anything about him, you must let us know at once. Do you understand?”

  Cornelia nodded.

  “We will hunt him down. We will make sure he is eliminated.” Goose bumps covered her arms at the man’s words. “We cannot allow him to continue his evil ways. This is very important.”

  Again she nodded. She understood. From now on, she would be under surveillance. She would have to live under their attentive eyes, and Johan would have to be more careful than ever.

  The soldiers left. As soon as the last boot crossed the threshold, she ran and bolted the door, leaning against it, her legs unable to hold her upright anymore. Only once before in her life had she been so terrified. That time things hadn’t turned out so well. And maybe they wouldn’t this time either. Two wanted men lay under her roof.

  Once they had released Johan from his hiding place, the three siblings retired to the kitchen and sat at the table. Cornelia’s curiosity overtook her. How could it be that Anki had two identification papers? The top one belonged to her, then came her sister’s. The bottom booklet was her brother-in-law’s.

  She shook her head. “You brought Piet’s card with you. Why?”

  Johan leaned over Cornelia’s shoulder. “You really did grab it.”

  “I don’t know why I did. Somewhere deep inside I had this inkling I might need it. I didn’t even think much about it. I just grabbed it from the nightstand as I left our bedroom. He is going to want an explanation from me if he finds out I took it, and he will need it when he goes to work in the morning. I have to get it back to him as soon as possible.”

  Cornelia stared at her brother-in-law’s picture on his identification. He and the wounded man had similar sandy-blond hair. That’s where the resemblance ended. Wim sported angular features and a square, cleft chin. Piet’s face was long and thin. They had been smart to turn Wim toward the wall. If the Gestapo had gotten a good look at him, they would have figured out that the identification didn’t belong to the man in the bedstee. She and Anki and Wim would all be on their way to prison at this moment.

  “You can slip out at first light. If Piet notices it missing, you will have to tell him some story or another. You always were the best of us at devising them.”

  Johan laughed. “Ja, remember when Anki broke Mem’s vase? She blamed it on the cat and Mem believed her.”

  “We have a bigger difficulty.” Cornelia rubbed her forehead. “What do we do when the Gestapo return? Wim can’t be passed out in bed all the time. They will grow suspicious.”

  Anki traced an imaginary pattern on the table with her long finger. “Since the incident with the vase, I have matured. Don’t you remember, Mem uncovered my falsehood and, after a long talk about telling truth, punished me by making me sweep the floors every day for a month? I learned my lesson. I hate that I had to lie to save that man. Let’s pray God will keep them away.”

  Would He? God hadn’t taken care of Hans. He hadn’t watched over her and kept her from becoming a bride and a widow on the same night. Cornelia didn’t know if she could trust Him.

  CHAPTER 6

  Light and darkness warred for Gerrit’s consciousness. He struggled to lift his eyelids, but the blessed relief of oblivion fought back. He forced himself closer to the daylight on the other side of his closed eyes.

  Trying to roll onto his right side brought a rush of pain. He moaned from the effort but couldn’t speak.

  “Wim.” The soft word lilted in a most feminine way. “Are you waking up? Let me bring you some broth.”

  He heard the muffled footfalls of her stocking feet as she scurried away. The banging of a pot lid, the scraping of a ladle prevented him from returning to sleep.

  Vague memories danced at the corners of his mind. He had slept in so many places in the past months and years, he had to work to recall each morning where he had laid his body the night before.

  The flaming pain in his shoulder informed him that last night and this morning were different.

  Then the blast of gunshots echoed in his head.

  He remembered.

  He wanted the woman to come back. Last night a haze had clouded her face. He had battled so hard to stay aware that he did not get a good look at her. Or didn’t recall. She smelled of potatoes and carrots and it reminded him of home.

  He hadn’t been there in a long time.

  This time he refused to give in to oblivion and pried open his eyes. He lay in a cupboard, a bedstee, facing the wall decorated with fancy red paper. A clock, the queen’s picture, and a picture of a young man hung there. He turned his head to the doorway, toward the clanking of dishes. A vision swam before him, a slender young woman, her shoulder-length hair the color of fall leaves, the sides rolled, framing her heart-shaped face.

  She strolled toward him, carrying a blue-and-white Delft bowl of something hot, the steam curling around her. She raised her pale eyebrows and hooked her mouth into a small smile.

  Gerrit’s breath whooshed from his lungs—whether from his pain or her beauty, he didn’t know.

  “You are awake.” Her cheeks turned as pink as a North Sea sunset. “How do you feel this morning?” The bowl clattered on the plate.

  “You put me back together?” Even such a short sentence winded him.

  Her color heightened and a full minute passed before she answered him. “I helped you.”

  “Your name?”

  “Cornelia de Vries. And I’m telling the truth. After you eat a little broth, you can tell me your name.”

  Ah, she did possess a spark of life.

  “I have vegetable soup. You need to get your strength back.”

  He heard the directive in her
voice. Get strong so you can leave. “I’m not hungry.” The odor of the soup turned his gut.

  “You have to put something in your stomach.”

  “The pain is too bad.”

  “I wish you would. Please.”

  He was a windmill, helpless against the breeze, unable to refuse her pleading hazel eyes. “You will have to help me.”

  She nodded and scraped a rocking chair to the bed. With his head propped on several pillows, he managed to swallow three or four spoonfuls of the tasty, salty broth to please her, but he couldn’t force down more.

  She set the bowl on the floor and leaned forward in the chair, her long, white fingers splayed across the seat. “You have to tell me your name. Your real name. Are you Wim vander Zee or Jan Aartsma? Or something altogether different?”

  The Gestapo confiscated his identification when they arrested him. The only way she would know his alias would be if he’d been delirious and blurted it out. Or if they’d been here. “When did they come?”

  “About one or two this morning.”

  “Then why are we still here? They didn’t arrest you? Us?” He battled to keep his eyes open. He wouldn’t be able to carry on the conversation much longer.

  “Johan scurried to his hiding place with the old dressing. When they found you in the bed, I told them you had become very drunk and had passed out. And that you were someone else.”

  “And they believed you?”

  “Ja.”

  He yawned and his weighted eyelids fluttered shut. “You should join the Resistance.”

  SEEKING COMFORT IN her morning routine, Cornelia stepped onto her front porch with her broom. Not far to her left arched the bridge that carried bicyclists, pedestrians, and the rare German car or truck into town. The road in front of her house ran perpendicular to the canal, a narrow strip of grass separating the street from the collection of small houses. All the while, a sentry patrolled the bridge. She tingled.

  With the sweeping finished, she shifted to her laundry. She tied an apron around her old blue-gray dress, then heated a large pot of water on the woodstove and shaved off a thin slice of lye soap. It didn’t produce the suds of normal laundry soap, but she had nothing else. Another thing they lived without these days. At least it made the clothes and sheets smell fresh and clean.