by Liz Tolsma
If only Johan could help as she lugged the hot water to fill the washer tub that sat in their small back garden. A hedge surrounded the yard where a riot of blooms would erupt in a few short weeks. But even as she ran the clothes through the wringer and hung them on the line, the heat of the gray-clad soldier’s stare bored into her. She would string her brother’s items on a line in the kitchen.
As she reached for the line to pin her dark green A-line skirt, shouting came from down the street. Not the shouting of children at play, but the screaming of men and women in anguish, the screaming of taskmasters driving their charges forward.
The damp skirt dropped from her cold hand into her wicker laundry basket, and the wood clothespins she clutched scattered on the ground. She scampered to the front and peered down the narrow street. Soldiers surrounded a red house with a happy azure-painted front door. The Boersma home.
Leaning against the rough brick facade of her home, she watched as the Germans dragged Jap Boersma, their son, a year or two younger than Johan, from the home. Dear God, nee. If the soldiers hadn’t been in the area searching for Wim, they never would have found Jap. He would be safe at home with his parents, not headed to almost certain death in a German factory.
What had she done by taking in this man? She had endangered her entire neighborhood, sacrificing the lives of—how many?—to save one.
Hear and Frou Boersma stood in the doorway, shrieking at the soldiers who hauled their tall, thin son away. “Don’t, don’t, please, he is our only boy. God, please do not take him.”
Cornelia closed her eyes. Her hands balled into fists as she hugged her chest. Her own words echoed in her head. “Please, Hans, please don’t go.” They were as ineffective as the Boersmas’ pleas.
“I love you, Jap. God will watch over you and bring you home soon.” The tears in Frou Boersma’s voice crushed Cornelia’s heart. Perhaps it would be better if she turned Wim over to the Germans.
How many more young men would be torn from their families because of her actions? The chances of Jap ever coming home were small. Almost too small to matter.
When the truck gunned its engine and pulled away from the Boersma home, the acrid smell of diesel fuel contaminating the air, Cornelia dared to open her eyes. The soldiers hadn’t left the area but had moved farther down the road.
She studied her hands, expecting to find blood on them. Intent on examining her fingers, she didn’t notice her neighbor from across the canal, Maria Wierda, until she stood in front of her. The woman’s dark eyes were round. Cornelia dropped her gaze and studied Maria’s brown oxford shoes.
“Did you see that?”
“Everyone saw that.”
“Do you know what that was about? Do you know why they are here searching the houses?”
Cornelia remained silent.
The neighbor lady leaned closer and whispered in Cornelia’s ear, “They are looking for the missing body from the canal yesterday. They shot a group of resisters from Leeuwarden, but when they came back, one of the bodies was not there. Frou Tuinstra said she heard the soldiers talking that they would keep looking until they find it.”
An icy jolt shot through Cornelia’s body. They would find him. Sooner or later, they would find him. And if they located him at her house, she would be arrested for sure. Maybe Johan too.
Wim had to go.
Hear and Frou Boersma sat on their front step. He had his arm around her and pulled her close. Even from this distance, Cornelia could see the woman’s shoulder shake, weeping as if she would never be consoled.
The block of ice in Cornelia’s stomach doubled in size. She remembered that feeling.
The green canvas-topped truck rumbled farther down the street.
Maria pulled her to sit on the front step and continued to whisper. “Last evening a man came to our door. One of the men who the Gestapo shot by the canal.”
Cornelia sucked in her breath, hoping to appear shocked and surprised.
“I know. Unbelievable. Lucas insisted we help him, but once we had the wound dressed, we made him leave. During the night, the Gestapo knocked on the door. They were rough and rude and searched the house so well they would have found the man if we had been hiding him. I am so glad Lucas made me clean up the mess before we went to bed. If they had found it, they would have known the man had been there.”
“They were here too.”
Maria paled. “Did they find anything?”
Cornelia gave her head a vigorous shake, maybe overplaying the part a little too much. “Of course not. We have nothing to hide.”
The color of Maria’s complexion concerned Cornelia. “Are you feeling ill?”
She nodded. “Yes, a little. All this talk, it makes me woozy.”
“Let me get you a glass of water.” Cornelia rose and went inside, surprised when Maria followed on her heels. She hadn’t invited her neighbor in. Johan could be sitting in the kitchen or Wim could be making noise. She raised her voice so the men would hear that the woman had come inside. “Are you sure you don’t want to sit outside in the fresh air, Maria? It might help you to feel better.”
“Nee. I don’t want to hear the screaming and crying. It’s too hard.” That, Cornelia agreed with. Until last night, she had treasured the peace and security of her little home.
Lord, let them stay quiet.
Maria followed Cornelia into the kitchen where she retrieved a glass and filled it with water before handing it to her neighbor. The young, dark-haired woman, her hair done in two rolls at the top of her head, wrapped her long fingers around the cup and took a lengthy drink. Then she sat on the straight-backed chair. Fine lines radiated from her tight lips, though she couldn’t be more than twenty-two.
Cornelia wiped imaginary crumbs from the counter, then leaned against the whitewashed cabinets, hoping to appear calm and unconcerned. Her large pot sat on the small stove, water warming for her wash.
Johan had already strung the clothesline across the kitchen to hang the laundry. If Maria spied that, she would wonder why Cornelia hung half of her clothes outside and the other half in the kitchen.
Maria glanced at the pot on the stove. “Oh, you were in the middle of laundry, weren’t you?”
Cornelia nodded.
“With all of the commotion, I didn’t realize that. I apologize. There are things I need to take care of too.” She scraped the chair from the table over the worn wood floor and came to her feet. “Bedankt for the water.”
Cornelia led the way down the hall, past the front room to the door. “You’re welcome. I hope you feel better soon.”
Cornelia went to turn the brass knob.
A rustling of sheets came from the front room.
Wim must be awake and restless. She pleaded with the Lord to prevent him from calling for her.
Maria turned toward the front room and took a step in that direction. “What was that? Who’s here?”
Cornelia’s breathing came in short spurts. She didn’t know how to answer.
Their secret was about to be discovered.
CHAPTER 7
Cornelia’s mind raced, her heart beating out a rapid tempo. The rustling of sheets stilled, but Maria peered into the front room and took a second step in that direction. Wim lay in the bedstee. A few more steps and she would see him there. For now, the open door blocked Maria’s view of him.
Thank goodness her neighbor didn’t move fast. Cornelia sprinted ahead of her, slammed shut the bedstee doors, and stood with her back against them, almost gasping for air. At least words formed on her tongue now, rapid and uncensored. “I apologize for my mess. My mem would be disappointed in how I keep house. My cat likes to sleep in there, for whatever reason, so I keep the doors open. I should train him better.”
“I know I heard a noise from in here.”
At that moment, Pepper popped out from behind the blue davenport, chasing a little black rubber ball, pouncing on it, watching it roll away again. “See, Pepper can make a racket, but he’s g
ood company for me.”
Maria turned on her heel to leave. She lowered her voice. “I am sure one of our neighbors is hiding this man. With how badly he was injured, he couldn’t get far. Please be careful, Frou de Vries.”
Cornelia tugged her knit cardigan tighter and shuddered. Hiding Wim just became more dangerous.
And getting rid of him more urgent.
THE NEXT TIME Gerrit woke, full consciousness came easier. He opened his eyes, or thought he did, but darkness reigned. Only a few slits of light filtered in through the cracks of the cupboard door.
The dark wrapped its hands around his neck and squeezed. He had to get out of here. Now.
Then he heard a female voice, not Cornelia’s, but familiar in a way. “Be careful of this Jan Aartsma. Look at the bad things going on because of him. I don’t want anything to happen to you.”
Gerrit took quick, uneven breaths in and out. Cornelia wanted to get rid of him already. This woman might make her frightened enough that she would push him out of the door today.
“Bedankt, Maria. Thank you for the warning.”
“This man will get us all in trouble, not only Jap. I’m going to be watching for him and if I see him again, I am going to tell the Nazis. We don’t need that kind of mess here.”
Maria left but, even though sweat covered his body, Gerrit didn’t cry out to have the doors opened. There might be other people in the room.
All remained quiet for a time before he heard footsteps approaching. When Cornelia opened the doors, he gulped in the fresh, light air. “Don’t close the doors.”
“Giving orders? You must be feeling better.” A light smile teased her lips.
Gerrit’s stomach refused to stop its oddly familiar fluttering. Like it had when Mies had been around. “I can’t breathe when you do that.” He didn’t know if he meant her closing the doors or smiling at him like that.
The moment of brightness passed and the sunshine left her face. “Did you hear the commotion on the street?”
He shook his head, the movement sending pain slicing through his shoulder.
“The Germans are entering and ransacking my neighbors’ homes. They arrested one young man I grew up with.” Her soft voice broke and she paused a moment, perhaps composing herself. “He’ll die in Germany sooner or later. Another house they searched is the home of two boys Johan’s age.”
He rubbed his forehead with his left hand. What could he do? “I’m sorry about living and causing you and your neighbors this trouble.”
She leaned over him. “What kind of contraband were you caught with? Were you carrying weapons?” Fire burned in her shimmering hazel eyes.
“The less I tell you, the better. If you don’t know, you won’t reveal any secrets.”
“I can keep a secret, especially one like this. Trust me.”
Was she like Mies? Would she turn him in the first chance she got? “If the Germans arrest you, they will torture you until you confess everything.”
She quivered as she sat with a thunk in the chair beside him, but his warning didn’t deter her like he thought it would. “Let’s start with an easy question. What is your name? Your real name, the one your mem and heit call you.”
If he gave her a little bit of information, perhaps she would cease her pestering. “My name isn’t Jan Aartsma or Wim vander Zee. The Gestapo have been looking for me under my real name for years, so I had to get an alias. Several of them. The way things are going, I might need another.”
“Maybe I don’t want to know.”
“Many of my colleagues don’t have this information.”
She clutched the edge of her chair for a few moments, then stood and turned toward the door. “Are you ready for some more broth?”
“Gerrit. My name is Gerrit Laninga.”
CORNELIA FUSSED WITH the scalloped hem of her white apron, acting as if his revelation didn’t affect her.
In truth, it stopped her as if she had run smack into him.
Now that she had the information, she wished she didn’t. Her heart quaked. She didn’t want to be arrested or tortured. She wanted this nightmare to end.
“Why did you tell me?”
He paused for a long moment. “I hope I can trust you. I need you to trust me.”
“I don’t know if I can or if I even want to.”
“You want me to leave.” He didn’t ask a question.
She answered him anyway, turning to face him. “Ja.”
His blond eyebrows rose and that sandy lock of hair fell in his eyes again. “But I can’t.”
“Not now, but soon, very soon. There is room for only one in the hiding spot and it belongs to Johan. Sooner or later, the Gestapo or NSB will be back, and I don’t know if I can concoct another story or continue the one I spun the first time they were here. See? I don’t even know what to do.” Her hands shook.
“I disagree.” He struggled to sit and she went to help him recline.
“I can’t have them come here again.”
He covered his face with his left hand. “I have to trust you, Cornelia, because you have to do something for me.”
He was going to ask her to shave him or maybe even bathe him. Those gestures were too intimate. Already the aroma of his manliness reminded her too much of Hans. She would refuse. Let Johan do it.
“There are people who need to know I’m alive. I have things to tell them and they need to be informed. You have to make contact.”
“Nee.” She didn’t have to take even a second to consider Gerrit’s proposal. “I can’t do it. I refuse to let you suck me in any further. If you want your cohorts contacted, get out of that bed and do it yourself.” She swallowed despite the constriction in her throat.
He shifted and his blue eyes dug into her middle. “You can’t do it? Or you won’t do it?”
“Can’t. Won’t. What difference does it make? People get hurt and killed when they defy the authorities. The Allies will be here soon.”
“What if the entire world sat back and waited for someone else to free us? Where would we be then? God uses men as His instruments to fulfill His purposes.”
“Not always. He used storms and fire and angels of death to defeat Israel’s enemies.”
“He also used a boy with a rock and a sling. I’m that boy, Cornelia, and my contraband is my rock and sling. I’m fighting for the children of Israel, the same as David did, for the Juden and the onderduikers.”
Gerrit used his left hand to push himself higher on his pillows, a grimace marring his fair, rawboned face. “We didn’t have a chance when the Nazis invaded. They betrayed us and we weren’t ready. This is our way of fighting for our country and our queen. God will use us to defeat the occupiers, and the more the Dutch people resist, the faster we will be rid of them. We need to be free of them before more people are hurt or die.”
Cornelia’s head spun. In the Bible, God stepped in from time to time and saved His people with great wonders, but He also used small boys like David and weak men like Gideon to accomplish His work. How did you know when to step aside and let God do His work and when to act on His behalf? She had a feeling that if she did this one task, she would end up getting more and more involved. That, she did not want.
Gerrit reached across his body and clasped Cornelia’s hand. His was warm and soft and she suddenly knew she would believe whatever he told her. “You have to help. Do you know what the Nazis are doing to people? How many lives they have snuffed out? You saw it for yourself today. Because of them, thousands of Nederlanders are suffering.”
She ripped her hand from his grasp. “I know what those soldiers do and all about the innocent lives they’ve taken. I am not as naive as you believe I am, Hear Laninga. I have suffered greatly because of them, from the moment they stepped foot in the Netherlands, you know. I am sorrowing today and will every day for the rest of my life—all because of them.”
The creases between his blond brows deepened. “Of course you have suffered. We all have.”
“Use your anger. Use it to be rid of them.”
“What kind of Christian talk is that? I had the idea you were a God-fearing man, but you are bent on revenge. And you are trying to talk me into taking my own revenge.”
“Maybe revenge, maybe not. I am asking you to quit acting like a tulip covered in snow. Don’t hide in this house until the Allies free you. They may not come for a while.”
JOHAN COULDN’T STAND in the doorway and listen to his sister argue with the man any longer. Mem would have had his hide for eavesdropping, which was why he didn’t come forward earlier, but he listened to everything Gerrit Laninga said.
He stepped into the room. “I will go.”
They both flicked their gazes to him, mouths wide open. His sister got up from her chair and reached him in three strides. “How long have you been listening?”
“I heard everything Gerrit said, and I sure want to contact the Underground.”
“Nee.” She didn’t even take time to think about it.
Gerrit inched up on his pillow. “How old are you, Johan?”
“Twenty.”
“Old enough, then, to make your own decisions.”
Cornelia spun around to face Gerrit. “He is an onderduiker. I have worked for years to protect him. I won’t allow him to go out onto the streets. Especially not after what happened today.”
“You can’t forbid me. I mean, I’m an adult and can make my own decisions.” He stepped next to her.
“How could I stand it if anything happened to you? I promised our parents before they died that I would look after you. They arrested Jap Boersma a little while ago. I can’t even think about what they will do to him. I can’t keep my promise to Mem and Heit if you put yourself in danger, you know.”
Most of the time, because she was older, he backed down, but not this time. “We have to help. If you won’t go, then I will. What choice do we have?”
