Snow on the Tulips

by Liz Tolsma

  Just a short distance from the farm, a dull green truck, caked with mud on the lower half, pulled beside her, blocking her way forward. She braked, but her heart continued to pump as fast as her legs had. A young kid, younger than Johan by a few years at least, climbed out of the driver’s seat and pointed his rifle at her. Her knees became as soft as the Frisian sand and she worked at straddling the bike and not falling to the ground.

  “Where are you going?”

  She shrugged, pretending not to understand.

  He motioned for her to produce her identification. Her hands shook as she dismounted and gave it to him. He rubbed his chin as he examined it. His baby face showed no signs of stubble. The kid wasn’t even old enough to shave. If she wasn’t trembling so much, she might laugh.

  He, however, took his job seriously. After handing back her papers, the boy spit at her feet, then shoved her off her bike and onto the road. He jumped into the truck and gunned it, splattering mud all over her.

  She sat in the muck, dumbfounded. Mud splattered her pink flowered dress, the vibrancy of the colors long since washed away.

  Cold outside and numb inside, she picked up her bicycle and continued to Frou de Bruin’s house. As she knocked, she hoped the older woman would stop watching her every move as she had for the past week.

  Her cheeks burned as she thought of Gerrit’s and her kiss, and a tingle pulsed in her heart, like fingers thawing near the warmth of a fire after an extended skate on the canal. Just as with defrosting fingers, it hurt sometimes. But in the end, the numbness passes and feeling returns.

  Frou de Bruin’s still-sharp blue eyes narrowed when she saw Cornelia. “Why are you here? It is Saturday. And look at you. What have you been doing? A pig is cleaner than you, girl.”

  She slipped her hand into her sweater’s pocket. “I’m sorry about the dirt. A German truck splattered mud all over me. Please, may I come in? I have to see Johan and Gerrit. Something has happened they need to know about.”

  The gray-haired woman opened the door a little farther, just enough for Cornelia to slip into the house. She led the way to the kitchen. “Gerrit is in here. Your brother is in the deel.”

  Gerrit rose from his chair at the table when she entered the warm room. His mouth opened into an O, then his brows furrowed. “What happened?”

  Cornelia had difficulty forming the words, as if saying them made the reality truer. “A man who worked with Piet in the south visited Anki yesterday. Piet died of dysentery.”

  “Oh no.”

  She nodded, her throat clogged like a busy canal.

  “How is she doing?”

  “She is angry and grieving. All that is to be expected, you know.” She pushed the painful memories aside.

  Gerrit came to her and held her hands. She wished he would take her in his arms, but with Frou de Bruin perched on her chair, that might not be a good idea. He leaned toward her and spoke in a low, soothing voice. “And you. What happened?”

  “A German soldier in a truck stopped me. He was no more than a boy. When he left, he spun his tires and splashed me.”

  “You need a hot bath.” He rubbed her fingers. “How are you coping with the news?”

  “I am fine.”

  He released one hand, stroked her cheek, then turned to speak to the old woman. “If you will excuse us, we’re going into the front room. Alone. I promise not to kiss her.” He pursed his lips.

  Frou de Bruin hardened her face. “I will be in here. And I will be checking on you.”

  Gerrit and Cornelia stood on the frayed rug in the front room, facing each other but with plenty of daylight between them.

  He caressed her with his eyes. “Now tell me how you really are.”

  How did you tell someone you loved about your feelings for your husband? “Alone. In the past few hours, I have thought so much about you. And about Hans.”

  Tears began to roll down her cheeks unchecked, and she didn’t know if she would ever be able to stop them.

  He came to her, but she pushed him away.

  CHAPTER 32

  Gerrit stared at Cornelia as tears moistened her pink cheeks. She had pushed him away, but he wasn’t deterred. He stepped a little closer to her and wiped away the tears with his thumb, then rubbed her arm. “You can tell me about Hans. He is part of who you are. Never would I ask you to act as if he hadn’t been part of your life.”

  She worried the hem of her gray sweater, not looking him in the eye. “The pain was so intense that my lungs refused to draw in air. It was like my world had stopped. Everyone else rushed ahead, but I stood still, unable to move.”

  “I wish I could take this from you.”

  “You have.” She touched his hand and exhilaration zinged through him. “I don’t want the world to leave me behind anymore. I want to move ahead.”

  “I am not going anywhere.”

  She shook her head, her little pearl drop earrings swaying with the motion. “You can’t make that promise. Hans told me he would be back. He never came. We don’t know what tomorrow holds. Look at what happened to Piet.”

  He didn’t know how to reassure her. “What happened to Piet won’t necessarily happen to me.”

  “But it could. How many executions are you going to survive?”

  “Ja, war brings uncertainty.”

  “Not just war. Life is uncertain. Fragile. Fleeting.”

  “We don’t know how much time God has ordained for us, but He has blessed us with life. And it is worth living. Are you really living now?”

  “I am trying to move on. You have given me this gift. Before you, I didn’t want to try.”

  “For however long it takes I will wait for you.” He couldn’t imagine any future that didn’t include her.

  “Someday, maybe there will be something special between us.”

  His throat tightened. “There already is.”

  She closed the gap between them and nestled in his arms, her head on his shoulder. He held her close, her heart beating against his.

  They stood there for a long time, grateful Frou de Bruin didn’t interrupt them. He held her and rubbed her back until she relaxed, then for a long time afterward. Only with reluctance did he release her.

  “Will you have a service?”

  She dabbed her red-rimmed eyes and nodded. “Tuesday morning.”

  “I will see you then.”

  She frowned and shook her head. “You can’t come. Whoever followed you the other night might be waiting for you to return. You need to stay where it is safe.”

  “I want to be there for you.”

  “You will be here for me longer if you stay put. I am begging you, don’t come.” She wrung her hankie.

  He heard the pleading in her voice but experienced an overwhelming pull toward her. “I will only come if it is safe.”

  She sighed. “Why do the Dutch have to be so stubborn?”

  He brushed his lips across her cheek, not caring what Frou de Bruin thought. “It is what makes us survivors.”

  “I wish you wouldn’t come.”

  “I promise to stay safe.”

  “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

  THAT OLD BAT Frou de Bruin told Johan that he needed to feed the black-and-white Frisian cow and clean her stall. People never grew tired of telling him what to do. Johan, go here. Johan, go there. Johan, do this.

  So far, not even Gerrit had supported him or his idea to work for the Resistance. If they needed so much help, then they should be clamoring for him to join them. Cornelia stood in the way. All of this was her fault.

  Mumbling under his breath, he grabbed the pitchfork from its perch on a nail in the wall. “It is not fair. It is really not fair. Why can’t anyone see I have grown into an adult?” He huffed as he flung the dirty straw from the stall.

  “Hey there, don’t hit me with that stuff.”

  Johan swung around and spied Gerrit behind him. “Sorry.”

  “So what is not fair?”

  Johan
leaned against the stall’s wooden wall. “Let’s keep Cornelia out of the equation. If I were any other twenty-year-old begging to help you, would you let me?”

  Fine lines radiated from Gerrit’s pursed lips.

  “I want an honest answer.”

  “I probably would.”

  “Then put me to work.”

  “That is out of the question. Cornelia would never speak to me again. I got her to forgive me once for putting you in harm’s way. She will never forgive me a second time.”

  “You are afraid of your girlfriend.”

  “Don’t taunt me. You are like my little brother. I can’t do it.” Gerrit turned to walk away.

  “Wait.”

  Without looking back, Gerrit waved his hand.

  Johan picked up his pitchfork.

  “It is not fair. It is just not fair.”

  “ARE YOU READY to go?” Cornelia stood at the front door with her hand on the knob.

  Anki stared at her sister. Were you ever ready to go to your husband’s funeral? Or memorial service, as they called it, because Piet’s body remained in the south. She would never have the comfort of going to the churchyard and seeing his headstone. This child was the only thing she had left of him.

  She nodded, smoothing her black skirt and adjusting the fitted button-down collared jacket. The outfit didn’t fall well because of the baby, but there wasn’t a dress or fabric to be found. She had to make do with what she had worn to Mem and Heit’s funeral.

  That was the theme of her life now. Making do. She straightened her shoulders. She would be brave today and strong. Piet would want it that way.

  She put on her brimmed hat and pulled the black veil over her face, then tugged on her black kid gloves. “Let’s go.”

  Cornelia looped her arm around her sister’s and together they walked the few blocks to the tsjerke. The wind swirled last fall’s leaves around their feet, and Anki drew her threadbare coat across her shoulders to shut out the chill.

  Already a few people waited for them.

  Anki almost didn’t recognize Nell without her four children attached to her. “How are you doing? I could not believe it when I heard the news. That is the most awful thing. Your poor family, to have to endure another tragedy. You have my deepest sympathies, and Luuk’s too. If there is anything I can do, anything at all, you please let me know. Any time of the day or night, well, night might be hard because of the curfew, but any time of the day you need me, you give me a holler. How are you holding up?”

  How could she be? Fine and wonderful, bedankt. Couldn’t be better. It’s a perfect day for a funeral. I have been looking forward to this.

  Instead, she nodded. “I appreciate your coming today.” The words sounded stiff and mechanical to her. She attempted a small smile to soften them, but the corners of her mouth refused to curve upward. How would she survive the next hour or two?

  She pushed herself toward the front of the tsjerke. Several other old acquaintances and family friends offered their sympathies. As before, she nodded and thanked them but didn’t say much else.

  A few minutes later they stood in the front of the sanctuary. So far, she had made it without crying. Massive gold-adorned organ pipes covered the front wall. The intricately carved pulpit floated above the congregation to the left, almost suspended in air, the large sounding board above it. Her family’s pew was located in the middle of the sanctuary and it was strange to be in front, all eyes on her.

  She slid across the hard wood bench, smooth from centuries of use. Cornelia, her strength, sat beside her. Five years ago she had buried her own husband. She wouldn’t ask unanswerable questions.

  The dominee intoned the service, but Anki heard little of it. A fog surrounded her, as if this were happening to someone else. She sang the songs at the appropriate times and bowed her head to pray when instructed. Everything and everyone faded into the distance.

  Her baby, the only good left in her life, fluttered inside her.

  GERRIT SLIPPED INTO the cool stone tsjerke as the service started. With help from Frou de Bruin, he dressed in baggy, moth-eaten clothes and hunched over the late Hear de Bruin’s cane. None of the busy soldiers bothered to stop an old man shuffling along the road.

  Not wanting to draw attention to himself, he climbed the steps to the choir loft overlooking the small congregation. He spotted Cornelia’s auburn head in the front row. Then he slunk into the darkness. Maybe she would be able to sense his presence.

  He watched Anki’s grief. She sat straight in the pew, her shoulders back, her head held high. She had pinched her lips together and clasped her hands in her lap. Her black veil blew in and out with each breath.

  Beside Anki sat Cornelia, her arms clutched around her middle. She bowed her head, her shoulders rounded. Every now and again she wiped her eyes.

  Somber music flowed from the organ. The dominee led the service. Women wept.

  The service concluded, but Gerrit stayed in the shadows. He watched the congregants surround Cornelia and Anki, wanting to be there himself. Person by person, the tsjerke emptied until the two women stood alone with the dominee. After a while, he walked away. Gerrit skipped down the stairs and into the sanctuary. Cornelia spied him and her eyes sparked with fire.

  He touched her shoulder. “How are you doing today?”

  “I told you not to come.”

  He thought she would be happy to see him. He turned his attention to Anki. “I am sorry about Piet. I wish I could have done something.”

  “Bedankt.” She dabbed her eyes with her pink lace-trimmed handkerchief. “Piet wouldn’t have wanted it. He believed this was God’s will for his life.”

  Cornelia pulled him to the side, not allowing him to finish his conversation with her sister. “What are you doing here?”

  “I thought you might need me.”

  “I would rather know you are safe.”

  He lowered his voice. “Yesterday I distributed ration cards. Coming here is far less dangerous. And Frou de Bruin concocted a brilliant disguise. No one stopped me.”

  “What is the use of a hiding place if you don’t stay there?” Her words seeped out through her teeth, a strangled whisper.

  “I’ll be careful.”

  “I am tired of promises that can’t be kept.” Her shoulders slumped.

  He took her into his arms. “I won’t let my fear prevent me from doing what I feel is necessary.”

  “This wasn’t it.”

  “Life is about risks.”

  She touched his chest with balled fists. “Life is about survival.”

  “Sometimes, without risks, you will only survive. You won’t live. I don’t want to argue with you.”

  “Then why did you come?”

  “Because when a man loves a woman, he will do anything to be with her when she needs him the most.”

  She relaxed. “You should go.”

  “Trying to get rid of me?”

  She shook her head, apparently not in the mood for flirting and teasing. It had been a bad attempt in a place and time that called for solemnity. “Tomorrow you will come by?”

  “Ja. Don’t you go anywhere.”

  “I have deliveries to make.”

  “Don’t they realize the price on your head? Bear shouldn’t be sending you out.”

  “Let’s not start again. It was my idea to get back to work. If I get caught, one man dies. If those cards aren’t delivered, many die.”

  She cringed. He inhaled to tell her he would be careful but blew out the breath.

  The drone of planes broke the quiet of the sanctuary. She stiffened as she always did at the sound, gripping the back of the pew.

  “Come here and sit with me.” He pulled her to the front bench. She moved like a Nazi soldier marching in a parade—arms and legs rigid, never shifting her eyes to the right or left.

  He drew her close and held her trembling body to his. “Why are you so afraid?”

  “If that older woman died while hanging laun
dry on the line, none of us are safe.”

  “There is more to it than that.”

  She shook all over.

  “Tell me about the night Hans died.”

  Her shivering calmed as she transported back to that time. “It was our wedding night.”

  He knew Hans died soon after their marriage. He didn’t realize it happened that soon.

  “We were in Nijmegen on the German border. About four or five o’clock in the morning, we heard the planes overhead and an explosion as our men blew up the bridge. Gunfire crackled in the air. Hitler had broken his promise.”

  She paused and studied the multicolored stained-glass windows running the length of the tsjerke. “Hans was in the army, such as it was. He told me he had an obligation, that he had to leave to fight the Germans.”

  A lone tear scuttled across her cheek. Gerrit barely heard her next words. “I begged him not to go. I pleaded with him to stay. They would give him an exemption for being a newlywed. He chose the queen over me.”

  Gerrit drew her in and held her close. Anki tugged on her jacket and made a move for her to come, but he shook his head to keep her away. He wanted to hear the rest of the story. Cornelia needed to tell it.

  “He didn’t choose her over you. He went to fight for you, to keep you safe.”

  She didn’t reply.

  “What happened next?”

  “All day I stayed in the room, listening to the fighting. All night I cowered in the corner, a young girl alone in a hotel in a strange town, not knowing where my husband had gone or when he planned to return. Explosions shook the little hotel, the air alive with the reverberations. German voices shouted on the street below. What would they do if they discovered me?”

  He rubbed her arms as she shivered.

  “I prayed and prayed, for myself and for my husband. Then there was silence. Hans would be back soon and I had survived. But the door to the room never opened. I sat on the bed and watched it, hour after hour, not daring to fall asleep.”

  “He never came.”

  She bowed her head and cried. Gerrit rubbed her back until the tears dissolved and she hiccupped.

  “I was young, so young then, caught in a war zone without my husband. Anything could have happened to me.”