Escape to the Hiding Place

by Marianne Hering

  “You must leave this area,” the soldier said. “There is a Canadian airman in these woods. Our men were told to shoot on sight. They might mistake you for the enemy.”

  “Yes, sir,” Patrick said. He breathed a sigh of relief.

  The soldier marched away.

  “That was close,” Patrick said to Bernard.

  “Very close,” Bernard said. “The soldier is right. We need to leave.”

  “Where will we go?” Patrick asked.

  “My family’s farm,” Bernard said. “We’ll be safer there.”

  The trip to the farm was about two miles, but it felt like twenty to Patrick. He worried that a German soldier might jump out at any moment and stick a rifle in his face.

  Bernard led the way. He took them back through the area where the Imagination Station had brought them. Patrick looked around for the backpack, but it wasn’t there.

  Next, Bernard hiked up a hill. Beth and Patrick hung back.

  “I wonder what happened to that backpack,” Patrick said.

  “Maybe the Germans found it,” Beth said.

  Patrick sighed. “Mr. Whittaker sent it with us. He must have put something important inside,” he said. “I’m sorry I lost it.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Beth said. “There’s nothing we can do about it now.”

  Bernard reached the top of the hill. Then suddenly, he broke into a run.

  “I see something,” Bernard shouted without turning around.

  Bernard stopped at the bottom of the hill.

  Patrick and Beth caught up to him, breathing hard. A mess of cords and white material was tangled in the rocks.

  It was a parachute.

  The Farmhouse

  “I thought the pilot landed on the other side of the lake,” Beth said.

  “Me too,” Bernard said. “Maybe he carried the parachute with him for a while. If he was hurt or wounded, it may have become too heavy.”

  Beth noticed a deep red stain on the parachute’s fabric. “Look,” she said, and held it up.

  Patrick and Bernard studied the fabric.

  “It’s blood,” Bernard said.

  A knot of worry formed in Beth’s stomach.

  The three sat for a moment and considered the stain.

  Bernard gestured down the road. “The pilot is ahead of us,” he said. “That means he’s at least well enough to move.”

  Bernard spread out the parachute. “Come on,” he said. “Help me.”

  “What are you doing?” Beth asked.

  “Fabric is hard to get,” Bernard said. “The Germans have taken over all the factories. This could be useful.”

  Patrick and Beth knelt down. They began to fold the parachute. Beth rubbed a piece of the material on her skin. It felt like silk.

  Bernard tucked the folded parachute under his arm. “Let’s get to the farm, quick. I don’t want to be caught with this.”

  The farmhouse was a simple rectangular building. Its white paint was chipped. The roof sagged.

  A thin cow stood chewing in the front yard. Some white feathers littered the ground. Beth didn’t notice any other signs of farm animals.

  But there were lots of children outside. Several of them stopped playing and stared at Beth and Patrick as they approached.

  The cousins followed Bernard through a door in the middle of the farmhouse. They entered a kitchen.

  Black pots and pans hung from a ceiling rack. A tall woman stood at the sink washing dishes. She didn’t seem to notice them.

  Bernard put the parachute on a table. Then he walked to the woman at the sink. He placed his arm around her shoulders.

  She spun around. “Bernard!” she cried. “I didn’t hear you come in. You frightened me.”

  “Mother, these are my new friends, Beth and Patrick. They helped me escape from a German soldier,” Bernard said. “Elisabeth, Patrick . . . this is my mother, Mrs. Vos.”

  Mrs. Vos seemed friendly. Her wrinkled skin looked like a golden raisin. Her gray hair lay flat on her head.

  “A soldier?” Mrs. Vos said. She looked worried.

  “It’s all right, Mother,” Bernard said. “He only questioned us. We left right after that.”

  “Thank God you did,” Mrs. Vos said. She turned to the cousins. “Where are you from? Do I know your parents?” she asked.

  Patrick and Beth exchanged glances. Beth had no idea how to answer.

  Patrick said, “No, you probably don’t. And they’re not here.”

  Beth said, “We’re separated from them.”

  Mrs. Vos looked concerned. “Oh, yes, this war has done that to so many. Do you know where they are?”

  “Far away,” Beth said.

  “I’m sorry,” the woman said. “These are desperate times. Do you need a place to stay?”

  “We do, ma’am,” Patrick said.

  “You’re welcome to stay here for a while,” she said.

  “Thank you very much,” Beth said.

  Mrs. Vos led Beth and Patrick down one of the halls to a large room where they were to sleep.

  There were about a dozen bunk beds. Beth noticed a little girl lying still on one of the beds. The girl’s eyes seemed empty.

  Bernard caught Beth’s gaze. He leaned over to her. “That’s Mara,” he said softly. “She’s Jewish. Her parents were taken a month ago.”

  “Taken where?” Beth asked.

  Bernard said, “We think to the prison in Amersfoort. But . . . we hope they will escape before going to a concentration camp.”

  Beth’s heart sank at the words concentration camp. She remembered these words from her history class at school. The Germans killed millions of Jews in the camps. Mara’s parents were facing death, if they weren’t already dead.

  Beth didn’t know what to say. She knelt down and said, “Hello, Mara.”

  Mara didn’t reply.

  Beth gently stroked Mara’s long black hair.

  At dinner, Beth and Patrick met more of Bernard’s family and the guests. All in all, more than fifteen people sat at the long table. Half of them were children Beth’s age, or younger.

  Mr. Vos’s seat was empty.

  “My father is still looking for the pilot,” Bernard said. He had changed out of the dress and into farm clothes.

  “Let’s pray they find him,” Mrs. Vos said.

  They lowered their heads while Mrs. Vos prayed for her husband, the missing pilot, and the food before them.

  Afterward, the children quickly attacked the cabbage rolls on their plates. Beth watched them. They’re so hungry.

  She picked at her food. She peeked across the table at Patrick. He hadn’t eaten much either.

  Beth moved her cabbage roll to Mara’s plate. Mara gave her a shy smile.

  Just then, the front door swung open with a bang. Two men came in. The first had a full beard. He was propping up the other man with his shoulder.

  Bernard said, “Dad!”

  Mrs. Vos jumped up from her chair. “Frans? What happened?” she asked.

  “I found the pilot,” Mr. Vos said. “He was hiding in our barn.”

  Mr. Vos gently lowered the pilot to the floor. The pilot groaned. Blood soaked the pants of his uniform.

  Mrs. Vos rushed over to tend to him.

  “He’s got a gash in his leg,” Mr. Vos said. “The wound is already infected. If we don’t get a doctor soon, he might—”

  Mr. Vos stopped suddenly and glanced at the children. Beth knew what he was going to say. The pilot might die.

  “I’ll change into my disguise and get a message to Dr. Nowak,” Bernard said, standing.

  “But what if a soldier stops you?” Mrs. Vos asked. “Your voice will give you away. You need someone to speak for you.”

  She looked around the room at the faces, then paused on Patrick’s. “Take Patrick with you.”

  “Me?” Patrick asked.

  “Yes,” Mrs. Vos said.

  The pilot moaned again, and Mrs. Vos bit her lip. “And please hur
ry. There isn’t much time.”

  The Pilot

  It was dark outside. Patrick and Bernard had been gone a long time.

  Beth sat with Mrs. Vos next to the wounded pilot. He slept on one of the beds in a corner of the big room.

  “What will you do with the pilot when he gets well?” Beth asked. She tried to be quiet so she wouldn’t wake him.

  “We’ll help him escape,” Mrs. Vos said. “We’ve done it before.”

  Mrs. Vos pointed to a gray uniform lying on a chair. “We have a friend who’s a policeman. He gave us a German uniform. It’s a perfect disguise for the pilot.”

  That’s when Beth noticed a brown leather backpack under the chair. It was the one Patrick had left in the woods.

  “That backpack,” Beth said. “How did it get here?”

  “I found it,” a weak voice said.

  It was the pilot. Beth turned to him.

  “It had food . . . water . . . bandages,” he said. “It was like a gift from God!”

  Beth smiled. Whit hadn’t given the backpack to Patrick for them to use. It had been for the pilot.

  I’ll have to tell Patrick, she thought.

  Mrs. Vos gave a glass of water to the pilot.

  “Thank you,” he said. His hands shook as he took a drink.

  Just then, Beth heard voices outside. She sprang up and ran into the hall.

  Bernard and Patrick came into the kitchen. They both looked tired.

  “I’m so glad you’re all right!” Beth cried. Then she froze.

  Another man entered from outside. He was wearing a German soldier’s uniform.

  And he was holding a sleeping baby.

  “Dr. Nowak, this is my cousin,” Patrick said to the soldier.

  Dr. Nowak handed Beth the baby. “She’ll sleep for a long time,” he said. “I gave her a mild drug to keep her quiet.”

  “What’s her name?” Beth asked.

  “We don’t know,” Dr. Nowak said. “You see, I brought her here because . . .”

  Bernard cleared his throat. “Dr. Nowak? The pilot is waiting.” They both hurried out of the room.

  “Who’s the doctor?” Beth asked Patrick. “Is the German uniform a disguise?”

  Patrick said, “No. He’s Polish. His country was taken over by the Nazis. They forced him to be a doctor for their troops.”

  “Oh,” Beth said.

  “He’s a Christian, too,” Patrick said. “He wants to help us.”

  Mrs. Vos hurried into the room. “There she is!” she said, looking at the baby. “We’ve hidden many Jewish children here. But never one so young!”

  “Dr. Nowak said a German soldier saved her life,” Patrick said. “He was supposed to make sure no one got out alive. But the soldier couldn’t stand to kill a baby. The soldier smuggled the baby out and gave her to Dr. Nowak.”

  “What about her parents?” Beth asked.

  “The father wasn’t there,” Patrick said. “But we may know where the mother is.”

  “Dr. Nowak found this address,” Mrs. Vos said. She held up a piece of paper. “It was in the baby’s blanket.”

  Beth peeked over Mrs. Vos’s shoulder. The paper had the longest word she had ever seen.

  “Nineteen Barteljorisstraat,” Mrs. Vos said. “It’s a safe house for Jews. It’s in Haarlem. About a day’s ride from here.”

  “Then someone should take the baby to her mother,” Beth said.

  Mrs. Vos looked at the sleeping child. “And soon. The mother may have to leave Haarlem quickly.”

  “Without her baby?” Beth asked.

  “Jews in hiding must often move from place to place. Or they risk being caught,” Mrs. Vos said.

  “That’s terrible,” Beth said.

  Mrs. Vos nodded. “Come with me,” she said. Beth and Patrick followed her out of the room.

  Mrs. Vos picked up a basket and said, “You’ll need diapers . . . and a bottle . . . and a blanket.”

  “What do you mean we’ll need those things?” Beth asked. She turned to Patrick.

  “We’re the only ones who can go,” Patrick said.

  “Mr. Vos has to stay on the farm,” Mrs. Vos said. “And I must take care of the pilot.”

  “Can Bernard come with us?” Beth asked.

  “I’m sure he wants to,” Mrs. Vos said. “But you’ve seen how he looks in a dress. If people look closely, they’ll see that he’s a young man. He could be taken to the work camps.”

  Beth bit her lip. Then she looked at the baby. “Okay,” she said. “We’ll do it alone.”

  A Warning

  Bernard and Dr. Nowak came back to the kitchen.

  “The pilot is sleeping now,” Dr. Nowak said. “I’ll come back in a few days to check on him. Take good care of that baby.”

  The doctor went out the door and waved good-bye.

  Beth said, “He’s really brave to help you. He’s a hero.”

  “And so are kids like Mara,” Bernard said.

  “You and your family are heroes too,” Patrick said.

  “We’re not heroes,” Mrs. Vos said. “We’re only doing what God wants us to do.”

  Bernard looked thoughtful. He said, “Some have given up a lot more than we have.”

  Patrick stared at the dark night beyond the kitchen window. He was worried about the trip.

  “Do you think we can do it?” Beth asked quietly.

  “I guess we’ll find out tomorrow,” Patrick said. He tried to keep his voice light.

  Mr. Vos appeared in the doorway. “Time to run the radio,” he said.

  “I hope it’s good news this time,” Bernard said.

  “I fear it’s not,” Mr. Vos said.

  Mr. Vos turned and walked down the hall. Bernard followed. Patrick looked to Mrs. Vos.

  “Go with them if you want,” she said. “I’ll finish packing your things. And I’ll watch the baby.”

  The cousins followed Mr. Vos and Bernard down the hall to a door. They went outside and walked to the back of the house.

  Beth pointed toward the woods. Dim light came through cracks in a shed.

  Mr. Vos and Bernard went in first. Then Patrick and Beth.

  Bernard went to a bicycle that was propped on a stand. A radio was connected to the bicycle. Wire ran from the front wheel to the back of the radio.

  Bernard sat on the bike seat and started to pedal quickly.

  A man Patrick had never seen stood near the radio.

  Mr. Vos nodded to the man.

  The stranger turned to Patrick and Beth. “Who are they?” he asked.

  “Friends,” Mr. Vos said. “Mr. Smit, would you stand watch while we listen?”

  The man nodded and left the shed.

  “He lives on a farm nearby,” Mr. Vos told Patrick and Beth. “He’s another Resistance worker. We share the radio.”

  As Bernard pedaled, the front wheel spun. But the bicycle stayed in place. They heard the high whine and then a German voice.

  Patrick leaned toward Beth. “The radio is powered by the bike,” he said.

  Beth smiled. “Cool,” she said.

  The radio was large with three knobs and a dial lit by a dim yellow light. The German announcer’s voice was forceful.

  Mr. Vos translated. “The police force has been tripled in and around Warmond.”

  “Tripled!” Bernard said.

  Mr. Vos went on, “Dutch citizens are not allowed outside after dark. Anyone who does not follow these rules will be . . .” His voice trailed off.

  “What?” Bernard asked.

  Mr. Vos said, “They will be arrested and sentenced to death.”

  The Choice

  No one in the shed said a word for a few moments.

  Then Mr. Vos said, “Back to the farmhouse. But first I need to hide the radio.” He disconnected the wires. Next he put the radio under the shed’s floorboards.

  Patrick, Beth, Mr. Vos, and Bernard quietly walked back to the farmhouse. In the kitchen, Mr. Vos told Mrs. Vos what they had hea
rd.

  “Three times the number of soldiers!” she said.

  “I know, Dear,” Mr. Vos said.

  “The children can’t take the baby now,” Mrs. Vos said.

  “But we have to,” Patrick said.

  “What about getting to the mother before she leaves?” Beth asked.

  Mrs. Vos shook her head. “That was before I heard this news. It’s too dangerous.”

  “They are not safe here either,” Mr. Vos said. “The airman is in our home. We could all be arrested or killed if the police find him here.”

  “I’ll go with them to protect them,” Bernard said.

  “In a dress?” Mr. Vos asked. “No. I won’t risk your being sent to the work camps.”

  Beth groaned. Part of her was afraid to go on the mission. She feared being caught by the Germans. Another part of her thought of the baby and her mother. “We can do it,” she said. “We have to get the baby back to her mother.”

  Mrs. Vos put her hand on Beth’s shoulder. “I’m trying to protect you.”

  “We’ll go during the day,” Patrick said. “That way we’ll look like two normal kids. Then they won’t stop us.”

  “We’ll make sure we’re there before dark,” Beth said. “And if we get stopped, we have our papers.”

  “But two children carrying a baby is harder to explain,” Mrs. Vos said.

  “We can hide her in a basket,” Beth said.

  “And if she cries?” Mrs. Vos asked.

  “Then . . .” Beth said and stopped. She didn’t have a good answer.

  “I have a little more of the medicine from the doctor,” Mr. Vos said. “We may be able to keep her asleep awhile longer.”

  “And if it doesn’t work?” Mrs. Vos asked.

  Mr. Vos smiled gently. He said, “Perhaps this is when we must have faith in God’s protection.”

  Mrs. Vos sighed. Then she nodded. “All right,” she said.

  Mr. Vos looked at the cousins. “You leave at first light.”

  Beth had trouble sleeping that night. Patrick had tossed and turned in the bunk above hers. So she knew Patrick hadn’t slept much either.