The Gypsy Moon

by Gilbert, Morris

  “The phone call just came,” Betje answered. “The plane has landed, and they’re on their way. I’ll see you when it’s all over.”

  “I’ll be praying for you, Betje.”

  Betje hesitated, a strange look on her face. “It’s odd, but ever since this operation has come up, I’ve been thinking about God.”

  Hope surged in Gabby’s heart. She put her hand on Betje’s. “I’m so glad to hear that,” she whispered. “I think God has been after you for a long time.”

  “Then you’d better pray. I’ve been the world’s worst sinner.”

  “Jesus is the friend of sinners, Betje.”

  Betje slipped away, and Gabby waited in the entryway until a large black car pulled up in front of the church. Gabby saw four men get out, three of them wearing the uniform of a storm trooper. But she had little interest in them. She started down the sidewalk and began to run when she saw Liza and Dalton emerge from the car. She threw herself at them, and the three clung to one another, all of them in tears.

  Major Claus Poppel stood watching the reunion carefully. The other three men with him had spread out, their eyes darting back and forth as people arrived for the funeral. They were armed with automatic weapons, and they scanned the people making their way into the church, seeking anything out of order.

  Erik Raeder had come in a separate car and now approached the tall man in charge. “Major Poppel, will you need extra guards on the return trip?”

  Poppel’s lips curled in disdain. “I think not, Colonel. Four of us can handle one elderly couple.”

  Rebuffed, Erik nodded curtly. “As you please, then.”

  Still clutched in an embrace, Gabby whispered to her aunt and uncle, “Don’t be afraid. You won’t be going back to Berlin.” The three pulled apart, and without a glance at the guards, they entered the church.

  ****

  The church was packed, with every seat filled and people standing along the walls. Major Poppel and the other guards had placed themselves in strategic positions within the sanctuary. Erik stood at the back, standing tall and listening intently to the service.

  The music was simple old gospel hymns, all speaking of the love of God for the world and the sacrifice of Jesus for sinners.

  When Pastor Citroen stood, his face was pale, but a joy shone in his eyes as he began to speak. “Funerals are usually a grim affair in which we are all saddened, but I want to speak to you this morning of one who insisted that her funeral be a celebration. Our beloved sister Dorcas Burke lived her entire life in the service of the Lord Jesus. The last thing she said to me was, ‘I long for my heavenly husband, to be with Him forever and behold His glory.’ ”

  The church was absolutely quiet as Citroen continued. “This morning, let me call to your remembrance another funeral as recorded in the twenty-sixth chapter of Matthew’s Gospel:

  “Now when Jesus was in Bethany, in the house of Simon the leper, there came unto him a woman having an alabaster box of very precious ointment, and poured it on his head, as he sat at meat. But when his disciples saw it, they had indignation, saying, To what purpose is this waste? For this ointment might have been sold for much, and given to the poor.

  “When Jesus understood it, he said unto them, Why trouble ye the woman? for she hath wrought a good work upon me. For ye have the poor always with you, but me ye have not always. For in that she hath poured this ointment on my body, she did it for my burial.

  “This incident occurred almost at the end of the earthly life of our Savior. The shadow of the cross lay before Him, and at this moment, it must have weighed heavily upon His spirit. He had spoken time and time again the words, ‘Mine hour is not yet come,’ but now His hour was almost come. And amidst the darkness of the last hours of the life of our Savior, this one incident shines as a light in a dark place. This woman, perhaps alone among the followers of Jesus, understood what was happening. And the Scripture tells us that she brought precious ointment worth much money, and she wasted it by pouring it on the head of Jesus. That was the accusation that was made. Some of the disciples complained that the ointment could have been sold for much money. It could have been sold and the money given to the poor.

  “But the answer of Jesus was clear. ‘She did it for my burial,’ He said. The Gospel of Mark states, ‘She hath done what she could.’ ”

  Citroen looked up and smiled. “Indeed, Dorcas Burke was much like this woman, and we might say, ‘She hath done what she could.’ From the time of childhood, she has served her Savior with all of her strength, and now she is in the presence of God and the holy angels.”

  For some time the minister spoke warmly of the good deeds of Dorcas, and finally he said, “The thirteenth verse says of the woman who poured the ointment on the head of Jesus, ‘Wheresoever this gospel shall be preached in the whole world, there shall also this, that this woman hath done, be told for a memorial of her.’ ”

  He closed his Bible. “This is the memorial of Dorcas Burke. She served the Lord Jesus, and she did what she could. She poured out her life in showing others His love and mercy. She poured out not ointment but her life and loyal service to Jesus. In our last conversation, she gave me some specific instructions regarding this service. She said, ‘After you preach my funeral sermon, give an invitation to sinners.’ At her request, I extend Jesus’ invitation to you. He said, ‘Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.’ If there sits one in the sound of my voice who does not know Jesus Christ, it takes but one cry for mercy, and then in that instant you come out of the kingdom of darkness and into the kingdom of life. You become a child of God, a servant of the Lord Jesus. Just one cry is all that is required.

  “Pray with me now, won’t you?” He bowed his head. “Oh, God, our immortal father, we are all sinners. We know that thy Son, Jesus Christ, died on the cross to erase these very sins from thy memory and ours. Forgive us. We are truly sorry and wish to turn away from our sinful ways. We invite Jesus to be Lord and Master of our lives now and forever. In Jesus’ name we pray.” He lifted his arms and continued praying. “We thank thee, Lord God, for the life of thy servant Dorcas. We thank thee that she gave herself as a living sacrifice for you, and now we pray that those who have committed their lives to thee even today might be servants of thine, obedient to the call of Jesus Christ. It is in His name we pray. Amen.”

  Citroen gave a few closing words and then told the crowd that there would be a ceremony at the graveyard adjacent to the church for those who cared to attend. The family filed out first, and the others followed.

  As everyone gathered around the casket, Gabby’s hand tucked into her uncle’s arm, she caught sight of Betje, who she thought had left. She was not ten feet away, standing near the front of the crowd. Her eyes were fixed on the casket, and tears were running down her face. Suddenly, she lifted her eyes and met those of Gabby. Betje smiled through her tears, and her lips were trembling. She held up her right hand in the familiar V for victory sign that Churchill had made famous in England.

  Gabby instantly knew that Betje had obeyed the call of the Savior to come! She had lost her harried look and smiled with shining eyes. Gabby said a silent prayer of thanksgiving as she returned her friend’s smile.

  Before Citroen prayed the final prayer over the grave, Betje suddenly turned and left.

  After the prayer, Major Poppel appeared in front of the trio, saying, “I am sorry, Herr Burke, but we must hurry back.”

  The pair quickly hugged Gabby, but there was no time to say more than a brief farewell. The storm troopers were visible nearby in their dark uniforms, and the automatic weapons they carried seemed obscene at such a time.

  Gabby caught her aunt’s eye and nodded slightly, and her aunt smiled as she turned along with Dalton to get into the car. The troopers got in and then Poppel did, and the car pulled away. It picked up speed and threaded its way along the road rapidly, heading toward the airport.

  ****

  Major Poppel’s eyes were
everywhere as they drove along the narrow road. It was Thursday, and they passed several slow trucks that were carrying produce into Amsterdam. Poppel snapped at the driver, “Lean on your horn! Get those fools out of the way!”

  “Yes, Major!”

  Poppel glanced back at the couple seated silently with two troopers in the rear and saw that they looked nervous. Poppel was a hardworking man whose abilities were usually put to much better use. This task was far beneath his capabilities, and it annoyed him that he had been asked to oversee it. He was anxious to get back to Berlin, where he could get on with the real work with the war.

  “Major Poppel, look!”

  Poppel felt the car slow and saw that they had entered a woods with tall trees lining both sides. The road was very narrow, and they were approaching a sagging load of hay pulled by two draft horses.

  “What’s the matter with those fools?”

  “I think a wheel has come off the wagon,” the driver said.

  Poppel cursed, and as the car stopped, he leaped out. He pulled his Luger from the shiny black holster at his side and advanced toward the two men who were standing helplessly at the side of the road staring at the wheel.

  “Get this wheel back on!” he ordered.

  The two men were dressed like farmers and had on floppy hats, and both looked frightened at the sight of the major carrying a gun.

  One of the men began speaking in a heavy Dutch dialect, which Poppel did not understand. He turned to the storm troopers and asked through the open windows, “Do any of you speak Dutch?”

  None of them did, so Poppel addressed Dalton. “Herr Burke, come and speak to these men.”

  Dalton got out of the car and asked the men what the problem was. After they answered, he told the major, “They cannot lift the wagon enough to get the wheel on. They need a few more men.”

  Poppel glared at the two farmers and cursed under his breath. Then he waved at the guards in the car. “All right, all of you come. Get under this wagon and lift it up. Tell that man to have the wheel ready.”

  Dalton Burke gave the instructions, and the guards came forward.

  “You will lift,” Poppel said, “then these bumpkins can slip the wheel on. You tell the farmers what to do, Professor.”

  Dalton relayed the message, and the three storm troopers positioned themselves, along with one of the farmers, a young man with a frightened look on his face.

  “All right—lift!” Poppel ordered, echoed by Dalton’s instruction in Dutch. The men lifted the wagon clear, and Poppel shouted, “Put the wheel on, fool!”

  But the man who held the wheel dropped it and pulled a machine pistol from under his shirt and pointed it at Major Poppel. “Don’t move,” he commanded in German. “Hold that wagon where it is, or I’ll kill you!”

  Poppel aimed his gun, but before he could squeeze off a shot, a black dot appeared on his forehead. The farmer needed only one shot. Poppel stared out of blank eyes for a moment before falling backward.

  Instantly, more figures poured out of the woods, all armed with automatic weapons. The storm troopers froze as their own revolvers were yanked unceremoniously from their belts.

  “Get that wheel on, then blindfold them and tie their hands,” Dai instructed, for it was he who had killed the major.

  “We’ll have to move fast,” Betje said as she emerged from the woods. “They’ll be on to us quickly.”

  Liza got out of the car and clung to her husband when she saw that the situation was under control.

  “It’s all right,” Betje said to the Burkes, who were both trembling. “We’re going to take you to a safe hiding place.”

  “But what about all this?” Burke said in bewilderment, waving at the dead major and the guards, who were now being tied.

  “We’ll have to get rid of the car and hold them until you’re out of the country.”

  “I’ll take care of that, Betje,” Dai said.

  “That’s not what we planned,” Betje said. “You’d make a rotten husband.” She smiled suddenly at Dai. “You can’t take orders from a woman. Do as I say. I know this country like the back of my hand, but you need to take care of these people.”

  Dai smiled. “You’re a quarrelsome woman, but you know best. Be sure you hide this car well and get rid of any traces of this scuffle.” He looked at the dead body of Poppel and shook his head. “He would have it no other way.”

  A small car had pulled up behind the one that had brought the Burkes from the airport. “Get in the back,” Dai told the Burkes. “Come on. We’ve got to go.”

  “Where are we going?” Liza asked timidly.

  “We’re going to the hospital,” he said as he switched places with the driver. “You’ll see Gabby there.”

  ****

  Dai and the Burkes entered the hospital by a back entrance that Dai had learned was rarely used. “Hurry quickly,” he told them.

  Inside they found themselves in a large, dank storage room. Dai pulled the light on and said, “You’ll be safe here for a while.”

  “The danger isn’t over, is it?” Dalton asked.

  “I’m afraid not, Dr. Burke. We still have to get you out of Holland—and you can believe they’ll throw a ring of iron around this area when they find out what’s happened.”

  “But God has brought us safe this far,” Liza said. “He will not let us down.”

  The three settled down to wait nervously, and time crept on interminably. Late in the afternoon, they heard someone approaching on foot.

  “Over there,” Dai instructed Dalton and Liza as he pulled out his pistol. “Get behind those crates.”

  The door opened and Gabby whispered, “Dai, are you there?”

  “Yes, come in.” As Gabby stepped inside, Dai could tell something serious had happened. “What’s wrong?”

  “It’s . . . it’s Betje. She’s been caught. They have her at headquarters. Oh, Dai, they’ll kill her!”

  Dai opened his arms to her, and she stepped into them, quickly losing control of her emotions. As she wept, the Burkes came out of their hiding places.

  “There’s little we can do, Gabby,” Dai said quietly. “I think you know that.”

  “I know, but she’s—” She straightened up and dashed the tears from her eyes. “Dai, something happened to Betje at the funeral. When she was at the graveside, I could see that she was touched by the message deeply. There was a victory in her that I had never seen before, and she held her two fingers up like Churchill does.”

  “What did it mean?” he asked.

  “I’m sure it means that she found Christ at the funeral.”

  Dai’s eyes burned with tears of joy. “Thank God, for she will need Christ now more than ever.”

  ****

  General Rahn was furious. He blamed Erik for the events of the day, and Erik tried to defend himself by saying, “Major Poppel would have no help. I offered it, and he refused it. He is at fault.”

  “Easy enough to blame a dead man!” the general declared. “We’ll settle that later. These people are still in the area.” A grim smile touched his face. “We’ll capture them, and it’ll be quite a feather in my cap when the führer hears of it.” He paced the length of the office. “Now, the woman that was captured. She must be made to talk.”

  Erik Raeder understood that the stories he had heard of torture being used on political prisoners were true. He had tried to put the thought of people suffering unspeakable horrors from the S.S. at the back of his mind, but now the reality had become unavoidable. He was a man of honor and courage and did not agree with the Nazis’ brutal techniques, but as he stood in front of General Rahn, he knew there was no escape. “I would rather someone else do that job,” he said. “I will conduct the search for the others.”

  “All right, Raeder. You find the others, and I will take care of the interrogation.”

  ****

  Shadows lay under Erik’s eyes, Gabby saw, as she came into his office. For two days, Erik had conducted the most int
ensive search for the Burkes possible. “Erik, I’ve come to ask for your help.”

  “What is it, Gabby?” Erik’s tone was short, and he gazed at her moodily.

  “I need to see Betje van Dych.”

  “Why would you want to see her? She’s a traitor and will pay for her crime.”

  “She’s my friend. She has been since we were children. She had been living with me.”

  “That puts you under suspicion. Everyone that this woman knows is under suspicion for treason against the Fatherland.”

  “I can’t help that. You’re going to shoot her, aren’t you?”

  “She has been promised she can go free if she will reveal who her friends are.”

  “She’ll never do that,” Gabby said evenly.

  “She’s a stubborn woman. She will be put to death first thing tomorrow morning if she refuses to speak.” He could not meet Gabby’s eyes.

  “Please, Erik, I’d like to see her.”

  Finally he said bitterly, “All right. You can see her.”

  “I want to take the pastor with me.”

  “Very well. I’ll make out a pass.” He took a form out of a drawer and signed it.

  “Have you seen her, Erik?”

  “No,” he said sharply, “I haven’t.”

  “We’ve heard that she’s been tortured.”

  He didn’t answer. He handed her the pass and said, “That will get you in for a brief visit.”

  He turned away from her, and Gabby, after one look at his back, said good-bye and left his office. She knew that he was a lost soul, and she grieved that a man of his potential should be destroyed for his blind allegiance to the Third Reich.

  ****

  “You’ll have fifteen minutes,” the lieutenant told Gabby and Pastor Citroen. “She is a stubborn woman and a foolish one!” he said as he glared at Betje.

  As soon as the guard was outside, Gabby moved swiftly to take Betje in her arms. The sight of her broke Gabby’s heart, for the marks of the terrible torture she had endured were evident. She held her gently and found herself weeping. “Betje,” she moaned, “I can’t lose you now.”