Cornelia would not be happy about Johan leaving the house. Gerrit had to keep her brother from putting himself in peril. “Fish won’t keep, but bad news will. She will find out soon enough.”
“And when she finds out we have known all day and haven’t told her, she will scold each one of us. I, for one, have had enough reprimands from her.”
Gerrit stood and grabbed Johan by his upper arm. “Stay put, please. Maarten has an ausweis and can bring her word.”
“Information like this needs to come from a family member. I will stick to the fields and stay alert.”
A second later the door slammed.
CHAPTER 18
Johan wanted to skip and jump and twirl as he crossed the road and cut through the fields to Frou de Bruin’s. The expansive sky welcomed him to the daylight.
Then he thought of Doktor Boukma. Because of Gerrit, Johan had known he was affiliated with the Resistance, but none of them suspected him of hiding Juden.
If an old man like him could serve his country, then Johan would do so as well. He refused to sit idle in the house any longer. His capture taught him that he had to be extra cautious. He had learned his lesson and would not get caught again.
Off in the distance, two dark spots appeared where the land met the sky. They grew closer and closer, heading toward him. The speed at which the spots grew left no doubt in Johan’s mind that they were German trucks. No Dutchman had petrol.
See, he had been paying attention. Now he needed to find a place to hide from the Nazis. In the fields, he stood exposed. He hadn’t managed to get far enough away from the road yet. He scanned the area. The flat, open landscape offered him little protection. A few white sheep grazed on the tender grass and water sparkled in the ditches between the fields. There by the windmill, a little stand of trees.
He hurried in that direction and flattened himself against the back of the largest of the dozen or so trees. The rough bark scratched the back of his neck. He dug his fingernails into the soft wood.
Now he heard the humming of the motor, the pitch growing higher as the vehicle approached. He held his breath. The tires whispered across the pavement.
The jeep whizzed past and the drone of the engine grew deeper. He exhaled but dared not move.
When Maarten heard about how watchful Johan had been, he would rush to give him an assignment.
Heit would have been so proud.
“WELL, CORNELIA, LATE to work again this morning.” Frou de Bruin sat as tall as she could and as erect as Queen Wilhelmina on her throne, rapping her bony, gnarled fingers on her large, well-worn kitchen table. Today she had put on black mourning garb so outdated she must have worn it to her mem’s funeral forty years ago.
“I will get right to the chores.” She slipped on her full-length apron that crossed and tied in the back. “Did you have your breakfast already?”
“Of course I did. It’s well after eight. Did that brother of yours get into more trouble?”
She laughed. “Nee. Now, let’s plan dinner. What would you like?”
“A thick beefsteak and an entire stick of banket is what I would like.”
Cornelia tipped her head to the side and gave a fake, toothy grin. “What will you have?”
“I will have sauerkraut and a little pork.”
“And the cow has been cared for?”
The elderly lady tsk-tsked and shook her gray head. “Bram has been here. He’s dependable and always on time. He took care of the cow. If not, the poor dear would have burst.” Bram was the neighbor boy who saw to the farm chores.
“I apologize for being tardy.”
“There is nothing that can be done about that now. Today you should air out the front room and dust in there.”
Cornelia didn’t like to go into this particular front room alone, because she remembered Hear de Bruin laid out in his coffin, his beady eyes staring at her, following her. She shivered every time she entered the room.
Picking up her dust rag and a broom, she headed to her task. If she made quick work of it and got Frou de Bruin’s dinner, maybe she could head home early. Gerrit had promised her a game of checkers tonight.
Her employer’s voice at her back startled her and Cornelia jumped, the broom in her hand clattering to the floor. Her hand over her heart, she turned toward Frou de Bruin.
“I have never met anyone as jumpy as you. And I have met a fair number of people in my long life.”
Cornelia’s heart slowed to a normal rhythm. “What can I get for you?”
“I saw Johan coming up the lane.”
“Nee, he has changed so much in the past few years, grown up.
I am sure you don’t recognize him, you know. Besides, what would he be doing outside?” Even as she spoke, from the corner of her eye, she spied her brother walking up the lane.
She would strangle him later. She let him in and wasted no time in slamming the door behind him. “Whatever are you doing here? You are out of your mind.”
Johan stood with his hands on his knees, gasping for breath, his face pale.
An icy shudder shot through Cornelia as she hurried to get her brother a chair. “Sit down, breathe, and then tell me what is going on.”
Johan studied the pine floors. “Maarten came to the house.”
She turned even colder. “Tell me.”
“Early this morning the Gestapo raided Doktor Boukma’s house. He was hiding Juden.”
“Nee.”
Frou de Bruin sank into a chair of her own. “Tell us all.”
“I don’t know many details. Someone must have turned him in for aiding the Resistance.” He looked at his sister. “You sure need to brace yourself, Corrie. There is more.”
She steadied herself on the table.
“He refused to be taken into custody without a fight. They shot and killed him right in front of his house.”
The world faded and Cornelia slumped to the floor, unable to catch herself.
Johan rushed to her side, though it seemed like hours before he reached her.
“Why? Why? He didn’t hurt anyone. He was only trying to help people.”
“Get your sister a glass of water. Don’t stand there now.”
He grabbed a glass from the cupboard and pumped the water, handing the cool cup to Cornelia as the old woman continued, “Underground work is dangerous. Whoever gets involved with it knows this. He followed his convictions.”
“Who would have believed he had been hiding Juden?” Johan’s eyes gleamed in that now-familiar way. The way that made Cornelia as skittish as a rabbit in a garden. “If only I had known before, I could have helped him. Next time I see Maarten, I will ask to be put to work. They must need more assistance with Doktor Boukma gone.”
Cornelia reached to set her water on the table and clutched her heart. She remembered how Doktor Boukma had encouraged her to keep doing what she was doing, hiding Gerrit, because it was the right thing to do. But Doktor Boukma paid the ultimate price for doing right.
She stared at her brother, who oozed eagerness the way a child did when waiting for Sinterklaas.
“THAT’S IT. I beat you again. I believe that has me in the lead a hundred games to none.” Gerrit pushed his chair back from the kitchen table, his shoulder much better than it had been even a week ago when Doktor Boukma died. “That is enough victory for me for today.”
Johan picked up the checkers. “Just wait until tomorrow. Then it will be different.”
Cornelia, home early from work today, came around with her broom. “Don’t get too cocky there. Pride goeth before destruction. Now please lift your feet.”
Instead of complying, Gerrit stood and took the broom from her hands, brushing her fingers with his. “Let me help you.”
A blush rose in her cheeks. “You don’t need to.”
“I want to.”
Johan groaned. “Oh no. You have fallen for her charms.”
Now heat crept up Gerrit’s neck into his face. “I believe I have.” He focus
ed his gaze on her hazel eyes. She returned the look. He would be happy to spend the rest of his life right here.
The sound of Johan smacking his forehead brought Gerrit back to reality.
“We should help your sister because we do make most of the mess around here.”
Cornelia laughed, the sound pure heaven. “This I have to see.”
Gerrit grabbed another broom from the closet and chased her around the kitchen. “Are you saying I’m not capable of cleaning a house? Let me strap on my apron and you watch how it’s done.” He pulled a clean apron from the drawer and hung it around his neck, not bothering to tie it.
She assumed a fencing stance. “With a mem and three sisters, I doubt you know a dust rag from laundry soap. En guarde.”
Gerrit swung his broom and connected with Cornelia’s. She danced back and forth and lunged, missing as he dodged her attack. Her face glowed. Thwack, thwack, thwack. The broom handles clacked several times. He leaped onto a chair, noticing that a few tendrils of hair had escaped from her side rolls. “Do you concede defeat?”
She grinned. “Never. Do you?”
He struck her broom handle again. “Not if you don’t.” With that, he jumped to the floor for another exchange. She fought back with spirit, around the table, past the old stove and the sink until he had her pinned against the wall.
“Do you surrender now?”
She dropped the broom and raised her hands, giggling all the while. “I give up, oh gallant knight.”
He laughed with her. “You will never best me.”
“Is that a challenge?”
He had never seen her more beautiful. “It is.” But he didn’t want to fight her. He wanted to kiss her, long and hard.
Johan cheered. “Bravo, you beat your girlfriend.”
Gerrit’s blood pumped even harder. “At least I have a girlfriend. But look, we have raised Pepper’s kitty hair and made more work for ourselves, not only having to sweep, but having to dust too.”
Johan grabbed the broom from Gerrit, set the bristles on the floor, and got to work, moving to the hall. “Have fun dusting, old man.” He disappeared around the corner.
Once they were alone, Cornelia came to him, hooked her left arm around his waist, and kissed him on his right cheek. “Bedankt.”
He lifted the apron over his head and set it on the counter. “For what?”
“Helping. Laughing. Everything.”
“You’re welcome. And bedankt.”
“Why?”
He didn’t know how to answer her question. “Because.”
“That’s not a real answer.”
“Of course it is.”
“It doesn’t tell me anything.”
“What would you like to know?”
“Did you ever have a girlfriend? Do you have one now?” She searched his face, as if she looked for answers there.
The knife that sliced his heart didn’t dig as deeply as it had before. “Yes, I courted a woman some years ago, but not anymore.”
“What was her name?”
“Mies.” The word tasted bitter on his tongue.
Her voice softened. “What happened?”
“It’s a long story. One I’m not sure you would care to hear.” Not one he cared to tell.
“I would.”
CHAPTER 19
Cornelia wanted to hear Gerrit’s story. She took Gerrit by the hands and led him to the table and they sat. “Please tell me.”
He traced a water stain with his finger. “I don’t like talking about her.”
“Where did you meet her?”
“One day she came into Heit’s furniture shop. This was right before the war. Her boss at the bank wanted a new desk and sent her to price them. I helped her and we talked and that is how it started. A few days later the war came.”
Cornelia’s heart stuttered. “Did she … ?”
“Nee. Worse.”
“What could be worse?”
“Pepper has nothing on you in the curiosity department.”
“Will you tell me?”
He gulped. “After the incident with Dorathee, I got involved with the Resistance movement. I couldn’t let those Nazis get away with what they did to my sister. They hurt her so much. She became fearful and distrusting. A different person altogether.”
He clenched his fist. “Mies and I were engaged to be married and looking forward to spending the rest of our lives together. Things changed when I became involved with the Resistance. Mies became clingy, afraid I would never return to her. She didn’t want me to have anything to do with the Underground. She wanted me to stop my work for her sake. The last words she said to me before I left were angry and hurtful, accusing me of using her, of deserting her, of not putting her first. She couldn’t love a Resistance worker.”
“I understand.”
“Could you ever love a man in the Underground?”
Could she?
SILENCE THREATENED TO drown out Anki’s thoughts. Perhaps that was a good thing. She ran her dust cloth over the night table in the bedroom she shared with Piet. She had to use caution not to hit her head on the sloping ceiling when she stood straight.
He punished her for lying to him with his silence. If he said three words in a row to her, that was a day to have a celebration. She had been faithful to the promise she had made, but he told her only time would prove if she would remain true to her word.
She returned her brown leather Bible and her round, white alarm clock to their places, then straightened the red blanket on the bed before pulling up the blue-and-white quilt decorated with Delft scenes.
Perhaps she would go to see Corrie. She studied the black numbers on the timepiece. Her sister would soon be on her way home from work. If Anki met her along the way, they could spend a little time together and she wouldn’t see Gerrit. Her promise to her husband would remain intact.
She swept down the stairs, returned the dust cloth to its place, and pulled her sweater from the hook by the door. The rest of the chores could wait.
Only a few steps out of the front door, she noticed a small woman, a fringed blue scarf tied over her head. The young stranger nodded to Anki and stopped in front of her. “Are you Anki Dykstra?”
“Ja. Can I help you with something?”
“A woman at our farm needs you.”
“I’m not sure I understand.”
“She is in labor. I was told that you had worked with Doktor Boukma.”
“She needs a midwife then, not me. It’s been a few years since I worked with him.”
The woman touched Anki’s arm. “I was told I could trust you.”
“What do you mean, trust me?” Although she knew the answer.
“This is a sensitive situation, Frou Dykstra.”
Of course it was. More lies. More deceit. A shattered vow. And if Piet found out she had delivered a Jewish baby in hiding, he would never forgive her. “You can trust me.”
“Will you come? This is the girl’s first child and she is frightened and having a hard time of it. Doktor Boukma is gone and the situation is beyond what I can handle.”
Anki looked at the sky, as if God would drop an answer to her from heaven.
She put herself in the girl’s place. When it came time for her own child to be born, she would be afraid. If there were complications, she would want a qualified professional to help her.
Nee, God didn’t need to send her a reply from heaven. He had placed it on her heart.
Piet, please forgive me. “Let me go inside and get a few things. I will hurry.”
While the woman waited outside, Anki pulled a set of clean sheets from her wardrobe along with a few old towels. Digging in her drawer, she located her stethoscope and added it to her bag, in addition to a bar of strong lye soap, heavy string, and a pair of sharp scissors.
Her mother’s words to her on her wedding day rang in her ears. “Be a good and submissive wife, Anki. If you do that, you will have a happy and successful marriage.” She h
ad stood there in her cream-colored wedding dress, about to walk down the aisle to be married to Piet, and told her mother she would obey him. With all the lies that slid out of her mouth with alarming ease, she hadn’t kept her word.
Her fingers trembled as she wrote a note to Piet.
I have been called to help with a birth. I don’t know how long it will take or when I will be home. All my love, Anki.
CORNELIA HAD GROWN quiet after Gerrit asked his question about loving a man in the Underground. She soon retired to her room with a headache. Johan, too, had gone upstairs to read.
He had been too hasty in asking the question, knowing the answer. Gerrit wanted to make amends with her. Perhaps a cup of hot coffee would ease her headache.
He had watched her in the kitchen a little but had not paid attention to where she kept everything. Sitting around doing nothing for almost a month had rusted his observation skills. Not a good thing for a Resistance worker. Cornelia kept the place neat and tidy, much like his mother’s kitchen. Mem had always said, “A place for everything and everything in its place.”
He searched the cabinet next to the sink, where his mother kept their coffee. This one contained a set of pretty blue glasses and some Delft china, rimmed with scrolls and curlicues. Had these things been a wedding gift?
In the next cabinet, he discovered several pots and pans but no coffee, so he moved to the next one. This cabinet was stocked with tins. Most of them contained nothing. The spice jars sat forlorn. He picked up another container, a wooden box with a tulip etched onto the lid, that perhaps once held tea. Though he suspected Cornelia had emptied it long ago, just maybe he could gather a few leaves. A cup of tea, a commodity that disappeared years ago, would be a real treat. A sure way to win her heart.
Upon opening it, he found not tea leaves but letters. He set down the container and pulled out the first.
He turned over the note. Straight, masculine words strode across the paper. To Cornelia Kooistra. From Hans de Vries.
He sifted through the papers in the box. There must be a dozen or more crammed in here. Why didn’t she keep them in the bedroom, hidden in a drawer? He had been born a snoop, and when he got older, it didn’t take him long to unearth his sisters’ hidden treasures. Always in the bottom drawer of the wardrobe, with the unmentionables. They had gotten so angry with him when they came upon him one day with their love notes spread over their bedroom floor.
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