Liz Tolsma

by Snow on the Tulips

  He hoped.

  He said a prayer for Cornelia’s peace of mind before striding the short distance to the house of the people Bear referred to as Pake and Beppe. A shriveled little man cracked the door. These people weren’t Bear’s grandfather and grandmother. Even their identity must be protected.

  He sent Bear’s greetings and the man opened the door wide. Gerrit stepped inside the cozy house, the large front window almost hidden behind houseplants. Sunshine streamed in and fed all those green leaves.

  Beppe, a hunched gray-haired lady, took him by the arm and led him to the tiny kitchen. He could stretch his arms and reach from one wall to the opposite. “Come in and let me get you some breakfast. A little fried ham, maybe, would be good.”

  His mouth watered as the delicious smells permeated the petite space. He watched the woman’s hands tremble as she prepared the meal.

  He prayed for Cornelia, asked a blessing on the food, wolfed it down, then settled into the soft bed Beppe prepared for him.

  Despite the weight of the job looming in front of him tonight, sleep claimed him in a matter of minutes.

  CORNELIA PACED THE length of the front room, down the hall, around the kitchen, and back again. She didn’t care that she might wear a hole in her shoes and have to go barefoot the rest of the war. One thought possessed her.

  Gerrit never came home last night.

  She had waited for him. At first, she knitted a little, then tried to read the Bible, the passage he had recited to her earlier. The words grew hazy. She dozed on the big blue davenport, the one Gerrit occupied most often. Every little while she jerked awake, thinking she had heard the door open. The noise had only been the wind creaking in the rafters.

  She paused her pacing and prayed for him, pleading with God to protect him.

  Where could he be?

  She remembered those long hours after Hans disappeared, how she paced their hotel room, waiting for him to march through the door and hold her again.

  He never came.

  Maybe the same fate awaited Gerrit.

  Her body still tingled from where he touched her yesterday. She rubbed the spot on her shoulder where his fingers had rested. When she reached the window, she parted the curtains, hoping, wishing, praying for a glimpse of him.

  Where could he be?

  Johan came downstairs buttoning his red shirt, the thin material straining across his shoulders. “Where is breakfast?”

  How could he be so calm when Gerrit was—where? She grasped her brother’s wrist. “Gerrit never came home last night.”

  He glanced up at her, both eyebrows raised, blue eyes gleaming. “They must have put him to work right away. He is out on some grand mission, an adventure, working to save our country and our queen. Now that the southern part of the Netherlands is free, we have to do everything we can to help the Allies liberate the rest.”

  “Anything could have happened to him. He might have been arrested. Or worse.” She shuddered.

  Johan rubbed her arm. “What happened to Hans isn’t going to happen to Gerrit.”

  “You don’t know that. He is not here.”

  “He could have found another place to stay.”

  “Nee. Yesterday we talked about it, right before he left. If we would allow him, he wanted to stay here.”

  “Maybe it got late and he decided to wait until morning to come home.”

  “None of this makes sense. Last night he went out after dark.

  That wouldn’t keep him away.”

  “Maybe his meeting went long, until daylight, and now he needs to wait until dark.”

  She released his wrist and made another circuit around the kitchen. “Be serious. How long does it take to tell them you want to help and for them to give you ration cards? So often he has done this, he could do it in his sleep. Where could he be?”

  “You are borrowing trouble, Corrie. He’s fine.”

  That’s what she had thought about Hans.

  Someone knocked at the door and she scampered to open it, sure she would find Gerrit on the other side. “There you are at last.”

  Anki stood on the other side of the threshold. “I didn’t know I was late.”

  Disappointment weighed down Cornelia’s shoulders. “I thought you were Gerrit.” She gave her sister a quick hug.

  “Why would I be him? Where is he?”

  Cornelia ran her hand through her already mussed hair, the pins holding her curls loose. “If we only knew. Last night he went to tell the Resistance he was ready to go back to work, but he didn’t come home.”

  Johan joined his siblings in the front hall. “Tell her she is making windmills out of pinwheels. He is doing something for the cause and will sure have a grand tale to tell when he returns.”

  Cornelia pulled Johan away from the door. “He would have stopped here to let us know. If he could, he would have gotten word to us.”

  Johan headed toward the kitchen and the women followed. He cut a thin slice of bread for each of them. “Members of the Underground don’t keep regular hours. All times of the day and night they come and go.”

  Anki and Johan sat at the table, but Cornelia couldn’t. Rubbing her hands together, she stood behind her sister.

  Anki turned and placed her hand on top of Cornelia’s. “Do you think something bad has happened to him?”

  Cornelia pulled away and rearranged the empty salt and pepper shakers on the counter. “My heart doesn’t feel the same cold absence it did when Hans died. Deep inside me, I knew it.” She tapped her chest. “But my mind insists on conjuring up the worst scenarios.”

  Her sister brought her empty plate from the table. “So you care about him. As a man.” Anki turned Cornelia to face her, her touch gentle.

  She leaned on the counter. “He is warm and tender and awakens my senses. Some of these emotions are familiar. Some are new and different. I don’t know what to think or what to feel.”

  “Corrie, you more than care for him. You love him.”

  Cornelia slammed the door in the face of that notion. She brushed past her sister to clear Johan’s plate.

  He got up and handed it to her. “Anki’s right. For the past few weeks, I have seen the two of you together. I would have to be blind not to see how he looks at you. And how you look at him, following his every move. ‘Oh, Gerrit, let me help you with that.’ You are as taken with him as he is with you.”

  “You two are crazy. Especially you, Johan. You are more starry eyed over Gerrit than I am.” She tipped her head. “‘Oh, Gerrit, you are so brave. Let me help you.’”

  Johan gave her a little shove. She shoved him back.

  Anki switched into big-sister mode. “That is enough from both of you. I guess I am the only one not smitten by Gerrit’s charms.”

  She wrapped an auburn curl around her finger.

  Now Johan gave Anki a playful push. “That is only because you are married.”

  Shadows crossed Anki’s face. “I miss Piet terribly.”

  Recollections assailed Cornelia. She and Hans gliding down the frozen canal on their skates, later sipping hot chocolate to warm their icy insides. Their long walks through the fields, jumping sloten, ditches filled with water, laughing when she didn’t quite make it over one and got soaked. Holding hands as they sat beside each other in tsjerke. Stolen kisses under the moonlight on the cobblestone street. One night of bliss as he made her his wife.

  Though it ended in tragedy, their love had been amazing. She had been blessed to have him for the time she did. After all, it had been worth it. Even had she known the end, she wouldn’t have missed out on that happiness.

  That kind of joy came along once in a lifetime. Nothing could compare.

  CHAPTER 26

  Gerrit hurried through the dark, deserted streets toward Cornelia. The kind old couple, Pake and Beppe, had been most good to him, but he missed her. Twenty-four hours without her laugh or smile or touch and his world had ceased to spin.

  Was this what true love was li
ke?

  And if it was love blossoming between them, did she have room in her heart for him? Or would it forever belong to Hans?

  Not that it really mattered. Bear was right. Distractions could cost him and many others their lives. Already he put himself in additional, unnecessary danger so he could see her. But he had to spend some time with her. He wanted to breathe in her fresh scent, touch her soft hand, hear her lilting voice. Maybe he would get brave and kiss her when he left.

  Or maybe not.

  He shook his head. He didn’t want to hurt her. She had lost someone dear already. He thought she loved him, but he wouldn’t take a chance and play with her emotions. He would put on his mask, the one he used to hide what churned inside him, and try to keep his distance.

  But he just had to see her.

  Tonight the streets remained empty and he didn’t encounter any soldiers. He made it across the canal in a short amount of time. Not wanting to stand exposed, he didn’t knock but opened the door and stumbled inside.

  “Hello?”

  Cornelia came running from the kitchen, sliding to a halt in front of him.

  And then she embraced him. He couldn’t breathe and didn’t know if it was because she squeezed him so hard or simply because she was in his arms. Whatever the reason, he relished her—being so close to her, her heart pounding, her breathing heavy.

  “I thought something had happened to you. All this time, where have you been? Don’t ever do this to me again.”

  He tilted her chin upward and studied her. She did care. At least enough to have worried about him. And he very well might break her heart tonight. Now his breathing became heavy.

  Should he change his mind? He didn’t have to do this.

  Dorathee.

  His fellow Resistance workers.

  The men executed at the canal.

  Ja, he needed to do this.

  He kissed her forehead in a brotherly manner, though he wanted so much more. She clung to him. “They gave me an assignment for tonight and we had to go over all the details. All night we worked, until dawn arrived. By then, it was too dangerous for me to come home. I got some sleep and came as soon as I could. Pray for me, but trust God.”

  She stroked his cheek and a static charge rushed to his toes.

  He moved toward the front room. “We need to talk.”

  “About what?”

  “You know what they say about curiosity. The cat who sticks his nose in the mouse’s hole will get bit.”

  “I have never heard that before.”

  “Because I just made it up.”

  She laughed then, a beautiful laugh, almost like a song. “You have a strange sense of humor.”

  “Bedankt.” He bowed and she laughed harder, the sound full of joy.

  How could he leave her?

  HIS LAUGHTER WASHED over her and its warmth seeped through her. Cornelia hadn’t meant to be so bold when Gerrit came home, but she couldn’t help herself. He was safe. She wished he would stay here, protected under this roof with her.

  But then his smile dropped like weights had been hung on each corner. He sat on the sagging, old blue davenport. “Come here and talk to me for a while.” He leaned forward, hands on his knees.

  She sat next to him, his blond brows drawn. He cracked his knuckles. “I need to tell you something.”

  If she kept the conversation neutral, maybe she could delay the bad news. “This morning I got a little yogurt from Frou de Bruin, you know. Johan and I had some for supper, but we saved you a bit for tomorrow.”

  Neutrality didn’t work for the Netherlands when it came to Germany, and it didn’t work for her.

  “I need to leave in a couple of hours on an important mission.”

  A flock of birds fluttered in her stomach. She cocked her head but didn’t answer.

  “I don’t want to worry you, but it is dangerous.”

  Telling her not to be concerned was like telling water leaking through a dike to go back behind the barrier. “How dangerous?”

  “Many men don’t return from it. For your own safety, it is best that I not tell you more.”

  Nee. She covered her ears, as if not hearing the words could make them go away. A minute ago they had been laughing. Now he told her he may not come back from his mission.

  How much more would the Lord demand of her?

  She turned her back on him and unplugged her ears. “Please don’t go. Please. I, we …” Just a little crack in her heart and this happened.

  Unable to face him anymore, she fled to the sanctuary of her bedroom and slammed the door behind her. She hated this—all of it. The war, the destruction, the loss.

  Oh God, why have You forsaken me?

  She lay on her bed, overwhelmed and spent. As the night progressed, she drifted in and out of sleep, memories intertwining with dreams. Sweet kisses and gunshots. A caress and the whistle of bombs. Love and loss.

  A light knock at her bedroom door woke her. “Cornelia? Are you all right?”

  Gerrit. She didn’t want to face him now. She answered without opening her door. “I’m fine.”

  “I’m leaving.”

  How could he? “Please be careful.”

  “I will.”

  NO BREEZE STIRRED the night air. Darkness cloaked the town, only a sliver of the moon shining in the sky. Gerrit patted the pocket of the old, long, black wool coat that once belonged to Cornelia’s father. Inside the pocket lay the bribe money.

  As he did last night, he scuttled through the dark, deserted town, keeping close to the buildings, hiding in their shadows. He met no patrols. To him it seemed as if there were fewer soldiers around. Perhaps troops were being called to the front to fight the advancing Allies. The Canadians knocked on Friesland’s door. The people could almost feel their liberators’ breath on their necks. Yet so much remained to be accomplished.

  In a little while, the town hall loomed before him, its old brick facade weathered and discolored over the years. Peeling paint marred the small cross-topped dome. Yet it stood prominent in the town, only a little shorter than the tsjerke steeple. He had rescued Johan from here, but tonight things were different. The building loomed in front of him. He locked his knees to keep them from clunking together. He needed to be as quiet as a breeze but as swift as a gale.

  He slid around the corner. With his back against the wall, he moved to the rear of the building and found the door the employees used to gain entrance. One guard stood sentry, the one he needed to pay off. He steadied his breathing, then strode forward as if out for a Sunday stroll.

  He nodded to the soldier, a Dutchman from what he had been told. Neither spoke to the other. Gerrit pulled the envelope filled with reichsmarks from his inside jacket pocket and handed it to the guard.

  The short, stocky man fingered the bills while Gerrit watched, not daring to blink. The guard then turned and walked away.

  Gerrit slumped against the rough bricks. His mission had just begun.

  Bear warned him one guard watched the inside of the building at night. He made his rounds through the town hall every half hour. Gerrit’s watch read a quarter to two. He had less than fifteen minutes to get in, grab the goods, and make his escape.

  He slipped his hand in his pocket and fingered the key Bear had given him. The local Resistance group had paid the guard a hefty sum of money some months ago to take possession of this key. His fingertips touched the cold metal and he shivered from head to toe. His hands shook as he reached for the doorknob. The key slid from his grasp and clattered to the pavement, the noise echoing down the narrow street.

  Gerrit braced himself, waiting for hordes of soldiers to swoop down on him. Should he run or would that mean a bullet in the back? Not hearing any footsteps, he stood without moving, a mouse afraid he had been discovered by a hawk.

  Five or more minutes passed before he dared to move again. No one heard, or if they had, they didn’t investigate. He retrieved the key and held it tighter, not giving it a chance to slip throug
h his fingers.

  The slice of moonlight slid between the heavy clouds. Concentrating on the task at hand, but with one ear tuned for any noise behind him, he unlocked the door. Once he gained entrance, he shut the door behind him and slipped off his shoes, tying the laces together and slinging them over his shoulder.

  Grasping the small flashlight Maarten had given him, he made his way down the hall. His heart thrummed in his ears and the beam of light bounced off the walls. He clutched the torch tighter, needing to keep the glow aimed at the floor, and licked the salty sweat from just above his lip.

  The map Junior had drawn and then torn up was perfect, and Gerrit soon located the secretary’s office. He extracted a pick from his jacket pocket and jimmied the lock to the door in short order. He had broken into his sisters’ room numerous times during his boyhood. Trespassing sometimes paid off. God had a funny way of preparing him for this work.

  He didn’t dare smile at the idea.

  He stood in the middle of the office, sure everyone in the neighborhood heard the old, scratched floor creaking under his stocking feet.

  Junior told him the secretary kept the ration cards in a sack locked in her large bottom desk drawer.

  Every thump of his heart meant another second went by. The guard would head this way any minute.

  He stepped around the gray metal desk, stopping every time the floor squeaked. The lock took a couple of precious minutes to open. He picked at it and jiggled it and at last, with a shaking hand, he pulled open the drawer. The cards sat in there, right where Junior said they would be.

  He glanced around, his pulse throbbing throughout his body. He didn’t waste time but grabbed packets of ration cards by the handful and stuffed them down his shirt—front and back—and into the pockets of his coat. He slid the drawer shut, scampered from the room, and closed the door with a soft click. The guard’s boots clomped on the stairs above him, coming down.

  Before he could move, the sentry shone a light in his eyes.

  CHAPTER 27

  Cornelia sat in a chair beside the window in her darkened room, daring to lift the blackout shade and watch the street below. A narrow shaft of moonlight fell across her lap, illuminating the thin gold band on the third finger of her right hand. With the hard work she had done in the years she had worn the ring, some of the luster had worn away. She twisted it, remembering her utter joy when Hans slipped it over her knuckle.