She and Marijke stood in line for Immigration. The wait was maddening. It was never quick, but today it seemed as if flights from every country in the world had arrived at the same time. Nora finally reached the red line painted on the floor that meant she was next. After a few moments, the douane motioned her forward. Nora paid no attention to him other than to hand over her passport. She saw Marijke in line a few rows over and smiled at her. Marijke rolled her eyes.
“Are you in Amsterdam for business or pleasure?”
“Pleasure.” If she had said business, she’d have had to explain what kind and answer other annoying questions she had no time for. She reached to take back her passport, but the douane shook his head and then looked up at her.
“Is there a problem?”
He stared at her, then looked down at her passport, turning its pages.
“I’m sure everything is in order and I’m in a hurry.”
“Just one moment, please.” He spoke with the stiff, authoritative voice of all petty officials. “Where will you be staying?”
Nora was surprised. She’d never been asked that. “With a friend,” she said curtly.
“Address?”
“Is that necessary?” He just gave her a look that said he held all the cards. She shrugged. “Prinsengracht 353.” He gave her another piercing look, copied the photograph page of her passport and then waved her through.
Nora hurried to meet Marijke at the exit. After a short tram ride, Nora stepped out onto the wet cobblestones and lugged her suitcase up the steep stairs to Marijke’s flat, with Marijke huffing behind her. Fortunately, Marijke lived on the first floor, which in Holland meant the second. When Nora was last here, Marijke had lived in a four-story walkup. “Godverdomme,” Marijke cursed as she struggled with the lock. “Why do I live in an old canal house? I could be in the country with a rich husband and two children.”
Nora put her bags down and walked to the large bay window in the living room. Outside people passed by with shoulders hunched against the wind, their feet sometimes slipping on the wet cobblestones. Looking past them, Nora saw the canal, its brown water flowing quietly by, interrupted by a guide blaring out the history of Amsterdam on yet another endless city boat tour. Nora smiled and pointed. “If you moved away, you wouldn’t have this.”
“Ja, ja.” Marijke stood next to her. “You’re right. I’m too set in my ways to change now.”
After Nora unpacked in the small guest bedroom, Marijke insisted that she have a cup of tea and a broodje before she rushed off to the Instituut. Nora knew it would be useless to refuse. The Dutch believed that unless one fortified oneself constantly with coffee, tea or a heavy meal, one ran a risk of starvation, even if walking only from the Prinsengracht to the nearby Herengracht, where the Instituut was located.
“Why don’t we call some of your friends?”
Nora thought of Fina, Gertrude, Liesbet. Fina laughing at parties, walking with Gertrude in the Vondelpark, the pleasant hours spent with Liesbet sifting through the flea markets. And there was Jan Brugger, her old boss. She shook her head. “What could they do?”
“They could give you moral support. Who knows how else they could help?”
“Fina is a lawyer, Gertrude is an insurance agent and Liesbet runs an employment agency.”
“Don’t you want to see them?”
“Not now. I can’t spare time away from the Instituut.”
“I could invite them to dinner.”
“Marijke, it would seem like a homecoming party. While Rose is lost out there, I just can’t deal with it.”
“Perhaps later.”
“Maybe.” She smiled. “Besides, you’re all the moral support I need.”
“Tell me if you change your mind.”
“I will.” Nora finished the broodje ham quickly and stood. “It’s time.”
Marijke nodded. “I’m staying here. At least I still have a job.”
“You’re not serious?”
“You didn’t hear me on the phone with the university president?”
“No.”
Marijke winked. “I told him that I had contracted a terrible case of rare American flu that was highly contagious.”
Nora laughed. “Let me guess. He begged you to stay away.”
“Alders, in his heart of hearts, believes that all air travel is life threatening.”
“And your mother?”
“I’ll check in with her now that I have the plague.”
Nora gave Marijke a quick hug. “Time to go.”
“Good luck.”
Tension snaked through Nora’s body. Marijke must have seen it. She gave Nora another hug. “Hou je sterk,” she whispered.
Nora tried to reply, but the words stuck in her throat. Whatever she found, would she be strong enough to face it?
17
Shortly after his return to Amsterdam, Ariel sat at his station in the Immigration area behind a high white desk surrounded on three sides by glass. He faced a flood of passengers who had to be cleared before they could leave Schiphol and walk into Amsterdam. He had been an agent for so long that his mind today, as on most days, was on autopilot.
He thought about his life. He had always wanted to become a musician. His lifelong hobby had been playing the saxophone in jazz bands around Amsterdam. He had desperately wanted to study at the music conservatory and had asked Isaac to contribute part of the tuition. All he got was the skeptical, stubborn look Isaac had given him when he spoke of his future. No, Isaac had said. I’ve been an immigration officer all my life. Isn’t that good enough for you? Haven’t I always provided for my family? In the end, Ariel followed in his father’s footsteps but castigated himself for his weakness. He had tried to keep playing with the band, but it meant late nights and lousy pay, and when he married Leah, he gave it up. Last year he had given his saxophone to a friend. It felt as if he had cut off his arm.
At least he had kept up his martial arts. It gave him a physical outlet and the grueling bouts reassured him that he was strong, that he did have some control, that he could use it if he needed it. It also gave him respite from mourning Isaac and the awful fear he felt about being found out and losing Rose. The only other thing he still did outside work was coach a Little League soccer team with Peter, his best friend and brother-in-law. He wanted so badly to confide in someone, to tell him about Rose, Isaac’s murder, the whole mess. The pressure he felt was maddening. Maybe Peter could just listen. He had discussed it with Leah, but they had agreed not to tell anyone.
How could Ariel risk it? No, they first had to settle into their new life with Rose and let some time pass until he felt that he would not be found, arrested, jailed. God, he couldn’t think about it anymore! Instead, he remembered the small trips he and Leah had taken around Holland, walking and occasionally visiting the graveyards of important writers. Both were well-read and, odd as it seemed, they enjoyed looking at the tombstones, which often revealed personal tidbits about the authors. But now Leah was consumed with taking care of Rose and had little time for him.
So he had spent the days since his return in boredom, looking at passports, checking that the face matched the photo and ensuring that the passenger was not on the daily list of criminals or those trying to sneak into the Netherlands illegally. Over the years, he had caught a number of such types, smiling calmly at them while he pressed the security button under his desk. The reaction when the guard arrived was always the same. Who? Me? There must be a mistake!
Ariel would shake his head. Did they really believe that, in 1980, the international immigration systems were blind? But there was always someone who thought he could beat the system.
As he went through the motions, beckoning passengers, checking and then waving them through, Ariel thought about Leah. His heart lifted. Every touch of Rose’
s skin, every burbly smile, brought a look of delight to Leah’s face that he had never seen before. As the days passed, a silent agreement unfolded between them. She did not ask him what he had done to try to return Rose and he didn’t raise the subject.
But Amarisa had increasingly taken over. She demanded that Rose spend every other day with her. She did not disclose what she did with the child, but every time they returned, Rose sported a new outfit. Amarisa always seemed to be on the hunt for some baby accessory, such as the speaker device that let Ariel or Leah hear her from the nursery. And now Amarisa gave them even more money each month and had bought them a used Daf so they wouldn’t have to rely on public transportation if Rose got sick. Amarisa had given a large deposit to a prestigious preschool with a long waiting line. By the time Rose was old enough, she would have a place. Amarisa had also begun a college fund for her and intended to see that she was properly educated.
No matter how uncomfortable Ariel was with Amarisa’s newfound generosity, he had to accept it. Leah had quit her job to care for Rose. Without Amarisa’s bounty, they could never have stayed in Amsterdam, the most expensive city in Holland.
Amarisa had also insisted that she be responsible for drawing up legal documents that confirmed Rose was their legitimate daughter. She had made it clear that this was contingent upon their agreement that she be named as Rose’s guardian with power of attorney over any decisions about Rose’s future. Ariel had no idea how she did it, but within a week, Amarisa had handed him a passport in the name of “Jacoba Rachel Rosen,” as well as a fake birth certificate. Ariel knew from Isaac that Amarisa dealt with shady characters in the diamond trade, but he had never asked for details and she never told.
Ariel had signed the papers. What choice did he have? She could blow the whistle on him any time she chose. Maybe if he curried her favor, she would let them have more say in Rose’s life. Would she try to take her from them? Ariel couldn’t bear to think about it.
When they first brought Rose home, Ariel had explained to their friends and neighbors that Jacoba had come to them by way of a private adoption. Everyone was thrilled for them. An impromptu baby shower had followed. Amarisa had insisted upon attending, grasping Rose tightly in her arms and glowering from the couch. For Ariel and Leah, the celebration made it real. They finally had a daughter.
He now brought his mind into the present. The next passenger walked from behind the red waiting line and handed him her passport. He looked at it briefly and raised his stamp. Then the name jumped out at him. Nora de Jong. His heart lurched as he looked up at the woman. Could it be?
He gripped the passport to keep his hands from shaking as he checked the date of birth. It fit. When he saw the Houston address, he felt sweat snake down the back of his neck. The same fucking address! But Abram’s daughter? What in hell was she doing here?
He could barely breathe. Had he made a mistake? Left a clue that led her to him? To Rose? Now he stared at her. Tall and thin, her black hair thick and unruly—just like his. His cousin! Damn it, he thought he saw the resemblance—dark eyes, high cheekbones, the slight dimple of his father’s chin. He looked down at the passport, but it swam before him. God, what should he do? When he looked up, he saw her eyes dart from him to the exit.
“Is there a problem, Officer?”
Ariel felt nauseous. He managed to clear his throat. “Are you here on business or pleasure?”
“Pleasure,” she said.
He picked up a pen. “And where will you be staying?”
“In Amsterdam.”
“Address, please?”
“Is that really necessary?”
He shrugged. “New security policy.”
She shook her head. “Prinsengracht 353.”
He nodded briskly, wrote down the address and made a copy of her passport photo. She seemed too distracted to notice that this was unusual. Finally he stamped her passport and watched her stride to collect her luggage. Another arriving passenger walked toward him. Ariel waved him over to an adjacent line and put the closed sign on his countertop. He signaled a colleague who was on break.
“Ron,” he said hurriedly. “I just got a message that my father is ill. Could you take over for me?”
“Of course,” he said. “I hope it’s nothing serious.”
Ariel hurriedly gathered his things, then looked at his colleague. “I’m afraid it’s a matter of life and death.”
He almost ran to the airport exit, breathing heavily, not from exertion but terror. What could he do to keep her from finding him—and Rose? What if she already knew? He caught a tram and couldn’t wait for the passengers to board.
Was there a way he could frighten her enough to go home without revealing himself? And if that didn’t work, what then?
18
Ariel slammed the door behind him. The apartment had never been such a welcome sight. The white couch against the window, the coffee table covered with magazines, the antique dining table. “Leah! Where are you?”
Leah came running from the nursery. “Shh! The baby is sleeping. What’s wrong?”
Ariel tried to calm himself. “The baby’s mother—she’s here!”
Leah’s eyes widened. “How do you know?”
“She came through Immigration. I saw her passport.”
“But why—?”
“I don’t know, but she must have found out something!”
“Oh, Ariel! Do you think she knows it was you? Will she be coming here? What do we do?”
Ariel pulled her down on the couch next to him. His hands were shaking. “I don’t know. Maybe we should just take the baby and leave until we’re sure she’s gone.”
“We have to give her back! The police could be on their way right now!
Ariel wanted to cry. “Is that what you want to do?”
“Of course not!” Tears slid down Leah’s cheeks. “But we have to—I told you that.”
“We don’t know what she knows. Maybe I can find out, follow her, see what she’s up to.”
“What good will that do?”
Ariel vigorously shook his head, jumped up and paced the room. “I don’t know. I have to come up with a plan. We can’t just give her up. You love her, too, don’t you?”
“Oh, God, of course I do.”
“Then let’s not panic. I’ll get a leave from work and follow her. I have the address where she’s staying. Maybe I can scare her off.”
Leah glanced at her watch. “Amarisa! She’ll be here any minute to pick up Rose. What do we tell her?”
“Nothing. Not until we know more.”
“She’ll be furious if she finds out we’ve kept this from her.”
“God only knows what she’ll do if she thinks the baby may be taken away. I can’t deal with her right now. We’ll act as if everything is fine.”
Ariel heard Rose cry. Leah stood and wiped away her tears. “I don’t know how you think you can scare her off. It’s crazy.” She hurried to the nursery.
Ariel collapsed on the couch, his head in his hands. Now what? How in hell can I make this go away? I can’t take Rose from Leah. It’ll kill her. And where could we go? What would we live on?
The doorbell rang. “Shit.” When he opened the door, Amarisa pushed a new stroller into the foyer. It was sleek, navy blue, state-of-the-art.
“Look! I just bought this for my sweet little girl.” Ariel would never get used to seeing Amarisa smile. She looked up at him when he did not reply. “Why are you here? Shouldn’t you be working?”
“I...took a day off.”
Her dark eyes narrowed as she studied him. “Something is wrong. What is it?”
“Nothing.”
Leah walked into the room carrying Rose. Her eyes were red and tears rolled down her cheeks. “Dag, Amarisa.”
Amarisa pushed the stroller against the wall, took Rose from Leah’s arms and laid her gently down. The stroller was so deep Ariel couldn’t even see Rose burrowed somewhere beneath the covers. Then Amarisa faced them both with her bony arms crossed. “Vooruit. I want to know what’s going on. Is someone sick?”
“Everything is fine, Amarisa,” said Ariel.
The old woman stared at Leah. “Talk.”
A sob broke from Leah. “It’s the baby—her mother—” She ran from the room.
Ariel started after her, but Amarisa grabbed his arm. “Don’t make me get it out of her. You know I will.”
He shook her off. “Damn it, it’s none of your business.”
“What is it about the mother?”
Ariel felt his shoulders sag. She would find out, anyway. “She’s here. In Amsterdam.”
She looked aghast, then turned hard. “Does she know you have Jacoba?”
“I don’t know.” He felt so fucking miserable. “Leah wants to give the baby back—”
“Absolutely not.” Her words were whips. “She is our legacy, Abram’s and Isaac’s.”
“But Amarisa, what can we do?” He hated his whining. Why couldn’t he stand up to her?
Amarisa walked over to the stroller, leaned down and gave Rose a soft kiss. When she straightened, she glared at Ariel. “We aren’t going to do anything.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m taking Rose with me—permanently. I’ll protect her, give her a wonderful home, nannies, private schools, a proper place in society. And I’ll never let her forget her ancestry.”
“You can’t take her—she’s ours!”
“Yours?” A harsh laugh. “The kidnapper? The accomplice to murder? Don’t fuck with me, Ariel. If you so much as come near Jacoba, I’ll call the police and tell them that you confessed to murdering that bitch and stealing her grandchild.”
“You wouldn’t! Please, Amarisa—”
“You pathetic coward,” she sneered. “Where is the bitch staying?”
The Tulip Eaters Page 12
