He had taken her to heights and places that she could only have imagined before. He had been eager to consummate their relationship, and she had been happy to satisfy his urgent need for her. She loved the power she had felt over him, the way he had watched her undress, the way he had looked at her with such desire.
As she became fully awake, she was aware of a far-off voice and realized it was Heinrich’s; he was talking to somebody in the hallway. Ingrid propped herself up into a sitting position and stretched. This was how it was going to be, she thought as she looked around his stylish apartment. It was filled with expensive furniture and bathed in full morning light. This was how it was going to be being married to Heinrich. She smiled to herself for having finally got what she had always wanted. The love of a strong, handsome man who would take care of her.
From her new position, Ingrid could see through French windows onto Noordermarkt below, illuminated by the early morning sun. She had thought she would wait, wait at least until they were engaged, but last night had been the perfect moment. After visiting her uncle, they had been out at a dinner party with some of his friends and he had brought her here for a nightcap. Before long they had started kissing passionately, and he had pushed her, coaxed her, telling her how beautiful she was, making it obvious he wanted more. Ingrid had been unsure at first, wanting to go home, but Heinrich had used all his powers of persuasion, reminding her they were in love. And now, here she was, in her slip, waking up in Heinrich’s bed.
Sliding out of the sheets, Ingrid moved to the windows. It looked like it wasn’t going to rain for a change. She sauntered toward the bathroom. As Ingrid glanced down the hallway, she caught sight of Heinrich. He had his back to her, dressed in his trousers and shirt. She liked seeing him in a state of undress. It felt personal, intimate. Rarely seeing him without his jacket, Ingrid looked forward to the times that she would be his wife and would see him like this every day before cooking his breakfast.
She tiptoed into the hallway. Heinrich continued to talk on the telephone, all of his attention focused and intense. He was speaking very quickly in German so she only caught a couple of the words—she heard “Jew” and “underground.” He didn’t hear her as she came up behind him and slipped her arms around his waist.
Heinrich flinched, turning and communicating by his stern expression that this was unacceptable. Ingrid felt belittled, deflated. She forced a smile and withdrew her arms. He shifted uncomfortably, appearing uneasy at the proximity of her presence. He eyed her intently and, covering the receiver, whispered, “You need to fix your face.”
Ingrid was taken aback. Then she felt hot embarrassment rise to her cheeks as he turned his back on her again and continued his conversation uninterrupted.
Making her way to the bathroom, Ingrid berated herself for not checking her appearance in the mirror first before she approached him. Before shutting the door, she heard Heinrich swear and reasoned that there were obviously problems at work.
As she turned on the light, she thought about how much better their life would be once this stupid war was over. Seeing her reflection, she gasped. Her makeup, so meticulously applied the night before, was indeed in disarray. Her mascara had run in black rings under her eyes, and her red lipstick was smeared across her chin. No wonder Heinrich had rebuked her. She felt ashamed for not getting up first and cleaning off her face. Of course, Heinrich would expect her to be as impeccable as he was. After all, he was a very prestigious man. Always clean, always smartly dressed, and one day, as his wife, she would need to be the same.
Ingrid filled a sink with hot water, lathered up from a block of white fresh-smelling soap, and scrubbed at her face until it was red raw. She reached for her open-clasp bag and makeup, which she had used to make herself attractive to him the night before, and pulled out what she needed. Once her face was clean, she took time to reapply fresh makeup, paying particular attention, making herself up as attractive as she could be. Ingrid didn’t want Henrich’s last impression of her as he headed out this morning to be as unfortunate as the first.
Re-entering the bedroom, she noticed Heinrich was off the telephone and she could tell by the way he was moving around the room that he was not in a good mood, slamming doors and drawers as he finished dressing.
“Good morning, Heinrich,” she said, hoping to catch his eye again. Now that her makeup was reapplied, maybe she would be more acceptable to him.
Heinrich didn’t turn to meet her gaze. Instead, he put on his jacket. “I have an issue this morning. There is talk of unrest. Now it is spreading through Amsterdam. Apparently they are all talking about a strike. Can you believe it? All over the city, people are talking about marching in the streets.” He swore under his breath again. Tightening his belt, he turned to her. “You must dress quickly and go home.”
Ingrid deflated. “But you said that we could maybe take the morning off and go for a walk, maybe get some breakfast.”
Heinrich shot her a look. “That’s not possible today.”
Placing his cap on his head, he strode into the hallway.
“How will I get home?” Ingrid enquired meekly, not wanting to walk through the streets in the morning in her evening attire.
“My driver will take you,” he stated over his shoulder. “I will get him to come back for you once he has dropped me at work.” He turned to her and continued, “You must come to work as soon as you have changed. I expect to see you there no later than ten o’clock.”
Ingrid stopped just short of saluting. Sometimes she felt that Heinrich seemed to think of her as just another soldier. Someone to obey him, to do his bidding.
He must have read the wounded expression on her face because as she turned and walked to the bedroom, he softened his tone. “We will have time for walking the canals at the weekend, I’m sure, liebling. But now we have to work.”
With her back to him, Ingrid nodded as she gazed out the French windows. Across the square, there was a group of people, a mob, massing and walking toward their building. They held up signs and placards supporting the Jewish people, demanding that the German Army stop the roundups, and expressing outrage at the unfair treatment of Dutch Jews in Amsterdam. As the group approached, their voices raised, it caught Heinrich’s attention. Joining her at the window, he looked out at the gathering crowd over her shoulder.
“Can you believe it?” His tone was once again harsh and bitter. “These are Dutch people. Holland is one of the Aryan nations. They should be with us, not against us. Who cares about Jews? Everyone knows they are untermensch and that they need to be dealt with. Well, there’ll be severe repercussions. We will not let people get away with this.”
Ingrid nodded. “Of course. I’m so sorry, Heinrich. I can’t believe that my people do not see the benefit of the Third Reich. They do not see the good that you are doing. They do not see all the wealth that you will bring, and the peace. I’m embarrassed to be Dutch,” she added, with disgust. “I will help you in any way that I can.”
Heinrich turned Ingrid toward him. “You are one of the good Dutch for sure, meine liebchen.” The kind tone from the night before had returned. The gentleness in his eyes, the softness of his voice. He caressed the side of her face. “Now, I have to go. I must deal with this.”
His lips grazed her cheek. Then he was gone, out the door and away in his staff car.
Ingrid put on her evening gown once again, feeling awkward and self-conscious. Surely people in her building would know she had stayed out, probably with a man. She rolled back her shoulders. What did she care? No one really cared about her. Only Heinrich. She was his girlfriend now, and the Third Reich was her new family.
Ingrid sat waiting on a chair in the hall, her fur stole on and her sequined clasp bag on her lap. Heinrich’s driver returned about fifteen minutes later and escorted her to the car. Stepping out into the street, she couldn’t believe what greeted her. Hundreds and hundreds of people were amassed in the square, chanting and shouting and singing. They held up sig
ns supporting the Resistance and signs supporting Queen Wilhelmina and the royal family, though they were now in exile in England. Ingrid felt sick to her stomach. These people were making Heinrich’s job so hard.
As she moved toward the car with its swastikas, accompanied by Heinrich’s driver, she heard somebody yell something about being a Nazi lover. Suddenly Ingrid felt afraid, as if she were the enemy. It shocked her to think that they could be so hostile toward her. Somebody else screamed and swore at her, and a woman close by spat in front of her. Shaken, she hustled into the back seat.
The mob surrounded them and began banging on the car roof. The driver wasted no time jumping into the front seat and trying to inch his way through the furious crowd. Ingrid huddled in the back corner of the car, wanting to be taken home.
Chapter 13
Hannah carried two heavy shopping baskets, glad for a morning off work. She was pleased with her shopping expedition, and her ration coupons had stretched to allow her a good week of groceries for her and her mother. However, her thoughts were full of what she had witnessed earlier that morning.
As she’d turned the corner into Noordermarkt, she had been amazed to see that the normally quiet market square surrounded by cafés and shops was alive with people. Someone standing at the front of the crowd was rallying them as they cheered and yelled their support. She’d decided on turning around and taking a different way home when she’d been caught up by the words being said. A passionate speaker talked about raids that had happened the night before and encouraged people to attend a meeting that evening.
Hannah stopped to listen more intently. She didn’t live far from Jodenbuurt and had already seen the barbed wire and blockades that had gone up around the Jewish neighborhood. There were also awful tales she had heard while waiting in line at the butcher’s that morning; hundreds of Jewish men being rounded up. And this happening here in her precious Holland.
Wanting to hear more, she quickened her pace and made her way into the center of the square to join the crowd thronging there. She listened to the passionate speaker express their need to strike, to protest the treatment of the Jewish people and particularly the raids and roundups. There must have been hundreds of people listening. On the perimeter, bewildered German soldiers stood in nervous groups gripping rifles, unsure how to contain the frothing crowd of angry supporters.
As Hannah continued to listen to the speaker, someone handed her a flyer. On it, the words, “Strike! Strike! Strike!” She read through it and noted it had been handed to her by a member of the Communist Party. She had read that the Germans had now made the Communist Party illegal in Amsterdam, and it appeared they wanted to fight back.
Suddenly, a car drove away from the corner of the square, where angry voices were directed at it. Hannah caught a glimpse of a pretty blonde woman with a German soldier driving. From what the crowd was shouting around her, it appeared she was Dutch. The crowds continued to chase after the car and scream their displeasure. Hannah sighed and, despite herself, felt sorry for the young woman. Who knew her story? Anger was an easy emotion, quickly accelerated to rage.
As the car sped away, she turned back to listen to the speaker, an enthusiastic man in a heavy gray coat and cloth cap, who talked about the need for Amsterdam to be free. He then went on to protest the forced labor in Germany that the Nazis had also inflicted upon them. She listened to him finish, then popped the leaflet into her pocket and made her way home.
Her mother was standing nervously at the window, awaiting Hannah’s return. Before she could even put the key in the lock, Hannah could hear Clara hobble into the hallway on her cane. Hannah opened the door and Clara snapped at her.
“Did you hear? Have you heard about the treatment of the Jewish people in Jodenbuurt?”
Hannah closed the door and put her basket down to take off her coat. “Yes, Mama, everyone in town is talking about it.”
“What about Little Eva?” asked Clara. “Have you heard from her? Is she okay? She should have been here hours ago for her knitting lesson.”
“I went by their street but there are Nazis everywhere,” said Hannah, moving into the kitchen with her heavy baskets.
Clara followed her daughter, speeding along on her walking stick. “It is so awful,” she said. “I cannot believe this is Holland. These people are our friends, our families.”
“I know,” said Hannah, nodding her head. “I promise I will check, Mama. But there are barbed-wire fences, and soldiers are guarding their street. As soon as it is possible, I will walk over there. Until then, please don’t worry.”
Clara did not seem content with that. She moved back to the window, hobbling backward and forward on her stick to look up and down the street, as if that was going to give her some answers. Hannah made her mother a cup of tea, placing it in the sitting room on her favorite tea tray to entice her away from the window.
“I’m sure Eva will come by when she is able,” Hannah reassured her mother. “I’m sure they’re fine. Let’s have a cup of tea, and if we’ve not heard anything soon, I promise I will go and check this afternoon.”
Clara sighed a deep sigh and slowly worked her way back to her chair. Sitting down with another heavy sigh, she asked, “Is there any other news? Any other news out there that’s good?”
“Actually, I do have some news,” said Hannah, handing over the leaflet from the protest. “It appears that Amsterdam is fighting back.”
Her mother read it and smiled.
“Good, good,” she said, nodding. “I was hoping that somebody would do something like this.”
“Yes, they were all congregated in Noordermarkt,” explained Hannah, taking a gingerbread biscuit from a plate on the tray. “Apparently, the strike continues tomorrow.” She paused. “I saw a young woman,” she continued, taking a sip of her tea. “A young Dutch woman getting into one of the German officer’s cars today. She was on the edge of the square. People reacted so vehemently that I worried for her safety, but I understand their anger. How can anyone be friendly with these people? They have brought such oppression and sadness to our town.”
Clara nodded. “I fear for that young woman, too. She will probably come to a very sad end if she continues on the track she is on. Now the Germans have mighty strength, but one day, because I believe in goodness, we will have our town back. Then she will pay a terrible price for befriending the enemy.”
Hannah agreed, feeling concerned. “Everybody is just trying to get by the only way they can.”
All at once, there was a knock at the front door.
Clara clattered down her cup onto its saucer. “Go see who it is. See if it is Eva at last.”
Hannah nodded, replacing her own teacup before going. She opened the door to the tiny figure of Eva Herzenberg, and even though she was wearing a thick coat, she was visibly shivering on the doorstep.
“Come in, come in,” said Hannah. “My mother will be so glad to see you.”
As she helped Eva off with her coat, she marveled at how big she was becoming. Having attended school with Greta, Eva’s mother, Hannah had known Eva all her life, and this sweet ten-year-old had become an instant favorite with her mother. She visited a couple of afternoons a week to keep Clara company, which seemed to be good for both of them. As Hannah hung her coat on the hook, she remembered Greta’s overjoyed face at Eva’s arrival as if it were yesterday. The sheer joy of finally giving birth to the baby girl that she had so wanted, after having three boys.
“I’m sorry I didn’t come earlier,” Eva apologized. “I’m sorry it’s so late. A horrible thing happened last night.”
Hannah shut the door behind her, softly. “We know all about it,” she reassured. “Why don’t you come in and get warm by the fire?”
Eva continued all in one stream. “I couldn’t leave, Mama wouldn’t let us leave the house, she was afraid we would get taken like Papa got taken to those work camps last year, she didn’t want them to take us, to take my brothers.”
“Yes, ye
s,” agreed Hannah, stroking the girl’s hair and rubbing comforting circles in the center of her back. “Your mother was right to wait. Come now, Clara is waiting impatiently for word of you.”
Eva opened the sitting-room door to be greeted by her elderly friend from her chair, arms outstretched.
“Eva,” she cried. “I am so glad to see you. I have been so worried. Tell me, is your family well?”
The young girl ran to the woman’s arms and hugged her as if she would never let go. Then she told the whole tale. It tumbled out in one long jumble of words. Hannah stopped her before she got too far. “You will need some tea,” she said smiling and went to the kitchen to get Eva’s special cup. Once the tea was poured, they settled and as Eva warmed, the pink returned to her young cheeks.
What Eva told them was heart-wrenching. Nazis had come in the middle of the night, taking people randomly, pulling them from their beds, from their homes, from the arms of loved ones. They took anyone suspected of connections with the Resistance, rounding them up as if they were cattle.
Eva nibbled on a biscuit. “They even took Vince, the man who sharpens the knives in the corner square. You know Vince.” Her small face crumpled into acute concern. “Where will they take him? Where has he gone? Why are they doing this?” she asked desperately, tears appearing in the corners of her eyes. Then quietly, almost to herself, “Who will sharpen our knives now?”
Clara pulled her small friend up into her lap.
A View Across the Rooftops: An epic, heart-wrenching and gripping World War Two historical novel Page 9