Ingrid must have read something on his face. “Are you okay, Uncle?” she asked with concern.
Josef looked blankly at her. “Yes, yes,” he responded. Then after a slight pause added, “Come in. Come in.” He could only hope his invitation would deter her from further investigation.
He checked the streets to see if the neighbors had noticed the car. He was sure by now that they were convinced he was a Nazi sympathizer. As he closed the door, he wondered how he was going to keep up any pretense with his niece, how he was going to switch from such a deep inner stirring to socializing with Nazis.
Fortunately, Ingrid filled all the space. Throwing her arms around her uncle, she hugged him exuberantly. “We have such wonderful news, Uncle.”
Josef nodded and ushered them into the front parlor. Ingrid sat on the only couch, and Heinrich stood by the fireplace. “Do you mind if I smoke?” he asked.
Held shook his head. “I will go and get an ashtray.”
In the kitchen, he opened and closed cupboards loudly, feigning an attempt to search for the ashtray so he could just breathe deeply and calm himself. He was jarred, jangled. Her photograph in Michael’s hand had taken him back to a time he thought was forgotten. And now it was here, all around him, the ghosts in every corner, music that he would never hear or play again, her laughter, her eyes, her soft hands on his face…
He located the ashtray and, as he took hold of it, noticed his hand shaking. He took another deep breath before walking back into the parlor and handing the ashtray to Heinrich.
“So, you have news?”
Ingrid jumped up enthusiastically. “We are getting married.”
Held sat down hard on a chair and tried to digest this information. Did she mean she was going to marry the Nazi? That he was going to be related to a Nazi? It was bad enough that she was dating him. Surely she wasn’t going to further humiliate herself. In response, all he could manage was, “Oh,” and, realizing that was impolite, stood up, held out his hand, and offered it to Heinrich. “Congratulations.”
“We have champagne,” announced Ingrid. Held noticed a bottle in Heinrich’s hand for the first time. “Let’s open it and celebrate properly.”
Josef nodded and made his way back into the kitchen, and they followed him, laughing and joking, telling the story of how Heinrich had proposed.
“It was so romantic,” gushed Ingrid. “Heinrich took me out for a very expensive dinner and then for a beautiful walk along the canal, where he asked me.”
“The Führer encourages family values, and your niece threatened to leave me unless there was an understanding between us. And I have become accustomed to having a woman to take care of me,” Heinrich responded flatly.
“You know you wanted to ask me,” said Ingrid coyly. “I just helped it along.”
Josef nodded, only really half listening, his stomach knotted. In a time when food and gaiety was the last thing on most people’s mind, this exuberance just seemed an insult to decency. He buried himself in the cupboard to search for glasses. Caught up in their own world, neither Heinrich or Ingrid seemed to notice his anguish.
As he returned to the table with the glasses, Heinrich slapped him hard on the back. “So, now we are to be family, Uncle Josef,” he said jubilantly.
Josef stopped dead and swallowed before echoing, weakly, “Family.”
They poured the champagne and Heinrich lifted his glass in a toast. “To family and to us winning this war so we can all live happily,” he said, his glass high in the air. He punctuated his sentiment with, “Heil Hitler.”
Ingrid parroted, “Heil Hitler.”
Josef muttered something into his glass and quickly took a sip before there was any attention drawn to his lack of enthusiasm.
Ingrid fluttered about the kitchen. “As soon as this war’s over, we will settle in Germany and have beautiful babies together,” she preened.
Heinrich looked awkward. “Well, let’s not jump ahead,” he said. Josef noticed an odd look when he responded, the first time he’d seen something cloud the face of this pompous, arrogant man.
As Josef tried to assess it, Ingrid continued to twitter on. “You will of course come and live with us, Uncle.”
Josef almost choked on his drink. “Uh, well, but the university…”
“But they have the finest universities in Germany. Don’t they, Heinrich?”
Heinrich ignored her, seemingly wanting to move on from the conversation.
“I’m so happy,” Ingrid squealed, again, as she knocked back her drink.
Suddenly, overhead, something heavy clattered to the floor. Josef, almost choking on his champagne, prayed that they hadn’t heard it.
“What was that?” said Heinrich.
Josef’s body went limp. “Yes, it’s the, um… cat,” he sputtered out. “He likes to… wander.”
“I’ll get him,” said Ingrid, jumping up from the table. “I love Kat.”
Josef got to his feet, starting to panic. “Oh no. You stay here. I’ll find him.”
Ingrid responded forcefully, pushing Josef back into his chair. “No, you talk to Heinrich. You have much to discuss. My wedding plans, no doubt. Because, of course, you will give me away.” And before Josef could say anymore, Ingrid darted from the room, leaving him motionless, gripping his glass so tightly he was fearful of crushing it. Heinrich smiled awkwardly at him. They clearly had nothing to discuss.
Josef tried to force himself to drink calmly as he heard Ingrid’s voice moving about the upstairs landing. “Here, kitty, kitty.”
He could stand it no longer. Babbling something to Heinrich about a loose floorboard and some concern for Ingrid, he excused himself and raced up the stairs. When he arrived, he found Ingrid on the landing, looking up toward the attic, where books were splayed haphazardly down the stairs. The pile he had brought home for Michael. Kat must have knocked them down.
“This is where the noise came from,” she said, surveying the disarray. “Look at all these books, Uncle. You should really tidy up.” She started to make her way up the attic stairs. “This old attic hasn’t been used for so long; I wonder if Kat is stuck in there.” She continued up the stairs.
Josef moved quickly, reaching up for her hand and pulled her down the steps and into his arms for a tight, awkward hug, something he would never ordinarily do. “I’m so happy for you,” he burbled into her hair. “This is not the time, Ingrid. We should be celebrating. It is your engagement party. Come on downstairs. We can do this another time.”
“Oh, yes,” Ingrid giggled, squeezing his arm. “You’re right. He’s going to make such a lovely husband, don’t you think?”
“Of course he is,” said Josef, and he closed the landing door, taking her by the arm and escorting her down the stairs.
They found Heinrich in the kitchen petting the cat.
“There you are, Kat,” Ingrid exclaimed. She ran her hand along the cat’s back before moving to pour more champagne and continue their conversation. “I think getting married and settling down is just what is needed. Heinrich has been so busy, and I know he’s homesick. He’s always calling Germany.”
Heinrich shifted in his seat again. “It’s good, yes, to have some joy. There are many unfortunate events happening right now. But when we win, everyone’s life will be better.”
Ingrid nuzzled into Heinrich, who looked as uncomfortable as Josef felt.
Heinrich pulled away from her, changing the subject. “Did you hear, Professor, that the registration office was burnt down yesterday?”
“Yes, I heard,” Josef responded flatly. Not meeting the other man’s gaze, he opted instead to stare down into the champagne glass he was only pretending to drink from.
“We’re going to crack down on this,” Heinrich continued. “Whoever did it, don’t worry. We’re going to crush this resistance. Not everyone is good like you, one of us. If you hear anything, anything at all while you’re at the university, you must come to me at once. We will deal severely with
these traitors. And there are rewards for those who help.”
“A reward?” Josef couldn’t keep the ice from his tone.
Ingrid, growing impatient, changed the subject again. “We have so much to plan for the wedding, so much we need to talk about. Though Heinrich says we have to wait to be married until after the war,” she said sullenly.
Heinrich cut her short. “We don’t have time to discuss details right now. We must go, Ingrid. I have to get back to this fire inquiry.” Then, knocking back the rest of his drink, he stood.
“Okay,” Ingrid sighed reluctantly, following him into the hall and putting on her coat. “But we need to make time soon, Uncle Josef. We are going to have so much planning to do together. I should start coming over here much more.”
Heinrich ushered her out into the street, but she managed to turn and kiss her uncle on the cheek as they exited.
Held swallowed away his fear as her words echoed in his mind, “so much planning to do together.” How would he ever be able to keep Michael safe?
Chapter 22
On Tuesday, Hannah awoke early and, while it was still dark, made her way down the garden path and out to the workshop, taking with her a cup of hot coffee and also a little food.
She didn’t even pull on the light chain in the shed as she closed the door behind her, not wanting to draw the attention from her neighbors this early in the morning.
She found the airman in the corner, now sitting upright and huddled under the blankets she’d given him the first night. Reaching out to him in the darkness, she whispered, “Are you awake?” As her eyes started to adjust to the lack of light, she noticed his own were open and alert.
“Hi.” His voice was raspy, but calm. “I don’t think we’ve been formally introduced, even though you have been taking such good care of me for the last few days. My name is Joe Jankowski.” He reached toward her as she dropped to her knees. In taking his hand, she was heartened that his temperature seemed cooler than it had been over the weekend.
“Hannah,” she responded. “How are you feeling today?”
“Apart from being hit in the ribs by a meat hammer, I feel great,” he joked.
She handed him the cup of hot coffee. “Maybe this will help a little.”
He took it with a thankful nod.
Hannah studied him, carefully, as he sipped his drink. He was stocky, with dark hair and gentle brown eyes. He was only a hairsbreadth from being striking due to a broad nose.
“How did you find your way to my house?”
“It wasn’t easy, I can tell you.” He had a strong Brooklyn accent. She recognized its musical cadence from the New York students she knew at the university. “I came down about a mile from here. My parachute didn’t open properly, which is how I managed to get this wound in the ribs when I hit a tree coming down. I hid my chute in some woodlands, under a pile of leaves. It took me hours to limp here. It’s fortunate your house backs onto the woods. I just hoped if I could get to somebody that was Dutch that maybe they could lead me to the Underground.”
Hannah nodded. “I don’t know if I can help you, but I’m going to try.” She gave him the hard lump of dark-brown bread that she’d had in the larder.
“Wow,” he joked, “you guys know how to eat here in Holland.”
“Trust me,” Hannah chuckled in return, “that’s good. Look, I will find out how to get you out. You should be safe in our workshop for a few days. Do you need anything?”
His eyes lit up as he rolled his words. “I’d love a cigarette. Would you happen to have a smoke?”
Hannah shook her head. “You’ll have to be careful about the smoke. My father used to have a pipe. It must be here somewhere. Does that interest you at all?”
“A pipe?” Joe smirked. “My grandfather smokes a pipe. Do I look that old?”
“It’s all I have,” laughed Hannah.
“Okay, I’ll take it.” He sealed the negotiation by slapping his hand on his thigh.
Hannah looked about the shelves of the workshop and located her father’s old pipe and a tiny amount of shredded tobacco in a tin. She handed it to him.
“Who knew that when I joined the war, they’d be rationing tobacco and turning me into Sherlock Holmes?” He comically posed with the pipe, then winced with pain.
Shaking her head, Hannah cautioned him, “Please be careful. Your body is still repairing. I will change these before I go,” she added as she began to methodically unravel his bandages. “Hopefully I’ll be able to find something out to help you today.”
She changed and cleaned his wound and added fresh bandages to it. He watched her in awe. “You’re a regular Florence Nightingale. You sure you’re not a nurse?”
“I am first-aid trained. I have to be for my work,” she informed him, finishing up. “Unfortunately, I have nothing for you to read,” she apologized as she got up to leave. “Everything I have is in Dutch. Do you speak Dutch?”
Joe shook his head. “But I guess now would be a good time to learn,” he said ruefully. “Do you have a pack of cards perhaps?”
Hannah nodded and reached up to one of her father’s shelves, where he’d always kept a pack.
“My mother used to make me play solitaire when I got too boisterous,” he said. “Now it might actually do me some good.”
“I’ll be back later,” she assured him and made her way to the house to get ready for work.
Leaving before it was fully light, she walked through the dark-blue morning. The day was warm and pleasant, and the natural world was alive with the activities of spring. At Mrs. Oberon’s house, new starlings called out to their parents from a tightly bound nest tucked in the eaves. Sparsely feathered heads bobbed about, their bulbous eyes, still closed, overshadowed by large open beaks waiting hungrily to be fed their breakfast.
Hannah knocked quietly at the door and waited for her old friend. Mrs. Oberon was an early riser, and if she could trust anyone who might know about the Underground, it would be Oma.
After a moment’s pause, Hannah heard the woman’s familiar shuffle, and in the transom above the door, a light went on. Mrs. Oberon appeared in the doorway looking concerned, and then a smile broke out across her face as she noticed who was waiting there for her on her doorstep.
“Hannah, what a lovely surprise. What are you doing here so early in the morning? Please come in.” The older woman gestured Hannah inside as her two plump cats greeted Hannah at the door. Mrs. Oberon admonished the rather demonstrative tabby as it threaded its warm, furry body through Hannah’s legs. “Move back, Tiger. Let our visitor in.”
Mrs. Oberon ushered Hannah into her warm little kitchen, where lines of clean laundry hung from wooden drying racks and a black cast-iron kettle bubbled merrily on an open range.
“What can I do for you?” asked the older lady. Her face furrowed with concern. “Is Clara okay?”
“We are both fine. But… I wonder if you know anything about the Resistance?”
Mrs. Oberon’s face lit up. “Are you planning on working for them?” she responded with glee, as though she approved.
“Not on purpose,” responded Hannah, “but I may need to speak to somebody.”
“Uh-huh.” Mrs. Oberon nodded. “Well, I don’t get out much myself. But I did hear from Mrs. Janson,” she continued in a whisper, even though she lived alone, “that last year, when there was the talk of English fighters being shot down, Mr. Markus at the butchers was the one who helped get them out of the country.”
“Good,” responded Hannah hopefully, “that sounds like a place to start.”
“Do you have time for tea?” Mrs. Oberon implored, her face alight with expectation.
Hannah, knowing Oma loved company, responded, “I would love a cup,” even though she didn’t really feel like another drink.
“Good.” Mrs. Oberon bustled her way to the stove, where she put two large teaspoons of inky black tea into a dainty blue teapot, followed by steaming hot water from the kettle. Twenty minutes late
r Hannah was back on her way to work, deciding she would go to the butchers later.
As this was the day she only worked till lunchtime, she eventually got to the butchery around 1.30 p.m. and joined the other housewives in line. Waiting for over an hour, she listened to the neighborhood women confiding in each other the best places to get their produce to feed hungry families. Once she reached the front, she drew herself close to the counter and whispered to Mr. Markus as he weighed out some pork chops for her, “Mr. Markus? I might need some help.”
The butcher’s large, hairy eyebrows rose a little, seeing the need in her face. He didn’t say anything but listened intently as he continued to pack the thin slivers of meat.
“I have an issue and need to talk to somebody who might be…” she tried to use her words carefully, “sympathetic toward the Allies.”
Mr. Markus grunted and continued to pack her chops, moving to the back of the shop to wrap her dinner in brown paper. He stamped her ration card and handed her the tightly packed bundle. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Pender, I can’t help you. I don’t know how to advise you.”
She was surprised at how brusque he was, how he seemed to want her to leave the shop, but when she arrived home later and unpacked the meat, she understood why. Inside the brown wrapping, he had scribbled an address and the time 5 p.m.
Chapter 23
In the late afternoon, Hannah slipped out the back door, telling Clara she needed to finish her errands. She had decided not to worry her mother by telling her where she was going. At least Joe was doing better when she’d checked on him earlier, even starting to stand and move around. He joked about taking her dancing now he was up on his feet again.
The streets were quiet and the air crisp as she passed by a group of soldiers who waved her through on her journey into a part of Amsterdam she hadn’t often ventured into. The area of the city, known for its artistic, bohemian community, experienced very little violence and offered a quiet place for poets and painters. Apart from the odd Resistance poster or eloquent graffiti-covered wall, the neighborhood hardly seemed worthy of the Nazis’ time. The houses were brightly colored in the Dutch style, set back on the pavement, reaching into the sky. The smell of paint and brewing coffee scenting the air.
A View Across the Rooftops: An epic, heart-wrenching and gripping World War Two historical novel Page 14