by Liz Tolsma
In her daydream this time, though, when she looked up from her hand, she didn’t see Hans’s boyish, loving face smiling at her.
She saw Gerrit’s.
Because she loved Gerrit. Truly loved him. His gentle, caring manner. His loyalty and sense of duty. His strength and his conviction.
The realization startled her in one sense but not in the other. Long ago her heart had known it. Convincing her mind had taken more doing. Without him, she would be lost.
She had changed in the years since she had been married to Hans. The war had altered her. He would always be a wide-eyed twenty-one-year-old youth. She could no longer claim to be that innocent twenty-year-old girl he had married.
Now her life had intersected with Gerrit’s and these shared experiences bound them together.
She clasped her chest, a physical pain clawing at her ribs. She might lose him tonight or tomorrow or at any moment as long as this war lasted.
She wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her ratty pink robe and pressed her forehead onto the cool windowpane, gazing on the scene below. A black-and-yellow cat slunk down the street, in and out of the slice of moonlight. Nothing else moved about. Creatures of the morning wouldn’t stir for another hour or more. Creatures of the night had finished their hunt and returned to their lairs to sleep.
The person she longed to see step out of the shadows never did. If this mission carried so much danger, why did he decide to go through with it?
What had been his assignment? To him, deliveries were second nature. He wouldn’t characterize those as dangerous, even if that was how she thought of them. Rumors swirled about some of those low-flying English planes. The conjecture was that the English coordinated with the Resistance through secret messages on Radio Oranje. These planes would then drop weapons at times and spots designated in the coded messages.
Was that Gerrit’s undertaking tonight? He had refused to tell her, insisting it would be better that she not know.
Her stomach churned. She prayed not. Most of these ended in tragedy. All the Germans had to do was watch the planes and they could then catch those involved. Few came out alive.
She strained to hear the sounds of planes.
She pulled down the shade and kneeled by her bed, trying to pray. The words refused to come. More than anything, she wanted release from these years of paralyzing fear.
GERRIT STIFFENED HIS spine, his knees weak, his heart racing as fast as his mind. The beam from the sentry’s flashlight stung his eyes and gave him a headache. The musty smell of the old building assailed him. The night watchman took a step closer. “Who are you?”
Gerrit’s mind whirled and in seconds he devised a plan. Or part of one. He would make up the rest as he went along.
His aunt married a German, so he learned the language at a young age. He prayed he sounded enough like a native speaker to deceive the man. He couldn’t click his boots together as they still hung over his shoulder, but he gave a hearty, “Heil, Hitler.”
“Heil, Hitler. I ask again, who are you? And why are your shoes off?”
“Are you the guard?”
“Why do you want to know?”
Gerrit swallowed to keep the trembling from his voice. “I am Inspector von Kaiser. Turn off the torch.” He made his voice as official sounding as possible.
The man complied. So far, so good. God needed to keep feeding him these ideas.
The sentry approached him. “Inspector von Kaiser, I wasn’t expecting you. No one told me you would be here. How did you get in?” An edge of worry crept into the man’s words.
Gerrit didn’t offer his hand. He couldn’t allow the watchman to get a good look at him. Or touch his sweaty palm. When the secretary discovered the theft in the morning, the man would be grilled about any strange happenings and asked for a good description of “Inspector von Kaiser.”
“How did I enter without you detecting me? That is a very good question.” He cleared his throat. “Um, I am here to test your security measures, and you have failed. I entered through the front door, which was unlocked.” He hoped he didn’t cause the outside guard any trouble. “I removed my shoes because I wanted to see how far I got before you discovered me.”
“But I checked the door less than half an hour ago. I don’t understand. I tried the knob and it was secured. I assure you, sir, it was locked. I followed all of the procedures to the letter.”
“You lie,” Gerrit thundered. “What is your name?”
“Georg Heitzl.”
“And your rank?”
“Unteroffizier.”
“The inspector general will be most disappointed to hear this. I expect that in the next day or two you will be removed from your position. The best you can hope for is to be sent back to the Fatherland, to protect our boundaries. But for so grievous a breach of protocol, I should think you will be reassigned to the front.”
“I can’t go to the front. I was shot on the beach at Normandy and still have trouble with my leg. That is why I was assigned here.”
“That may have been then, but now the Canadians are advancing ever closer. Every man is needed to defend the Reich.”
“I won’t let it happen again. Please, sir, don’t send me back.”
“That is up to the inspector general. I will file my report with him in the morning and see what he has to say. That is all.” Gerrit put on his shoes, gave a last “Heil, Hitler,” though the words tasted bitter on his tongue, and marched out of the town hall.
The pale moon rose higher in the night sky and cast light across Gerrit’s path as the clouds scuttled away. He needed to stay hidden in the shadows. He scraped along the brick buildings.
He had gone a few blocks, picking his way, turning and weaving through town, when his back prickled. Sure he heard footsteps behind him, he dove around a corner, turned, and listened. Utter silence. Not even a dog barked. He had become paranoid.
He decided to continue down the side street but hadn’t gone more than a dozen steps when the sensation of being followed occurred again. He heard the whisper of someone’s arms swishing as they walked. His heart picked up its already frantic pace.
Much as he wanted to, if he ran, he would call too much attention to himself. The best thing to do might be to keep walking in circles until whoever followed him decided to either make his move or break off his pursuit. Gerrit strolled down the walk as casually as if there were no curfew and he wandered the town every night, passing the bakery, the tsjerke, the milk plant, the butcher, and numerous tidy houses, all slumbering. His legs shook the entire way.
He tried to avoid the canal, not wanting to draw his stalker anywhere near Cornelia. So he walked the streets of this unfamiliar town, the exercise warming him, though a clammy chill hung in the air. Sweat poured down his face and dampened his shirt, which now clung to his back. No matter his intentions, from time to time he caught the glint of moonlight off the canal.
After an eternity of this hunter and hunted game, he dared to peek over his shoulder. A shadow disappeared around the side of what had once been the dress shop. A giddy rush of excitement pulsed through him. His opportunity to shake his tail presented itself.
He plunged around the side of a different building, slithering down the narrow space, deep into the darkness, unable to be seen from the street. He waited and waited, ears pricked, eyes scanning the road, body tense.
Five, ten, fifteen minutes passed—he couldn’t tell how long—before steps echoed on the road. They paused every so often, then continued a little farther before stopping again.
The footfalls drew nearer and paused in front of him. Be merciful to me, my God, for my enemies are in hot pursuit.
He flattened himself against the wall and stood suspended. He didn’t dare draw in a breath or exhale.
CORNELIA SAT ON the old blue sofa, her feet curled under her so they would stay warm in the predawn chill, a cup of hot water in her hand. She blew the steam from her face and watched it swirl on a current. She had not s
lept. She had expected Gerrit long ago.
She set her cup on the small coffee table and wandered to the window, peeking out, hoping to catch a glimpse of him in the moonlight. For several minutes she stood peering into the darkness, seeing nothing.
She wandered back to the chair and sat for a minute, her feet curled under her as before. Then she shifted, folding her legs so she could set her chin on her knees.
Had she heard footsteps? She sat straight.
Wrapping her robe so it hugged her, she went to the front, sneaking a look out the window. A dark shadow appeared on the bridge, crossing the canal.
She recognized him, knowing his tall and thin but muscular build, the nod of his head as he walked, the way his left shoulder drooped just a little lower than the right. And that’s the figure that made its way toward the house.
She slung open the door and stood on the threshold waiting for him. He quickened his step and reached her in a minute, pulling her into the house. She took him into her arms, burying her head in the crook of his shoulder. Again, she was amazed how she fit in his arms so differently than in Hans’s. He smelled like fresh air and ink and she heard the crumple of papers as she embraced him.
So that’s where he had been.
He nestled his head against her neck, his breath warm. She trailed the tips of her fingers up and down his spine. He shivered and she held him tighter.
“Leafde,” he whispered. “My love.”
A quiver passed through her and he rubbed her arms, the gesture heating her from the outside in.
Together they stood for a long time. This moment could last forever.
Then Johan descended the stairs, stood at the landing, and cleared his throat. They jumped apart like children caught behind the schoolhouse.
“Sorry. I heard the door and wanted to see if you were still in one piece. Corrie sure has been worried about you all night, but I guess you figured that out.”
Gerrit laughed. “Yes, they didn’t get ahold of me. Not yet, anyway.”
Her breath hitched. “Did something happen?”
They moved to the kitchen where she sliced the tiny loaf of bread for breakfast, though only the first beams of sunlight streaked the sky with pink. He had impersonated a German inspector—was there even a position like that?—and gotten away with it. She marveled at his composure as he related how he had been followed. If that had been her, she would have been too petrified to move. They would have had to chip her from the pavement come the end of the war.
Then the creases in his forehead deepened and his smile turned. “At first I thought I might have been imagining things. But I am sure now I was followed.”
Johan leaned forward in his chair. “Followed? By whom?”
“I don’t know. I only glimpsed a shadow disappearing around a building.”
Cornelia picked at her slice of bread. “Then you could be mistaken.” Let him be mistaken.
“I sensed his presence and heard his footsteps. He followed me for a long time before I managed to shake him. But he might know who I am and that I am here.”
Johan shook his head. “I mean, you always have the best adventures. Where did you lose him?”
“I got turned around, so I don’t know exactly. Somewhere near the canal. Maybe I led him too close to you. I think I need to leave.”
CHAPTER 28
Gerrit sat next to Cornelia at the kitchen table in the early morning light, dark circles ringing his tranquil blue eyes. He was the man she loved, and the idea of being parted from him caused her throat to constrict. “Please don’t go. You imagined being followed. And if you were followed, you said you lost him. Then why would he know where you are hiding?”
He searched her face. “I tried to stay away from the canal, but I kept happening upon it. I have endangered both of you, and you will be safer if I’m gone.”
Johan licked his finger and dabbed the bread crumbs from his plate. “I agree with Corrie. You don’t need to go anywhere. Maybe I can even work with you—help you out with deliveries and such.”
“Nee. You stay here with your sister.”
Cornelia pushed back her chair. “But if you are in danger, isn’t Johan?”
Gerrit’s brow folded into a crease. He scrubbed his stubbly chin. “If they come looking for me here, I suppose he is.”
She could have turned off the lamps because her brother’s eyes would have lit the room. “Then I will have to move with you too. Where will we stay?”
Gerrit’s shoulders drooped. “I didn’t mean to endanger you. Perhaps it would have been better if I had left awhile ago.”
Cornelia squeezed herself. Both of them would be gone.
Gerrit shook his head. “Bear will help us find a place. Perhaps with a farmer away from town some distance since I am a wanted man here. I will be able to work more freely in the country.”
The country. She clapped her hands. “What about Frou de Bruin’s? She has that house and big barn all to herself. You could hide there and every day I could still see you.”
Gerrit smiled, his two dimples deepening in the creases of his cheeks. “That might work.” He stroked her loose hair. “I would have missed you so much.”
Johan groaned. “I have had to go through this mush with my sisters twice already. Don’t tell me I am in for it again.”
Cornelia chuckled but didn’t say anything while Gerrit smiled at her, turning her knees to hutspot.
Gerrit pushed his chair back from the table and stood, smoothing out the creases in his wrinkled black pants. “You might have to, Johan. If I have my say, you will.”
The new yet old quivering all the way to her toes didn’t leave Cornelia until she arrived at Frou de Bruin’s house.
Moving Gerrit somewhere else might be the best thing. Not only did her life stand in peril, but so did her heart.
THE ALWAYS-REGAL FROU de Bruin held court that morning, blue sapphire-like earrings dangling from her lobes, Cornelia her trembling subject waiting for her verdict. The old woman tapped her claw-like fingers on the worn surface of the table.
“Well, Cornelia, I must say, I never thought of you to be one hiding a Resistance worker.”
If only she could decipher if that was good or not.
“You astound me, you really do.”
Cornelia bowed on one knee before her majesty. Actually, she sat in the chair because her legs shook. Had she been wrong to trust her employer? She thought she might be sympathetic because she had fed starving women from the south during the hongerwinter. Maybe she had been wrong.
“I will have to give your request my full consideration and will let you know what I decide before you go home today. The crystal is covered with dust, so I think you had best wash it all. You never know when we will have guests.”
She should have known that Frou de Bruin would make her suffer all day long, wondering what her answer would be. She went to the cabinet in the corner of the kitchen and removed a fluted water glass. The piece shook in her hands and she set it straight back in the cupboard before it crashed to the floor. No one ever visited here, so Cornelia didn’t see why she needed the crystal cleaned. “Maybe I could wash the windows instead. I just … It is such nice weather to be outside, you know.”
Frou de Bruin tsked. “Ja, maybe that is best. I don’t want my beppe’s good crystal to be nothing but shards. You are a clumsy girl.” She dismissed Cornelia with a wave of her many-ringed fingers.
All day, as Cornelia cleaned and cooked, she jumped every time she heard a noise. Didn’t her employer have any compassion? The clock’s hands shuffled along slower than the old lady herself. Finally, midafternoon, Frou de Bruin ran out of tasks and prepared to send Cornelia home. “Don’t be late tomorrow morning.”
Cornelia stared at the elderly woman, perched as always in her chair. “Do you have an answer to my question?”
Frou de Bruin scratched her chin. “Question? What did you ask me?”
Cornelia bit the inside of her cheek. “About my
brother and another man hiding here for a while.”
“Ach, I answered you already.”
“Nee, I am sorry, you didn’t.”
“You need to listen better, girl. Of course they may come here. I have had people in and out of here all war long, so having them will be nothing. There’s a hiding place in the hayloft all prepared. Whenever they are ready, bring them by. And goodness, shut your mouth. It is most uncouth the way you are standing there with your tongue hanging out.”
But she couldn’t have been more surprised than if Frou de Bruin had announced she had been coroneted queen.
GERRIT SAT ACROSS from Frou de Bruin in the pale lamplight, her rings, necklaces, and bracelets sparkling. Dressed in a black flapper frock from twenty years ago, she didn’t garb herself as if she belonged in this old, rather primitive farmhouse in the middle of a war. If she hadn’t been so kind as to take them in, he would have laughed.
Gerrit ached for Cornelia. He didn’t imagine he would miss her this much. She had invaded his thoughts, his heart, his life. She had been here all day today, since he and Johan had come before first light this morning, but they agreed it would be best for her to continue her usual routine, and she left once supper sat on the table.
While he may have questioned the extent of his feelings before, he knew for sure he loved that woman. More every day.
Frou de Bruin nodded at him, her drop earrings dangling from her lobes. “So, you are Frou de Vries’s new beau. I had been wondering who put the spark back in that girl’s step. Good for you. She has suffered much. Don’t you forget that.”
He wouldn’t dare. Not if he had to answer to this formidable woman. “No, Frou.”
Johan snickered under his breath.
“And you …” She turned her attention to Johan. “You had best not give her any grief either.”