by Liz Tolsma
She hadn’t seen Gerrit again. He must have been hiding in the deel. Sooner or later he would have to face the dour old woman.
She pondered what Frou de Bruin said all the way home. Peering at her finger, she wondered why she had yet to remove the band. That brief moment in her life happened long ago. So much had happened. So much had changed—both in the world and in herself. If Hans came back today, he would not recognize either.
She still bore his name. Was that much different from wearing his ring? Both declared her connection to him.
Mud splashed her feet and legs with each turn of the wheel, dirtying her socks. She wished she had worn her klompen. At least her feet would be dry and warm.
Did she have the courage to let go of the past and embrace the future? One that might include Gerrit?
She arrived home, kicked off her muddy shoes, peeled away her wet clothing, and dressed in her badly pilled pink robe.
Hans’s photo sat on her nightstand, and she lay on her bed for a long time, staring at him. He posed erect, tall, and broad in his straight-collared army uniform. The black-and-white picture didn’t reveal that the uniform had been dark olive. His creased cap sat not quite centered on his head. The eyes she remembered as emerald green peered through wire-rimmed glasses. He had a round baby face so different from Gerrit’s angular profile.
“I loved you, Hans, with all my heart.” Her tears fell in a steady stream. “When I vowed to be faithful to you until death parted us, I didn’t believe it would come so soon. I never dreamed it would be that very night. When I lost you, I lost my very self.”
She slid from the bed, grasped his picture, and, holding it close, sank to the floor. “Why were you so noble? You could have stayed with me and no one would have blamed you. It was our wedding night. Our army on bicycles didn’t stand a chance against the blitzkrieg. Why, Hans, why did you choose your country over me?”
She keened, rocking back and forth. Hans had been in an impossible situation. She had begged him not to go, but his loyalty was one reason she loved him. He faced the task before him with courage and determination and that made her love him even more.
“I love you, Hans. I will always love you and cherish all of those precious memories. You were my first love. Forever you will hold an honored place in my life. No one will take that from you. Ever.”
She wiggled the band Hans had placed on her finger almost five years ago. Slipping it from her hand felt like ripping a scab from a wound.
Her vows to Hans had ended.
Her ribs became like tight corsets, crushing her lungs, cutting off her breathing as she placed her wedding ring in her jewelry box beside Mem’s peach cameo. The gold band glinted in the pale light. Her hand felt weightless, Hans’s place in her heart vacant. For a long time she stood and sobbed as she rubbed the empty place on her finger.
“Good-bye, Hans. The future is no longer ours.”
Still weeping, she closed the lid of the jewelry box and left the room.
ANKI SAT AT her kitchen table, three sheets of paper filled with news for Piet. She had covered the front and back of each page, including the margins, writing in her tiniest script. She didn’t know where he was, so she couldn’t mail it, but someday he would read it and know what had happened while he was gone.
She wanted to share everything with him, every detail of every day he missed with her. Their baby continued to grow. The one pair of pants she owned had gotten tight, though her loosest dress still hid the slight bulge in her stomach.
She placed her hand over where their child slept and said a prayer for his father. Every night she heard the planes on their way to Germany. How that country could remain standing with all the bombs the Allies dropped, she didn’t know. Each time she heard that now-familiar drone, she woke and prayed for Piet, that none of those bombs would rain on him.
He might still be in the Netherlands, though, building defense works, but the German defenses were falling. Every day Allied troops marched ever deeper into Dutch territory. Perhaps he would come home tomorrow and take her into his arms and this all would end.
Without her husband to care for, her days were empty. She didn’t have his clothes to mend or his food to cook or his company to anticipate. The nights were the hardest. Many hours she lay awake, listening to the planes or to her own breathing, unable to sleep, distracted by the cold spot in the bed next to her.
She rubbed her belly, then collected the paper, lined up the edges, and folded the letter. She slipped it into an envelope and placed it in a box with the others she had written, carefully replacing the cardboard lid.
A cup of coffee sounded good, but a knock at the door interrupted her plans. A man she didn’t recognize stood on her front stoop. A layer of dirt covered him where his tattered clothes didn’t. What rags he wore hung on his emaciated frame. “May I help you?”
He held out his hand and she shook it, touching him as little as possible. “I’m Dirk Tjaarda. I labored with your husband, Piet Dykstra, on the defense works in the south.”
This man had word from Piet? She flung the door open. “Please sit and I’ll make you some ersatz coffee and slice some bread and cheese. Perhaps a little ham?”
He waved her away. “Nee, I won’t stay long. I am from Achlum, just a few kilometers away, and I’m anxious to get home to see my wife and children. I escaped, and I promised Piet I would stop and see you on my way home.”
“Is he coming too?”
Dirk’s face sunk farther, if that was possible. “Piet won’t be coming.”
Her breathing grew shallow and she locked her lips to keep the words from exploding. “That stubborn man. He will stay to the bitter end. Wait until he gets home.” She balled her fists.
“Frou Dykstra, I don’t know how to tell you this, but the conditions we lived under were terrible. Piet got sick and there was nothing we could do for him. He died last week of dysentery. I’m so sorry.”
Her ears buzzed. “He got sick?”
“Ja, very sick. We did all we could, but we didn’t have much medical care available.”
“You didn’t take him to the doktor?”
Dirk’s thin hands shook. “We did, but the doktor didn’t have the medicine he needed. I stayed with him until the end.” His voice cracked and he cleared his throat. “He could talk about nothing other than you and the baby. He told me …”
Her throat squeezed shut. Dirk spoke madness.
“He told me to tell you he loved you and that he was sorry.”
Dirk’s image blurred in front of her and everything took on a dream-like haze.
The man touched her shoulder. “Will you be fine?”
How could he ask that? Those two words—Piet died—crushed every hope and dream she ever had. She would never be fine again.
“Is there anyone I should contact? Parents? Siblings?”
“Nee, I’ll let them know.” She needed to be alone. This couldn’t be real. “Bedankt. I am sure you are anxious to get back to your family.”
He handed her a folded piece of paper. “Piet wanted me to give this to you. I’ve included my address if you ever want to contact me.” His rough hand brushed hers and she recoiled.
“Are you sure you don’t need anything?”
She couldn’t breathe. He had to leave. “I am sure. Have a good day.”
Dirk left, looking over his shoulder several times as he ambled down the street.
She shut the door and leaned against it. She tried to draw a deep breath but couldn’t get it around the rock in her throat. “Piet. Piet. Piet! Don’t leave me. Please don’t leave me. Let this be a mistake. Come back to me. Please.”
How could this happen? How could he leave her? She gasped for air.
She opened her hands to brace herself as she slid to the floor and the paper fell. With trembling fingers, she unfolded it. The handwriting didn’t look like his. He wrote with big, bold letters, each formed the way they had been taught in school. The person who wrote this threw th
e words across the page, the lines slanting downward.
Dearest Anki,
My Lord is calling me home, but before I leave, I wanted to speak to you for the last time. Please don’t be sad. I am not, because soon I will be in heaven with my Savior. I can’t tell you how I am looking forward to that. The hardest thing is knowing I won’t be there to see the birth of our child. Tell him that I love him. Raise him to know and love the Lord. That is my greatest prayer.
I will miss not growing old with you. Do you remember the plans we made together, the children we would have, where we would live, what our lives would be like? The Lord had different plans for me. I trust Him and know He always does what is best. I pray you will trust that too.
I’m so grateful the Lord gave me this chance to be married to you these four years. You are my precious gift, my treasure, my pearl. I love you more than the air I breathe. I don’t regret anything I did. Following the Lord’s commands is always right. This is His will for us. My time is short, but I wanted to say I love you one last time. I love you, darling. I love you. Farewell.
Your devoted husband,
Piet
The signature was his. She touched the page where his fingers had brushed it.
She stared at the other words on the paper, their meaning not penetrating her brain. She read it again. And again. And again.
Then she understood what it said.
She crumpled the paper and threw it across the room.
CHAPTER 31
The many thoughts whizzing through Cornelia’s mind had held sleep at bay last night. She touched the base of her ring finger, the bareness of it.
The trouble was, her heart had gone and fallen in love with another without asking her.
She needed someone to talk to, someone to help her put things into perspective. Johan was only twenty and had never been in love—not that she knew, anyway—and he wouldn’t understand like a woman. She couldn’t speak to Frou de Bruin and certainly not to Gerrit, so she made the short trek to Anki’s house. This being Saturday, it was the perfect time. Cornelia had gone too long without visiting her sister, having been caught up in moving the men and getting them settled.
And angering her employer. Such feistiness contained in such a dainty package. For the rest of the war, she and Gerrit wouldn’t be allowed out of the woman’s sight. They would have to sneak around like teenagers.
A warm breeze brushed her face as she made her way to her sister’s house. At her feet, the daffodils readied themselves to burst in color with the first balmy day.
She knocked at Anki’s door, the third one down in a row of neat houses, but no one answered. Strange, her blackout shades covered the long front windows, though it was ten o’clock in the morning. Cornelia paced on the small step and rubbed her hands together.
She knocked again, but no one stirred inside. Nausea rode a wave across her stomach. She pushed the door open and stepped inside where cold and darkness greeted her.
“Anki?”
No answer. Cornelia struggled to remain calm.
“Anki!”
After a minute or two, her eyes adjusted to the dimness of the front room. Her sister sat in the brown overstuffed chair across from her, curled in a ball, not moving. Her limp, shoulder-length auburn hair hung in strings across her face.
Cornelia rushed to her. “What is wrong?”
Anki withdrew farther, hugging herself tighter, her back buried into the chair. Tear tracks etched paths down her cheeks.
“Is it Piet?” Cornelia shook.
Anki nodded.
“Tell me.”
Her sister pointed to a balled piece of paper across the room. Cornelia retrieved it and smoothed the page. Then she read the awful words.
Dear God, this cannot be happening. Not to Anki. Please, Lord, please, don’t let it be true.
Memories assaulted her—the pop of gunfire, the sweetness of Hans’s kiss, the smell of death.
She knelt beside Anki and held her hands, rubbing them between her own. “Oh, Anki.”
Anki looked at her with sunken, bloodshot eyes. “Do you think it is true?”
“Do you?”
“I don’t want to believe it.”
“So long I waited for Hans to return. He never did.” Was this what it meant to love a man of honor? Could she bear the grief if this happened to Gerrit? “Piet sent you this letter?”
“Nee, a man brought it. He said that …” She raised her shoulders and swallowed hard. “He said he was with Piet when …” Fresh tears raced down her face.
Recollections of those awful first hours of the war slammed into Cornelia. Even when she went home, for months afterward, she expected Hans to walk through the door, sweep her off her feet, and make her laugh. Anki needed time.
“When did this happen?”
Her sister shook her head. “I forgot to ask.” Anki bolted upright and grabbed Cornelia’s wrist, her eyes large in her sallow face. “Oh, Corrie, I forgot to ask.”
She patted her sister’s hand. “Don’t worry. I saw the man’s address. When you are stronger, you can write to him and find out. When did you get the letter?”
Anki slumped back in the chair. “I don’t know. A day or two ago. I can’t remember.”
“Have you had anything to eat?”
Anki shook her head, lost and alone in the big seat.
“You have to eat for the baby. I will make you something.” Cornelia rummaged through the kitchen cupboards and found a small and somewhat stale loaf of bread. Later she would have to take Anki’s ration cards and get more food. She started the kettle for ersatz coffee.
When she had everything prepared, she brought it on a tray to Anki and sat beside her on the armrest as she ate. She nibbled the bread but did drink all the coffee.
“You have to eat more than that. Think of the baby.”
“Piet will never know his son or daughter. This child will grow up without a father.” She closed her eyes.
“You will be a wonderful mother and you will tell your child about his father. We will help you.” Cornelia rubbed her sister’s shoulder.
After she cleared the plate and cup and washed the dishes, Cornelia snuggled her way next to Anki in the chair. They had both lost weight during the war and managed to fit. She wrapped herself around her sister.
For hours, they sat together and grieved.
ANKI WOKE THE next morning and rolled over, wanting to snuggle in bed with Piet before they had to get up. She reached for him, but his side was empty. She maneuvered on the mattress, lumps in the wrong places. This wasn’t her bed at all.
On the opposite wall, she spotted the grainy photograph of her, Cornelia, and Johan as children. She and her sister wore huge bows in their short, curly hair and Johan sported knickers. That picture had always been in Mem and Heit’s room.
That is where she had spent last night—in the large featherbed in their room. In Johan and Cornelia’s house.
Why?
And like the whoosh of air out of a balloon, she remembered everything. The letter. The pain. The emptiness.
She rolled with her face to the wall, coiled in the fetal position, wanting to shut it all out. She didn’t want to remember. She didn’t want to feel.
Piet hadn’t been perfect. They disagreed from time to time, including the last time they had been together. If only she had done things differently. She should have done everything in her power to keep him from going away. Even if he didn’t want her help. Even if he left of his own accord.
She sat up with a jerk.
All of this could have been avoided. They could be sitting at home right now, planning for their coming child. Their world should be filled with joy, not this unimaginable pain.
Many righteous men had chosen to dive underground, onderduikers not willing to surrender to the authorities. She didn’t believe they would burn for disobeying an evil regime. Piet could have done that too. He chose to leave her alone, knowing he might never come back.
&
nbsp; She pounded the pillow. He didn’t have to do this. He didn’t have to go. He didn’t have to leave her a widow.
Soft footsteps entered the room. Arms encircled her. “Let it out,” Cornelia whispered. “Be angry. You should be. Let him know how upset you are that he left you.”
Anki turned and grasped her sister’s thin arms, shaking her. “Why didn’t you stop him? Gerrit could have helped. With all we did for him, he owed us that much. He got Johan out of custody. He should have done the same for Piet. I saved his life.”
“Piet went freely. If he wouldn’t listen to you, Gerrit couldn’t have done anything.”
“We should have done more. I should have done more.”
“Don’t blame yourself.”
“I should have told him about the baby sooner. Maybe if he had time to get used to the idea, he would have been more excited. And he would have understood his responsibilities better. He wouldn’t have left then.”
“We can’t change the past.”
Anki sank back against the covers, spent.
“I’m frying a little ham now. Come and have some breakfast.”
Her stomach lurched at the mention of food. “I can’t eat.”
“Think of your baby.”
Through the fog of grief, the light pierced. Forever she would have this part of Piet. She had lost her husband, but she wouldn’t lose her child.
Corrie handed her a dark purple housedress she had packed from home. She slipped it over her head, and her sister brushed her hair and pulled it back with a clip. The gentle pressure on her scalp soothed her.
Ten minutes later she descended the stairs, ready to face the day.
Her first day as a widow.
CORNELIA WANTED TO close the gap between Gerrit and herself as soon as possible, so she pedaled her bicycle hard. She and Anki had spoken to the dominee about a memorial service for Piet, and then Cornelia convinced her sister to lie down for a while. She didn’t want to be gone long but did want to tell Johan the news. And find some comfort with Gerrit.
German soldiers crawled over the countryside like ants, scurrying this way and that, though mostly east. She shivered and quickened her pace.