by Diane Moody
As they helped their charges down the aisle to get off the train, Anya thought her heart would surely thunder out of her chest. Wim had escorted the Kleins toward the opposite end of the compartment, while Anya and the Emmerings took the closer exit. Going before them down the steps, she stopped short as shrill whistles filled the air. Suddenly the mass of green just below her bolted to her left as the soldiers shouted, “Halt! Halt!”
Anya turned back, pushing the Emmerings back into the car as shots rang out. The children screamed and clung to their parents.
“What’s happening?” Jakob shouted.
“Stay down! Cover the children!”
Against the chaos of screeching whistles and gunfire, Anya crouched down, wrapping her arms around the two eldest children. “I’m here, I’m here. We’ll be all right. You’ll see,” she yelled, shielding them with her body. The children whimpered, shaking as they crouched down.
“Joosie!”
She jerked her head up at the sound of Wim’s voice calling her code name. He was pushing the Kleins the other direction, twisting back toward her.
“Go! Go! Get them off the train! NOW!”
“But—”
“I said GO!”
She popped up, grabbing the two children closest to her while shouting at Jakob and Rebecca. “Hurry! We must go now!”
They spilled out of the train onto the platform into a cloud of steam belching from the train’s engine. The children wailed as guns continued firing in the distance now.
“Hurry! We must hurry!”
Suddenly, a man wearing a red beret with a pipe clamped between his teeth appeared before her. “Ah, my dear Joosie! Thank goodness you are safe!” He hugged her, lowering his voice to speak urgently against her ear. “God has smiled on us, providing a distraction, but we must get everyone out of here at once. Quickly! Quickly!”
“Opa! How good to see you!” she played along. “Look and see all your grandchildren!”
“Ah, my little ones! Come! Come! We must hurry home. Your grandmother has prepared a dinner in your honor!”
As if masterfully performing before a theater audience, the actors played their parts, all the while rushing the frightened family out of the station as fast as possible. It wasn’t until they’d all loaded into the farmer’s truck that Anya was able to breathe again. And only then, did she think to look for Wim, but of course it was too late.
21
“Anya! Wim! I was so worried about you!”
She fell into her father’s arms, relieved to finally be home. “I’m sorry, Father. We couldn’t risk trying to get word to you.”
“Come inside! It’s after curfew,” he said, shutting the door after them. “I expected you two days ago! What happened?”
Wim stepped into the living room then shook hands with her father. “Complications. But we’re fine. We made our deliveries and all is well. Just a few unexpected surprises along the way. My apologies for making you worry, Reverend Versteeg.”
“Come, let me make you some tea. There is much to tell you.”
They followed Anya’s father to the kitchen where he busied himself preparing tea.
“How is Mother?”
“The same. She sleeps most of the time. Helga sits with her most of the day. Helga is such a kindhearted woman, always insisting it is her ministry to care for her dear friend. Such a godsend, she is.”
“Reverend Versteeg, you said you had much to tell us.”
“Yes, and none of it good, I’m afraid.” He poured the hot water into the teapot to let it steep. “There has been quite a run on the banks as people are withdrawing their funds in fear of the Germans who will most likely steal what’s there. Likewise, the stores are depleted as everyone seems to be hoarding as much food and as many supplies as they can. Of course, there wasn’t much left. From the beginning, the Germans helped themselves to our store shelves. There’s little left to be had except at farms like that of your family, Wim. Otherwise, there’s a sense of panic everywhere you turn.”
“Have the Germans continued their razzias?” Anya asked. “Are they still rounding up the Jews every night?”
Her father poured their tea. “Yes, every night. I peek from the windows when I hear their trucks roaring down the street. I watch as our neighbors are pushed and shoved into the trucks, then whisked away. I grieve for them and pray for their protection. Already our street is almost deserted with so many of our Jewish friends gone.”
“What have you heard over the BBC?” Wim asked.
Anya’s father took a seat at the table with them. “They’ve now confirmed that more than ten thousand innocent men, women, and children were killed in the initial attack on Rotterdam.”
Anya covered her mouth unable to speak.
“Of course, the Germans didn’t stop there. Similar reports have come from all across our country. We’ve sustained many more losses than any of us ever imagined. We’ve also begun to hear troubling news of these concentration camps where many of our citizens have been taken in Poland and Germany. Apparently many have already been killed in what’s been described as gas chambers. It’s unspeakable . . .”
Anya had heard the rumors. She thought back to the night she’d told Lieke of these camps and their “ovens,” still grimacing to think she’d said such a horrible thing to her friend.
Anya heard Wim groan as he dropped his head in his hands. “We have to work harder. We’ve got to do whatever it takes to stop these—”
Someone banged on the front door. Anya, Wim and her father jumped up. “Father, what if it’s—”
“Shh! Wim, stay here with Anya. Whoever it might be, you let me do the talking.” A moment later they heard him open the door. “Good evening. How may I help you?”
Suddenly the house was filled with soldiers all shouting at the same time. Anya hadn’t even thought to ask her father if Lieke and the Wolffs were still hidden in the attic. She prayed for their silence as Wim came to her, tucking her under his arm.
Her father reappeared at the kitchen door. “I’m more than willing to help if you’ll tell us what it is you want?”
Again, a flurry of harsh German commands. One of the soldiers poked his rifle against her father’s back while yelling at him to sit. “HINSETZEN!”
“Fine. No problem. See? I’m sitting.” He motioned for Wim and Anya to do the same.
An S.S. officer strolled into the kitchen as he pulled off his gloves. “Ah, Reverend Versteeg. We meet at last.”
“And you are?”
“I am Standartenführer von Kilmer. Since you speak English so well, perhaps it is easier if you call me Colonel von Kilmer. It is my privilege to assist these gentlemen as they acquire information concerning you and your family for our census. According to our records, you have not submitted this information as required. Why would that be, Reverend?”
“My apologies, but you see I’ve been quite busy with my congregation. These are difficult times, you know. And my wife is very ill which makes it difficult for me to—”
“Very busy. Of course you are. A minister of God must be available for his flock.”
“Yes, I try to—”
“And who might these two be?” he asked, nodding with his head. “Your children?”
“My daughter Anya, yes. And this is our friend, Wim.”
Colonel von Kilmer waited. “And?”
“I don’t follow,” her father responded.
“And what is your friend Wim doing here? Are you not aware it is well past curfew?”
“Yes, well, Anya and Wim just returned from a visit to my parents’ home—her grandparents. And as you stated, since it’s well past curfew I suggested Wim stay the night and return home in the morning.”
The officer smiled. “Ah, I see. I see. Now tell me, where is it you live, Wim?”
Wim folded his arms across his chest. “I live outside of town. My parents have a farm.”
“A farm.” He snapped his fingers at a short man who appeared to be his assistant. The
man handed him a clipboard with many pages attached. “And what did you say your last name was?”
Wim paused, causing Anya’s heart to skip a beat. If the colonel asked for Wim’s ID, it would not match his name. Of course her father had no way of knowing his alias, or hers for that matter. She prayed they wouldn’t have to show their IDs.
Finally, he leveled his gaze at the officer. “Boorman. I am Wim Boorman.”
Von Kilmer looked down his list, lifting page after page. “Boorman . . . Boorman . . . ah! Here it is. Ja, it appears our people also had to make a visit at your home to collect information as well. He looked up at Wim. “Now why do you suppose both of your families refused to comply with our simple instructions to report to our office for the census?” He looked at Anya then at her father.
“I suppose we all have better things to do than stand in long lines to give you names which you already have,” Wim said. “All Dutch citizens are enrolled at birth with their local governments. It’s no secret.”
Colonel von Kilmer’s smile faded, his words spoken quietly and deliberately. “Ja, but when you are ordered by the Third Reich to be personally counted on our rolls, you must comply. It’s really very easy.”
Anya despised the condescension in his tone. She bit the inside of her lip to stifle the angry retorts flying through her head.
“And who have we here?” von Kilmer asked, looking behind them. A tall soldier with a hideous jagged scar across his cheek entered the kitchen pushing Anya’s mother in front of him.
“Mother!” Anya gasped, rushing to her side.
“I don’t understand,” she began. “Who are these people?”
Reverend Versteeg and Wim both stood. “Please, Colonel von Kilmer, as I told you, my wife is quite ill.”
“Ah, Fraü Versteeg, I must apologize for disturbing you at this hour. Come, have a seat. Would you like some tea?”
Anya watched the confusion skitter across her mother’s face. “Here, Mother, let’s get you seated.”
“But shouldn’t I make them breakfast?”
“No, dear, it’s the middle of the night,” Anya’s father said. “These gentlemen just came by to ask a few questions. Nothing to worry about.”
“Your husband’s right,” von Kilmer said. “Not a thing to worry about. We’re just here to add your family to our census rolls.”
Anya watched her mother blink several times.
“Fraü Versteeg, we were just getting to know your family here. Your husband, your daughter Anya and her friend Wim—”
“But where’s Hans?”
“Sweetheart, you know Hans is gone,” her husband reminded her, taking her hand in his.
“Hans? Would that be your son perhaps?” the officer asked, once again checking his clipboard.
“My brother Hans died last year,” Anya snapped. “You’ll not find his name on your list.”
“How sad. I’m very sorry to hear of your loss,” he answered, addressing her mother. “Would there be other children in your home?”
“Lieke and Inge were here—”
“Now Mother,” Anya interrupted. “You know it’s just us now.” She stepped between von Kilmer and her mother, attempting an air of sympathy. “You must forgive my mother. Since my brother died, she has not been the same.” Turning, she addressed her father. “Perhaps these gentlemen would allow you to take Mother back to bed.”
“How very sad,” von Kilmer said, stepping around her to motion her mother toward him. “But as long as you are up, Fraü Versteeg, let’s you and I have a little chat.”
The heat of Anya’s anger surged through her veins. She looked to her father for help. “But surely—”
“Now, now, it won’t take but a few moments,” von Kilmer chided. He pulled out a chair. “Please, help your mother take a seat.”
Anya prayed silently as she and her father helped her mother into the remaining chair at the kitchen table. Anya took her seat again, frightened by her mother’s confused countenance.
“Now, here we are. Fraü Versteeg, you mentioned someone named Lieke and—”
“My mother is confused. I told you she—”
“Stop!” Von Kilmer ordered, his hand raised in Anya’s face. “I am speaking to your mother. You will not interrupt me again.”
Her father’s hand trembled as he reached out for his wife’s hand. He patted it but kept silent.
“I was asking you about these names you mentioned. Who is Lieke?”
Wim stood behind Anya, resting his hands on her shoulders.
Anya’s mother looked from face to face as if trying to make sense of it all. “Lieke?” She looked at Anya who tried to communicate with her eyes ever so slightly. “Lieke is Anya’s friend from school.”
“I see,” the officer responded. “And who is this Inge you mentioned? Also a classmate of your daughter?”
Her mother scoffed. “Goodness, no. Inge is just a baby.” She looked around as if everyone should have known. “The Grünfelds have a very large family. Ten children, I think?” She looked at Anya for confirmation.
“Yes, Mother.” Please don’t say another word!
“Ah, the Grünfelds. I know this name.” Von Kilmer looked at his assistant. “I believe we assisted a family named Grünfeld to the ghetto a few weeks ago, did we not?”
His assistant leafed through another sheaf of papers. “Grünfelds . . . yes, here it is. Issac and Eliza Grünfeld. But our records show there were only eight children.” His finger traced along the paper. “I see no one named Lieke or Inge here.” He looked up, first at Anya’s mother, then at von Kilmer.
“When did you last see these Grünfeld children, Fraü Versteeg?”
Her mother looked for help from Anya’s father, then to Anya. “I . . . I don’t know. Everything is . . . I can’t—”
“Please, Colonel von Kilmer,” her father began, his voice hushed. “You can see for yourself her mind is not right. She is confused. Lieke and her brothers and sisters were often in our home. They were friends of Anya and Hans. In my wife’s mind, names and dates—they’re all mixed up.”
The officer leaned back in his chair, drumming his fingers on the table. “Yes, I can see she is confused. Still, how would you explain that these Grünfelds are obviously missing two of their children—two daughters? Furthermore, these two daughters just happened to be the ones your wife mentioned. How would you explain that, Reverend Versteeg?”
Anya watched her father swallow hard. “I’m sure I wouldn’t know.”
“And you, Anya? Have you talked to your friend Lieke recently? Have you seen her or this young sister of hers?”
His narrowed eyes seemed to see right through her soul. Anya sat straighter. “No. I told you. I’ve been away visiting my grandparents.”
Von Kilmer looked back and forth between Wim, Anya, and her father. He stilled his fingers, pressing his hands flat on the table. “Forgive me, but I must ask. Could it be you have given refuge to these two Jewish girls?”
Anya felt her face heating.
“There are no Jews here, Colonel,” Wim said with authority, moving to stand beside Anya’s father. “Reverend Versteeg is a man of God. To ask him such a thing is to question his integrity as a minister and a leader of our town. You owe him an apology.”
Anya took a breath, thankful for Wim’s quick thinking. She suddenly stood up, shoving her chair back. “I agree with Wim. You owe my father an apology, as well as my mother. To come into our home at this hour, and to question my mother when she’s obviously so ill, then insult my father with your accusatory questions? Enough. I shall ask you to leave at once.”
Von Kilmer tapped his fingers twice, fixing a polite smile on his face as he slowly stood. “Very well.” He nodded at Anya’s mother and father. “I trust you will accept my apologies. I meant no harm.” He took great care putting his hat back on his head. “We shall leave now.” He turned, then stopped. “However, as many of our questions have not been adequately answered, I should warn yo
u that we will return for another chat. Perhaps then your wife will be feeling better and more inclined to put our concerns to rest.”
Anya, Wim, and her father remained silent.
“Very well, then.” He turned, starting down the hall. “It was a pleasure to meet you. We shall see ourselves out now. Guten Nacht.”
Wim followed them down the hall then closed the door after them. As he stepped back into the kitchen, Anya’s mother rose to her feet and cried out, “Hans! There you are! You’ve come home!”
“Mother!” Anya snapped again. “This is not Hans! This is Wim. Hans is DEAD! When are you going to get that through your head?”
Her father grabbed her arm. “Anya! You will not speak to your mother in that tone!”
“Hans is . . . dead?” Her mother fell back into her chair. “My Hans?”
Reverend Versteeg immediately helped his wife to her feet. “Trüi, let’s get you back to bed. We’ve had enough excitement for one night.”
As they made their way down the hall, Anya heard her mother’s whimpers. “My baby? My dear Hans?”
“Wim, what will we do? Von Kilmer and his men will be back. They know. They’ll be watching our every move. They’ll tear this house apart looking for Lieke and Inge. What will we do?”
He gathered her into his arms, holding her tight. “We will find a way, Anya.”
She relaxed in his embrace but fought the sting threatening her eyes. Wim rubbed her back trying to calm her. When she looked up, he kissed her forehead.
“Shhhh. God will make a way for us, Anya. We must trust Him.”
“I’m so scared, Wim. I’m just so scared.”
“I know you are. And God knows too. He knows all our fears. He will make a way. We will trust Him.” He rested his chin on her head. “We will trust Him. We must trust Him. There’s nothing else we can do.”
Just two days later, word spread quickly of an uprising in the Utrecht ghetto. Anya and her father nervously peeked out the front window, watching wave after wave of German soldiers rush by in trucks, on motorcycles, and even on foot. Anya couldn’t imagine how the poor Jewish residents could fight off such a force. She wanted to pray for their safety but lately, it felt as if God wasn’t hearing her prayers.