Of Windmills and War

by Diane Moody

  Suddenly her father jumped up. “Anya! This is it!” He quickly grabbed her hand. “This is our chance to move our guests! Hurry! We haven’t a moment to lose!”

  In less than ten minutes, Reverend Versteeg and his daughter had sent word to their Resistance contacts, asking for immediate help to move Lieke, her sister Inge, and the Wolff family. By the time they’d gathered their belongings, a horse-drawn carriage driven by Helga’s husband Lars arrived at the back entrance of the church.

  “I cannot thank you enough,” the reverend said to their good friend.

  “It is my honor,” Lars answered as he covered his passengers with a tarp. “Now, you must remain silent. Not a word until we get to the Boormans’ farm. Then you must do exactly as I tell you.”

  “Father, I’m going too,” Anya announced, hopping onto the cart. “I’ll ride back with Lars once everyone is settled.”

  “All right, but be careful. And hurry home. We have no idea how long the Germans will stay preoccupied with the uprising.”

  “Yes, Father. I’ll be home as soon as possible.”

  As the cart began to move pulled by Lars’ horse, Anya heard her father call her name. She peeked from beneath the tarp. “Yes, Father?”

  “You see? He did it! God has answered our prayers. He has made a way for us!"

  22

  January 1941

  As the Jewish residents of Utrecht scattered into homes and farmhouses across Holland, tucked safely away from the Germans, their non-Jewish friends and neighbors tried to make the best of life under German Occupation. Like so many others involved with the Dutch Resistance, Anya and her father grew strangely accustomed to leading double lives. Reverend Versteeg kept up appearances going about his daily routine while his daughter tried to do the same. She no longer attended school, instead playing the charade of the Reverend’s assistant, helping her father manage the affairs of the church while acting as parsonage hostess in her mother’s absence. Most of the church members marveled at the change in her, admiring the maturing young lady, no longer the Versteeg’s “problem child.”

  “Never thought I’d see the day,” she heard them gossip. “That wild child has become such a beautiful young lady, don’t you think?”

  “Can you believe she has such lovely hair? It was always such a rat’s nest before!”

  “It’s about time. Look how lean and poised she is. Why, even with those freckles, she’s quite striking, don’t you think?”

  Anya heard their comments and noticed their stares, but chose to ignore them all. She’d made a conscious effort to work on her appearance, better able to play the role she’d taken. She’d even learned to walk with an air of grace when she had to, especially whenever she encountered German soldiers. For such occasions, she’d quickly learned how to play another role—that of a daft young Dutch woman.

  “Guten Morgen, Fräulein,” they’d say with their wide smiles.

  “Ah,” she’d answer, giggling as if she hadn’t a thought in her head. Then speaking Dutch in her most flirtatious tone she’d say, “I would never speak your filthy language, you pathetic maggots!”

  Oblivious to her meaning, they’d laugh as she laughed, circling her like bees to the hive. “Sprechen Sie Deutsch, Fräulein?”

  Laughing even harder, she’d respond, “How hilarious you are, you disgusting, good for nothing swine! As if I would lower myself to speak your horrible language!” While they joined in laughing, she’d break through their midst and go along her merry way, sometimes turning back to give them a dainty wave while cursing them under her breath.

  Anya had learned to play the game and play it well.

  But she also learned to play other roles. Throughout the summer and fall of 1940, Wim and Anya helped transport many more families—onderduikers—or “underwater” which was code for hidden Jews and other Dutch who needed to be safely hidden away. Each time taking a different route, they constantly used different strategies to avoid detection by the ever-present German soldiers. Sometimes, these charades fell into place seamlessly; others made for close calls as they’d narrowly make their “deliveries” as planned.

  As the Resistance grew stronger, Anya learned more about the various arms of the vast underground movement. While some worked feverishly to produce falsified IDs and papers, others ran illegal printing presses to provide publications and bogus food stamps. Eventually, the Allies began dropping paratroopers into Holland for the specific purpose of coding and decoding messages to and from England. These messages were then sent by couriers to other members of the Resistance throughout The Netherlands keeping them informed of the latest war news. Likewise, they’d report developments back to Queen Wilhelmina and her administration still governing from London.

  Others handled the finances, vital to keep the Resistance movement in motion. The National Relief Organization, made up of brilliant financiers, kept the flow of money moving as needed to each arm of the Resistance, all the while staying in close touch with their counterparts in London.

  Still others handled the sabotage necessary to cover the movement’s tracks and do the dirty work as required. These men and women functioned under the radar, blowing up bridges and buildings when required, freeing political prisoners whenever possible, and killing as many Germans as necessary along the way.

  No task was too small. Even young boys and girls did their part, setting up intricate schemes to steal bicycles, a mainstay for transportation in Holland. When tires became scarce, they’d scrounge up wooden wheels to keep the bicycles moving.

  Back at home, Anya’s father maintained his role pastoring over his membership while using the parsonage to help the cause in any way he could. Like everyone else in his beloved country, he learned to trust no one. Through the church grapevine he and Anya learned that members like the van Oostras had not-so-secretely partnered with the Germans, keeping them informed of friends and neighbors who assisted the Jews. While the van Oostras and others grew wealthier with each tip provided to the Germans, those arrested were often shot or sent to one of the many concentration camps springing up throughout the country.

  Such news grieved Anya and her father, but it also fueled their commitment to the cause. Time after time, Anya’s father reminded her that God alone would have to deal with traitors like the van Oostras, but it took every ounce of resolve for her to be civil to them when their paths crossed.

  In the elaborate system of transporting Jews here and there, Anya insisted that Lieke and her sister Inge must remain at the Boormans’ farm. Ella Boorman had grown to love Lieke and her young sister, treating them like family. Lieke never stopped hoping to find out about her parents and siblings, but with Ella’s help, she’d learned to take life one day at a time.

  As the months passed, more and more of Anya’s charges were young children. As the Germans rounded up all the Jews and forced them to live in ghettos, Jewish mothers and fathers looked desperately for ways to find a safe haven for their children. The Resistance provided passage for these little ones, though they were often moved constantly to avoid suspicion. Even with her self-imposed vow not to cry, Anya couldn’t help the tears which moistened her eyes every time a mother or father placed their child in her care. As much as she wanted to help, she despised those heart-wrenching moments when anguished mothers or fathers had to walk away from their screaming, confused children. Instead of caving in to the constant grief, she funneled her emotions into ever-increasing hate toward the evil Occupiers.

  On a frigid, blustery day near the end of January, she and Wim were accompanying a young five-year-old girl and her three-year-old brother to the train station in Amsterdam. From there, they would travel north to a village near Leeuwarden in the province of Friesland. Just outside of Amsterdam, the dairy truck they were riding in broke down.

  Their driver, a fellow member of the Resistance named Dirk, rolled the truck to the side of the road where it sputtered to a stop.

  He pulled an unlit pipe from his mouth. “Sorry, folks
. I had a feeling we’d run out of gas. Hard to come by these days. I’m afraid you’ll have to walk the rest of the way.”

  “How much farther is it?” Anya asked, already chilled to the bone.

  “About four more kilometers. I’m terribly sorry.”

  Wim checked his pocket watch then opened the passenger door of the truck’s cab. He stepped out, juggling the sleeping girl in his arms. “We still have time to make it. Thank you for bringing us this far, Dirk. Come, Anya.” He helped her lift the young boy out of the truck. “We’ll have to walk fast. If we miss the train we’ll have to wait til tomorrow. The longer we stay in the station, the more likely we’ll arouse suspicion.”

  “Thank goodness the doctor supplied us with sedatives for the children,” Anya said. “Better they sleep through all this. I just hope this cold wind doesn’t wake them.” She covered the little boy’s head with her knitted scarf as she plodded along beside Wim.

  Half an hour later, Wim adjusted little Liesbeth onto his other shoulder. “Anya, hurry. We haven’t much time.”

  “I’m walking as fast as I can, Wim. I can’t feel my feet anymore.”

  He stopped, waiting for her to catch up. “Here, let me take Henri.”

  “You can’t carry them both. Don’t be silly.” She picked up her pace. When she matched his stride, she made a face at him.

  He laughed and reached over, draping his arm over her shoulder. “After we tuck these little ones safely away in their new home, I think you need to take a break.”

  “I can’t. There’s too much to be done.”

  “You haven’t had a break in months, Anya.”

  “Neither have you, so why should I?”

  “Because fatigue can be deadly. You know that as well as I do. These little ones are precious cargo, and they deserve the best we can give them. When you’re tired, you can’t possibly function at—”

  “I was thinking of Hans just now.”

  He exhaled, his breath a brief puff of air whipped away by the wind. “What?”

  “Hans believed a person could do extraordinary things by simply pushing through disappointment or fear or fatigue.”

  “Well, that’s true, I suppose, but—”

  “I still miss him so much.”

  He was silent for a moment.

  “I wish you could have known him.”

  “But I did. We met a few times.”

  “No, I mean I wish you could have known him. Like I knew him.”

  He gently squeezed her shoulder before shifting Liesbeth to his other side. “I do too. I think we might have been good friends.”

  She smiled up at him. “You do?”

  “Of course. Now hurry. We’re almost there.”

  Moments later as they rushed into the old train station, Anya heard someone call her name.

  Wim closed in, stepping just behind her. “Don’t look back. Ignore it and keep walking.”

  They’d been trained for situations like this, warned to maintain their falsified identities under all circumstances. A blown cover could land them in a cold dark cell. Or worse.

  “Anya Versteeg!”

  Anya’s heart pounded as she tried to keep up with Wim. “What do I do?” she whispered. “It’s obviously someone who knows me!”

  “We’re almost there. You are not Anya Versteeg. You are Hannie Hendriks.”

  Someone pulled at her elbow. “Anya! I thought that was you!”

  She stopped cold, staring into the face of Franz van Oostra.

  Wim intervened, smiling as he extended his hand to their fellow church member. “Hello, Mr. van Oostra. What a surprise! What brings you to Amsterdam?”

  Anya watched as he shook Wim’s hand. “Business. Always business. But I should ask the same of you. What brings the two of you here?” His eyes flitted back and forth on the children in their arms.

  “Well, it’s actually a most unusual circumstance,” Wim began. “You see, Anya agreed to accompany me on my journey. My niece and nephew here were staying with us at the farm while their parents were on holiday. They’ve just returned from their travels, so we’re taking the children home to their parents.”

  Van Oostra’s eyes narrowed. “I see. How nice they could get away, though you’d have to agree it’s a most unusual time to take a holiday.”

  “How so?” Wim asked, his face a blank page.

  “Why, the Occupation, of course. I would think most parents would want to keep their children close at hand. Who knows what dangers could befall them?”

  “True, I suppose, but they’re safe with us. We would never let anything happen to them.”

  Anya could tell the church busybody wasn’t buying a word of it.

  Van Oostra nodded without smiling. “Yes. Yes, of course.” He patted Henri on the back. “And where might you be taking the children?”

  As if it’s any of your business?

  “Oh, I’m quite sure you’ve never heard of their village. It’s on the coast near the Belgian border.” Anya hoped he didn’t hear the quiver coating her lie. She glanced at the massive clock on wall above them. “But you must excuse us now as it’s time to board our train.” She turned to go. “How very nice to see you. Please give our best to Mrs. van Oostra.”

  “I shall.” He nodded slowly, his smile now vanished.

  Wim touched his hand to the brim of his hat. “Good day, sir.”

  “Yes, good day to you as well. I trust you’ll have a safe journey.”

  Anya forced a smile and kept walking. She half expected him to alert the Gestapo right then and there and have them all arrested before they neared their train.

  “Hurry, Anya,” Wim urged, his hand at the small of her back. “We’re almost there.”

  They quickly made their way to the platform and boarded their train. Much of the train was already occupied, and it took several minutes until they found a compartment with room enough for the four of them. Once they settled in with the children curled on the seats beside them, Anya leaned her head back. “Oh Wim,” she whispered. “He knew we were lying. I could see it in his eyes.”

  Wim gently patted Liesbeth’s head which rested in his lap. “I’m afraid you’re right.”

  Anya leaned her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes, the implication of what had just happened hanging over them like a shroud.

  After several moments, Wim took her hand, lacing his fingers with hers. “I’m afraid it will be a long, long time before we can return home.”

  23

  Anya awakened as the train began to slow. She lifted her head off Wim’s shoulder. “Why are we stopping? Is this Leeuwarden?”

  “No, we’re approaching the station at Alkmaar.”

  She looked out the window into the darkness wishing they were already at their destination.

  “Mama?”

  “Shhhh,” Anya warned quietly, hoping to lull Henri back to sleep. “Everything’s all right.”

  He looked around, confusion drawing his brows together. “Where’s Mama? I want Mama!”

  “Perhaps you’d like a lemon drop, Henri,” Wim said, digging a small paper packet out of his shirt pocket. “Would you like that?”

  The little boy’s chin wobbled as his eyes began to fill. “I want Mama,” he whimpered.

  “Yes, Henri. I know,” Anya cooed, whispering into his ear. “But Mama’s not here right now. Let’s see if this lemon drop tastes like lemon, all right? Do you suppose it might be grape instead? Or perhaps cherry? What do you think?”

  With his chin still trembling, he reached out and grasped the yellow candy out of Wim’s hand then slowly put it in his mouth. Moving it from side to side, he looked pensive. “Lemon. Just like the last one.”

  “Ah,” Anya said. “So it is. I was hoping it would be grape. But it’s yummy like the last one, right?”

  He sniffed, wiped his eyes, and nodded. “Where’s Mama?”

  “She’s safe and sound, and she loves you very much.” Anya tousled his hair and watched as his eyes
grew heavy. In a couple of moments he slumped against her shoulder, sound asleep.

  “We must remember to thank Dr. Bakker,” Wim said quietly. “What a brilliant idea to coat lemon drops with sedatives.”

  Before Anya could answer, the door to the compartment flew open. A huge German soldier stuck out his beefy hand.

  “Ausweiss!”

  Once again their papers were checked and identification photos compared to their faces. Anya doubted she would ever get used to these impromptu inspections. The soldier studied the children’s faces, tipping Liesbeth’s chin with his stubby finger for a better look. Her eyes popped open.

  “Papa? Mama?”

  “I’m here,” Wim said, wrapping his arm around her.

  She pushed back from Wim’s embrace. “You’re not my papa . . .”

  “What is wrong with this child?” the soldier grunted in German. “Why is she crying?”

  Both Wim and Anya feigned ignorance, as if they didn’t understand.

  He pursed his lips in frustration, stared them down, but moved on.

  Anya let out a long sigh.

  “I’m afraid our friend is not alone. Look,” Wim said, pointing out the window. The platform was filled with German soldiers, each with a rifle slung over his shoulder. They appeared to be crowding in toward the train. “It looks like they’re boarding.”

  “Should we get off?”

  He shook his head. “Too risky. Our tickets are stamped for Leeuwarden.”

  One after another, the soldiers passed their compartment door as they boarded. Some looked in, most didn’t. Anya knew most trains had special cars reserved for the German soldiers. Often, only one or two rode in the special cars while the rest of the passengers were crammed into others. This time, the car with the Nur für Wehrmacht sign would surely be filled. Regardless, Anya was uneasy knowing so many of them were on the train.

  Wim bumped his shoulder next to hers. “We’ll be fine. Just try to get some sleep.”