by Diane Moody
25
“I’m going and you can’t stop me!”
Two full days had passed since Anya learned about her parents’ arrest. For two days she’d cried and thrown up and slept, only to do it all over again. On the third day, she’d had enough. She’d made her way down the dark stairs to the room below the house where she found Wim and Joris, huddled over a map.
“What are you doing?” she had asked, startling them both. They had hemmed and hawed, giving her vague responses until she stomped her foot and demanded they tell her what was going on.
“Very well,” Wim had answered, planting his hands deep in his pockets. “We’ve learned there’s to be a massive raid on Utrecht and the surrounding areas. Someone has tipped them off to our work there, moving Jewish families to safety. One of our Resistance workers is planted inside the Gestapo office there in Utrecht. He said they’re waiting for reinforcements which could arrive at any time.”
“Your family?”
“No word. I’ve tried to reach them. I’ve contacted others to find out if they know what’s happening, but so far nothing. Which is why I’m leaving shortly to go home.”
“Then I’m coming with you.”
“No, Anya. It isn’t safe. You need to stay here until I can come back for you.”
“Wim, I said I’m going and you can’t stop me.”
“Don’t be ridiculous!”
“I’m the one who’s ridiculous? If it was my family, don’t you think I’d do whatever I could to save them? But no, I didn’t have that chance, did I? Now it’s your family, but don’t forget—my friend Lieke and little Inge are in your parents’ care. If I couldn’t save my parents, at least I can try to save my friend and her sister.”
Wim pulled at his hair. “You make me crazy! You are SO STUBBORN!”
“Ja, they tend to do that,” Joris added casually. They both looked at him. He held up his hands. “It’s true. Do yourself a favor, Wim, and let her go. You’ll save a lot of time and frustration in the long run. They always get their way. It’s a woman’s way.”
Anya hugged the farmer. “Finally, someone understands. Thank you, Joris.” She planted a loud kiss on his cheek. “Oh—wait a minute. What about Liesbeth and Henri?”
“Actually, I’ve already discussed that with Joris and Roos,” Wim said.
“What do you mean?”
“What he means,” Joris said, “is that Roos and I would like to keep the children here with us. There’s no need to take them north. They’ve had enough to deal with; they don’t need to be uprooted again. But even beyond that, we want to keep them here. We love having little ones in the house. Besides, having them here draws our own grandchildren like magnets. We get to see more of them as well. So you see? It’s best for everyone.”
“Wim? Is this all right with you?”
“Yes, in fact I think it’s what’s best for Liesbeth and Henri. We will make the necessary contacts with the Resistance headquarters so their parents will know where they are when the time comes for them to go home. And we can always come back to see them once things settle down.”
“You mean, if things settle down.”
“It will,” Joris insisted. “You’ll see. One day we’ll be rid of these German idiots and we’ll all return to our lives as we once knew them.”
“I hope you’re right,” Wim said, then turned to point Anya up the stairs. “We must be ready to go. They’re sending a truck to take us home as quickly as possible. He should be here any moment.”
Over the bumpy back roads heading home to Utrecht, Anya and Wim’s driver filled them in on more of the war news. The man who introduced himself as Nathan told them that Jews sequestered in the ghettos all across the country were barely holding on, cut off completely from supplies of food and other staples. The Germans didn’t seem to care of their plight knowing it was a temporary situation until all of them could be transported to the death camps, as they were now called.
“My kids have learned to hate the sound of the train whistle. Always before, they loved running to watch the trains go by. Now, we do not let them because the cattle cars are filled with people.”
Anya closed her eyes as she tried to push the image of her parents in such a cattle car to the back of her mind. Wim entwined her fingers with his, his thoughts no doubt the same as hers.
Nathan continued. “They’re packed in those cars so tight they can’t even move. Oftentimes they’ll hold up their little ones, just so their children can catch a breath of air. I’ve never seen anything like it. The sadness in their faces . . . it’s unspeakable. My wife and I have told our children to stay away from the tracks. It’s too much for their young minds, you know? Children their age shouldn’t have to see such things.” He paused, then added, “Of course, when I think about all those little Jewish children and what they face?” He shook his head.
Wim squeezed her hand. “What do you hear of Utrecht?” he asked, steering the subject a different direction.
“Utrecht. You’ll see for yourself soon enough. The synagogues are all boarded up now, and the Germans have painted obscene messages on most of the synagogue walls. Horrible, vile things as you can’t even imagine. I just hope and pray God unleashes His wrath on these vermin.
“Everyone is on edge, weary from the constant bombing, rushing down into the bomb shelters half the night. Between that and the shortage of food getting worse every day, I don’t know how long we can continue our work. But we have no choice. If we don’t, who will?”
They continued the next couple kilometers in silence. As they drew close to the outskirts of Utrecht, Wim gave the driver directions to his farm. “But let us out a kilometer or so before we get there. We don’t want to take any chances.”
A few minutes later, their driver pulled over to the side of the road near a wooded area backing up to the Boormans’ farm. Wim reached across Anya to shake his hand. “Thanks for the lift.”
“You’re welcome. And just so you know, I’ll be staying at a friend’s home here in Utrecht. If you run into any trouble, contact the Resistance headquarters and they’ll get word to me.”
Wim said, stepping out of the vehicle. “Will do. Thank you, Nathan.”
“Thank you.” Anya shook his hand then joined Wim on the side of the road.
“Take care,” Nathan said, putting the truck in gear.
As the old truck rattled off into the distance, Wim and Anya headed into the woods, walking hand in hand. Anya wanted to be grateful for the sunlight streaming through the branches, but being so close to home filled her with sadness. She wanted nothing more than to turn and run to her house, throw open the door and find her mother and father at the kitchen table having tea.
They walked in silence, Wim helping her step over fallen branches and rocks here and there. As they neared the farmhouse, Wim dropped her hand, motioning her behind him.
“What’s wrong?” she whispered.
“I’m not sure.”
She looked through the cluster of trees before them, then across a cultivated field, trying to see what had stopped him in his tracks. “Wim, what is it?”
He held his finger to his lips.
Following his gaze, she looked out across the straight crop rows between them and the house. Suddenly something moved in her line of sight. Wim’s hand clamped over her mouth just as she gasped. She blinked, hoping against hope her eyes had somehow deceived her. There, crawling down the dirt row moved Lieke’s baby sister Inge.
“Shhh,” Wim whispered in her ear. “I’ll remove my hand but you must not make a sound.” She nodded, her eyes stinging as she watched the toddler crawl slowly along the dirt path, her movements wobbly and uneven. Wim gently pulled his hand away, keeping his mouth over her ear. “We’ll get to her, I promise. But we must first wait. Something’s very wrong here.”
Anya couldn’t breathe. As they watched, Inge plopped back on her haunches. Her face was filthy, covered and streaked with dirt. How long had she been out in the field? Wh
y was she out here alone? Lieke would never . . .
A sickening feeling knotted her stomach. Wim’s mother would never let a child so young out of her sight.
Oh God, please no.
Inge began to whimper, rubbing her eyes. The baby rubbed harder and harder, losing her balance and tipping over. Her cry pierced the air.
“Wim, we have to—”
He was halfway to the child by the time she’d opened her mouth. He moved like a bolt of lightning, grabbing the baby and dashing back into the woods.
“Quick—stick your finger in her mouth!” he whispered urgently.
Just as the child sucked in a breath to wail, Anya stuck two of her fingertips in her mouth and held her close to her chest. “Inge, Inge, it’s Anya. I’m here, sweetheart. I’m here.” The baby tried to open her eyes, but opened her mouth again to cry instead. “Shhh, no, no, Inge, don’t cry,” she whispered, wiggling her fingertips in the baby’s mouth. “Wim, try to clear her left eye. That’s the one she’s rubbed.”
“How? What should I do?”
“She’s got plenty of tears. See if you can hold her eye open to clear whatever’s in there.”
Wim took out his handkerchief and tried to pry open the child’s eye. As gently as he could, he touched the edge of his handkerchief to her eye, hoping to free the specks of dirt that were lodged there. Inge jerked back, whimpering and chomping down on Anya’s fingers.
Anya winced. “Try it again. You almost got it.”
Wim spit into the cloth, dampening it, then tried again. This time the handkerchief pulled another cluster of dirt particles from the baby’s tearing eye. She blinked repeatedly then looked back and forth between them, clearly frightened.
“Inge, you’re all right. Shhh, little one. Don’t be afraid,” Anya whispered, rocking her gently in her arms.
The baby began to suck on Anya’s fingers and slowly, gradually relaxed in her arms. Anya looked up at Wim. His eyes were fixed on the farmhouse in the distance. “What do you think happened?”
He turned to grip her shoulders. “You stay here. No matter what happens, you stay here until I come back. Stay out of sight. And whatever you do, try to keep Inge quiet.”
They both looked down at the child, her eyelids drooping as she continued to suck on Anya’s fingertips. She pushed the child’s dirty curls out of her flushed face. “She must have been out here a long time.” Her chin began to tremble at the implication.
He pulled her against him. “I know.”
She listened to his heart pounding against her ear. “Please be careful.”
He tipped her chin with his finger, turning her face toward his. “I will. But if anything should happen to me—”
“Stop. Do not say it,” she whispered. “Don’t you dare say it.”
He cupped her face in his hand then leaned over, touching his lips to hers. Anya kissed him back, curling her other hand around his neck. Oh, let this moment never end, she prayed. When he lifted his lips from hers, her eyes remained closed for a moment longer.
“I’ve wanted to do that for as long as I can remember,” he whispered, his breath warm against her cheek.
She opened her eyes. “And I’ve wanted you to do that for as long as I can remember.”
He touched his nose to hers. “I must go.” He kissed her once more then he was gone.
She watched him crouched over, dashing along the outer perimeter of the field, working his way to the far side of the barn. Reaching it, he stood with his back against it, stealing a quick look around the corner.
“Oh God,” she prayed. “Please protect him. Please—”
Anya gasped as something hard pressed against the back of her skull.
“Perhaps your prayer is misplaced, Fräulein.”
Her heart thundering in her chest, she clutched Inge tightly. “Please don’t—”
“Zum Schweigen bringen,” he whispered into her ear as he clicked the hammer on his gun. “Not a sound or you and the baby are dead.”
Anya looked across the field for Wim, unable to find him. Oh God! Let him save us before it’s too late!
“On your feet.”
She clumsily stood up bracing herself against the tree. He moved the barrel of the gun against her forehead, coming into view for the first time. She recognized him immediately. One of the soldiers who’d come to her home with von Kilmer. She remembered the ugly jagged scar across his cheek and his deep-set eyes.
“Ja, Fräulein, we’ve met before. That night in your home.”
She nodded, her whole body shaking. Lord, please . . .
“We wondered where you were the last time we paid your parents a visit. Did you know we shipped them off to Auschwitz? By now, who knows what fate may have befallen them.”
“Please,” Anya croaked. “I beg you. Let us go.”
His wheezing laughter frightened her. “Surely you’re not that stupid? Why would I let you go? You and that farm boy are going to earn me a commendation from my superiors. And as for this precious little Jew in your arms?”
Anya screamed as the shot rang out. “Nooooo!”
Inge went limp in her arms. Anya dropped to her knees as blood poured from the hole in the baby’s forehead. “She’s just a BABY! How could you—”
“Correction, Fräulein. She’s just a Jew.”
Anya rocked the child’s lifeless body in her arms as her own cries filled the air.
“Zum Schweigen bringen!” Silence! He grabbed her by the elbow and pulled her to her feet. “Enough of the melodrama. Start walking.” He shoved her with his gun in her back. When her cries continued he shoved the barrel against her head again. “I said, SHUT UP!”
Anya could barely see through the blur of her tears as she stumbled into the field, the baby’s limp body in her arms. She looked down at the blood covering them both, her own body shaking so hard she could barely lift her hand to close the child’s eyelids. Her mouth burned with bile at the sight and she fell to her knees, setting the child on the ground before vomiting the other direction.
“You Dutch are all alike,” her captor said. “So weak and stupid.”
Anya wept as her stomach emptied, her wails sounding distant as she heaved.
“Aufstehen.” He poked her in the back with his weapon again. “I said, GET UP!”
She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand then turned to reach for Inge’s body. The German kicked the child’s body away from Anya as if it were nothing more than a rag doll. “Leave her. Let her body rot and serve as fertilizer for the crops.” He snickered. “Perhaps she’ll be worth something after all.”
“No! I won’t leave her!” Anya cried, scrambling over to the lifeless child.
“Oh, but you will,” he said, kicking Anya in her ribs. She doubled over, clutching her side. “Really, Fräulein, you’re making this so much harder than it needs to be.” He pulled her up by her hair. I said, GET—”
She heard the wind knocked out of his body as she fell from his grasp.
“Anya!”
She jumped at the sound of Wim’s voice as he fell to his knees beside her. “No! Wim, the German! He—”
“He’s dead, Anya. Look!” He turned to show her the soldier, collapsed in a heap on the ground behind him. “I smashed his head with that stone. He can’t hurt us now. Oh, Anya! I should never have left you all alone.” He pulled her into his arms but she pushed back.
“Wim, he killed . . .” She covered her face with her bloodied hands. “He killed her,” she cried, falling back on the ground.
“I know, I know. I’m so sorry.” He pulled her back into his arms. “I’m so sorry.”
“I wished he’d killed me. Not Inge! She was only a baby!”
He held her as she wept, wishing she could just die and be done with it. Suddenly, she looked up at him. “What about the others? Your mother? Your father? Is Lieke—”
He shook his head slowly. “They’re gone. They’re all gone. I’d only glimpsed their bodies in the barn when I heard
the shot ring out. I was so afraid you’d been killed too.”
“You mean they’re all dead?”
He nodded, a lone tear running down his face. “It looks as though they lined them all up and executed them. All of them . . . they must have hidden little Inge somewhere before they were captured. If only she’d—”
Another shot rang out. Anya jumped, turning in the direction of it. A wisp of smoke from the German’s gun drifted upward, his hand clutched around it. Still lying on the ground, he cocked it again, aiming it straight at her. Just as she started to scream the gun fell from his hand and he dropped face first in the dirt.
“Wim! He’s—” She stopped, realizing Wim was slumped against her. “Wim? No! No!” She tried to push his body to a sitting position, but he fell backward. “WIM! Oh God!”
“Anya . . .”
She rested his head in her lap. “Wim, please, hold on! I’ll go for help. Just hold on!”
He reached for her hand, as his eyelids drifted shut. “No . . . no time.”
“Stop it. Stop it! Open your eyes, Wim. Open them!”
His eyes flickered open then squeezed shut as he tried to swallow. “Anya, it’s too late.”
She cried out but not a sound came from her mouth. She had nothing left. She rocked him in her arms just as she’d rocked little Inge only moments before. Surely this was just a nightmare? Hadn’t she fought the nightmares, night after night?
“Anya, you must run . . . please . . . go . . .”
“No! I won’t leave you!”
He reached for her face and pulled it toward him, his eyes struggling to focus on her. “I love you, Anya. I have always . . .” His eyes rolled back as his head fell against her lap.
“Wim! WIM!” Anya pulled his lifeless body against her, his arms flopping at awkward angles. She tried to gather them, make them stay in place. “Why? Oh Why? Oh God, where ARE YOU? Why would You . . . how could You?”
She wasn’t sure how long she sat there, cradling him in her arms. The sun was starting to set in the western sky. But no sooner had that realization crossed her mind than she heard shouts in the distance. German shouts.