Dai stumbled into the car and heard the door slam. She got into the other side and started the engine. “Take me to the hospital,” he said.
“No, my place is right around the corner. I’ll help you get cleaned up.”
He laid his head back, and then the pain began to come over him in waves. His ribs hurt where one of the blows had probably cracked one or two of them, and he gritted his teeth and kept his eyes closed. When he felt the car stop, he opened his eyes and saw they were in a residential area.
“Come on up.”
He got out of the car without protest, and the two of them trudged up the stairs to the second floor, where Betje’s room was located. Nobody was awake in the house, and as soon as they were inside, she told him to sit down and take off his shirt so she could help him get cleaned up.
Dai pulled off the rags that used to be his jacket and then took off his shirt. He caught a glimpse of himself in a mirror and muttered, “I’m a pretty sight.”
“How’d you know where I was? Did Jan tell you?”
“Yes. He said you were talking too much.”
Betje did not answer. She heated some water on the stove, and by the time she got back to him, Dai was hurting badly. She took one look at his bruised torso and left to get a glass and two pills. “Take these,” she instructed, handing him the glass.
“What are they?” Dai groaned.
“Never mind. Just swallow them.” He took the pills and then leaned back in his chair. He watched her as she dipped a cloth in water and began washing his face. “You’re going to need some stitches over your eye.”
“It’ll be fine. Just close it up with some tape.”
Betje seemed to know what she was doing as she tended to Dai’s wounds. Her face was close to his as she carefully washed the blood and then put some gauze on the deepest cut over his eyebrow.
“I was a fool,” she said when she was done. She sat down on the couch.
“We’re all fools at one time or another.”
“I don’t know why I do things like this. But I get so lonely.” She patted the couch beside her, and he sat beside her and put his arm around her.
“Don’t we all.”
Suddenly, she began to cry in great sobs. “Why can’t I be good, Dai? Why can’t I?”
“You can.”
“No, not me. Not ever.”
“Yes, you can. You’re just like the rest of us. You need help, but the only source of true help is the Lord.”
Betje listened as he spoke of her need for God, and then she sighed and grew limp.
“Go to bed,” he said.
“You can stay here,” she said, her eyes red with weeping.
“No, I have to go. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Betje waited until he was gone before making her way to her bedroom. She threw herself onto her bed and wept again. “Why can’t I be good?” she kept asking herself. “Why can’t I find happiness anywhere but in a bar or in the arms of a man?” But her questions had no answers, and she finally allowed herself to drift off to sleep.
****
Dai awoke to the sound of voices in the hall outside his door. “And so he went to help get Betje out of that bar, but he looked terrible,” he heard Jan say.
“Open the door, Dai.”
Hearing Gabby’s voice, Dai got out of bed but stopped abruptly. His head pounded, and he swayed violently. He put his hands out to catch the wall and stood still for a moment until his head cleared. “All right. I’m coming,” he said. When he opened the door, Gabby entered, black bag in her hand, along with the blinding light from the hospital hallway. He turned his face away, but Gabby had already seen it.
“You’re a mess! Sit down. I need to look you over.” She turned to her friend. “All right, Jan. I’ll take care of him.”
“It’s a good thing he went,” Jan said as Gabby turned on a small lamp. “Betje was talking crazy.” He left, and as soon as the door closed, Dai sat down shakily on the chair.
“I don’t need a doctor. I’m all right,” he said, squinting from the bright light.
“I’ll see if you are. Where are you hurt?”
“Ribs and some bruises and cuts in my mouth. And this one over my eyebrow is pretty bad.”
Gabby gently checked his ribs. She was appalled at the sight of them, for Dai was covered with bruises. “What did he hit you with, a chair?”
“Just his fists. He was a beast.”
Gabby examined his face and with one swift motion tore the tape off of his forehead.
“Ow!” he yelled. “Can’t you be gentler?”
“It’s easier if you do it all at once. You’ve got to have some stitches to close that ugly cut. Do you want to lie down, or are you okay sitting up?”
“I’m fine sitting up.”
“Here, take these pills. I don’t want you to feel this any more than necessary.”
“I don’t want any more pills. Betje gave me some last night. I could hardly drive.”
“You’re not going anywhere today. You need all the sleep you can get.”
Dai took the pills, and she began getting the instruments she needed out of her bag. They made small talk while the pills started to take effect, and he didn’t experience too much pain while she stitched the cut together.
When she finished, she bandaged it and told him he would probably have a permanent scar.
The drugs were making Dai groggy. “I think I will lie down.”
He got up and started toward the bed, but the room seemed to be tilting. He felt her hands on him, strong and capable, guiding him to the bed.
“Lie down,” she said.
He felt her pick up his feet and put them on the bed. She came closer as he closed his eyes.
“How was Betje when you left?” she asked.
“Sad. She felt bad about what she did.”
“I’m glad you went, Dai. It could have been bad if you hadn’t. She could have put everyone in the cell in serious danger.”
He did not answer her, and she saw that he was drifting off to sleep. She brushed his hair back from his forehead, and for a long time, she stood over him watching him. Finally, she shook her head, thinking of how dangerous this whole business was. If a German had been in the bar, he would have arrested Betje at once. But somehow God had looked out for the two of them. With a prayer of thanksgiving, she left the room, wondering what Betje would do next. She’s so lonely and pitiful, she thought. She’s going to break unless she finds Jesus.
****
General Rahn had been yelling at his officers for fifteen minutes. There were six of them in the room, and all of them were pale and shaken by the time he dismissed them. Erik started to leave also, but Rahn said, “Not you, Colonel. You remain here.”
“Yes, sir.” As soon as the door closed, Rahn turned and said, “You’ve disappointed me, Colonel. I expected more support.”
“I’m sorry, sir. I’m a soldier. I’m not fitted for this kind of work. Transfer me to a combat unit.”
“This work has to be done. I’ve tried to tell you that. I’m going to give you one more chance to redeem yourself, Erik.”
It was strange how Rahn would sometimes call Erik by his first name and other times by his title in a formal way. He seemed to switch back and forth, and Erik never knew what mood he would be in.
“We’re going to review this all again, and I expect you to do better than you have in the past.”
“Yes, sir.”
For the next hour Rahn went over every element of the occupation, with particular emphasis on rooting out the underground. He also addressed the presence of the Jews. “This country will be rid of the undesirables,” he said. “I’ve been going through these papers.” He indicated a stack. “What does this mean?”
“What is that, sir?”
Rahn held up a paper. “The Goldmans. That professor at the university. Why hasn’t he been arrested and deported?”
“The Goldmans,” Erik said carefully, “are the bes
t friends of Dalton and Liza Burke. I’m sure you’re aware, sir, of the important work Dr. Burke is doing on developing the weapon of the future. The führer is very pleased with the work he is doing for the Fatherland.”
“He is not pleased when we allow Jews to hold high positions.”
“If we arrest the Goldmans, Burke will be very upset. They were very close, from all I can understand. He might rebel and refuse to cooperate.”
“He will obey, as will everyone else in the Third Reich. Now, I want these people arrested immediately. If Burke is so much in love with Jews, he cannot be a faithful servant of the führer, and the sooner it’s discovered the better.”
Erik knew arguing was useless. “Yes, sir,” he said dully. “I will issue the order immediately, but I ask you to record my protest.”
“Your protest is recorded!” Rahn shouted. “Now, do your duty as a good soldier.”
****
The cell group met in the hospital basement in a room used for supplies. It was after midnight, and the meeting had not gone well. For the first time, contention filled the room as they debated over how much action they could take. Some of them, such as Jan, thought they were not doing all they could, but Gottfried Vogel, the pharmacist, always urged for caution. “We must be careful,” he said. “We cannot throw ourselves away.”
“But we’re doing nothing,” Jan said.
“Yes we are,” Karel Citroen said. “We’re getting people out every day, but if we’re not careful, that will all come to an end. Now we must—”
“Wait. I hear someone.” Betje pulled the automatic pistol from her belt and went to stand beside the door. The secret knock sounded, and she said, “Who is it?”
“It’s me, Etta.”
Betje opened the door, and Etta Christoffels came inside. She was a thin, intense young woman who was studying science at the university. Her eyes were wide, and she could not speak steadily. “It’s . . . it’s Professor Goldman,” she stammered.
“What’s wrong with him?” Gabby demanded.
“They’ve taken him and his wife. They’re going to ship them to the concentration camp at Sachsenhausen.”
“That can’t be! You know what that place is,” Karel said quickly. “It’s a death camp—they’ll be killed . . . executed.”
“We’ll have to do something now,” Jan cried. “We can’t let the professor be taken.”
“It’s too late,” Etta said, and tears glinted in her eyes as she thought about her favorite professor. “They’ve already taken them. Shipped them out on the train. I saw them put him and his wife in one of those boxcars. They were stuffed in like cattle—it was inhuman!”
A dark feeling of despair overwhelmed Gabby. She had always respected the Goldmans. They had come to visit her aunt and uncle many times. She had been in their home, and they had always been kind to her. She could not bear the thought of them packed in a boxcar headed for a concentration camp. She left the room trembling, her hand over her mouth.
“She’s taking it hard,” Dai said to Betje. “She’s got the most tender heart I’ve ever seen.”
“Yes, she has,” Betje said, “but if this war goes on, she’ll get hard like the rest of us.”
****
For three days after the Goldmans had been sent away to the concentration camp, Gabby attended to her duties at the hospital and orphanage with a pale face, speaking only when necessary. Everyone saw the change in her, and Hilda Schmidt, her favorite nurse, mentioned the change to the director. “She’s going to collapse. She can’t take things like this, Dr. Carstens.”
Carstens shook his head sadly. “This occupation is hard on all of us. Where are we going, Hilda? What will happen next to our poor people?”
Late that night Gabby appeared at Dai’s door. He opened the door to admit her and scanned the hallway. Luckily, it was empty. “This isn’t wise, Gabby. Suppose somebody saw you?”
She ignored his words. “I think my uncle will be changed by what’s happened.”
“You mean about the Goldmans?”
“Yes. The Goldmans were very dear to him and to my aunt.”
“I doubt if he’ll even hear about it. They keep him shielded pretty well.”
“You’re right about that. Erik had promised me that my letters would get through to my uncle, but I’ve learned that they are heavily censored. I’ve written another one, but I don’t know how to get it past the authorities so he actually learns the whole truth. Is there any way you can get this letter to him?”
Dai took the unsealed envelope. “You told him all about the Goldmans?”
“Yes, and I begged him to leave Germany before it’s too late.”
“He’ll get the letter,” Dai assured her.
“But how? How will you get it to him?”
He grinned. “I’ve suddenly got a new profession. I’m a postman.”
Gabby looked at him in disbelief. “Why—that’s impossible!”
“No, it’s not. It can be done.”
The lamp cast an amber light on his face. Gabby could not believe what she was hearing. She had assumed Dai would smuggle it to her uncle through various connections in Germany. If she had known he would volunteer to personally deliver the letter, she would not have brought it. Suddenly, she was afraid for him. She had not realized until this moment how much Dai Bando meant to her. “You can’t go. I can’t let you do it.”
“We don’t have any choice, Gabby.”
She put a hand on his shoulder and looked up into his eyes, relishing the warmth in them. He bent to catch a better view of her face, and when he saw the expression in her eyes, he knew what she was telling him. He put his arms around her waist and drew her close, and for a moment he watched her, but he saw no anger and felt no resistance. He lowered his head and kissed her, and Gabby knew in her heart that she wanted—no, needed—the love of a man this strong. She realized that in many ways she denied her own needs, yet she could no longer ignore what she felt stirring in her heart for Dai. She had been afraid of the future, afraid to risk anything, but as she looked up into his eyes, for the first time in years she felt that the world could be safe with a man like Dai. He spoke her name, and she clung to him fiercely.
“I have to go, but I want you to know you’re like the woman in that poem I told you about, someone I could spend the rest of my life with.”
Gabby’s heart was racing, for this man had awakened hopes and long-lost dreams she thought would never come true. And then she remembered Madame Jana’s words that God would lead her and take care of her future. She smiled but could not think of anything to say. “When will you go, Dai?”
“Tonight. You’ll have to make excuses for me here at the hospital. Tell them that we had an argument and I just left.”
“But how will you get into Germany?”
“I’ll parachute in at night. We have an agent in place there, a German pastor who despises Hitler.”
She held on to him, clinging as if she could keep him here by the sheer force of her will and spirit, but she saw in his face the grim determination and knew that he had to go. She put her face against his chest and held him tightly. “Come back to me, Dai. Please come back!”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
A Midnight Caller
“Professor, it is Herr Goebbels—he’s coming!” Conrad Fleightmann was not easily startled, but like all other citizens of Germany, just the mention of the minister of propaganda for the Third Reich was enough to set off warnings.
“What are you talking about? You must be mistaken!”
“No, sir, it is Herr Joseph Goebbels! I was watching from the window,” Fleightmann’s assistant told him. “He got out of a staff car, and there are three S.S. officers with him.”
Fleightmann rose to his feet, the fat around his triple chin shaking. He moved across the floor with a strange grace for such a large man but had gotten only halfway to the door when it opened, and he stopped abruptly.
Fleightmann threw his arm up and cried,
“Heil Hitler,” as Goebbels and his aides entered the office. He wondered nervously what the visit could mean. No one was absolutely safe in Germany these days, not even those close to the top. Anyone who displeased the führer could simply disappear and never be heard from again—or could be sent to the front, or any one of half a dozen other unpleasant situations.
Goebbels returned the salute and told his aides to wait outside.
“Herr Goebbels, if I had known you were coming, I would have prepared for your visit.”
“Not necessary, Dr. Fleightmann.” Goebbels was a small man who looked strangely out of place in the Nazi uniform. He was not handsome; rather, his enemies said he looked like a rat dressed up like a man. His features were sharp, his eyes small, and there was a cruelty in his mouth. Despite his small stature and lack of attractiveness, he was one of the most powerful men in Germany. Hitler trusted him without measure, and he had redefined the art of propaganda into a science. It was Goebbels who made Germany appear in a favorable light at all times. He was in charge of all printed matter, newspapers, books, scientific papers, radio broadcasts—anything that had to do with creating the image that Germany was a powerful and even a righteous nation. Only a monster like Goebbels, someone said, could write about the destruction of Poland as if it were a noble deed.
“What can I do for you, Herr Goebbels?” the professor asked in an uncertain voice.
“I’ve come about the Dutchman Burke.”
“Is there some difficulty about him?”
Goebbels’s cruel mouth twisted into a sneer. “I didn’t come to give you a report, Fleightmann. I want information. Tell me, has he made any progress on the project?”
Fleightmann was apprehensive. He usually had no difficulty figuring out which direction the prevailing winds of change were blowing and getting on the fair side of them. But he could make nothing from the face of Goebbels, so he didn’t know whether to praise Burke or condemn him. He chose the middle ground. “I believe the professor is making fair progress.”
“You scientists never speak plainly! Are we closer to the production of the secret weapon?”
“Herr Goebbels, in all truthfulness, the work that Burke is doing is so complicated—so complex—that even I cannot understand it.” He stumbled on and tried to excuse himself, but in all honesty, he was incapable of following Burke’s reasoning and said as much to Goebbels. “I doubt if there are more than two or three men in the entire world who are capable of following the research of the professor.”
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