Amanda in Holland

by Foster, Darlene;

  Sergeant Westerhoud joined them. “We make sure the young people never forget the sacrifices made. Each year on May 4th, the anniversary of the liberation of Holland, we hold a special service here. The schoolchildren play a large part in it. Also, on Christmas Eve the children place a candle on each grave. It is hoped that young people learn that freedom is not to be taken for granted, and every effort must be made to maintain peace in the world.”

  Amanda swallowed. “My great-uncle joined the army and came to Holland. He never returned. My great-aunt, his sister, said he went missing in action.”

  “That is too bad. What is his name? Maybe I can do some research for you.”

  “That would be so great. His name was Harold Becker. My aunt said he was only sixteen when he joined the army.” She dug in her backpack and pulled out a photograph. “Here is a picture of him with his dog.”

  “May I take a photocopy?”

  “Of course.”

  Amanda, Leah and Mr. Anderson went outside and entered the large white gates to the cemetery. Beyond the gate stood a marble slab. On it was carved:

  THEIR NAME LIVETH FOREVERMORE

  Amanda’s shoulders drooped, and she felt a heaviness in her chest when she saw all the white gravestones lined up like soldiers. They were placed in a cross formation. A towering cross cenotaph stood tall in the centre, surrounded by wreaths and bouquets of flowers. Gardens of trees, shrubs and flowering bushes surrounded the gravestones. The entire area was very well kept and peaceful.

  Amanda stood mesmerized, and her chin trembled.

  Mr. Anderson gently touched her on the shoulder and spoke softly. “Leah and I are going back to the car to Face-Time her mum. You stay as long as you want.”

  Amanda nodded. She picked her way through the rows and rows of headstones, stopping often to read. Between each engraved maple leaf and simple cross were the details of the fallen soldier, including his regiment. On some, relatives were listed.

  In front of one headstone lay a freshly cut red-and-white Canada 150 tulip. She knelt down to read the engraving.

  Private Frank Baker Born 1928

  The Loyal Edmonton Regiment

  April 22 1945 Age 17

  “He was so young when he died so far from home,” she thought. She brushed away a tear with the back of her hand. “How kind that someone left him a tulip. I wonder why no family is mentioned.”

  She left the cemetery and went back inside the information centre. A tranquillity bench stood in a special corner of the room. She sat down and contemplated what she had seen, while soft music played.

  Amanda had learned about World War II in school, but until coming to Holland she hadn’t really thought much about it. Now, it seemed much more real. She wished there weren’t such things as wars where young people, like the soldier Frank Baker and the young girl Anne Frank, died before they had time to live. Her eyes prickled and her throat tightened. Then she remembered the film with everyone cheering and dancing as the Canadian soldiers came through the town. And she felt proud.

  She blew her nose and got up to leave. On her way out, she dropped some coins into an original Canadian milk can that served as a donation box.

  “Goodbye,” she said to Sergeant Westerhoud at the front desk. “I’m so glad I came here.”

  He shook her hand and squeezed it lightly. “Thank you for visiting. I will be sure to look for some information about your uncle.” He returned the picture.

  Amanda slipped it into her jeans pocket and gave him her email address. “Let me know what you find out. Thanks so much.”

  She took some more pictures and returned to the car. Leah and her dad were just finishing up the call. Amanda waved at Mrs. Anderson on the screen.

  They drove a short distance to another small village with tidy yards and freshly painted houses. In the centre of the town stood a windmill.

  “There seems to be a windmill in every village and town,” commented Amanda.

  “Some places have more than one. Windmills were important to each town, as they ground the farmers’ wheat, flax and other grains into flour. Some are still operational. Should we stop and see if this one is open?” Mr. Anderson looked at Amanda in his rearview mirror.

  “That would be great!”

  They pulled into the gravel parking lot outside the chocolate-brown windmill trimmed in white. Amanda noticed a sandwich-board sign out front. People went in and out of an open door.

  “It looks like you can go inside.”

  She shaded her eyes and looked up. Shiny white blades rotated slowly. She raced ahead, excited to see a working windmill at last.

  She entered a warm, cozy shop called the Molen Bakery. The shelves held fresh-baked bread, packages of assorted flours, other baked goods and a few souvenirs.

  “Do you bake the bread here?” she asked the woman behind the counter.

  “Yes, we not only bake our own bread, we grind the wheat to make flour, as this windmill has done for over a hundred years.” She pulled out a plate with small cubes of bread. “Have a sample.”

  “Mmm, that’s good.”

  “Should we buy a loaf, then?” Mr. Anderson walked up behind her. “It will go well with the cheese we bought.”

  “And some of these cakes.” Leah pointed to the pastry shelf.

  Amanda purchased postcards. The woman put a brochure about the molen and its history in the bag for her. She was collecting quite a lot of information to use in a report she had promised her teacher she would write when she got back home.

  Once outside, Amanda stepped back to get a photograph of the windmill. Something slammed into the back of her legs, causing her to trip and tumble. She landed flat on her back. A warm tongue licked her face.

  “Joey!”

  19

  “IS THAT JOEY?” LEAH RAN OVER TO AMANDA, GRABBED THE squirming puppy with one hand and helped her friend up with the other.

  Amanda scooped Joey into her arms and hugged him. “Where have you been?” She buried her face in his fur. “We missed you so much.”

  “Where did he come from, anyway?” Leah looked around just as a girl sprinted across the parking lot with a leash dangling from her hand.

  “Oh, you have the dog. That’s good,” said the girl.

  Amanda squinted. The girl looked familiar, but she couldn’t quite place her. “Did you take Joey from the back of the car?”

  “No!” The girl stepped back in alarm. “I found him and was taking him back to the B & B. Jan’s grandmother said you would be there today. We stopped to get some bread, and he jumped out of the car and ran over to you. It seems he remembers you.”

  Then it hit Amanda. “Lisa, is that you? From the cheese shop? You look different without your Dutch hat.”

  “Ja, it’s me.” She laughed. “I don’t really have blonde hair and braids.” She took off her toque, revealing short ginger hair.

  “Why do you have Joey? Where did you find him?” Lisa’s cheeks turned rosy. She looked down. “He was on the street near the rubbish bins where you found him. I immediately picked him up and called Jan.”

  “What’s this, then?” Mr. Anderson arrived on the scene. “The lost puppy. Unbelievable!”

  “Lisa found him and was returning him to us,” said Leah. “Isn’t that fantastic, Dad?”

  Lisa fidgeted. “I—I better go. I’m glad you got your dog back.” She gave a quick smile and hurried to a waiting car.

  Leah glanced at Amanda with a furrowed brow.

  With Joey snuggled between them in the backseat of the car, Leah commented, “That was strange, don’t you think? Lisa showing up with Joey like that?”

  “It was quite a coincidence. I’m just glad he’s OK.” Amanda patted the puppy’s head.

  Pushing a cleaning cart, a flustered Ingrid met them at the B & B. “Oh, you have returned. I wasn’t sure, so I kept your rooms for you.”

  “We lost Joey but got him back,” said Amanda.

  “Really?” Ingrid’s eyebrows shot up.
>
  “I’m going to take him out to the garden for a little walk. Don’t worry, I still have doggie bags, just in case.” Amanda pulled a small black plastic bag from her hoodie pocket.

  “The garden is in a state, sorry,” replied Ingrid.

  “I’m going to the room to freshen up. See you later,” said Leah.

  Amanda couldn’t believe her eyes when she got to the back garden. What a terrible mess. Mounds of dirt were everywhere, in between and around the flowers and shrubs, as if a large mole had been visiting. Joey ran behind a bush to do his business. Amanda followed with a bag over her hand.

  As she picked up Joey’s poop, she heard voices.

  “What are you doing, digging up my garden?” snarled a woman who sounded like Ingrid.

  Amanda moved closer, straining to hear the man’s voice. “I thought I buried those tulip bulbs here, and now I can’t find them. I could get a lot of money for them, you know.”

  “Have you been hit by a windmill? You are too stupid to be a criminal. I told you this would never work. And now the dog is back.”

  “But we need the money so we can get married.”

  “Forget it! I’m not marrying a dom persoon like you.”

  Amanda crept around the bush and saw Ingrid storm off as Tom stared after her with his mouth open. He did look a bit stupid. She held her breath and pulled Joey close to her. Tom glanced over at the bush they crouched behind. He shrugged, turned and walked away.

  Amanda needed to call Astrid, the woman on the bike, and let her know that it was Tom who stole the tulip bulbs.

  She returned to the room. Leah’s clothes were piled on the bed, and the shower was running. Amanda removed the cell phone from the pocket of Leah’s jeans and went back outside, leaving Joey in the room.

  Standing by the hedge, she pulled out the business card and dialed the number. After a few rings, it went to voice mail. She left a message.

  “Hi, Astrid. This is Amanda Ross. I’m at the bed-and-breakfast, and I think I know who took the tulip bulbs. I might know where they are, as well. I’ll be here for the rest of the day. Bye.”

  Amanda shoved the phone in her back pocket. When she looked up, Tom stood in front of her, glaring. The hair on her arms lifted. Her heart nearly stopped.

  In one quick step, he was behind her. He grabbed her wrist and twisted it. “What do you know about the tulip bulbs, you meddlesome child?” he growled in her ear.

  Amanda opened her mouth to scream. Tom clamped his other hand over it and pulled her backward through the hedge. A sharp branch scratched her face as she struggled. She kicked at his legs and bit down hard on his hand. He let go. Free for the moment, she raced along the road, not knowing where she was headed. Tom ran close behind her. She could feel his breath hot on her neck as he reached out to grab her.

  Wings flapping and honking madly, Gerald the goose jumped out of the ditch beside them.

  “Get away, you stupid goose,” yelled Tom as the bird nipped at his heels, slowing him down.

  Amanda dashed past the old waterwheel and noticed the barn. She pushed open the heavy door, just enough to squeeze through, and collapsed on the floor. She gulped a few deep breaths and took the phone from her back pocket. Mr. Anderson’s work phone was on speed dial. She hit call. Nothing happened. She stared at the screen. The phone was dead, completely out of battery power.

  She groaned.

  Her eyes widened when she heard footsteps outside the barn. She snuck into a stall, where she hid behind a bale of hay. The door to the barn opened, letting in streams of late-afternoon sunlight. Heavy boots stomped around, kicking at piles of hay.

  “Where are you? If you are in here, I’ll find you and you’ll be sorry.”

  Amanda’s heart was in her mouth as she held her breath. It was Tom, all right. And he was very angry.

  After several minutes, he left, slamming the door behind him. She heard the click of a lock.

  Amanda felt dizzy. Everything hurt: her shoulders, her knee and her cheek. She touched her face and felt sticky blood. She laid her head on the bale of hay.

  Waking up later, cold and disorientated, she had no idea what time it was. How long had she slept? She peered through the cracks in the barn wall. It was already night. The moonlight cast creepy shadows. She tried the door. It wouldn’t budge. In the dim light, she noticed windows too high to reach. She looked around. There didn’t seem to be a ladder anywhere.

  Trembling, her mouth went dry and her eyes filled with tears. Then she heard someone call.

  “Amanda … Amanda … where are you?”

  It was Leah.

  “I’m in here! In the old barn!”

  She looked through the cracks again. Beams of light moved toward the barn. After a few minutes, someone unlocked the door. It flung open, and Jan stood shining a flashlight in her face. Leah rushed past him and threw her arms around her friend. Jan’s grandmother and Mr. Anderson arrived behind them. Everyone spoke at once.

  “Are you OK?”

  “What happened?”

  “Who locked you in here?”

  “We were so worried about you.”

  “What happened to your face?”

  Helga shouted, “Everyone, please stop! Let’s get this poor girl to the house. Then we can ask questions.” She put a reassuring arm around Amanda and walked her to the farmhouse, followed by everyone else.

  At the house, Helga dabbed at the scratch on Amanda’s face with antiseptic. Amanda explained how Tom had attacked her and chased her to the barn. “I’m sure glad you guys came when you did. But how did you find me?” Amanda asked.

  “A woman, Astrid, came to the B & B looking for you. She said you had phoned her with information about some stolen tulip bulbs. I didn’t know what she was talking about. I discovered Dad’s phone was gone and figured you must have used it to call her.” Leah frowned. “We couldn’t find you anywhere, so we ended up here at the farm. Jan thought about looking in the barn.”

  “I think I am always rescuing you, Amanda.” Jan grinned and thrust his chest out.

  “I had a funny feeling about that Tom,” said Helga. “But don’t worry, the rare tulip bulbs are safe.” Changing the subject, she said, “Now, who would like some tea and fresh baken?”

  Once she had some tea, Amanda began to feel better and talked about visiting the cemetery. “I was so moved to see how well the graves are kept. One even had a fresh Canada 150 tulip on it. It made me cry to think the soldier was still being remembered by someone.”

  Helga took a sip of tea and slowly placed the cup on its saucer. “That was me. I dropped it off on the way to Singraven. I leave a tulip on my father’s grave every week. Mother used to do it up until a couple of years ago.”

  “Your father was a Canadian soldier?” Amanda’s eyes almost popped out of her head.

  “Yes, he was in love with my mother, but was killed before they could get married. I, of course, never knew him.”

  Helga handed Amanda a cup of tea with a slice of lemon in it. “Here, take this to my mother, Greta. She is in her bedroom down the hall. She will be happy to tell you all about him.”

  Jan jumped up. “I’ll show you the way.”

  Great-Grandmother Greta lifted her head and smiled when the young people entered her room. “Dank je. Some tea is very nice.”

  “Amanda would like to know more about Oma’s father.”

  “Oh yes, Frank.” She sighed. “He was so handsome in his Canadian Army uniform. That is him on my dresser there.”

  Amanda stared in disbelief at the photograph of a young man smiling back at her.

  20

  AMANDA PULLED OUT THE PICTURE OF HER GREAT-UNCLE HAROLD from her back pocket. She looked at it and then studied the face in the old frame on the dresser. It had to be the same person. She showed the photo to Jan and Greta.

  “This is my great-uncle Harold Becker, just before he joined the army. He looks exactly the same as the boy in the picture on your dresser.”

  Gr
eta put down her tea and adjusted her glasses. She peered at the photograph. “Yes, that is my Frank. I would know him anywhere.”

  “But … the name on the gravestone is Frank Baker.” Amanda’s mind raced, searching for answers.

  “That was his name in the army. He told me he used his middle name and changed his last name to Baker, the English meaning of Becker. He said Becker was too German. He never did tell me his first name. I’m sure he would have, but he didn’t have time.” The older woman’s chin trembled as she touched the picture.

  “So that is my great-uncle’s grave in the Holten Cemetery?” Amanda scratched her jaw. “What happened to him?”

  “He was a kind and brave young man. The Germans were retreating. Some hid in a house in a village near here. The Canadian soldiers had thrown a grenade into the house. Then they heard cries coming from inside. They hadn’t realized there were still children in the house. Frank didn’t hesitate. He ran around the back and into the house, where he grabbed the two children before the grenade went off. One German soldier saw him and fired as Frank ran with a little one under each arm. When the smoke cleared from the explosion, they found all the German soldiers dead—as well as Frank—but the children were alive.”

  Tears ran down the old woman’s cheeks. “He didn’t even know about Helga, his child I carried.” She heaved a sigh. “The girl he saved still lives in the village nearby and is friends with Helga. The boy emigrated to Canada when he grew up.”

  Amanda sniffled and bent over to hug the older woman. “Thanks for telling me about my great-uncle.”

  Jan stood silently for a few minutes then broke into a wide grin. “I think that makes us cousins.”

  Amanda smiled through her tears. “You’re right. I guess that’s why you keep rescuing me.” She gave him a hug. “Thanks, cuz!”

  Helga came to the doorway. “What is going on?”

  “You won’t believe this, Oma.” Jan showed her the two pictures and relayed the story.