She squeezed Pepper so hard he screeched and jumped from her arms.
The pounding continued. “Cornelia, open up.”
Her mind whirled. That sounded like Johan. But wasn’t he upstairs?
“Open the door. Now.”
She cracked open the door.
Johan stood on the clean-swept step, another man draped over his shoulder.
Behind her, Pepper scampered away. She drew the door open a sliver wider. “What is going on?”
“This man has been shot. Help me get him to the bedstee.”
The man reeked of danger.
“Corrie, help me.”
She clung to the doorknob.
“Let us in.”
“I can’t.”
“Help me.” The man took a labored breath.
“He will die if we don’t aid him. You have to open the door. Please.”
What if this had been Hans? What if he had knocked on someone’s door, desperate for help? She knew what he would have wanted her to do.
She opened the door and stepped to the side.
The man must weigh almost twice as much as she did, and Johan struggled to half drag him to the front room.
She walked beside them, studying the man, his handsome face pallid, his lips tinged with blue. He smelled of filth, his wavy, sandy-colored hair matted, his clothes caked in mud. Then she saw his shoulder, blood seeping through a crude bandage, and the metallic taste of bile bit her tongue.
“Shut the door.” The man’s voice, though weak, held an air of authority. “Lock it.”
Cornelia scurried to the front and obeyed. Why would he need the door locked?
Johan went to the front room and crossed to the two sets of double doors. The built-in cupboards were painted yellow with green trim. Behind one was a bedstee. Behind the other was storage. Cornelia scooted in front of them and flung open one of the bedstee’s doors. No one had slept here in a while since she and Johan each had rooms upstairs, but clean red-and-white-checked sheets stood at the ready.
Johan eased the man’s torso across the mattress, then swung up his feet.
She stood beside him but turned to her brother. “Where did you find him?”
“On the road, near the bridge.”
“Do you know what happened to him?”
Johan shook his head and the man remained silent.
“Let me look at your shoulder.” Taking great care not to hurt him in any way, she pulled aside his ripped shirt and lifted a crude dressing. Red oozed from a gaping hole. Her stomach recoiled and she dropped the bandage in place as she turned away. “What happened to you?”
“The Gestapo tried to execute me. They missed.”
Johan gasped. “You. You were one of them. The men by the canal.”
“Ja.”
Cornelia touched the bandage. “Who took care of you?”
“Your neighbors across the canal treated me, but they turned me out. They were too afraid to let me stay.”
Her neighbors had done the right thing. A current of panic shot through Cornelia. She had been wrong to allow him in her house. The Gestapo would arrive to search for him, and when they found him, she and Johan would be shipped to a prison camp.
“You have to let me stay.”
“I—I—I don’t know.” Was he dangerous? What was the right thing to do?
Again she asked herself, what if this had been Hans?
Her brother leaned against the door of the storage cupboard. “If we turn him out, he will die for sure.”
She twisted her damp hands together as she looked at the man. His eyes, as clear and blue as the big Frisian sky, spoke of kindness. But if she was wrong about him … “If you want me to let you stay here, you must tell me what you did.”
“I was out after curfew.”
“Doing what?”
“Meeting a woman. A married woman.”
Nazis didn’t shoot people for meeting a woman. They shot people for many reasons and sometimes for no reason at all, but this was an execution. An execution of men who had done something awful.
“You’re lying to me. I will throw you on the street unless you tell me the truth.” And she might turn him out even if he confessed.
The man sank into the bed, grimacing in pain. His blond, arched eyebrows lowered, a muscle jumping in his square jaw. He hesitated for a full minute or two. “I work for the Resistance in Leeuwarden and was arrested there. They found contraband on me. For your own protection—and mine—I refuse to tell you more.”
Cornelia clasped her hands to her chest. Contraband. Resistance. Her safe, quiet life shattered.
A pulse of excitement radiated from her brother beside her. “This man is a hero. We have to take care of him.”
“Not a hero, just a man doing what I have to do.”
His humility didn’t move her.
The circle of crimson on his shirt had grown in the few minutes he’d been here. Without immediate aid, he would die.
“Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.”
For Hans’s sake, she had to help him. Her gut twisted. What would she do, what would she say, where would she hide him when the Nazis came searching?
“What is your name?”
“Wim vander Zee.”
“Another lie.”
Johan tugged on her arm, a little child wanting his way. “You have to get Anki. He needs medical care, but Doktor Boukma might not be trustworthy. He might turn in Wim. With her nursing background, Anki can help.”
“You want me to go out after curfew?” She would be arrested. They all would be. The possibility became more and more a reality with each passing second.
Wim reached out and grasped her wrist, squeezing it hard. He hissed at her, “You can’t go for this Anki. Nobody can know about me. No one at all. Do you understand?”
She nodded, unable to breathe.
He relaxed his grip. “You will have to take care of me.”
Cornelia found her voice and the words tumbled out. “I have no training and I hate the sight of blood, so what happens if I pass out? If I do it wrong, you will die. Having me nurse you is not the way to stay alive.”
“Five years we have been occupied and you have never had your abilities tried?”
Wim was testing her. Was she one of those who watched from the sidelines or would she participate in the game?
“Please, Cornelia.” Her brother didn’t want her to sit by idly.
His pleading gripped her. But she would have a talk with him later about bringing strangers into the house. And about being out of the house in the first place.
She rose and padded across the cold floors to the tiny bathroom to gather everything she needed to doctor him, including an old, almost-empty bottle of hydrogen peroxide and a few cotton balls.
Was she one who watched from the sidelines? Yes, she was.
And what was so wrong with that? The Netherlands was a small country. Their army—which didn’t exist anymore—had ridden bicycles, aging rifles slung over their shoulders. Over four and a half years ago, they had been no match for the German tanks. She retrieved a needle and some thread from her sewing basket.
Every Sunday she went twice to the tsjerke and prayed that the Allies would come soon and free them. All of her friends chatted about it. Some had wireless sets and listened to Radio Oranje on the BBC in secret. The Allies would be here soon, and then it would all be over. Why risk their lives now when before long help would come and they would be free?
She brought her supplies and dumped them on the end of the bed. Trying not to hurt him any further, she peeled off the rough cotton dressing, her eyes turned away. Wim didn’t make a sound, not even when she pulled the bandage from his skin. He lay with his eyes closed.
She looked at Johan’s wide face. “Did he pass out?”
He nodded.
Good. He had fainted—from blood loss or pain, she didn’t care, as long as he stayed unconscious for a while.
Covering her mouth, she swabbed the wound, cleaning it. Then she spied the bullet still lodged in his shoulder. Waves of nausea rolled across her middle. “He needs a doktor.”
“Wim told us not to get Anki.”
“What if he dies? He’s unconscious now, so we can get Anki here to treat him without his even knowing. Whom can we trust if not our own sister?”
“What about Piet?”
Anki’s husband did pose a problem. He wasn’t a collaborator, but his complacent attitude toward the occupiers made her nervous. “We will make her promise not to tell him. Remember when we were little? She was always the best at keeping secrets.”
Johan shrugged. “Fine. I will go get her.”
“Nee, not you. What were you thinking when you left before? Do you know you could have gotten yourself arrested? Or killed?”
He opened his mouth and drew in a breath, but she lost interest in his defense.
“Never mind, time is slipping away. I have to get her.” If her trembling legs would carry her that far. They had no other choice.
CHAPTER 4
Anki Dykstra had no energy these days to do the most basic of chores. She pulled the blackout shades over the long windows in the front room of her home and sank into the overstuffed brown chair, grateful for the chance to rest and put up her feet. Plates and silverware clanked together as Piet finished the dishes, the lingering smell of hutspot, rich with the odors of carrots and potatoes, permeating the house.
She rubbed her still-flat stomach. It wouldn’t be that way for long. Inside she harbored a secret, the longed-for answer to many years of fervent prayers. Piet didn’t know yet. She wanted to be sure there were no problems before she shared her surprise. They had waited and waited for a child. He would be so surprised and happy. At least she hoped so.
He came from the kitchen and perched on the chair’s arm, his long legs splayed to the side. He kissed her on top of her head. “Are you feeling any better? Can I get you anything?”
She held his hand. “Bedankt for cleaning up the kitchen.”
“You should see Doktor Boukma.” He squeezed her hand. “This has been going on far too long.”
“It will pass. If we had milk, a warm glass would be good.”
He released her hand and stood. “We are not going to go over this yet another time. I refuse to steal milk from the plant. Not only could I lose my job, but it would be breaking both the civil law and God’s law.”
He was right. She didn’t want to rehash this topic. Soon enough she would be able to obtain milk because of her pregnancy. “How about we go to bed? A good night’s rest would be nice.” She went to her husband, and arm in arm they headed out of the room and to the hall for the stairs.
Before she could place her foot on the first step, someone pounded on the door. Piet squeezed her shoulder. “You go on up while I answer the door.”
He had no more than opened it a crack when her sister, Corrie, pushed her way inside. “Is Anki around?”
“Right here.” She retraced her steps to the front of the house. “What is it?”
“Umm …” Corrie hesitated, pushing back the stray strand of long auburn hair that had escaped its clip. “I need to speak to you alone, about a, well, a woman thing, you know?”
Piet shut the door. “You two have your chat. Come up soon, Anki. Good to see you, Cornelia.” He nodded his blond head in Corrie’s direction, then disappeared up the stairs.
“I need you to come with me. We have an emergency. Get your coat and let’s go.” Corrie tugged on her sister’s arm.
Anki pulled away. “Are you crazy? Why would you take me out after curfew?”
“Hush.” Corrie lowered her voice. “No one can know, not even Piet.”
No one in her family trusted Piet because of his unbending convictions. They kept many secrets from her.
“Johan brought a man home tonight. The Gestapo botched his execution. They shot him in the shoulder and the bullet is still in there. There is so much blood I have no idea what to do.”
Anki’s pulse tripped over itself. Johan was home? And what about this mysterious patient? She couldn’t say no. Her nursing training, dormant since her marriage, woke up and kicked in.
“Just wait a minute. I have to tell Piet something and gather a few things. Start praying that the Nazis will not catch us out after curfew.”
“I already am. Just hurry. This man is very weak.”
Anki flew up the steps and into the bedroom she shared with her husband. He was slipping off his dark blue button-down shirt as she entered the room. For a moment, she forgot everything except why she married him.
He turned to face her. “What did Cornelia want?”
“She has a sick friend who requires some medical assistance.”
“What about the doktor?”
That was a good question she had forgotten to ask. “He must be out on another call.”
“What friend?”
“Just a friend of Corrie’s.”
“You are breaking the Germans’ law by going out now. You will do that for a stranger?”
“Curfew means nothing when a person is sick. Maybe even dying.”
“Is it that serious?”
Anki nodded. “Ja.”
“You know how I feel about this.”
“I know, but it would be wrong to let someone die because of a curfew.”
“God would find a way to heal the person, if it be His will.”
“Tonight I am that way.”
“Anki …”
“Please. I want to be a submissive wife, but this is something I have to do.”
Piet put his hands in his pockets. “You know you are risking your life.”
And their child’s. “I have to go. That is what my nursing training was all about.”
“And what if I forbid you?”
“Forbid me?” In their four years of marriage, he had never spoken like this. “Please, please understand and let me go.” If Corrie spoke the truth about the man’s condition, they didn’t have a minute to argue. “A human life hangs in the balance and precious time is wasting away.”
“You should let God take care of things.” Piet sighed. “You know how I feel, but if you have to go, then go.”
“This will take awhile and so it will be morning at least before I get home. Hopefully before you go to work.” She stood on her tiptoes beside her husband and kissed him. “I love you.”
He rubbed her shoulder. “I will be praying for you.”
“Bedankt.” If she had to sneak out after curfew and remove a bullet from the shoulder of a wanted man, she would need those prayers. She gathered a few things and placed them in her rucksack along with her identification papers. Piet’s sat beside hers on the little night table. She fingered them, then, shielding his view of the table with her body, slid his into the bag.
Within minutes, she and Corrie pedaled through the chilly night. All the world, clothed in darkness, slept. The church bells, which would have rung out the hour, had been confiscated by the Nazis and melted down as part of the war effort.
Not a word passed between the two sisters. No need to draw any attention to themselves. A soldier might be lurking around any corner. They crossed the bridge across the canal, and Anki breathed a sigh when they arrived at the house without incident.
Her brother met them at the door and she hugged him. “Oh, I have missed you.” She stood back and examined him, his broad shoulders and work-roughened hands. “You grew quite a bit.”
He laughed. “Corrie said that too.”
So he hadn’t been with their sister the entire time. Maybe they would tell her everything when the war ended.
She didn’t come here to talk to her brother, though. She dropped her medical instruments into a pot of boiling water. God bless her sister for always putting on the pot to boil if someone was sick or hurt.
After scrubbing her hands with lye soap, Anki went to the bedstee.
Johan j
oined her. “He passed out soon after I brought him here.”
“Corrie told me you were outside.”
“Don’t worry. She already gave me the you’d-better-watch-out-or-you’re-going-to-get-in-trouble speech. And she has a superb one.”
“Unconscious. Good. No need for a sedative.” Anki lifted the bandage and observed the wound.
“This bullet will have to come out. Get me the supplies in the pot on the stove. Make sure you wash your hands before you touch them.”
While he was gone, she stretched her arms and shoulders and formulated a plan. She would have to be meticulous not to nick any other blood vessels.
Johan returned with the sterilized instruments. “Can I watch? Or maybe even help?”
“Ja, I need you to hand me what I ask for.” She glanced at him, a grin stretched across his wide face.
The bullet had cut a clean path into the man’s shoulder. Johan assisted her. Holding her breath, she managed to remove it without causing further injury. She exhaled and relaxed her shoulders.
With peroxide, she cleaned the wound. Infection could be deadlier than the bullet damage. That they would have to guard against. She wasn’t a surgeon, but in the end, she was pleased with how she closed the wound. Not bad for a needle and thread.
Johan leaned over and inspected her work. “Can I keep the bullet?”
“That is disgusting.” And very typical of her brother.
When they completed their work, they joined Corrie in the kitchen. “I stitched his wound closed and that should stop the bleeding. He will need to be still until it heals. Clean it every day and watch for any signs of infection. He was one of the men shot near the canal?”
Johan stood straighter. “Can you believe that? I found him lying on the bank, begging for help.”
Anki looked between her siblings. “What have you gotten yourselves into?” She couldn’t believe her sister had become entwined in this.
Corrie hugged herself.
“You two have to get him out of here before the Germans find out. Do you hear me?”
Johan stepped farther into the light. “He has nowhere else to go, and when the Nazis come back and count the bodies, they are sure to search for him.”
“Therein lies the problem. The Gestapo will be here. Not only do you have this man here, but you have Johan to protect.”
Liz Tolsma Page 3