Cornelia sat in her chair and shifted her feet back and forth across the dark red painted wood floor.
“You could go.” Gerrit spoke softly.
She shrank back. “Nee.”
“What happened before isn’t going to happen to me.” Johan knelt next to her. The fresh, clean scent of the outdoors wafted from her. He wanted to smell the air himself.
“You can’t make promises like that.”
“She’s right, Johan. Just walking on the street puts you in danger of being snatched and sent away to Germany or to the southern fortifications.”
Why did everyone treat him like a child? Gerrit couldn’t be more than six or seven years his senior. “I know the danger, but nothing will happen to me. Don’t you trust God?”
The moment the words left his mouth, Johan regretted them. Cornelia’s hot breath slapped his face. “I trust Him, but I also believe that we need to be wise and use the brains He gave us to make good decisions. Please, Johan, don’t go.”
“Will you?”
“I can’t. I wish I could. There has to be another way.”
Johan had the answer to his question.
CHAPTER 8
Gerrit watched Cornelia flee the room and heard her slam the front door. Just as Mies had flown from him—all because of his work.
Would Cornelia betray him too?
He had upset Cornelia, but he had no remorse. They both had secrets. He saw her raw, gaping wounds, much like his. She didn’t share with him what caused her injury, but he recognized grief.
She chose to cope with it all by hiding in this house, in her safe and comfortable little world. Like so many others. They refused to help. He wanted to pound his pillow.
Mies had been the same way. Thinking only of herself, she had pleaded with Gerrit to keep out of it. And when he refused her, she betrayed him.
He couldn’t contain a small groan as he shifted under the fresh-scented covers.
No matter what, the task needed to be done. Many had capitulated along with the nation in May 1940. The queen had fled. He tugged hard on the sheet.
The more who labored at freeing the Netherlands, the sooner it would happen. Johan could help. Cornelia shouldn’t be withholding him from the country that needed him.
The incredible pain in his shoulder prevented him from adjusting his pillows. He would have to wait until Cornelia came back for that.
He had to admit, he enjoyed watching the fire in her hazel eyes. Underneath her retiring ways lived a tiger.
CORNELIA’S HEART—ALREADY beating at a breakneck speed—picked up its pace as she strode across the bridge, past the soldier, and into town. The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the tree-lined road, distorting the shapes of the houses.
Once she reached the heart of the small town, its centuries-old center lined with narrow brick buildings topped with red tile roofs, she slowed to catch her breath. Women bustled around her, picking up groceries before the Sabbath. Many of them held the hand of a child or two. The smell of roasting potatoes made her stomach growl.
She heard two voices speaking German and she spun around, wondering who uttered that language.
Without hesitation, she changed her course, away from the voices, finding herself wandering down a residential street. The din of a busy Saturday in town faded and quiet settled over her. Long and slow, she inhaled a lungful of cold, salty North Sea air, yet her thoughts turned like a spinning wheel.
Never would she have the courage to contact Gerrit’s friends. So much could go wrong.
Did that mean the job had to fall to Johan? Of course not. Neither of them had an obligation to Gerrit. Soon enough he would be able to go to his friends on his own.
Deep inside, her conscience stirred. She tamped it down.
The cross-topped spire of the church rose high above her. Its stone walls had stood through wars and weather, prosperity and poverty. The peace that emanated through its stained-glass windows beckoned her to come and rest. Her tired mind and body obeyed.
With a good deal of effort, she opened the heavy oak door. A chill radiated from the winter-soaked stones. The wood pews had been rubbed with oil hundreds, even thousands, of times, and the scent permeated the spacious interior. She slid into one of the middle rows where her family had sat every Sunday from before the time she had been born.
She leaned forward and rested her arms on the back of the pew in front of her. “Dear Lord, what am I supposed to do?”
Realizing she had spoken out loud, she turned to the left, to the right, and behind her. She saw no one.
“Father, show me what is right. I need to know. Hans would have told me that I must help, but I don’t know if that is what You want of me. Please, Lord, help me find a way out of this. A way that doesn’t involve me or Johan. A way that keeps all of us safe.”
The wind creaked in the rafters.
She looked forward and examined the many gold-covered pipes of the massive organ. In her memory, she heard its deep, rich tones sound out her favorite hymns. No answer came to her.
“Dear God, I need Your help.”
For a long, long time she sat there, hoping for, waiting for an answer. God laid nothing on her heart. The rainbow of colors from the windows lit the stone floor at her feet and the bench beside her.
She could not be the one to get in touch with Gerrit’s contacts. She doubted she would be able to take five steps in the direction of the place before she would be drenched in sweat. And she would raise suspicions when she couldn’t remain calm.
And Johan—she was responsible for her brother. Ever since their parents died, it had been her job to look after him. Sending him on this mission, no matter how eager he may be to do it, was not responsible. Her parents would never have approved, nor would she.
At least she had resolved part of her dilemma.
Now she had to find a way to be rid of the Resistance worker. As soon as possible.
AS CORNELIA RETURNED home, she recognized the tall, slight form standing on her front step as her sister, her dark red peacoat pulled around her hunched shoulders. Her gaze darted here and there, at the truck parked at the end of the quiet street.
“What is going on?”
“They arrested Jap Boersma.”
“Because of …” Anki nodded toward the house.
“Ja.”
“Where are you coming from?”
“I couldn’t stay in the house any longer. He asked me to help him. To contact someone for him. I went to the church to pray.” Cornelia had to be careful what she said. Being outside, anyone could overhear their conversation.
“You won’t do it.”
“Of course not. I admire people like him, but I won’t do it myself or allow Johan to join the battle. He is a naive twenty-year-old, so to him, danger and adventure look appealing. I know differently.”
“That man is involving our brother?”
“Johan offered of his own free will. I put an immediate end to it. He won’t go. But I suppose someone has to.”
Anki gathered her sister in a hug, and Cornelia rested her head on her sister’s shoulder. “You can’t do this. Resistance workers are involved in dangerous things.”
“I know.”
“Wim may have blown up rail lines or brought stolen ration cards to Juden. He might have even helped plot the escape of an English pilot.”
“I refuse to get involved with the Resistance—I just want Gerrit to heal and leave my house, you know. The sooner, the better. He insists the way I have to do that is by contacting his friends.”
“You can’t do it yourself. What about the dominee? Reverend Sikma has said things that make me wonder if he might be involved.”
“If he is, he could relay the message. But if he isn’t …” Cornelia shuddered. She moved to the back garden and fingered the few clothes on the line.
Anki followed her. “You know what happened to Hear Kampinga. One day he disappeared and no one ever heard from him again.”
“Then why are you even thinking about this?”
Ja, despite her insistence that she couldn’t do it, Cornelia was thinking about it. Because she had to get rid of Gerrit. And Johan couldn’t be involved. If anything happened to him …
She liked Gerrit’s comparison of his work to David and Goliath. God used small people to accomplish big goals. That was a battle, a day Israel fought against her enemies. “How do I know what is right and what is wrong? What would God have me do? My head is being pulled in opposite directions by the ears.” She studied Anki.
“It is always wrong to break God’s laws.”
Cornelia began ripping the clothes from the line, even though most were still damp. “The trouble is, if I don’t lie, I all but kill a man.”
“Doesn’t he have any family? A wife? Parents?”
A light ignited in her mind. “Anki, that’s it.” Her neighbor on one side, a middle-aged woman she didn’t know very well, opened her window and scowled at the pair.
Cornelia clamped her hand over her mouth. How much more of the conversation had the woman heard? Whose side did she sympathize with? She led her sister to the front of the house again and pulled her inside. The thump of the sentry’s boots reverberated in her ears as he marched back and forth in front of the bridge.
“We can contact his relatives. Because of the censors we can’t send a letter, but if we find his family, Gerrit will leave and no one will have to risk their life.” Cornelia smiled.
From down the street, gunshots reverberated in the cool, dusky air.
GERRIT HEARD THE door open and click shut. From his isolation in this cupboard, he couldn’t see Cornelia but trusted she would return. Quiet footsteps moved down the hall and into the kitchen. He smiled, excited at the thought that she soon would appear in the doorway.
He thought that kind of pleasure had left him along with Mies, but now it came back, in a smaller, seedling kind of way.
He shook his head. Until all the Nederlanders breathed free air, romance must wait. And Cornelia would be like Mies—not wanting him to work in the Resistance. She would never have him.
He lifted his head from the pillow to search for her and the thought struck him. Romance? Could he, in less than a day, be attracted to her? Nee, she cared for him with a tender touch and he appreciated her nursing. These feelings were nothing more than gratitude for her lifesaving treatment.
Then she came into view and his pulse climbed. Her flawless complexion, flushed from being outside in the cold, reminded him of his sisters’ china dolls.
She entered and sat in the ladderback chair next to him, smoothing her auburn hair. Her hazel eyes shimmered, filled with a peace she didn’t have before.
“Do you have a wife? Parents? Some family? They must be worried about you.”
“Nee.”
Cornelia scooted her chair back a few centimeters at his harsh word.
“You can’t contact them.”
Her eyes widened. “Why not? If I would go missing, my entire family would be frantic. They would want word about my condition and where I was. They would come and get me.”
“You can’t tell them where I am.”
“I don’t understand. If they know about it, you have to tell them you are alive. You can’t allow them to believe otherwise. Your poor wife.” She shook her head.
“I don’t have a wife. Never have. The first time the Nazis became aware of the work I did, it was under my given name. The Gestapo found my parents’ address and went to their home to question them. They continued to come, day or night, and interrogate them. I narrowly escaped their house once before. I haven’t spoken to them in almost a year. The risk is too great.”
Cornelia stood and fiddled with the hem of the sleeve of her worn blue housedress. “Then what do we do? I think Dominee Sikma is part of the Resistance. I could go to him.”
“You think? Or do you know?”
“I suspect. But if we were wrong and he wasn’t involved, he wouldn’t turn us in.” She sat and crossed and uncrossed her thin ankles.
“How can you be sure?”
She waved at the air. “Because he’s the dominee, that’s how I can be sure.”
“Nee, not him. A friend of mine from Leeuwarden, where I grew up, a school pal, is working with the Resistance here now. He told me to come to him if I ever found myself in trouble. Contact him.”
“I won’t do it.”
“Why not?” For the right cause, you had to do what was required of you. “He would get me out of here faster.”
She shook her head. “I won’t go to the Resistance. Too many things could go wrong. I could be followed. There has to be another way. And do not consider recruiting my brother either.” She stomped across the room, making as much noise as she could with stocking feet, stepping on the cat’s tail. The animal screeched and bounded out of her way.
He scrubbed his face with his left hand, a few days of stubble scratching his palm. If she possessed half that spunk with the Nazis, she would have no trouble talking her way out of any situation.
The problem remained that the Resistance needed to know he was alive.
JOHAN WATCHED HIS sister pick up her laundry basket and then heard the latch click. Good. He could speak to Gerrit without her interference.
The man lay in the bedstee, staring at the ceiling. Even from across the room, Johan saw the distinctive Dutch bump just below the bridge of his nose. Johan cleared his throat.
Gerrit turned, smiled, and scooted up on the pillows. “I am glad to see you.”
“Corrie went to get the laundry from the line, so we don’t have long to talk, but I had to speak to you.”
The man’s forehead furrowed. “About what?”
Johan shifted from one foot to the other. “I want to help with the Resistance. I’ll contact them for you. It must be important if you’re so insistent.”
“Ja, it is. What about your sister, though? She forbade you from going, and she made it clear to me that I was not to involve you. If she finds out, she won’t be happy.”
“I mean, you said it yourself—I’m a grown man now and I can make my own decisions. The Netherlands has no army anymore for me to fight in, so this is my chance to speed the release of our people. The queen needs to come home.”
“There are risks.”
“I may be in hiding, but I have ears. I know the dangers and what might happen to me.”
“If you saw the carnage at the bridge, Johan, I suppose you do.”
“You can trust me.”
Gerrit nodded and a smile lit his eyes as blue as the canal water. “If you’re here in hiding, I believe I can trust you. Are you sure you want to do this?”
“I sure am.” He would show his bravery and his strength.
“Then this is what you have to do.”
CHAPTER 9
Cornelia cinched the belt of her green Sunday dress the way she wanted to cinch it around Gerrit’s neck. That stubborn man, not accepting any of her compromises and siding with her brother against her. At least she had talked Johan out of going.
She touched the white crocheted lace collar, now yellowed even though she scrubbed and scrubbed it. Nothing she could do about that. She rolled the top of her hair, securing the curls with pins, and caught the rest at the base of her head in the simple silver clip Hans had given her as a wedding gift.
She wouldn’t think about Hans today. She pulled her brush through her tresses once more, then laid it on her dresser. Time to get Johan moving if they were to make it to services on time.
She knocked on his bedroom door, but he didn’t answer. When no reply came from her second and third knocks, she dared to turn the knob and enter his tiny room under the sloped roof. The sheets lay mussed in a pile at the end of the low bed and clothes all but concealed the floor, but Johan wasn’t there. Good, he must be downstairs waiting for his breakfast.
When s
he got to the kitchen, however, she found it empty and cold. Perhaps Gerrit had called for him. She stirred the fire in the stove and hurried to the front room. Gerrit sat in bed, stroking Pepper, who purred, curled in a ball on his lap. The chair beside him remained empty.
Her stomach twisted. “Where is Johan?”
Gerrit motioned toward the chair. “Sit down for a minute.”
She stared at the wounded man, a small scar marring his square chin. The look in his eyes caused goose bumps to pop up all over her arms. “What do you have to tell me?”
“Don’t be angry.”
“That means you do not have good news for me.”
“Johan is an adult and made this decision on his own.”
Her stomach turned inside out. “He went, didn’t he?”
“Ja. He left about ten minutes ago.”
She shook her head, unable to believe the depth of her brother’s foolhardiness. “You encouraged him.”
Gerrit played with the edge of the blanket, his hands displaying the long fingers, leathery skin, and prominent knuckles of someone who worked hard. “I didn’t recruit him, if that’s what you’re asking. He volunteered and I gave him the information.”
Inside her, an icy-hot spring welled. “I begged you not to do that.”
“He was determined. You refused, so he went.”
“Don’t make this my fault.”
“No one’s blaming you, Cornelia. He went to do a job that needed to be done, that’s all.”
She balled her fists and resisted striking him. “What if something happens to him?” Awful images slashed across her mind, pictures of something she wanted to forget but couldn’t.
“I won’t lie to you—what he is doing is dangerous.”
She strangled her words to avoid from shouting and causing suspicion among the neighbors. “Then why did you let him do it?”
“We have been over this already.” His voice contained a sharp edge of impatience.
“Have I worked to protect him for nothing?”
“He wants to fight for his country and his queen.”
Liz Tolsma Page 6