Liz Tolsma

by Snow on the Tulips

  “Cornelia?”

  “It is certainly not Sinterklaas.” She laughed and no music ever sounded sweeter.

  He sprang from that chasm, though the movement sent pain crashing down his arm and chest. He didn’t care.

  She grasped him. Cornelia, beautiful Cornelia, safe and here with him. He stumbled out of the hiding place, steadied himself, then lifted her from her feet, embracing her.

  “Oh, leafde, leafde, I am so happy to see you.” He fingered the crimson stain of that beast’s hand on her cheek. “Are you all right? Did they hurt you? Those monsters. They deserve whatever they get.” He strained in her embrace.

  She held him. “Nee, nee. I’m fine. Just fine. Don’t worry about me. Anger won’t help.” She collapsed against him. “Just never, ever cough again.”

  He rubbed her back. “I won’t, I promise. The dust tickled my throat so much. I tried to contain it.”

  “I was so scared, so sure they were going to arrest me and send me to Germany. Or worse …”

  “You were so brave.”

  “They threatened to burn down the house. They wanted to smoke out you and Johan. I told them to go ahead!”

  “I would have loved to have heard that conversation.” He kissed her forehead.

  “They trampled the tulips when they left.”

  “The shoots will come back. They always do.”

  PIET STOOD IN the front room, his packed valise on the chair, several layers of clothes on his back, his work boots on his feet. His much-worn klompen sat beside the door.

  Anki glared at him. He was nothing but a stubborn old Dutchman. He couldn’t forgive her. He wouldn’t listen to reason. How could he place the orders of the occupiers above her and their child? “There is still time. We can hide you in the attic walls and you will be safe here with the baby and me. Stay where you belong.” She clenched her fists.

  Piet straightened his back. “The baby doesn’t change the order. I have to go.”

  Nee, God, nee. Her words rose in pitch. “You can’t. I need you. Our child needs you. Don’t punish our child because of me.”

  “Our child isn’t born yet. I will be back before he is here.”

  She screamed at him, as if the louder she spoke, the more likely he would listen to her. “You cannot do this. Don’t go.” She pounded her fists on his chest. “Please, please, please, I am pleading with you, don’t do it. Don’t leave me.”

  He caught her wrists and held them. “Do not make this more difficult than it is. Remember, God is sovereign and in control of everything. His ways are perfect. We don’t always understand them, but we must trust Him. In all of this, His plan will be fulfilled.”

  She believed God was sovereign. Without that conviction, how could she live her life? But she didn’t think it meant that fighting back against evil was wrong. Doktor Boukma had said so himself, and he was an elder in the tsjerke. Maybe Corrie was rubbing off on her. She was confused and didn’t know right from wrong anymore.

  Deflated, she plopped onto the brown davenport, her arms crossed in front of her. Inside, a fire burned. Piet sat beside her and neither of them spoke. All the things they had to say to each other had been said. The persistent tick-tock of the mantel clock marked off their last moments together.

  She studied his profile, drinking in the sight of this mule-headed man she loved, knowing she would never see him again. He tilted his proud jaw upward, his green eyes clear, while a muscle worked in his cheek.

  Trucks mounted with loudspeakers traversed the streets, their order to report for duty for the Fatherland. The Netherlands and Friesland were their Fatherland, not Germany. Brakes squealed and soldiers marched. The little clock chimed the hour. Piet rose and so did she. He gathered her into an awkward embrace. “I will miss you, Anki. Take care of our baby. I love you.”

  She couldn’t have cried even if she wanted to. He was leaving her. “I love you. I am sorry.” What more could she say?

  He opened the door, exited, and shut it behind him.

  She watched at the window, her hand covering her unborn child. All emotion had left her—the anger, the grief. Later, the pain would come. Now there was nothing besides numbness.

  Just two other men on their street waited on their clean-swept steps, their cases at their feet. The neighborhood held its breath. Many more men lived here. Most of them, Anki assumed, hid somewhere inside.

  The troops swept down their road. They didn’t lay a hand on Piet. He went willingly.

  When he disappeared into the green truck, she turned from the window.

  CHAPTER 23

  The Nazis had turned over Cornelia’s rocking chair and the kitchen chairs. They had torn pots and pans from the cupboard and pulled the mattress from the bedstee.

  The one spot they missed, only by the grace of God, was the spot in the wall where Gerrit hid. Half an hour ago Cornelia wouldn’t have thought it possible that the three of them—she, Gerrit, and Johan—would be at their home, safe and together.

  Her shoulders wilted and her knees unlocked.

  Best, though, to leave her churning emotions untouched. If she didn’t acknowledge them, perhaps they would fade, as they should.

  Gerrit leaned against the wall, the lines around his mouth smooth, as relaxed as a man on holiday as he related the story to Johan. “You should have seen your sister. She is a professional Nazi handler. Her coughing fit almost had me convinced.”

  Johan gripped the back of the rocking chair and laughed. “An actress extraordinaire in the making.”

  “And then she told them to go ahead and burn down the house. That took some nerve.”

  “I can’t believe I said that.” A tremor passed through her. “If they had done it, you both would have roasted.”

  Gerrit shrugged. “I had a plan.”

  “Don’t you always?”

  “Of course I do. Mem told me never to leave the house without a plan.”

  She allowed herself to smile. “And what would that plan have been?”

  “I would have ridden my gallant steed out of the house, felled all the Gestapo with one swoop of my sword, galloped straight into the police station, swung you beside me in the saddle, and ridden far, far away where they would never find us.” Light danced in his blue eyes.

  Her cheeks warmed at his romantic, if far-fetched, tale. She needed a smart comeback, but she hadn’t flirted with anyone in a long time. She copied the actions of her school friends who went to the motion pictures. Clasping her hands to her chest, she said, “My hero.”

  Gerrit touched her cheek and her knees weakened.

  Johan cleared his throat. “There is one problem with your plan. You would have left me in my hiding place to fry.”

  The men roared until they cried and she joined them, the soul’s medicine washing over her. Mirth had been in short supply.

  Their merriment came to an abrupt halt when someone knocked at the door. They must have made too much racket and a neighbor must have tipped off the Gestapo, telling them they had missed two men here.

  She glanced from Johan to Gerrit and back again.

  Gerrit reassured her with a slight nod. “It is not the Gestapo.”

  “How do you know?”

  “They announce themselves.”

  “At least go upstairs until I know who is here. It might be Maria. They took her husband.”

  “I will do anything to make you happy.” He winked.

  Gerrit’s words and actions did nothing to steady her rattled nerves.

  After giving the men a moment to climb the stairs, she cracked open the door. The pink of a woman’s sweater—Anki’s sweater—greeted her. Exhaling in relief, Cornelia swung the door wide.

  Her sister’s mouth looked like it had been drawn in a straight line with a pencil across her ashen face. “Are Johan and Gerrit here?”

  “What is wrong?” She gripped her sister’s hands.

  “Please tell me they are safe.” Distress marked Anki’s features.

  �
�They are. I insisted they go upstairs because I thought the Gestapo had come back. What is the matter? Sit down and I will get you a glass of water.”

  “I don’t want a drink.” Anki’s words fell lifeless to the floor.

  “Then what?” As soon as she asked the question, she knew what troubled her sister. “Piet?”

  Anki nodded.

  Cornelia propelled her sister into a kitchen chair before she fainted and got her a glass of water, whether she wanted it or not. Then she sat beside Anki. “Tell me.”

  “They took him. Or rather, he went with them. I am pregnant, and he went with them.”

  Her suspicions had been correct. Her sister would be a mother at long last. “Did you tell him about the baby?”

  Her sister pursed her lips. “Ja, but it didn’t matter because he thinks he will be back before it comes. He believes every lie they have forced us to swallow.”

  Cornelia wasn’t surprised. Piet obeyed the authorities because he believed God commanded him to follow them.

  She glanced up and found Johan and Gerrit standing in the doorway, both of their mouths round with shock. “Piet went of his own accord.”

  Sweet Gerrit stepped forward. “We might be able to mount a rescue of some kind. I had a plan half formulated when I thought Cornelia had been arrested.”

  Anki shook her head. “Even if you did, he wouldn’t come with you. He wouldn’t want that because it might be against God’s will.”

  Cornelia leaned on the table. “Then what? What can we do to get him released?”

  “Nothing. How can you release a man who doesn’t want to be rescued?” Anki’s voice cracked. She wiped her nose with her embroidered handkerchief. “What am I going to do?”

  Cornelia gave her sister a sideways hug. “Have hope. He may return for you.”

  “Or not. Maybe I, too, will lose my husband and grow old alone.”

  Cornelia dared to glance at Gerrit.

  She smoothed back Anki’s dark auburn hair, rolled at the top and curled under at the bottom. “Let’s wait and see what the Lord has in store for us. For now, you will stay here where we can take care of you.”

  “Nee. I need to be where Piet can find me if he comes home.”

  Cornelia remembered how she didn’t want to leave that hotel room in Nijmegen. If Hans came back to her, she needed to be where he could find her. Such a long time she sat in that room waiting for him, passing the hours praying for him, planning their life together, how many children they would have, how they would love them and spoil them, how they would be devoted to each other to the very end.

  “You are going to stay for supper, at least.”

  Anki nodded, staring at the canal shimmering in the early spring sun but not seeing it.

  That old, too-familiar pain bore down on her once more. God may be sovereign and have a perfect plan. That didn’t mean Cornelia had to like it.

  ANKI WOKE WITH a start the following morning. Bright sunlight streamed through the lace curtains and hints of spring tinged the air. The hyacinths and daffodils and tulips would soon bloom, and this long, horrible winter would end.

  Reenergized, she rolled over to wake Piet. She found only pillow and blanket and not his smooth, strong shoulder. He must have risen early. Being pregnant made her so tired, she must have overslept. She would need to hurry to prepare his breakfast before he left for work.

  She sat and stretched, then swung around to stand. The instant her bare feet hit the icy floor, the cold reality of Piet’s deportation hit her.

  Panic cinched her stomach. Where had he spent the night? Had his coat been warm enough? Was he hungry? Had he left the Netherlands already?

  She needed to know the answers to these questions. They might bring her a measure of comfort. If she knew where he laid his head at night, what he did, and what he ate, their connection could remain unbroken.

  Without much thought to what she wore or what her hair might look like, she donned a simple blue cotton housedress and slid into her washed-out pink sweater. Morning sickness kept her from wanting a meal, so she left the house fifteen minutes later.

  She made her way through the familiar streets with haste, not paying any attention to her surroundings until the town hall stood in front of her, three stories of white brick and windows.

  She climbed the few stairs that led to the front entrance. The heavy wood door creaked as she pulled it open. She focused on what she needed to do.

  Around fifty men or so milled about the large lobby, ringed by armed guards. Some acted careless and casual, talking and joking with the other inmates. Those were the ones who surrendered themselves, Anki figured. Others sat to the side, heads bowed under the weight of what lay in store. These must be the ones who were discovered hiding in their homes.

  Though tall, she had to stand on her tiptoes to scan the sea of faces for her husband’s. She found him without too much trouble—one of those who looked like this might be a pleasant church gathering.

  Her body ached, needing to be in his arms. Leaning forward, she went to push through the crowd toward Piet.

  “Halt.” A German guard pushed the side of a rifle into her midsection. “Where are you going?”

  “I need to see my husband. You have to let me go to him.”

  “Nein. Go home. Your husband will be well cared for and he will send you money soon.”

  Anki wasn’t going to let some foreign kid barely old enough to shave stand between her and her mission. “Nein,” she answered in fluent German. “You don’t understand. I have to see my husband. It is urgent.”

  He pushed his rifle into her harder. Fearing for the baby, she stepped back. “Where is your superior?”

  He pointed at the gray-haired man behind the counter across the room. “But he won’t let you see your husband either.”

  “Don’t be too sure of that.” With her head held high, she strode to the desk.

  “Excuse me, sir, do you know Piet Dykstra?” she asked in German.

  He peered at her from behind wire-rimmed glasses. “What can I do to help you?” he answered in perfect Dutch. So he was a collaborator. Anki didn’t know if this would make her job easier or harder.

  “He is over there, with the group of men rounded up yesterday.”

  He stared at her, eyes enlarged behind his glasses, as if she asked him if he knew why the sky was blue.

  “He shouldn’t be transported with the others. He has an ausweis and works in the milk plant. You need him here to process the milk you take back to Germany.” She hadn’t come here to attempt to win his release, but now that she had seen him, she didn’t intend to leave without him, even if she had to drag him out of here by his ear.

  The man scratched his head, fingers mussing his dark, slicked-back hair. Good, she had made him think.

  “Frou Dykstra, right now your husband is needed in the Fatherland. In order to beat back these Allies, we need men like him to help us build planes and make ammunition. We can find someone else to process milk. Maybe you.”

  Anki refused to take this as the final word. Not today. No matter how much Piet wanted to stay. She leaned across the counter, her face mere inches from the man’s. Her words seeped between clenched teeth. “You must release my husband. I am pregnant.”

  The man had the gall to shrug. “About half of these men have pregnant wives at home. That argument will not sway me. I don’t know why you are here.”

  “Because I need my husband.” She tamped down the tears rising in her throat.

  “You owe this to the Fatherland.”

  “I owe nothing to Germany.”

  The man rose, the top of his head coming to her shoulder. “It is time for you to leave, Frou Dykstra.” He nodded and two armed guards materialized at her side.

  “I will get my husband released.”

  “Do what you want. The transport leaves in thirty minutes. You can’t save him.”

  “Please, please let him go.”

  “If I free all the men whose
wives have been here to plead their causes, I wouldn’t have a single man to deport. Good day, Frou Dykstra.”

  He turned on his heel and disappeared into a back room.

  She nodded to the guard on her left, the one she had a word with earlier. “I will speak to my husband.” Not waiting for an escort, she edged around the group of men until she came within audible range of Piet.

  He glared at her. “What are you doing here?”

  “If you won’t come to your senses and fight for yourself, I will do it for you.”

  Bruise-like circles hung under his eyes. A little of her anger ebbed away.

  “Go home, Anki.”

  “Not without you.”

  “I have made my choice, relying on the care of my heavenly Father. You need to do the same.”

  “Sometimes He cares for us by providing the means for us to take care of ourselves.”

  Disappointment shone in his green eyes. “Where is your faith?”

  “Where is your common sense? This is not how you punish your wife.”

  He didn’t reply. This conversation wasn’t going the way she hoped. She didn’t want to think the thought, but this might be the last time she would ever see her husband. She didn’t want to argue, so she released more of her irritation and softened her tone. “Are you warm enough? Did they give you something to eat?”

  His stance relaxed. “I am fine, so please don’t worry about me. Take care of our baby.”

  Behind her tears, his long face looked like it had when they had toured a house of mirrors as teenagers. “You need to come home to us.”

  “If God wills.”

  Like an uncorked bathtub, her fight and resolve drained. “I love you, Piet. I will always love you.” And she did, no matter what passed between them. She could no longer contain her tears.

  He moved forward into the crowd until he stood as close to her as possible with the guards between them. He lowered his voice to a whisper. “I love you too.”

  “That is enough now.” The child-soldier grabbed her arm and steered her toward the exit.

  She wiped the moisture from her cheeks and looked over her shoulder.

  The last she saw of Piet, tears streamed down his face.