CORNELIA COMPLETED HER day’s work. She wished she could stay at the de Bruin farm for the duration. Allied planes shot at anything that moved along the road, not wanting the Germans to retreat and regroup or to escape the country with the loot they gathered. Yesterday they had come so close to her, she could see the shadow of the pilot in the cockpit. Frou de Bruin, however, hadn’t made the offer and she hadn’t asked. Tonight she would cut through the fields, feeling safer. Hopefully the bombers kept their eyes trained on the roads and railroads and not on farm fields.
Before she left, she wanted to see Gerrit one last time. No matter how often she looked at him, it wasn’t enough to satisfy her longing.
Last she saw, he had gone to the deel, so she looked for him there, the smell of fresh hay welcoming her. The rafters creaked from the heating of the day, and not another sound reached her ears. Not wanting to disturb the peace, she didn’t call to Gerrit but walked farther back searching for him.
Most of the stalls stood vacant, their tenants confiscated by the Germans years ago. She went a little way until she heard the low drone of men’s voices.
Urgency laced Gerrit’s words. “I will do it, but I was followed again, a few weeks ago.”
Cornelia leaned against the wooden post. He hadn’t told her.
“And you waited until now to tell me? Did they follow you out here?” She recognized Maarten’s voice. He hadn’t come through the main part of the house, which made her wonder how many other times he and Gerrit had held meetings in the deel.
“Nee, in town.”
“For Piet’s funeral.” Frustration edged Maarten’s voice.
“I had to be there for her.”
Maarten sighed. “With the Canadians now in Friesland, the Nazis are getting desperate.”
“So I have heard.”
Maarten’s voice sounded muffled, as if he covered his mouth. “Two or three days ago I got the feeling of being followed too. I never saw the man, but it took me awhile to shake whoever tailed me.”
“Exactly the same in my case.”
The Gestapo or NSB must have discovered Gerrit’s Resistance network. In a matter of hours, they may well be arrested.
“Even if liberation comes in the next few days, these people are going to need these cards. Food isn’t going to appear on the market shelves by magic just because of surrender.”
She imagined Gerrit nodding at this. “I understand. I will make sure these cards get delivered. I have taken risks before, and this is no different.”
“We don’t have much choice. With the way Johan botched the rail-line operation, I don’t trust him at all.”
“I will go.”
She had to keep Gerrit from making these deliveries—especially if the alternative meant Johan would be exposed. She didn’t understand what Maarten referred to with the rail-line operation, though she meant to find out.
“We don’t have an alternative.”
Nee, Gerrit could be followed again and perhaps arrested this time. She couldn’t let him take this risk. Not with their freedom so close. Not when mere days from now they could go about their work in the open. Not when he had survived for five years.
She closed her eyes and willed her legs to stop shaking, then rounded the corner and stood in front of them. “I will make the deliveries.”
GERRIT BLINKED SEVERAL times, not sure Cornelia had truly appeared in front of him. He clapped his ear, convinced he hadn’t heard her say she would deliver the ration cards. “Where did you come from?”
A sparkle lit her eyes, but she swallowed hard. “If you want to have clandestine meetings, you need to pick a better place. Here people snoop too much.”
He shifted on the little milking stool and rubbed his chin. “I don’t want you to.”
She squared her shoulders but her hands shook. “When you first came, you wanted me to contact the local Resistance cell for you. Even at Piet’s memorial service, you didn’t like it when I talked about waiting for freedom.”
“Ja, I did. But things have changed.” His stomach flipped. He had fallen in love with her. The thought of her out there, in danger, perhaps never coming back …
In that moment, he understood. He understood why Maria’s husband refused to let him stay. He understood why Cornelia wouldn’t allow Johan to join the work.
Love meant you did whatever you had to do to protect those you loved. In his case, that meant working with the Resistance. In Maria’s husband’s case, it meant getting rid of him. In Cornelia’s case, it meant keeping Johan from the Underground.
She huffed. “The only difference between now and then is you’re in more danger than ever.”
“How much of our conversation did you hear?”
“Enough to know that Johan has been involved. Did you think I wouldn’t find out?”
“I can’t explain right now. And please, don’t speak to Johan about it. I’ll tell you later. Trust me when I say I had no involvement whatsoever.”
“That doesn’t change the fact that you were followed after Piet’s service. The one I told you not to attend.”
“I didn’t want you to worry.” He stood and turned to Maarten. “But this confuses me. Whoever followed me had plenty of opportunity to harm me. I can’t be sure, but I don’t think I am in any more danger than before.”
Maarten mussed his dark hair. “We can’t take unnecessary risks. Junior is dead, and I am being followed too, but we will find someone to deliver these.” He also rose.
Cornelia stood with her feet askance. “You don’t need to find anyone else, because I have volunteered.”
“You don’t have to do this. You don’t need to prove your courage to me or anyone else.” Gerrit went to her and held her. They both trembled as they nestled together. “Please, leafde, don’t do this.”
He breathed in her hair’s clean scent. “In the past I have pushed you to do things that frightened you, but now the thought of some awful thing happening to you terrifies me.”
She kissed his cheek and this simple gesture caused him to go cold all over. “Cornelia, please don’t go. I will do it.”
She pushed against his chest and took a step back. “Nee, I am not going to let you. And I am not doing it to show you or Johan or even myself how brave I am. I am not courageous at all. But you said courage is an action, not a feeling. There are people depending on these cards, aren’t there?”
Maarten stood beside him. “Ja, several families.”
He wanted to sock his friend. “But Maarten said he could find someone else.”
“Why should he when I am available?” She rubbed his upper arm. “I want to do this because people need these cards and I can deliver them. It is that simple. Because I am a woman, I can move around without raising suspicion. That is another reason to allow me to go. Tomorrow morning I will leave first thing and be home in time to make dinner. Gerrit, please understand.”
Why, why had he ever pushed her to work for him in the past? “It is dangerous on the roads.”
“The planes are in the air when I come and go from here. I will be careful. I promise.”
She gazed at him with her gorgeous hazel eyes and wore away his opposition. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”
She stepped back into his arms where she belonged. “You will pray for me?”
“From now until you return.” Their hearts beat in unison. His life would be nothing without her.
Then Maarten handed her the cards she would deliver.
CHAPTER 35
Cornelia clutched the frayed edge of the pink blanket to her chest. Her stomach churned and she shook all over. The haze of the nightmare hung over her—dreams of rat-infested, wardrobe-sized cells and bitterly cold work camps. She forced herself to take deep breaths.
A warm breeze blew through the trees on this Lord’s Day. The delightful spring smells called all the world to wake. The tulips would soon bob their heads in the wind.
She wished she could hop checker-like over
today and land on tomorrow.
Knowing what she had to do, she pulled back the covers and slid out of bed. For a few minutes, she stood still, not thinking much, not praying much. Then she squared her shoulders.
She chose the simple, dark-colored dress she had worn to Piet’s funeral. The frock showed its age, worn and faded. One of the matching buttons was as loose as a child’s tooth. She pulled the black patent leather belt around her midsection.
It was strange not to be getting ready for services at the tsjerke. The few other times she had missed in her entire life had been because of illness. For this act of mercy, however, the Lord would forgive her.
Yesterday she had pretended to be brave in front of Gerrit. She had even talked back to him. Her bravado fooled him. She would give the rest of this month’s ration cards for some of that daring and confidence now.
GERRIT STAYED IN the deel while Cornelia finished making breakfast for Frou de Bruin. She would leave to make her deliveries as soon as the older woman settled in for the day. Her gout prevented her from attending services.
For some reason, he didn’t hurry to go to Cornelia.
Maybe he didn’t want to see the fear in her face.
Maybe he didn’t want her to see the fear in his.
While she worked in the house, he stayed in the loft, playing a game of dominoes with Johan. Frou de Bruin would frown on them playing games on the Lord’s Day, so they stayed here, out of her eyesight.
“I beat you again.” The younger man laid down his last domino, but he didn’t take his usual pleasure in winning. His eyes were bloodshot. Then he shook his head. “I don’t understand. I have never beaten you before and now I can’t lose. Is something going on?”
Gerrit knocked over his remaining pieces, then turned them upside down. “I have something on my mind.”
Johan shuffled the dominoes. “Is there a big operation taking place?”
“If there was, would you want to be part of it?”
The young man shrugged his narrow shoulders. “I have to tell you something.”
Gerrit leaned forward on the table. “What?”
“I killed Junior.” His blue eyes widened.
“I don’t understand. The Germans shot Junior.”
“Didn’t Maarten or Bear tell you I was there?”
“Ja, they did.”
Johan mussed his sandy hair. “I tricked Maarten into giving me the information.”
“Go on. I know the story, but I want to hear it from you.”
“I met Bear and Junior at the spot and they weren’t happy about seeing me, but Bear put me to work as a sentry. I sure wasn’t a very good one. If I had alerted them sooner or if I had not run to them when I saw the convoy, none of us would have been spotted.”
Gerrit inhaled a lungful of air and released it little by little. “Not all operations are completed without a glitch. In fact, most aren’t. You have to be careful and quick-witted so you don’t get yourself or someone else killed.”
“I mean, I just wanted to help.” Johan’s shoulders drooped.
“And did you?”
“Nee. My actions caused Junior’s death.”
“How do you know you were to blame? Perhaps those soldiers saw Bear and Junior first. When you alerted them, instead of killing Junior, you might have saved Bear.”
The boy lifted his head. “I never thought of it that way. So I did help?”
Gerrit didn’t know the answer to that question. Maybe there wasn’t one, because the full truth of the incident would never be known. “Yes, it is very possible you did.”
“Bedankt, Gerrit. I have wanted to tell you these past couple of weeks, but the time never was right.”
“I’m glad you did. Now let’s shake and pick our dominoes for a new game.”
In the pause that followed, Gerrit heard Cornelia’s soft footfalls in the hay below. “I’ll be right back.” He scrambled down the ladder and landed in front of her.
She raised her brows, her hazel eyes wide, her back straight.
“Are you ready?”
She nodded.
Dear Lord, please don’t let anything happen to her. Don’t take her from me. “I can go instead if you have changed your mind.”
“Nee, I will do this. Please hold me.”
He took her in his arms and granted her request.
She nestled her head against his neck, a perfect fit. Her breath brushed his skin. He couldn’t tell if she trembled or if he did. Perhaps they both did.
He breathed in her scent. “I’m praying for you.”
“Lord willing, I will be back for supper.” She loosened her hold and kissed him long and hard. Moments later she broke the kiss. “I have to go.”
He understood all she meant by that statement and released her.
He memorized the curl of her hair at her neck, the graceful arch of her back, the soft sway of her dark dress as she walked out the door.
CORNELIA BICYCLED OVER the bumpy roads back into town, past her sweet little house and out once more into the wide expanse of the Frisian countryside. Her rag-wrapped rims did not provide much shock absorption. A few peeks of warm sun massaged her shoulders, but they were not able to unknot the kinks in her neck. Black-and-white cows grazed in the fields, chewing their cud, and sheep bleated to each other. A gust blew across the open land and the windmill in the far field spun round and round.
Her heart pounded faster than her legs pedaled. Perspiration dotted her forehead and her breath grew short, but she didn’t stop riding. She had to finish her job. Tonight she wanted to sleep safely in her own bed, all of this behind her.
She and Hans had ridden bicycles together in this area, picnicking in the fields. One evening, soon before their wedding, they lay on a blanket in the grass, admiring the stars dotting the sky. He held her hand and they whispered to each other, not wanting to break the stillness of the night. They spoke about everything and nothing at all. For a long while they lay in silence.
No matter how many years rolled by, she would always remember that day. And that was as it should be. She had a set of memories of Hans.
If she knew then how life would turn out, would she have walked away from him and missed the one beautiful night she had as his wife? Would she give away all those memories to avoid the pain?
Never.
What memories would she miss making with Gerrit if she turned her back on their future? She would miss out on all the joy the Lord had prepared for them if she was afraid of the sorrow.
Cornelia looked up and saw the first of the two farms on her itinerary in the distance. They should be back from the tsjerke by now. Neither Gerrit nor Maarten told her anything other than the name of the person living there, not whether they harbored Juden or onderduikers nor how many of them. Judging by the bulging envelope of ration cards strapped to her chest, there must be a good number in hiding.
Looking ahead on the road, three German military trucks headed her way.
Oh Lord, oh Lord, keep them from stopping me.
She moved to the right side of the road, her head down, not wanting to make eye contact with the soldiers in the trucks. Her muscles went weak, but she forced herself to keep pedaling. The first one zoomed past, as did the second.
The third truck slowed and then stopped.
So did Cornelia’s heart.
Two men dressed in gray uniforms, eagle insignias on their chests, hopped out, toting guns. One—tall, lean, and young—towered over the other, his complete opposite—short, squat, and graying. They reminded her of Lyts and Grut, the little man and the big man from the bedtime stories her father used to tell her.
The soldiers stepped into the road in her path. She had no choice but to brake and come to a stop in front of them.
Her hands shook and she grasped the bicycle’s handlebars tighter to keep the soldiers from noticing.
The older one she thought of as Lyts stretched himself to his full height. “We need to see your papers.”
He spoke German and Cornelia shook her head and shrugged.
“Identification,” the big one, Grut, said in Dutch. “Schnell, schnell.”
With shaking hands, she handed Grut the card. The two Nazis examined it carefully, glancing between the card and Cornelia, no doubt wanting to make sure the picture matched the woman on the bicycle.
They handed it back to her. Her heart began to beat again, slow and timid.
“Ask her where she is headed,” Lyts said to Grut. The short one had to be the leader and the tall one the interpreter.
He asked.
She had practiced in her head through the long night just what to say, but her voice squeaked. “To Roos’s house.” Gerrit had told her to keep her answers short and to the point. Give the barest of information. If they wanted to know more, they would ask.
“Who is this Roos?”
“My friend.”
“Why are you going there?”
“For dinner.”
Lyts leaned forward, his hands on his hips. “You would come out today of all days for dinner?”
“I don’t work on Sundays.” Cornelia’s legs trembled and she sat on the seat of the bicycle for support.
Grut snatched her purse from the bicycle’s basket and rummaged through it. She gripped the handlebars, her fingers growing numb. Let them search it all they wanted. Just so long as they didn’t search her person. The ration cards poked her each time she took a breath. Thankfully her coat, buttoned to her throat, helped to hide them. As long as they didn’t ask why she wore a long jacket on such a mild day.
Grut shook his head. “Nothing in here,” he told his superior. “I don’t think she is up to anything.”
Lyts flashed a sinister smile. “Let us escort you to your friend’s house. It is dangerous for a woman to be out here alone.”
She papered a bewildered look to her face until Grut spoke to her in Dutch.
“Nee, that won’t be necessary. See, it is right there.” She pointed to the farmhouse about half a kilometer on the left—single story, thatched roof, barn attached to the house. Her finger quivered and she withdrew it with haste.
The stout man grabbed her elbow and dug in his fingers. “But we insist. We want to make sure you get there safely.”
Liz Tolsma Page 24