She needed to get out of the house and be among people. Services on Sunday and the brief social time they afforded only increased her loneliness. The other six days of the week stretched into infinity in front of her.
After a quick lunch, she combed her hair, not caring much how it looked, and slipped a fresh dress over her head. The thin cotton material strained across her middle. With the war ending, she hoped she would be able to buy new clothes soon.
Stepping onto the front stoop, she raised her head and let the wind flow over her, lifting her spirits. She had eaten the last of her bread and needed to stop at the bakery tomorrow. Today she decided to go see Johan. Perhaps he would know why Cornelia hadn’t been in tsjerke this morning.
Against the horizon, Allied planes swooped and rose like eagles in the sky. Today they flocked in the opposite direction of Frou de Bruin’s house. Cornelia would be glad they stayed far away.
The fresh, balmy air revived her so much that she decided to take the long way through town. The expectant tulip buds would burst open any day now, and she wanted to see if any early comers had bloomed in the window boxes. Nothing was more beautiful than the bright flowers bobbing their heads in all the window boxes up and down the streets. The town came alive then.
She wandered, not paying much attention to where she was going. She couldn’t get lost. The exercise and fresh air helped her feel better than she had in days.
She turned one corner and ran into a crowd. A drab green Nazi truck with a canvas top idled in front of a house. People milled about while soldiers shouted. Through a gap in the crowd, she saw a man being led from the house, the long barrel of a gun in his back.
She knew that man, the hunch of his shoulders, his dark head. Not many men in Friesland had hair that color.
Maarten.
Gerrit’s friend in the Resistance. He had been at Corrie’s house once when she had stopped by. She wasn’t supposed to know the man’s identity, but Corrie slipped and made her vow never to tell who he was.
The Gestapo dragged him to the street, kicked him, and threw him into the back of the truck.
The baby inside of her fluttered wildly and she placed her hand over him, trying to calm him. She watched a moment more. A tall soldier shook his head as he spoke with another. “Nein, there are more inside. We are not leaving until we have them all. Keep searching. And there is one more coming.”
One more coming. Gerrit didn’t stay at this house. Could they be speaking of him?
She had to talk to Cornelia.
Anki turned and jogged past brick houses and silent businesses to her sister’s house, all the while her blood pounding in her ears. Corrie couldn’t stand another loss. She had been crazy to urge her sister to fall in love again. If something happened to Gerrit, her sister would not survive.
She spied the cheery house on the other side of the canal and trotted across the bridge. Breathless, she pounded on the door. No one answered. Her heart raced like a skater across a frozen canal.
SILENCE ROARED IN Cornelia’s ears. No more planes cased the sky. No more trucks or tanks thundered down the road. No more men screamed.
She dared to lift her head. Nothing moved.
She sat up and scanned her surroundings. About thirty meters behind her lay the skeletons of trucks, blackened and smoking.
The back of her leg throbbed and pain shot up to her thigh and down to her foot as she stood and attempted to brush the mud from her damp dress. She bent to examine the cause and discovered a large gash in her calf. A rock or a bullet had struck her and the injury burned. A trickle of blood seeped down her leg.
She could do nothing about it at this time but ignore the discomfort. The crinkle of the ration cards under her shirt reminded her of her mission. No matter what happened to her, people still depended on these. She had to get them where they needed to go. Besides, she couldn’t sit along the side of the road waiting for help. The next people past might be more Germans or another squadron of Allied planes. She scanned the area to get her bearings and remember which way she needed to go.
A groan from the side of the road stopped her. She must have imagined it. She took a step toward her next destination, but the groan came again.
The planes hadn’t killed all of the soldiers.
One of them, dressed in a gray uniform, writhed and moaned.
He tried to move and moaned again. Blood spattered his chest. “Help.”
She touched her midsection, the ration cards crinkling under her fingers.
Off in the distance, planes whined.
Her legs urged her to run. Her heart urged her to stay.
CHAPTER 38
The pungent odor of burning petrol and charred flesh sent bile racing up Cornelia’s throat.
She bit it back and picked her way through chunks of metal and around the smoldering remains of trucks, trying not to look at the bodies, twisted and broken. The stench caused her to gag. She drew her handkerchief from her pocket and placed it over her nose.
The man who had groaned—a boy really … he couldn’t have been more than seventeen—quieted when he saw her. “Help me.”
Wishing she possessed Anki’s nursing knowledge, she knelt in the dirt beside the towheaded boy.
“What is your name?” She spoke in German.
“Rolf.”
For his sake, she removed the hankie from her face and smiled. What she had so feared now lay helpless and harmless. Just a boy sent to a foreign country to fight. If situations were reversed, this might be Johan.
She sent the thought away. “This might hurt, Rolf, but I am going to move your shirt to look at your wounds.”
He nodded and she swallowed hard, willing her stomach not to heave as she peeled away the mangled fabric. Every move reminded her of the day Gerrit stepped into her life.
Once she saw the damage to the boy’s body, his shredded flesh, she turned away and coughed, trying not to vomit. Even if she had a medical degree, she doubted she would be able to help the young man.
“Fräulein?”
She turned back to him.
“I am going to die, aren’t I?”
What would be the right thing to tell this boy? She held his hand. “I think you might meet Jesus today, but don’t be afraid. I will stay with you.” Her own calm in the situation surprised her.
“Danke.” Already his breathing grew shallower.
“Do you know Jesus?”
“Mutti took me to church a long time ago. She told me He loved me.”
“He does. Do you love Him?”
“I did once.” He struggled for breath. “I remember praying to Him.”
She smoothed his hair from his sooty, sweaty brow. “God doesn’t forget you. Do you want me to pray with you?”
He nodded, crying.
Peace flooded her as she spoke to the Lord. “Dear Father in heaven, please be near Rolf now. Ease his pain and suffering. Help him remember that You love him and help him recall that love he once had for You. Cover his sins with the blood of Your Son. Wash him clean and clothe him in the white robes of righteousness. Prepare him to meet You and spend eternity in Your holy presence. Amen.”
Rolf’s eyelids fluttered. “I have done lots of bad things. I lied about my age. I shot and killed people.”
“If you are truly repentant for your sins, there is nothing God can’t forgive.”
“I am. I wish …” He sucked in air. “I wouldn’t have done those things.”
“Then He will forgive you.”
Rolf lay still for several minutes, his eyes closed, his breathing irregular. Then he inhaled deeply. “What will heaven be like?”
“Beautiful beyond our wildest dreams. More beautiful than a sunset over the North Sea or the sun shimmering on a canal.”
“Or the trees of the Black Forest?”
“Ja, more beautiful than that.” She couldn’t stop the tears flowing down her face.
“I think I see it.”
Rolf’s features relaxed. C
ornelia had never seen such tranquillity on a person’s face. His chest rattled, then stilled.
She sat in the blood-soaked dirt for a long time, soot mixing with her tears. She didn’t know quite what to make of what had happened. She had been a part of something terrible and wonderful at the same time.
“Hans, was someone with you when you died? Or were you alone and afraid?” That part bothered her the most. “Did it happen so fast you didn’t even feel anything?” She wished she knew. She never would.
But Rolf’s family could.
She bit her lip and searched his pockets until she found his soldbuch, his pay book, in his tunic pocket. With shaking hands, she flipped the pages until she found his parents’ names and their address. She would write to them and tell them all they might want to know.
Her legs fell asleep, the injured calf throbbing, and she shifted into a more comfortable position, the ration cards poking her skin. She closed Rolf’s eyes, kissed his forehead, and limped away.
Death, life, trouble, peace, fear, calm—all this tumbled inside her.
As she reached the next farm, a large, rotund old man met her at the door.
“I have something you need.”
He smiled and nodded. “Come in, child, come in. You look like you have been through it.”
She limped over the threshold.
“You are hurt.” He spun her around and examined her leg. “Come into the kitchen and sit while I get some things to doctor you. What happened?”
“The planes shot at me. I don’t know if I got hit by a rock or by a bullet.”
The old man shook his head, his jowls following along. “The planes? I heard all that commotion. How did you manage to escape?”
“God.”
“Ah yes.” His blue eyes danced. “You are good to come out in all this chaos. Or foolish.”
She laughed. “One or the other.”
“God bless you, child. Bedankt for the cards. Even if the war ends tomorrow, we will need these.”
His gratitude embarrassed her. “I am just a frightened woman doing what God would have me do.”
AFTER THE KIND older gentleman cleaned Cornelia’s wound and sent her on her way, she walked as fast as her injury would allow to Frou de Bruin’s house. She was dirty and exhausted and hoped the elderly woman would make her a cup of real tea. That would taste better than a beef roast right now.
And she couldn’t wait to see Gerrit, to have his arms around her, for this entire terrible day to be over.
All the way there, she kept vigil, scanning the horizon at all times, waiting for more swooping planes or green trucks to halt her progress. None came. For now, all lay quiet.
She admitted herself to the farmhouse, kicked off her klompen, and made her way to the kitchen where the elderly lady sat enthroned on a chair next to the table, a steaming cup of something in her hand. She waved a bony finger at Cornelia. “I told him you would come.”
By him, she assumed Frou de Bruin meant Gerrit. “Was he worried?” The thought made her smile all over.
“Not worried enough to stay put.”
Cornelia stared at the woman. “He’s not here? What are you talking about? Is he out back?”
Her employer shook her head, her cut-glass earrings sparkling in the pale light. “Someone came to him, begging for help, and Gerrit said he would go. I told him he was a fool.”
“He went into town? Why would he do something like that?”
“He left not long ago, but told me to have you wait for him.” She put on her spectacles and took a good look at Cornelia. “What happened to you?”
Exhaustion overwhelmed her and she shook her head, unable to speak.
“There, there. Heat up some water for yourself and enjoy a bath. It’s the least I can do for you.”
“That’s kind of you—”
Someone knocked at the door.
“Please answer that. My arthritis is bothering me today.”
Cornelia hobbled to the door and was shocked to see her sister’s pale face. “What’s wrong?”
Anki stepped inside but didn’t remove her klompen. “Is Gerrit here?”
“Nee. Frou de Bruin said he had to go out for a while.”
What little color remained surged from Anki’s face.
A cold band constricted around Cornelia’s stomach. “What is it?”
“There was a raid at Bear’s house. I saw them take away Maarten. They said they were waiting for one more person to arrive. Could that be Gerrit? Corrie, he could be walking into a trap.”
“Nee, nee. Not Gerrit.” Please, Lord, don’t let this be a trap. Her prayer didn’t dissolve the cold lump in the depths of her stomach.
Johan stepped in front of her. She hadn’t heard him enter the room. “I’ll find him.”
Cornelia pulled herself together. Courage wasn’t a word. Courage was an action. “I’ll go. It’s not safe for you on the streets. I don’t need to lose both of you.”
Her brother grabbed her arm. “Corrie, let me go this time. I want to do this.”
“I need to do this.”
Anki touched her hand. “Are you sure?”
“Never more sure of anything in my entire life.”
Sure she needed him. Sure she loved him. Sure she had to tell him everything in her heart.
GERRIT ENTERED the little town he had come to think of as home. This game, a combination of hide-and-seek and cat and mouse, had him paranoid. He believed eyes stared at him from every alley. He convinced himself he heard footfalls behind him. Someone’s breath, and not the wind, tickled the back of his neck.
He had to lose the tail before he got to Bear’s. If he wasn’t a wanted man, he would guide them straight to the police station. Or maybe to the tsjerke.
The tsjerke. Perfect. He could slip in one way and slide out another and perhaps shake himself of his follower. Morning services had let out and afternoon services had yet to start. He zigzagged through town, down backstreets and alleys, until he came to the centuries-old tsjerke. He thought of the last time he had been here, when Cornelia had bared her heart to him.
Perhaps someday soon she would pledge herself to him in this same place.
He pulled open the heavy carved doors and entered the cool interior, the ancient wood floors creaking beneath his feet. Good. That would alert him to anyone coming behind him. He crossed into the sanctuary, flying buttresses soaring like eagles overhead. Massive pipes from the organ anchored the front.
Taking just a moment, he rested on the edge of the pew and prayed. Prayed for Cornelia’s safety as she made those deliveries, for the possibility of a future with her, for the success and safety of his mission, and for a speedy end to this long, bloody struggle.
“What time I am afraid, I will trust in thee.”
His taut shoulders relaxed.
“Amen, so be it, Lord.”
He walked down the long center aisle with much more peace than he had when he entered. No longer did he feel like someone pursued him because he remembered Someone walked beside him.
He stood and debated for a while, not knowing through which door to exit. The wrong choice might have him walking straight into the arms of the Gestapo or the NSB. The right choice would mean he could complete his mission and get the ration cards to that woman without incident.
He chose the door on his right, the one leading to the cemetery. Before opening it all the way, he peered out, turning his head in either direction. He didn’t see anyone. Only a little brown-and-black bird hopped on the ground near one of the gravestones. He startled it and it flew away when he approached.
He wandered for a few minutes between the headstones, some weathered and tottering sideways, husbands and wives buried on top of each other to save precious land in this country where it was a greater commodity than gold. Dead leaves from last autumn carpeted the ground, crunching under his feet with each step. He stopped suddenly, but no leaves crunched behind him.
He had lost whoever had been trail
ing him from the countryside. He wouldn’t be surprised if it was nothing more than his imagination.
Whatever the case, he needed to get to Bear’s.
CORNELIA ARRIVED BREATHLESS on the outskirts of town. Though she had run so hard her leg screamed in pain, she never caught up with Gerrit. Either he had been too far in front of her, or he cut through the farm fields and she missed him on the road.
Her leg throbbed, but she didn’t have the luxury to sit and rest.
She had to find Gerrit.
Fast.
CHAPTER 39
Cornelia traced a direct route to Bear’s house, alternating between a brisk walk, jogging, and all-out running, whichever her injured leg and burning lungs allowed. She forced her breath through her constricted throat. Gerrit had been ahead of her.
If he made it that far. Their small village teemed with German soldiers, more than she had seen the entire course of the war. She pushed and shoved her way through a group of them, all noisy and raucous, like a group of teens at a soccer game.
Her heart threatened to explode. “Be merciful unto me, O God: for man would swallow me up.”
She turned onto Prince William Street where Bear’s house stood. From Anki’s description, Cornelia expected to find the way clogged with soldiers and trucks, but all sat quiet, in stark contrast to the main streets. They had come, collected who they wanted, and left.
She gasped, drawing in short, ragged breaths.
Too late. She had arrived too late.
She didn’t know what else to do other than to stand in the middle of the street. For weeks she had been too afraid to act on love. When she had, it turned out to be too late.
Because the Germans wouldn’t show mercy to their prisoners. Gerrit wouldn’t escape execution a second time.
GERRIT. HUNCHED OVER his cane, neared Prince William Street. The way he had his hood drawn over his head blocked his peripheral vision. He had been wary, careful to the extreme, because the main streets teemed with German soldiers, men he had bumped against but who paid him little attention. His gut twisted. The Nazis should be leaving, not congregating.
Liz Tolsma Page 26