And then he saw the most glorious sight of his entire life.
“Cornelia! Anki! Come quickly.”
“WHAT’S WRONG?” CORNELIA fought off a wave of panic, having held an entire ocean of fear at bay during the battle. But Gerrit’s words held an almost euphoric tone.
Could it be?
Anki ran to another window while Cornelia limped to his side. He had thrown the blackout curtain open. “Look.”
Tanks processed across the bridge and down the narrow street.
Tanks bearing a white flag with a red maple leaf.
But this wasn’t like the opening days of the war. Everywhere, people poured out of their homes. These victorious soldiers sat high above their vehicles, the covers hanging open, their guns held over their heads.
Cheers arose. She had to see this up close, had to be a part of it to believe it. “Let’s go.”
Hand in hand, Gerrit and Cornelia crossed the bridge, Anki behind them, the peaceful water not stirring. Men who hadn’t seen the light of day in years emerged from their homes, blinking in the morning’s bright sunlight. Women cried and boys chased each other on the clogged sidewalks.
They continued following their liberators into the heart of town. Orange flags, red, white, and blue Dutch flags, and lily-speckled Frisian flags flapped in the breeze, publicly displayed again after a long absence.
Couples kissed on their doorsteps.
Perched on top of one of the tanks, surrounded by Canadian soldiers, Johan waved to them. Cornelia jumped up and down and waved to her brother.
A thin man, half a head taller than the rest of the crowd, pushed through the throng toward them. Neumann had been true to his word. Maarten had survived.
They stopped in front of the deserted bookseller’s shop, the man who owned it taken long ago, a reminder that things would never be the same as they once were. She studied Gerrit’s strong profile, his distinctive Dutch nose.
For each of them, the war had changed their lives forever.
Life could be good again.
Nee, life could be wonderful.
She pulled Gerrit away from the street and the cheering throng, back against the stone of the building. The time had come. The time to let go of the past, of the fear and the darkness.
A time for the snow to melt from the tulips.
“I didn’t finish telling you what I learned yesterday.”
He gazed down at her. His deep blue eyes told her all she needed to know.
THE CHEERS AND merriment of the crowd faded from Gerrit’s consciousness. He saw and heard only Cornelia, even though she didn’t say a word.
His heart slowed. “What did you want to tell me?”
“This.” She stood on her tiptoes, leaned forward, and kissed him. Her soft, yielding lips spoke to him with fervor and passion, holding nothing back.
In that moment, it happened.
She gave him her whole heart.
“I love you, Gerrit.”
In the shop’s flower box, a single deep crimson tulip had raised its head.
THE STORY BEHIND THE STORY
My father’s cousin, Kay vander Meer, was married on May 9, 1940, in the Netherlands. She and her new husband spent their wedding night in a town on the German border. When the Germans invaded in the early hours of May 10 and the fighting broke out, her groom, a member of the ill-equipped Dutch military, left her to join the battle. He never returned.
On April 11, 1945, in the town of Dronrijp, Friesland, Netherlands, the Nazis marched fourteen men along the streets to the edge of the Van Harinxma Canal. Twelve of these men were Resistance workers. The other two were suspected collaborators. They had been arrested in Leeuwarden, a larger city farther north, and transported to Dronrijp. In groups of three, the men were brought to the water’s edge and executed. They were shot in retaliation for the Dutch Resistance sabotaging railroad lines farther north near Leeuwarden, causing a Wehrmacht train to derail cars. The Germans were very nervous because Allied planes were in the air when they arrived in Dronrijp. Gerard de Jong, though wounded, survived by playing dead. Later, some of the town’s men, including Ynse Poslma and my dad’s cousin Johan Feitsma, found Gerard and took him to my Aunt Hiltje’s house where she nursed him. Dronrijp was liberated only days later. Every year while my aunt lived, Gerard visited her on her birthday. Even after she passed away, he brought flowers to her grave.
Days after Gerard’s rescue, the Germans fled most of the Frisian towns without a battle as the Canadians closed in. However, they congregated in and chose to fight for Pingjum. I fictionalized the battle for the bridge there that took place on April 15–16, 1945.
Nijmegen, Franeker, Leeuwarden, and Achlum are all real towns. Franeker does boast the famous Eisinga Planetarium.
The story of the execution became legend in our family. My father visited the site in 1978. As he showed us the slides he took, he told us the story. We couldn’t believe our family endured such trials during the war. Nor could we believe their bravery. I wrote this book to preserve the stories of people like Gerard, Ynse, Hiltje, Johan, and the many, many others who labored and gave their lives without fanfare so this generation could enjoy freedom. May we treasure it.
The author and Hillie Feitsma, the granddaughter of the
woman who was the inspiration for Snow on the Tulips.
READING GROUP GUIDE
1. What was Cornelia’s greatest fear, and how did she deal with it? What is your greatest fear? How do you handle it?
2. What were the three different types of responses to the Nazi authorities? Which characters embodied these responses? What does the Bible have to say about submission to authorities? (See Romans 13:5; Hebrews 13:17; 1 Peter 2:13–3:2.)
3. Why does Anki go behind her husband’s back to help Gerrit and the Jewish woman? Did she handle these situations the right way?
4. Gerrit took great comfort in Psalm 56:11, which says, “I will not be afraid what man can do unto me.” What can man do to you? Why should we not fear?
5. What was Gerrit’s motivation for joining the Resistance? Was it the proper motivation?
6. According to Gerrit, what is courage? Would you agree or disagree with that statement?
7. At the beginning of the book, Gerrit was faced with death. How did he respond? At the end of the book, Cornelia was faced with death. How did she respond?
8. The last line of the first stanza of the old Dutch hymn “We Gather Together” says this of the Lord: “He forgets not His own.” In what way did the Lord remember Gerrit and Cornelia throughout the story?
9. Near the beginning, Johan calls Gerrit a hero and Gerrit answers, “Not a hero, just a man doing what I have to do.” What is your definition of a hero? Would you call Gerrit a hero? What about Cornelia?
10. The snow-covered tulip is a metaphor throughout the story. What does it symbolize?
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
This book would not have been possible without the contributions of many, many people. Heel hartelijk bedankt and deepest appreciation to Newton vander Woude, Jack de Jagers, and Jacob Geertsema (who has since gone to be with the Lord) for sharing with me the stories of your lives during World War II. At times it was painful, but the world will now know of your incredible courage and faith.
Thank you to my amazing agent, Tamela Hancock Murray, for all of your support and hard work through the years, for believing in me when I stopped believing in myself. Thank you to Andrea Boeshaar, the first author I ever met and my longtime mentor. You started me down this crazy road to publication. Thank you to Hillie Feitsma for filling in some of the blanks in the family story that became this book.
I owe a debt of gratitude to the folks at the Verzets Museum in Leeuwarden, Friesland, Netherlands, for help with some of the aspects of Resistance work in Friesland at the end of the war. Bedankt to the historian of the city of Nijmegen, Netherlands, for help with details about the first night of the war.
My wonderful critique partners, Diana, Laura, and
Robin, were honest with me and helped me make this book the best it can be. I appreciate you all. Thank you to my dear friend Sabrina Tolbert for help with a subject I knew nothing about.
To Amanda Bostic, Natalie Hanemann, Julee Schwarzburg, Jodi Hughes, Daisy Hutton, Becky Monds, Becky Philpott, and the fabulous team at Thomas Nelson, thank you for stepping out in faith with this story and for your aid in fine-tuning it. I couldn’t ask for a better group of people to work with.
My family—you are a precious gift from God. Thank you to my husband, Doug. It takes a certain kind of man to be married to an author often “living” in another era. You are the best, and I love you deeply. My deepest gratitude to my amazing children, Brian, Alyssa, and Jonalyn, for your help with the chores, with meals, and the oldest two, with caring for your sister. Without that, I wouldn’t be able to write. My parents both instilled in me a love of reading, the written word, and the Lord. That combination produced this book. Thank you to them for loving me.
Now to Him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to His power that is at work within us, to Him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, forever and ever! Amen.
AN EXCERPT FROM DAISIES LAST FOREVER BY LIZ TOLSMA, AVAILABLE MAY 2014
BRAUNSBERG, EAST PRUSSIA
February 8, 1945
Bright red and orange explosions lit the dark, deep winter East Prussian evening. Gisela Cramer hugged herself to ward off the chill that shook her. Her warm breath frosted the window pane and with her finger she shaved a peep hole. She didn’t know what she expected to see. Maybe the Russians surging over the hill.
An icy shudder racked her. She couldn’t block out the sights and the sounds of the last time the Russians had found her.
Behind her, Ella’s two small girls giggled as they played on the worn green and blue Persian rug which covered the hardwood floors.
A Russian mortar shell hit its target not far from them in the city and rocked the earth beneath her feet. The vibrations almost buckled her legs. Her heart throbbed in her chest. How much longer could the German army hold them off?
Almost at the same instant, an urgent pounding began at the door, accompanied by Dietrich Holtzmann’s deep voice. “Gisela, Ella.”
Gisela spun from the window, tiptoed over and around the children’s dolls and blocks, and answered the door for their neighbor. “Come in out of the cold.”
The breathless older man, once robust, now gaunt, stepped over the threshold. The wind had colored his cheeks red.
“Let me get you something hot to drink. Some ersatz coffee maybe?”
“I don’t have time. We’re leaving, Bettina and Katya and I. Tonight. Whoever is left in the city is going west, as far and as fast as possible. By morning, the Russians will be here. You and Ella need to come with us. Take the children and get out of here. It is safe no longer.”
Gisela peered at the girls, who now clutched their dolls to their chests and stared at Herr Holtzmann with their big gray eyes. Gisela repressed a shudder. She knew all too well the danger they would be in if they didn’t leave before the Red Army arrived.
Her cousin Ella stepped into the living room from the tiny kitchen, wiping her cracked hands on a faded dish towel, then tucking a strand of blond hair behind her ear. “We knew this time would come.”
The cold wrapping around Gisela intensified. “They will be here by morning?”
Dietrich nodded. “You can’t wait for daylight to flee. By then it will be too late. Pack whatever you can and get out of here. My sisters and I are leaving within the hour.”
Gisela rubbed her arms. “Can we get to Berlin?” She needed to be with Mutti. Even though she was twenty-two, she needed her mother. And Vater would keep them all safe.
Dietrich pulled his red knit cap further over his ears. “Right now, go. Head west and worry about the final destination later.”
Gisela turned to her cousin. “We should have left sooner. Weeks ago.”
“The Red Cross needed me. Still refugees pour into the city.”
“I am not concerned with them. I know what the Soviets do to women and children.”
Ella stepped to Dietrich’s side. “We will be ready in an hour.”
She ushered their neighbor into the frigid night, then came and held Gisela’s hand. Another nearby blast rocked the house, reverberating in her bones.
Closer. Closer. They were coming closer.
In her memory, she heard them kick in the door. Heard screams. Gunshots.
She clutched her chest, finding it hard to breathe.
They had to run.
An hour. They would leave in an hour. She drew in an unsteady breath and steeled herself. “We can’t let them catch us.”
Ella nodded, deep sadness and fear clouding her. “You leave.”
Gisela let go of Ella’s hand and took a step back. “What about you?”
“What about the refugees and those who can’t leave? They will need the Red Cross and that means I must stay.” She squared her shoulders and straightened her spine.
Gisela glanced at Annelies and Renate playing once more, now pulling a tin train on a string. “What about the girls? They can’t stay.”
“I want you to take them.”
Had Ella lost her mind? She couldn’t be responsible for a five-and a three-year-old. She couldn’t leave her cousin here alone to face a horrible certain fate. Those young girl screams she had heard once rattled in her brain “Nein. I will not leave without you. Let’s get packed.”
As she stepped toward the kitchen, Ella grabbed her by the shoulder, her fingers digging into Gisela’s flesh. “You are not listening to me. I’m not going.” Annelies and Renate ran to their mother who lowered her voice. “I will help you get ready and give you whatever money I have, but you have to be the one to take my children. For now, I am needed here. And when the war is over, this is where Frederick will come looking for me. If I’m not here, he won’t be able to locate me. Bitte, bitte, take my children to safety. I will join you as soon as possible.”
Gisela dug her fingernails into her palm. The pleading, crying in Ella’s voice pinched her heart. Should she take the girls and leave her cousin behind? “You know what happened the last time I was responsible for someone’s life.”
“Gisela, you have to do this. For my sake. Save my girls. Take them from here. It’s their only chance.”
The fluttering in Gisela’s stomach meant she would never see Ella again. They both knew the fate which awaited Ella. “Think about this. Your girls need you. Their father is gone and you are all they have left. They need you. I’m not their mother. I’m not enough for them. You have a responsibility to them.”
The color in Ella’s fair face heightened. “And I have a responsibility to the people of this area and a vow to my husband. This isn’t easy for me to send my children away, but remember, your parents did it. I am asking you—begging you—to do this for me.”
Thoughts whirled like a snowstorm through Gisela’s mind. How could she take care of the girls? Even if she got them to the west, what would happen to them after the war? Their father would never find them.
Ella drew Gisela’s stiff body close and whispered in her ear. “I trust you. I have faith in you. Bitte, for my sake, for the girls’ sake, take them.”
“I won’t separate them from their mother. If you don’t come with us, I won’t take them.”
Ella released her hold and Gisela fled up the steep stairs to her second floor bedroom. The pictures of the East Prussian countryside on the wall rattled as another shell hit its mark. They had no time to waste.
The room was tiny, with little space not taken by the bed and the pine wardrobe. A small, round bedside table held her Bible and a picture of Mutti and Vater.
Without thinking much, she grabbed all of her underwear, a red and green plaid wool skirt, two blouses, and a gray sweater and stuffed them into a battered, well-traveled pea-green suitcase. From her nig
htstand, she took her leather-bound Bible. She opened the pages to the book of Psalms until she found a daisy pressed in between the pages. She touched the brown petals before she slapped the book shut and stuffed it into the suitcase as well.
Hurry, hurry, hurry. The words pounded in her head in time to the pounding of her heart.
A coffee tin hidden in the back of her wardrobe held all the money she had in the world. She withdrew it and removed the small wad of Reich marks, counting them three times to make sure she knew what she had. Or didn’t have. Never would they get to Berlin on this.
She folded the cash and slipped it into a pocket sewn on the inside of her dress, much as she had two years ago when she traveled to East Prussia and to safety, away from the Allied bombs. The war had caught up with her when she stayed with her aunt farther east in the country.
And it had caught up again.
Lord, please keep us safe this time. Let us escape.
The story continues in Daisies Last Forever
by Liz Tolsma, available May 2014
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Photo by Bentfield Photography
Liz Tolsma has lived in Wisconsin most of her life. She and her husband have a son and two daughters, all adopted internationally. When not busy putting words to paper, Liz enjoys reading, walking, working in her large perennial garden, kayaking, and camping with her family.
Visit www.LizTolsma.com
Liz Tolsma Page 28