Verdomme. “Keep trying. Maybe there will be a cancellation. I need to get there right away.” He turned to stare at the muddy water of the Herengracht. This time he would not let her go. He would fight for her and for his daughter.
44
Ariel stood at the platform and glanced at his watch. He had ten minutes to make the six-o’clock train. He found a phone booth and called Leah. “Leah, Rose’s mother is on her way to Schiermonnikoog.”
“How do you know?”
“Amarisa called me. Told me to follow her.”
“But why would she go to Friesland!”
“I don’t know.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I’ve got to warn her.” The murder, Rose, the hiding, the terror. He couldn’t take it anymore.
“What?”
“Remember when Amarisa told me she’d hired a ‘professional’? I’m afraid Nora’s going to get hurt—or even killed. Amarisa is crazy enough to do it.”
“Have you lost your mind? Amarisa will turn you in. You’ll be arrested! And we’ll never see Rose again.”
Ariel felt a sharp pang. “Sweetheart, you must know now that Amarisa will probably never give her back to us, don’t you?”
He heard her choked sob. “Oh, Ariel. It’s just so hard to let her go.”
“We have to. It’s the only way to set things right. My father killed her mother and I stole her daughter. I couldn’t live with myself if anything happened to her, too.” He heard her crying. “Listen, the train leaves in a minute. I’m going to find Nora and find a way to tell her where Rose is and warn her about Amarisa.”
“But how? Once you tell her, she’ll scream for help and you’ll be arrested!”
“No, I won’t let anyone see me. I don’t arrive until eleven tonight, assuming the train is on time. I’ll wait until morning and then tell her when she’s alone.”
“Ariel, it’s so dangerous!”
“I know. But I have to. She isn’t just Rose’s mother, she’s my cousin.”
“Please be careful!”
“Listen, ask Amarisa to let you keep Rose for the night. Then maybe we can tell Nora where she is without Amarisa knowing.”
“She’ll never do it.”
“Just do your best.” Exhausted now, he hung up and joined the queue for the train. He found a seat next to the window on the last row. He pulled his hat over his face and slumped down as if asleep. He felt like crying, but the relief was overwhelming. Finally he was doing the right thing.
45
Nora looked at the shuttered gift shops in front of the station as she waited for the shuttle that would take her to the Hotel van der Werff. When she and Nico had gone to Schiermonnikoog, it was in the dead of winter. It was hard to imagine that it was boiling in Houston. She pulled her jacket tighter to ward off the icy wind.
Schiermonnikoog, she knew, was one of a necklace of islands on the Netherlands’s northern coast. When she and Nico had spent a weekend there, he had told her that it was only ten miles long and three miles wide, the smallest of the inhabited islands in the Wadden Sea. She had been amazed at low tide. In winter the shallow sea actually disappeared and one could walk all the way to the next island.
Nora shivered. Schiermonnikoog certainly was not a winter resort. In summer, tourists came to engage in wadlopen, mud hiking, where they plodded through soggy flats and observed wildlife—worms, shrimp, crabs and fish. It was a dangerous sport and, under Dutch law, required accompaniment by trained guides. It wasn’t just the precarious plodding through the deep, slippery sludge, but also involved forging through chest-deep water.
She and Nico had taken long walks on miles and miles of sand, holding hands, sharing cold lips and warm embraces. They had watched gulls, spoonbills and herons. Once they even saw a seal sunning itself on a large rock.
A small van pulled up. She climbed aboard with two other passengers, feeling excited. She had made an appointment for ten the next morning. Would Saartje have something important to tell her? Tomorrow she would know something, she just felt it!
After the short trip, she walked up to the old stone building. It loomed large and dark. Icy rain slammed her as she hurried to the entryway, clutching her small bag and purse.
She walked into an enormous lobby, her footsteps muted by thick carpet, twelve-foot ceilings and dark wood paneling that shone from the floor up to an elaborate crown molding. A sense of déjà vu filled her. Everything was exactly the same. The musty smell and deep burgundy of the chairs in the lounge, the view of the misty beach from the window, the fire roaring in the bar.
The desk clerk eyed her small bag when she told him that she was there only for one night, two at the most. No one came to Schiermonnikoog for just one night. The journey was considered to be an intercontinental one for the Dutch, who packed fruit and sandwiches for any train ride over an hour.
Nora checked in and went upstairs. It was the same room she and Nico had shared. A good omen. She put her things on the bed and walked to the window. Although it was only three in the afternoon, the beating of the rain on the leaded glass made it gloomy. She wished that Nico was with her, but he had probably been unable to get away. Oh, well, she thought, he will be here tomorrow. And she would rather see Saartje alone. Perhaps she would open up to Nora more than if Nico came along.
She looked at the beach but could barely make out the thin, gray strip where sand met sea. It seemed as if the shoreline went on forever, that the sea was simply a sailor’s mirage, a siren song.
Exhausted by the trip and the roller coaster of her reunion with Nico, Nora lay down. She fell into a dreamless sleep. When she awoke, the room was dark. She turned to the clock on the night table. Six thirty-five. She groaned and sat up. Hunger pangs reminded her that she had not eaten since a roll at the station in Amsterdam. She went to the washbasin and looked into the mirror. Black smudges seemed embedded under her eyes, her face sickly and pale, her hair tangled. She turned on the tap and splashed icy water on her face. It left her breathless but woke her up.
Downstairs, Nora walked into the hotel restaurant, seeking a modest meal. She couldn’t handle more than that. She looked around. A few tables were occupied, more than she would have expected this time of year. She noticed the bartender polishing a few glasses and chatting with a man at the bar.
A waiter appeared and led her to a table, where she sank into a leather chair and asked for a Bordeaux. She ordered fish and then sat back, taking a long sip of wine. She felt it flood and rejuvenate her. This was the closest she had come to relaxing since Rose disappeared. She immediately felt guilty. How could she relax even for a moment without Rose?
The waiter appeared with her meal. She took a few bites of her grilled fish and put down her fork. She knew by the aroma that the food had to be delicious, but somehow it tasted like burned paper. She pushed away her plate and drank another glass of wine. As exhausted now as she was before her nap, she stood and walked up the one flight to her room. Once inside, she took a steamy, hot bath and crawled into bed. A sliver of hope glimmered in her before she fell asleep.
46
Dirk waited impatiently as the few passengers exited the bus for the ferry to Schiermonnikoog. He picked up his overnight bag and could hear his binoculars and camera jostle inside it. And his pistol. Never left home without it.
He had missed the earlier train. Amarisa had kept him too long with her bitching. No matter. He would be there around six. Before he left Amsterdam, he had called the van der Werff, the only decent hotel on the island, and had confirmed that Nora was a guest. He had asked for her room number, saying he was her brother and would be joining her, and was surprised when they gave it to him. Small town. No crime.
Once in Schiermonnikoog, he took a bus to the side of the island opposite from her hotel and rented a
small cabin, making sure that the clerk was aware that he was an ornithologist, there to observe and photograph birds and wildlife for a few days. It was one of the island’s main attractions, even in winter.
He would case Nora’s hotel to see if he could slip in later that night. If not, he would wait until he could find her alone. Goddamned Amarisa. He still didn’t know if he had the guts to kill this Nora, but then he thought of the money. He knew Amarisa was good for it. And he’d be flush for the first time in years.
He’d make quick work of it before he lost his nerve. But what if he failed? What if, at the last moment, he couldn’t do it? What would Amarisa do to him then? No, he had no choice. He had to be rid of that bitch once and for all.
47
Nora walked out very early the next morning and found a cab at the hotel entrance. She had slept fitfully, waking often during the night. She kept wishing Nico were here, but she would see him soon. Knowing that he was so busy yesterday, she had not called him.
She handed the address to the driver. When they reached the convent, Nora tried to peer out of the window, but the hard rain blurred everything. She paid and stepped into a bitter wind that lashed her hair into whips and stung her face.
She looked up at the massive edifice that seemed as if its stone had been hewn in medieval times. The rain made it appear black, foreboding. Het Huis van Onze Heilige Moeder was carved into a wooden plank above the narrow entryway. To her left, a small, sad statue of the Holy Mother held out delicate hands from a niche in the wall.
Nora pulled on the rope that hung in the doorway. A low, deep clang reverberated through the heavy door. Moments passed. She pulled her jacket tighter around her. The temperature had dropped and the clouds were low and full, promising no end to the foul weather. She reached again for the rope, but before she could grasp it, the door opened with a grating sound. An old nun appeared in the cramped doorway. A tiny woman, she wore somber, black robes, her wimple wrapped so tightly about her face that her plump cheeks seemed ready to burst. An enormous crucifix hung from a braided chain and bumped against her black belt.
“I am Sister Magdalena.” Her voice was clear and strong. “May I help you?”
Nora had trouble understanding. Her Frisian dialect was strange to Nora’s ear. She knew Frisian more closely resembled Old English than Dutch and when there were Frisian programs on television, they had Dutch subtitles.
The sister held out a cool hand. Nora took it. “I am Saartje Steen’s great-niece,” she said. “I called you yesterday?”
The old nun nodded. “Oh, yes. Please come in.” She silently led Nora to a small office near the entrance and ushered her in. Nora sat and watched as the old woman took a seat behind a massive wooden desk. She cleared her throat as she fixed Nora with a calm gaze. “Saartje Steen has been with us many years. She is Sister Josephina now. After losing her husband in the war, she left her family and gave her life to the glory of service to the Lord.” She shook her head. “Sadly, it appears that she is now near the end of her path.”
“Is she dying?”
The sister smiled. “We are all dying, of course. But no, Sister Josephina’s body is sound for someone her age. It is her mind, you see. It has begun to leave her. In that respect, I believe she is truly blessed.”
“But...how can that be a blessing?”
There was a light knock. Sister Magdalena stood and walked to the door. A sleeved hand passed something through the opening. When she returned, she handed Nora a clay cup of aromatic tea and returned to her chair. She peered at Nora. “You are very young, my dear. Let us just say that when God sees fit to heap intolerable tragedy upon one of His true believers, one is fortunate if, by whatever means, that pain is lifted.”
Nora felt like crying. Another dead end. She looked up at the nun. “Is she insane?”
The nun smiled her quiet smile. “That depends upon whose definition you would employ.”
Nora put down her cup, feeling so, so weary. “I would be happy to accept yours.”
“I would say that Sister Josephina is caught in time and space—between heaven and earth.”
Nora felt as if she would burst. She had had such high hopes. Now they were dashed like the waves on the rocks outside. “May I see her?”
The nun’s blue eyes were a laser. “I will permit that, with one proviso. My concern is for Sister Josephina’s soul. It has been entrusted to me and I must see it pass easily from this life to the next. You must promise not to disturb her. You must agree to enter her time and her mind.” She paused. “If you cannot do this, I must ask you to finish your tea and leave us.”
Nora felt as if she were a specimen under a microscope. “I have no wish to disturb her.”
The nun studied her, stood silently and walked to the door, letting Nora pass before her.
* * *
Nora followed her through dark, winding hallways, their footsteps the only sounds on the cold stone floors. Sister Magdalena explained that there were only twenty elderly sisters left at the convent. Their order required that they spend their days in silence, prayer and meditation. She instructed Nora not to speak to any of the other sisters if she should see them. She was to avert her eyes so as not to distract them from their prayers.
They climbed a narrow, pitched staircase. Nora thought she could feel the wind blow right through her. She glanced behind them. There was no way she could ever find her way back to the entrance without a map—or a nun. The wind was howling outside, the rain pelting on the roof. She shivered.
After what felt like an hour, they came to the end of a long hallway. Another elderly nun sat upon a hard chair outside of an arched doorway, a black rosary in her hands. She stood and left them, never raising her eyes.
Sister Magdalena turned to Nora. “I shall leave you to enter and greet Sister Josephina. More than one person at a time is too much for her. It would be best if you enter silently and permit her first to acknowledge your presence.” She gave Nora a flinty look. “I must remind you of our agreement.”
Nora nodded. What in hell was wrong with Saartje? Was she schizophrenic or just your garden-variety demented? It didn’t matter. Nora had to reach her.
As she began to enter, Sister Magdalena grasped Nora’s arm. The old nun held out her white hand, palm up. “Please give me your watch.”
“My watch?”
“Time disturbs Sister Josephina.”
Nora unclasped her watch and handed it to her. The nun seemed satisfied, and yet she did not leave. “Is there something else?”
“One last thing.” She pointed at the raging storm outside. “The lightening. It frightens Sister Josephina. Please try to comfort her.”
Nora nodded and watched as the nun disappeared down the dark hallway. She braced herself and opened the door.
The room was larger than she had expected, all white, with high ceilings and a black slate floor. It had a single bed, a small wooden desk, a sink and a toilet, dimly lit by a floor lamp in the corner. Three thick candles glowed as if to ward off evil spirits. An icon of the Virgin Mary hung above the bed, surprisingly rich in its reds, blues and shimmering gold. Her sad eyes seemed to follow Nora as she approached the bed.
It was perfectly made, white sheets pulled tight. A flat, white pillow lay uncreased at the head, a thick woolen blanket folded neatly at the foot. Nora spied a bell on the nightstand. This is ridiculous. No one is here. She stepped back toward the door. She’d find Sister Magdalena.
Then she heard a thready voice from under the bed. A tremulous Dutch voice reciting prayers. “Beloved Virgin, protect your servant. Oh, Heavenly Mother, do not abandon me now! Keep me safe from harm.”
Nora crouched down, her knees on the icy floor. She peered under the bed. The dark was partially lit by the soft glow of the candles on the night table. From Nora’s angle, they looked almost lik
e stars. Gradually her eyes adjusted. Under the far side of the bed, Nora saw the slight, crooked form of an old woman who wore a thin white nightgown. Her eyes were closed as the words came softly from her lips. “Mother full of tenderness...”
Nora felt moved with pity. “Saartje,” she whispered. The woman’s eyes were sealed shut. Nora reached forward and took her arm. She pulled the small creature toward her. The old woman did not resist, but let herself be moved like a rag doll. When Nora had finally maneuvered her out, she saw a face as fine as porcelain and milky blue eyes that did not focus on hers.
Nora lifted the almost weightless form and placed her on the bed. Saartje’s head lolled back on the pillow as Nora straightened her legs and tucked the rough woolen blanket around her chilled body. Still no response. Nora cupped the pale cheeks in her hands.
Suddenly, a blaze of lightning flashed in the window, followed by a clap of thunder. Saartje’s eyes flew open. She screamed—a hawk’s screech—and beat upon Nora with her small fists. She rose up to dive under the bed, but Nora held her tight. She kept her voice soft and soothing.
“Saartje, it’s all right,” crooned Nora. “You’re safe. Its just a storm.”
Saartje moaned, wrenched herself free and pulled the blanket over her head. “No! No!” she screamed. “It is the airplanes—the bombs! We have to hide!”
Nora gently pulled the blanket away from her face. The eyes that moments ago seemed lost to the world now locked on hers, clear and bright. Saartje began sobbing as she lunged forward and clasped Nora in a desperate embrace. Then the words poured forth. “Praise God!” She turned her gaze upward. “My prayers have finally been answered. You are here!”
Nora tried to soothe and quiet her, but the old woman was clutching her fiercely, her thin, cold face pressed into Nora’s neck. “It’s all right now, it’s all right,” whispered Nora, her own tears flowing.
After a time, the old woman stopped sobbing. The eyes that fixed upon Nora’s were sharp and lucid. Nora smiled nervously. “You don’t know me, Tante Saartje, but—”
The Tulip Eaters Page 20