If I Were You

by Lynn Austin

  Jesus had told His followers, “Anyone who loves his father or mother more than Me is not worthy of Me; anyone who loves his son or daughter more than Me is not worthy of Me; and anyone who does not take his cross and follow Me is not worthy of Me.” It was a hard, hard truth, put to the test by the fires of war.

  Lena felt a tug on her skirt. Little Bep looked up at her with a worried expression. She was Lena’s child by love if not by blood, and had come to them two years after the invasion. “Is Papa going to come home now?” she asked.

  “And Wim and Ans, too?” Maaike added.

  Lena didn’t reply. She didn’t know. A tendril of fear sprouted and curled through her, and she knew if she allowed it to grow, it would strangle her faith. She used to believe that the enemy of faith was doubt, but she’d learned during the war that faith’s destroyer was fear. “Let your fear drive you into the arms of God,” her father had said.

  “Well, we will hope and pray that they do come home,” Lena replied.

  “I miss Opa,” Maaike said. She had pulled the photograph down to her level to look at it, pointing to her grandfather. Lena stroked her daughter’s fair hair and thick braid.

  “I miss him, too.”

  “Are you crying, Mama?” Bep asked. Lena quickly brushed away her tears.

  “Sometimes we cry because we’re happy.”

  “I’m happy, too.” Bep wrapped her thin arms around Lena’s legs and hugged her tightly. This child was so dear to Lena’s heart. She couldn’t love Bep more if she had come from her own womb.

  But she hadn’t.

  And now, with the liberation, the truth would also come out of hiding, like the shadow people. Lena needed to prepare Bep for it. And to prepare herself. She needed to start now, before her courage failed. She set the photograph back in its place. “How would you girls like to help me dig for buried treasure?” she asked.

  “Real treasure? Like in the book we read?” Maaike asked. Lena had read Treasure Island out loud to the girls to help pass the time after the village school was closed.

  “Yes, but it isn’t pirate treasure. Come with me.” She fetched shovels and a pitchfork from the barn and carried them into the vegetable garden behind the kitchen. Lena had watched Pieter bury the cache late one night, digging the hole beside the corner fencepost so they could find it again. She went to the spot and shoved the pitchfork into the ground to loosen the soil. After a few turns of the spade, she heard the clunk of metal against metal. “Here it is! Help me dig!” The girls bent down beside her, using their hands and a garden trowel to uncover two buried sacks.

  Bep wiggled with excitement. “What is it, Mama? What’s inside them?”

  She tugged on the larger canvas sack and heaved it out of the hole, the metal rattling inside. “These are all of our pots and things made of copper and brass. The soldiers wanted to take them, so your papa buried them out here.” She untied the bag and let the girls peek inside at the various buckets and pots and a brass tray, the copper tarnished a dull green color. Then she pulled out the smaller sack and brushed away the dirt. Inside was a wooden box.

  “What’s in the box, Mama?” Bep asked.

  Lena looked at her daughter’s beautiful face and dark eyes, and her heart squeezed. It had been hard for Lena to lie to Bep these past three years, but telling her the truth was going to be harder still—harder than Lena had ever imagined it would be on the day when Ans had first placed the little girl in her arms.

  “You know that you came to live with us when you were a baby . . . ,” Lena began. She brushed Bep’s hair from her face, smoothing it back. She still wore the bow in it. “We’ve talked about what the word adopted means, remember?”

  Bep nodded. “I had another mama before I came to live with you. And another papa.”

  “That’s right. Well, they asked me to keep this box for you. They loved you very, very much. Every bit as much as Papa and I love you.” Lena’s throat tightened.

  “But they weren’t able to take care of me anymore,” Bep said, repeating the story she’d been told. It was the first lie that would need to be replaced with the truth. Lena swallowed, remembering the grisly stories from the underground newspapers that revealed the horrifying truth about the Nazi atrocities. The truth about where the trains traveling east from Westerbork had carried Holland’s Jews. Lena didn’t know if Bep’s parents had been among them.

  “Let’s take this into the house and wash our hands, and then we’ll look inside the box together.” Lena used their precious sliver of soap to scrub the dirt from Bep’s hands, wondering how to explain to this child the evil that had forced her to hide and lie and pretend. How could Lena explain that while there was a chance her parents might be coming soon to take her home, there was also a chance that they might never come back? The nature of this war and the Nazi occupation had meant living a life of countless lies and deceptions. It meant asking few questions, accepting few answers, knowing it was better to know very little in case you were arrested and tortured. Should she shield Bep from the truth a little longer before telling her why her identity had to be buried inside this box for the past three years? How could Lena explain to this four-year-old why the Nazis had wanted to kill her when Lena didn’t understand it herself?

  But little Bep needed to be ready, whether her family came back or whether they didn’t. She would need to mourn if they were dead, just as Lena would mourn if her loved ones in the portrait never returned. Mourning couldn’t begin until she faced the truth. And her life couldn’t move forward until she mourned. Lena glanced up at the photograph again. Even after she’d mourned, she would never leave these precious ones behind. They would always be part of her, carried in her heart as she moved forward from the place of grief.

  With Maaike beside her on the sofa and little Bep on her lap, Lena opened the wooden box. Inside was a photograph album and a pair of silver candlesticks, tarnished black. “Your mama and papa gave you these pictures so you would remember who they are, and who you are.” There was also a letter Bep’s mother had written to Lena on ivory stationery. Lena remembered reading it on the night Bep came to her, three years ago, before Pieter buried it along with the box. She unfolded it and silently read it again:

  Dear Mrs. DeVries,

  In giving you my daughter, I’m giving you part of my heart. For however long this war lasts, you’ll be the one who will watch her grow and teach her to skip and run and sing. You’ll brush her hair in the morning and hug her good night and dry her tears. I pray that you will love her as if she is your own, and that she’ll know comfort and security in your arms. If God wills it, we will meet one day, and I will be able to thank you for protecting my little girl. If He wills otherwise, I ask that you tell her about her father and me, Avraham and Miriam Leopold, through these photographs. Tell her that her Hebrew name is Elisheva, and that it means “God’s promise.” Tell her how much we loved her. And how very hard it was to let her go.

  Lena refolded the letter, knowing how this mother must ache to hold her daughter in her arms. How many months had it been, now, since Lena had seen her own daughter Ans and son Wim? Lena understood the pain of loving a child so deeply and having to let her go. Ans and Wim had left Lena in a different way and for different reasons, but releasing a loved one to God’s care, not knowing what that child’s future would be, was an impossible choice for any mother to face.

  “What are these?” Maaike asked, fingering the tarnished candlesticks.

  “They’re silver candlesticks. They’ll be beautiful once we polish them.” Lena set them and the metal box aside and opened the photograph album. The first three pictures were loose, not glued to the page. She read the writing on the back, translating the German. “This is your mother, Miriam Leopold, and your father, Avraham Leopold. Look, here they are holding you when you were a tiny baby.”

  Bep studied the pictures for a moment before reaching to turn the page.

  “These are your grandparents,” Lena continued, reading the c
aptions. “Your grandfather was a professor at the university, see?” She pointed to a photograph of a distinguished-looking man in academic regalia. “This is your mother’s home in Cologne, Germany.” It was a mansion, three stories tall with stately pillars in front, shaded by tall trees. “This is your mama when she was a little girl. She looks like you, don’t you think? Look, here she is on a holiday with her parents at Lake Konstanz.”

  Bep seemed overwhelmed by it all as they paged through photographs of aunts and uncles and cousins. She hadn’t grasped the full meaning of the album yet. Between two of the pages, Lena found a sealed letter that Miriam had written to Bep. Lena set it aside, deciding to wait until Bep had more time to get to know the strangers in these photographs.

  As they leafed through the album, Miriam slowly grew up and became a young woman, a solemn beauty with a shy smile and shining dark hair like Bep’s. In many of the pictures, she was holding a violin. By the time they reached the last page, Miriam was a slender young adult, seated at a dining table, surrounded by her parents and aunts and uncles and cousins. The table was spread with a white tablecloth, flowers, platters of food, and crystal glassware. “Look what’s in this picture . . . ,” Lena, said, pointing. In the center of the table, with flames gleaming brightly, were the silver candlesticks.

  Tears filled Lena’s eyes at these glimpses of Miriam Leopold’s life. The album painted a picture of a gracious, genteel life, a loving family. But they were pictures of a world that had vanished in a whirlwind of flames and hatred.

  A Note from the Author

  I hope you enjoyed meeting Audrey and Eve and experiencing a bit of life in England during World War II. If I Were You began as a simple story about a British war bride and an American soldier. I have always been intrigued by my friend Janet Sharp’s parents, now deceased, who met during the war much like Audrey and Robert did. Janet’s mother, a lovely, tea-drinking English lady, was serving as an air-raid warden in Enfield when she met her handsome American pilot. They moved to Illinois after the war and had two children. A sweet, romantic story.

  But as I dove into the research, I discovered how greatly the two World Wars altered everyday life in England, putting an end to the divide between the upper classes and their servants. Being a huge fan of the TV series Downton Abbey, I knew I wanted to take my story in that direction. Audrey and Eve (and their mothers) quickly sprang to life. Then all the rest—their friendship, their rivalry, their loves and losses—fell beautifully into place as these two women searched to redefine who they really were.

  One of my favorite parts of writing novels is the research. For this book, my husband and I wandered around London so I could put myself in my characters’ shoes. We enjoyed traveling on the Underground, but I don’t think I would like sleeping there night after night. We visited the Imperial War Museum and sat inside a tiny Anderson shelter during a simulated bombing, and I sympathized with Eve’s claustrophobia. I developed a deep admiration for the women of Britain who served in so many different capacities in order to save their nation, everything from laboring on farms and operating complicated radar systems to driving ambulances into scenes of utter devastation the way Audrey and Eve did. I’m sure that many of them found resources of strength and courage that they didn’t know they possessed.

  Aside from the attacks on Pearl Harbor and on 9/11, we don’t really know what it’s like to have our homeland here in America bombed and threatened with invasion. As I read accounts of what the people in Britain endured and the courage they displayed in refusing to surrender, I kept asking myself what I would have done. Would my faith have proven strong enough, or might it have faltered? None of us will really know until our faith is tested. But if and when it is, we will have a marvelous opportunity to see and experience God’s faithfulness.

  I know that different readers will see different things in this novel and take away different lessons. But if you learn only one thing, my prayer is that you will begin to believe that God has a unique plan and purpose for your life. And that like Eve and Audrey, you will journey with our loving God to discover what it is. “For we are God’s workmanship, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do” (Ephesians 2:10).

  Blessings!

  Lynn

  Acknowledgments

  Writers are always pictured as lonely souls, sitting in our cloistered offices for hours and hours, laboring to bring our stories to life. This can be an accurate picture of my own process at times, except for the “lonely” part. I have discovered over the years that I experience more joy in the creation of each book when I partner with other creative people to bring my vision to fulfillment. I want to stop and thank some of those partners now.

  My husband, Ken, is always my first reader, plowing through my half-finished chapters and unresolved plot ideas and listening to me ramble on and on about what might or might not happen. He is also quick to tell me how my male characters would really think and what they would really do. My longtime friends and fellow writers Jane Rubietta and Cleo Lampos are also vitally important to me in the brainstorming and development process. We have been meeting and critiquing each other’s writing for more than twenty-five years, since before any of us was ever published, and I’m quite certain that I couldn’t write a book without them.

  My nonwriting friends Ed and Cathy Pruim and Paul and Jacki Kleinheksel are also irreplaceable and essential to my writing process. They allow me to air my frustrations, they pray with me, and they offer me spiritual insights and down-to-earth advice whenever I need it. I’m so grateful to them for keeping me grounded—and for getting me out of my office to have fun!

  Christine Bierma is my assistant who is so much more than my assistant! She brought me into the twenty-first century with web pages and blogs and social media and all of that other technology that I still don’t understand. And she doesn’t even laugh at me (much) when I struggle to use it. She is a partner to me in every way, and I would not want to write or launch a book without her and her online business, Launch Right.

  My team at Tyndale House are my newest partners and have guided and shaped this book into a finished product. Stephanie Broene has been alongside me from the beginning stages and throughout the rewriting, cover design, and marketing processes. I so appreciate her insight and partnership. My editor, Kathy Olson, has patiently guided me through a new way of doing edits, and has made it (almost) fun and painless. She also made this a better book.

  Last, but absolutely not least, is my amazing agent, Natasha Kern. The publishing world is changing so quickly and so dramatically that my writing career would be lost at sea without her knowledge and expertise. But more than that, Natasha offered valuable input into this story and gave me encouragement and advice when I needed it most.

  Thank you, and God’s richest blessings to each of you. If I Were You would not be the same book without you.

  Discussion Questions

  Belonging, home, and family are recurring themes in If I Were You. How do Eve and Audrey each experience these things throughout the book? How does their desire to belong and to have a home and a family motivate the decisions each young woman makes?

  Which of the characters did you more easily identify with, Eve or Audrey? Why?

  How do Eve and Audrey respond differently to adversity? To love? Give examples from the story. What accounts for their differences? Is it nature, nurture, or a combination of both?

  The author uses Eve and Audrey to contrast the different classes in Britain prior to World War II. Describe the different lifestyles and expectations the girls and their families have. How does each girl grow and change as a result of their friendship?

  Part of what Eve and Audrey learn is that the roles expected of them by society and their families don’t necessarily reflect what God wants for them. What purpose might God have for your life that could differ from the expectations of society or family? What relationships has He placed in your life that have helped you—or could
help you—to discover His plans for you?

  The author also contrasts the way the war affected Britain with the way it affected America. Eve notes in 1946 that “America’s prosperity astounded her. There were no piles of rubble where homes once stood, no queues for food, no shortages. Soldiers like Robert and Louis had returned home to civilian life as if the war had never happened.” She tells Audrey that no one ever asks her about life during the war, that Americans seem to have the attitude that “the war is over and done with, and we’d all be better off to forget about it.” In what ways is it helpful to be able to share about traumatic experiences we’ve had? Why is it hard for us to want to hear about the challenges others have faced? Think about times you’ve been on either side of this situation—how have you responded?

  Eve blames Audrey’s mother for the death of her own mother. Do you think Eve’s reaction to her mother’s death is fair? How does she eventually come to terms with it?

  While urging Audrey to pay attention to her evolving feelings for Robert, Eve tells her, “The war has erased the rules and traditions we grew up with.” What does she mean? Can you think of any examples from contemporary culture that are parallel to this? Have those changes been good or detrimental?

  Eve is adamant about not having intimate relations with Alfie without the security of marriage, despite his pressure and her fears for his safety. What has changed by the time she meets Louis? Why does she make a different choice with him?

  When Audrey visits her uncle in London in 1950, she debates whether to tell him the truth about her parentage. She decides not to, concluding that some secrets are better left hidden. Do you agree? How would you have handled the news Audrey had just received from her father?

  Why does Audrey decide not to go to America when she first has the chance? What changes her mind later? Have you ever had second thoughts about a major life decision? Is it ever too late to change your path?