Cornelia cinched the belt of her green Sunday dress the way she wanted to cinch it around Gerrit’s neck. That stubborn man, not accepting any of her compromises and siding with her brother against her. At least she had talked Johan out of going.
She touched the white crocheted lace collar, now yellowed even though she scrubbed and scrubbed it. Nothing she could do about that. She rolled the top of her hair, securing the curls with pins, and caught the rest at the base of her head in the simple silver clip Hans had given her as a wedding gift.
She wouldn’t think about Hans today. She pulled her brush through her tresses once more, then laid it on her dresser. Time to get Johan moving if they were to make it to services on time.
She knocked on his bedroom door, but he didn’t answer. When no reply came from her second and third knocks, she dared to turn the knob and enter his tiny room under the sloped roof. The sheets lay mussed in a pile at the end of the low bed and clothes all but concealed the floor, but Johan wasn’t there. Good, he must be downstairs waiting for his breakfast.
When she got to the kitchen, however, she found it empty and cold. Perhaps Gerrit had called for him. She stirred the fire in the stove and hurried to the front room. Gerrit sat in bed, stroking Pepper, who purred, curled in a ball on his lap. The chair beside him remained empty.
Her stomach twisted. “Where is Johan?”
Gerrit motioned toward the chair. “Sit down for a minute.”
She stared at the wounded man, a small scar marring his square chin. The look in his eyes caused goose bumps to pop up all over her arms. “What do you have to tell me?”
“Don’t be angry.”
“That means you do not have good news for me.”
“Johan is an adult and made this decision on his own.”
Her stomach turned inside out. “He went, didn’t he?”
“Ja. He left about ten minutes ago.”
She shook her head, unable to believe the depth of her brother’s foolhardiness. “You encouraged him.”
Gerrit played with the edge of the blanket, his hands displaying the long fingers, leathery skin, and prominent knuckles of someone who worked hard. “I didn’t recruit him, if that’s what you’re asking. He volunteered and I gave him the information.”
Inside her, an icy-hot spring welled. “I begged you not to do that.”
“He was determined. You refused, so he went.”
“Don’t make this my fault.”
“No one’s blaming you, Cornelia. He went to do a job that needed to be done, that’s all.”
She balled her fists and resisted striking him. “What if something happens to him?” Awful images slashed across her mind, pictures of something she wanted to forget but couldn’t.
“I won’t lie to you—what he is doing is dangerous.”
She strangled her words to avoid from shouting and causing suspicion among the neighbors. “Then why did you let him do it?”
“We have been over this already.” His voice contained a sharp edge of impatience.
“Have I worked to protect him for nothing?”
“He wants to fight for his country and his queen.”
She struggled to keep from being overwhelmed by memories. “I knew another young man like that. Things didn’t turn out well for him.”
“That doesn’t mean Johan will have the same outcome.”
“If anything happens to him, I will hold you responsible.” She pointed the tip of her finger at his chest. “I am not sure I can ever forgive you for what you have done, allowing my brother to risk his life to find your friend.”
She spun on her heel and marched from the room, fanning the heat away from her face with her hand. That man had some gall, demanding they take him in and care for him, then sending her brother out on a mission that could cost him his life. Gerrit would go this afternoon, even if it meant she had to drag him to the street herself and leave him there.
ANKI DYKSTRA WANDERED through the small village, rows of narrow houses crowding the roads. Even though the Nazis had confiscated the church bell, women and children bustled toward the tsjerke at the appointed time on their way to Sunday service, heads bent against the light rain. This would be a good time to check on her siblings and their surreptitious visitor.
She worried about the peril that had ensnarled Corrie. Her sister hadn’t always been this timid and frightened, but after Hans . . .
The other night when the Gestapo came to the door, Corrie surprised her with how well she’d handled herself.
Still, the sooner that man left her sister’s house, the better for all of them. Corrie was softening, thinking of working with him. No matter what, Anki had to convince her brother not to get involved. Corrie couldn’t survive another loss.
Anki couldn’t keep lying to her husband either. She would not do it. He would figure out the truth in time and then . . .
She bumped into a German soldier on the edge of town. Her spine stiffened and she sucked in her breath. Her baby sister hid what they sought.
She crossed the bridge and came to Corrie’s small, two-story house. She did nothing out of the ordinary, including ignoring the soldiers she passed. She rapped on the cheerful green front door.
Corrie pulled her inside. “What are you doing here?” she said, her words low and quiet.
“I came to see Gerrit. I didn’t check on him yesterday.”
Corrie nodded. “You can’t let him know you were here the other night. He can’t see you.”
“Have the Gestapo been back? They are still watching all of these houses.”
“Nee, not yet, anyway. I’m expecting them here any moment.”
“This is much too dangerous.”
“It gets worse.” Cornelia’s hands quivered.
“What’s wrong?”
“Johan slipped out earlier this morning to notify a friend of Gerrit’s who works in the Resistance. What are we going to do?”
Anki rubbed the back of her neck. “He didn’t like the idea of contacting his family? Or didn’t you present that possibility?”
Corrie chewed on a fingernail. “I did, but he said that his parents’ house has been under surveillance for years. It would be too risky to try to contact them through any means. Even if we could get ahold of them, there is no way they could help him.”
“What are we going to do?”
“Johan is gone, so there is nothing we can do about it except to pray. If he survives this escapade, he is going to want to get involved further in the Underground. He will get a taste of this adventure and want more. We have to find a way to stop him.”
Anki’s own hands trembled as she grasped her sister’s. “You’re talking about the boy who climbed trees when Mem told him not to and who jumped off the Tuinstras’ barn roof into the pile of hay. He broke his arm that time, but two weeks later we caught him doing it again.”
Corrie shook her head. “I am terrified that Johan is going to run into trouble.”
“Me too.” She prayed she was wrong.
JOHAN THANKED THE Lord for the cold drizzle that allowed him to pull Mem’s old blue scarf farther over his head and keep his focus on the ground. Only a crazy person would dress in Mem’s clothes, but Gerrit insisted he needed a disguise. He supposed he couldn’t gallivant down the street, announcing himself to the world. He wished they would have had the time and resources to come up with a better cover, though.
After he crossed the bridge into town, he blended in with a group headed to the tsjerke for Sunday services. They lived in a small town where everyone was acquainted with everyone else, so he prayed none of the faithful would question this strange woman in their midst. Or recognize Mem’s clothes on his back.
He knew the exact house Gerrit instructed him to find. It was brown brick, the middle one in a long row on quiet Prince William Street. Without any problems, he peeled away from the group and made his way to the house. He glanced to his right and left before ascending the single step to the door.
His hand trembled worse than an old lady’s, and he didn’t think he would be able to use it to lift the brass knocker. He raised his chin and braced himself. He sure had wanted this adventure. He couldn’t turn and run now. For his people and his queen, he had to prove himself to be brave and trustworthy.
Lord, help me.
He summoned the strength to tap the code Gerrit had taught him. Three knocks, pause, two knocks, pause, three knocks.
He dropped the knocker against the door and held his breath.
Steps sounded from inside and stopped. “Who is it?” a masculine voice asked.
At first, his words squeaked and cracked. He cleared his throat and tried again. “I have come with a delivery for you.”
“Bread or milk?”
“I have some vegetables.”
He didn’t know what it all meant—Gerrit hadn’t explained—but the man on the other side of the door must have understood the code. “Good. Carrots, potatoes, or beets?”
“Green beans.”
“Green beans? Are you sure?”
Johan thumped his head with his fist. Had he made a blunder? In his mind, he retraced every word of the conversation Gerrit taught him. Nee, he had said to tell the man green beans, Johan was positive. Could he have misunderstood him? Gotten it confused?
“Green beans.”
He waited while his heart threatened to jump ship, then spun around, sure someone watched him from across the street. The road remained empty.
After a very long minute, the door creaked open and a hand pulled him inside. Anytime now he expected the Gestapo to shove him to the floor and arrest him. The small living area where he stood was dim and it took a few seconds for his eyes to adjust. A huge man, both in height and width, shut the door. Only then did he release Johan’s wrist.
“You have a message for me?” he growled at Johan, eyes narrowed.
Johan stood firm, then asked a ridiculous question. “Are you Bear?”
The extra-large man nodded his bald head. “What is your message?”
He wiped his sweaty palms on his mem’s plain dark skirt. “Gerrit Laninga is alive.”
With those words, the hardness in Bear’s face melted. “Are you sure? We got word they executed him three days ago, but we heard his body was missing.”
Johan nodded and Bear lumbered away. “Rooster, you have to come hear this.”
A tall, lanky young fellow with dark hair stepped out of the shadows after Bear. “What is it?”
Bear nodded at Johan. “Tell him what you said to me.”
Rooster must be the code name for Gerrit’s friend Maarten. He fit Gerrit’s description. “Gerrit Laninga is alive.”
Rooster’s eyes widened. “You have to be kidding me.”
“I sure am not. After the Germans left, I set off to cover one of the bodies in orange. I found him near the bridge, breathing but wounded, and brought him to my house. My sisters and I have been caring for him since. Gerrit sent me here saying he had an important message for his friend.”
Rooster ran his hand through his hair. “Are you sure you have the right man?”
It must be unbelievable to them that someone survived their own execution. “He told me if you doubted me to remind you about the time you broke your mem’s window playing ball.”
Bear motioned for Johan to stop. “You could be a collaborator, setting a trap for us.”
Rooster shook his head. “He isn’t lying. Everyone thinks Gerrit threw that ball, but I did. He took the blame for me. Only he would know the truth.”
Bear stared at Johan, his dark green eyes boring into him, testing him. The piercing scrutiny made him want to drop his look to the floor, but if he did so, Bear would think he lied.
“Tell me where you live.”
“The small brick house with a green door on the other side of the canal bridge.”
“I know it.”
The hulking man went to the window, parted the curtains, and peered at the street. When he returned, he opened the door. For their safety, no niceties or small talk passed between them. He never asked Johan’s name, just said, “Someone will be there soon.”
Knowing he had made sure the street was clear, Johan stepped outside without another word.
A sense of triumph filled him. He had accomplished his mission. Now they would have to let him work for them. No more sitting prisoner in that house, waiting to be either arrested or liberated. He wanted to skip all the way home.
Excited about the adventures that lay ahead of him, he turned the corner without much care and ran smack into someone. He thought it might be a latecomer to church, hurrying not to miss the service. When he looked up, though, his stomach plunged like it did when he had jumped off the Tuinstras’ roof.
He stared into the hard, grimacing face of a German soldier.