Cornelia walked the route to the Underground’s headquarters, acting as if she did this every day. She waved to Frou Huizenga when she spotted the woman across the street and stopped for a moment to coo at Mot Portinga’s new daughter. Inside, however, she quivered like a poplar tree in the breeze.
She should be on her way to Frou de Bruin’s house now, but getting help for Gerrit took precedence. From the time he had walked into her house this morning until the time she left to fetch a doktor—not much more than thirty minutes—Gerrit had weakened and faded. The feisty old lady would peck at her to no end when she did arrive, but she would have to make her employer understand that some things were more important than peeling potatoes and washing floors.
A man’s life—Gerrit’s existence—rested in her hands.
She passed the old, familiar shops. At Hear Smeet’s bakery, a few women milled around, waiting for their little loaf of bread, their daily ration. Their thin coats were drawn around their shoulders, their bare legs exposed to the elements.
The same scene played out at the greengrocer’s. Though the man did not have his usual prewar bounty of fruits and vegetables, the town’s women who weren’t at the bakery stood in line here, waiting with open hands for their few potatoes.
Again, she passed the shop without stopping. She rehearsed Johan’s directions to the house and the code knock and words she would need to gain entrance.
Though the walk to the center of the small town didn’t take long, by the time she arrived at the nondescript house stationed in the midst of a row of dwellings sagging under the weight of the occupation, her legs shook and her knees banged together. She didn’t know how much longer she would be able to stand.
She raised her hand, which trembled more than Frou de Bruin’s. Clasping her own wrist to still it, she closed her eyes and inhaled and exhaled a few times.
She tapped the cold metal knocker in the rhythm Johan taught her, praying she had remembered it correctly. With Gerrit losing blood at an alarming rate, she had not been entirely focused.
A deep voice rumbled from the other side of the door. “What do you want?”
“I have a vegetable delivery.”
“Carrots, beets, or potatoes?”
“Green beans.”
Johan told her he had to wait awhile for Bear to open the door, but it flew open wide a few seconds later. Thankful she remembered the code, she crossed the threshold into the dim interior. The man slammed the door shut behind her and bolted it.
He towered over her and, despite the food shortage, appeared well fed. She shrank back until she leaned against the door.
“What do you want?”
“Are you Bear?” Her voice squeaked.
“Ja.”
She swallowed hard around the lump in her throat. “Gerrit’s wound has opened and he’s losing blood. He needs a doktor. If he doesn’t get care soon, he will die.”
“Doktor Boukma can be trusted. Get him and he will take care of Gerrit. He won’t say anything.”
“But I have to get to work.”
“I thought you said Gerrit is about to die.”
“Ja, but I have a job.” Frou de Bruin would be furious with her for being so late. “Can’t one of you go?”
“It’s too dangerous for men to be on the streets. Maarten has a forged ausweis, but that means right now he is supposed to be somewhere working. I couldn’t send him until later. If Gerrit’s condition is as grave as you say, you need to be the one to go.”
Once, when she was small, maybe five or six, she had played along the edge of the canal. Rain had fallen earlier in the day, making the bank slippery. As she played, she lost her footing and slid into the water. Though she struggled, she hadn’t been able to keep her head above water.
That same drowning sensation washed over her now.
“I’ll go.”
Doktor Boukma had delivered her and her siblings, had removed her tonsils, and had stitched up Johan’s head more than once.
“Then you had better hurry.”
She restrained herself from curtsying when she fled Bear’s house.
She didn’t need directions to the doktor’s office and she picked up her pace. Time was slipping away for Gerrit.
Doktor Boukma welcomed her with a wide smile, his blue eyes warm. “Cornelia de Vries. To what do I owe this pleasure?”
“I need you to come with me.”
He didn’t hesitate and didn’t ask questions.
Together they bustled down the streets, past women going about their daily business. That had been her a mere four days ago. Many of them greeted her and the doktor, and he returned their greeting, relaxed and confident.
She tried to disappear behind his slender frame.
“Won’t people wonder why you are coming with me when I live alone?”
He shook his head. “They are busy with their everyday lives. And if they wonder, let them wonder.”
How many of these women also harbored secrets?
Doktor Boukma went straight in to see Gerrit as soon as they arrived home.
She stood in the entry to the front room. “Do you need me to do anything? Otherwise, I should start a pot of water for coffee.”
He waved her toward the kitchen. Part of her sagged in relief that she didn’t have to see the blood spurting from Gerrit’s wound or the signs of death in his face. The other part wished she could be in there with him, holding his hand, willing him to live.
She placed the kettle on the fire and sat on the kitchen chair. Then she jumped up, checking to see if the water boiled yet. She opened and closed cabinet doors without putting anything in or taking anything out. A moment later she arranged four coffee cups on the counter, then rearranged them.
Johan came through the door and leaned against the jamb, his entire face wilting with exhaustion. “Sit down, Corrie. He will tell us about Gerrit when he is through. I think once Doktor Boukma stitches him up, he will be fine.”
Cornelia thumped into her chair and played with the handle on her blue coffee cup. “I hope we got here soon enough. What if he dies?”
“Then it is in God’s hands. He will take care of everything.”
“I couldn’t stand it if he died.”
Johan stood straight. “Are you falling in love with him?”
Cornelia sat back, almost tipping over her chair. “Nee. Absolutely not. Never.”
“A lot of denial for a straightforward question.”
She spread her hands on the table. “I have loved Hans since I was a little girl. He gave me piggyback rides, and even then I enjoyed being near him. We had so little time. We had no time, really.”
“I want to see you happy.”
“I don’t love Gerrit or anyone else. And I never will.”
But as Cornelia spoke the words, she wondered if they were true.
Doktor Boukma stepped into the room and over to the sink to wash his hands. “All finished.” The tall, strong man Cornelia used to know had changed. He stooped a little when he walked and his hair had turned white. Anki followed him.
Cornelia rose. “Let me get you some coffee.”
He waved her off. “Nee, bedankt. I can’t stay. You did a great job, Anki. You should think about becoming a surgeon.”
She laughed, her green eyes shining. “I have other things that will occupy my time. My nursing days are over.”
Now Cornelia knew for sure. It would be a matter of waiting for Anki to announce her news.
Doktor Boukma turned to Cornelia. “The wound looked clean, so all I had to do was stitch the hole closed. The most important thing is to keep him still. He got up too soon and moved about too much, causing your sister’s beautiful sutures to come apart. Even while I worked on him, he started asking me when he could get out of bed. Good luck keeping him quiet. In a few days, I will check back.”
Cornelia steadied herself on the edge of the table. “Heel hartelijk bedankt for everything you have done.”
The doktor touched Cornelia’s shoulder. “You are doing the right thing. Don’t doubt it. God will bless your efforts.”
He served as an elder in their village tsjerke. As a church leader, shouldn’t he know these things? “Do you truly believe it?”
He mussed the little hair he had. “Yes, I do.”
Anki wiped her hands on her apron. “What about the lies? Isn’t that wrong? Surely God will protect us if we tell the truth.”
“Is it right to sacrifice another life? Think about Rahab in the Bible. She hid the spies under the flax on her roof. Then she misled the soldiers, but God blessed her actions by saving her family when the walls of Jericho fell and by including her among the ancestors of Jesus. God credited all this to her as righteousness. Keep doing what you are doing and God will reward your faithfulness.”
Cornelia didn’t want any part of this. Why had God brought Gerrit here? Was He testing her? Or using her?
Anki circled the table. “I understand what you are saying, but the commandment not to bear false witness is pretty clear to me. God doesn’t put in any provisions for extenuating circumstances.”
The older man nodded. “The commandment not to kill is just as plain. I don’t have to put a bullet through someone’s head to break that commandment.”
A fierce headache throbbed behind Cornelia’s eyes. “But what if you have to break one commandment in order to keep another?”