Gerrit’s shoulder burned like someone had lit it on fire. Every time he moved, the incredible heat increased, so he stayed still, despite how much he wanted to be up and about business.
He and Johan both napped the afternoon away, exhausted from their ordeal of the past few days. He woke as soon as he heard the front latch click open. Cornelia entered the room and announced herself to Gerrit with a smile much warmer than the pale, cold winter sun.
“Has Johan taken good care of you?”
He nodded.
“How about some soup?”
He nodded again. Johan hadn’t brought him anything to eat, not that he had been hungry until now.
When she walked away, he missed her. Then he recalled her marital status. He must turn off the switch to these feelings. Out there, somewhere, she had a husband.
From the kitchen, he heard Cornelia and Johan speaking but couldn’t understand their words. He tried to move to a more comfortable position, one that would ease the pain, but that only increased his discomfort. After a while, she came back and helped him, her touch gentle.
“Here you go.”
He raised his right hand to take hold of the spoon and winced.
“Let me help you.” Her soft, cool palm brushed his hand as she went to take the spoon. The fire moved from his shoulder to his fingertips.
She fed him the salty golden broth, and the carrots and potatoes floating in the steaming liquid. He obeyed her commands but didn’t say anything, watching her every gentle, graceful move. Her presence calmed and soothed him. If only she didn’t wear that band of gold around her finger.
He finished the soup and she stood. He had to stop her from leaving. “Bedankt for getting the doktor. Again you saved my life.”
She turned her gaze to the floor and the smile faded.
She didn’t answer.
“Did I say something wrong?” Maybe she missed her husband. Perhaps today was a special day for them, like their anniversary or his birthday.
She gathered the dirty dishes on a tray, then turned to take them to the kitchen.
“Where is your husband?”
He heard her sharp intake of breath. The glass wobbled on the tray. The bowl clattered to the wood floor, shattering.
CORNELIA STOOD STATUE still, her back to Gerrit, staring at the smashed glass.
She didn’t want to talk to anyone about Hans, least of all to this man who generated in her the emotions reserved for her husband.
“Why do you want to know?” she whispered.
“You wear a wedding band but never talk about him. I have never seen him. Is he in hiding? Or did he get transported to Germany?”
She shook her head. If she spoke about Hans, she would open the sea, all those horrible memories and amazing feelings flooding her, overwhelming her. In the end, she would drown.
“You can trust me. I won’t betray him. You should know that by now. Perhaps I can help.”
“You can’t help.” The room spun in front of her. “No one can. He is dead.”
“I am so sorry.”
She pinched the bridge of her nose. “I don’t want to talk about him.”
“I don’t want to push you, but I have been told I am a good listener.”
“There is nothing to say.” Nothing that wouldn’t squeeze her heart until it hurt.
“Is he the man in the picture?”
She nodded. “I need to get a broom.”
She returned and began to sweep the shards of glass into the dustpan.
“Was he in the Resistance? Is that why you don’t like us?”
“Nee. And I never said I didn’t like you. You Resistance people, I mean.”
“But you are afraid of us.”
“Ja. I suppose I am. Death follows you.”
“Death follows all of us, and more so during war.”
She straightened and rubbed the small of her back. “Do you always talk about such morbid subjects?”
“Nee, I can be fun. I am a champion domino player.”
She knew so little about this man. “You don’t play cards, do you?” Did he drink or dance?
He laughed. “Don’t worry, I don’t. With my bad shoulder, I can’t even play dominoes. But I would like it if you would sit and talk with me.”
Johan had said he planned to read for a while before turning in early, so she wouldn’t have his company. And Gerrit had quit prying about Hans. If he didn’t broach that subject again, she wouldn’t mind talking to him.
She held up the dustpan. “Let me empty this first.”
A few minutes later she returned and drew the rocker close to the bedstee. Gerrit reached out and touched her hand. “I apologize again for upsetting you. I shouldn’t have pushed you to tell me something personal.”
She settled in the rocker. “I appreciate that. Now, can we talk about something else?”
He smiled, a dimple creasing his right cheek. “Anything you want.”
“Well, you know I have a brother and a sister.”
“About that . . .” His smile faded.
“I wouldn’t put your life in jeopardy. If she turned you in, she would turn in her own brother, and me too.”
“Good point.”
“The other night she did a fine piece of acting when the Nazis came searching for you. She had them believing you both were passed out from too much drink.”
“If you trust her, so do I.”
There came that incredible dimpled smile again, the one that reminded her of spring and sunshine.
“Anyway, tell me about your family.” She picked up her knitting, fashioning a new sock from yarn she had used several times over. Before the invasion, she had never thought of a new skein of yarn as a luxury.
He stared at the stark white ceiling and she watched as his memory traveled the miles to his home. “I feel for Johan because I have three sisters and no brothers. Two older sisters, just like him, and a younger sister. Both my older sisters, Beatrix—like the princess—and Elisabeth, are married. Last I heard, Beatrix was expecting her second child and Elisabeth her first. Those children would be born by now, but I haven’t had contact with home for a long time.”
She dropped a stitch and ripped out the row. “Did you get along well? Sometimes Anki and Johan and I were best friends and other times we were worst enemies.”
“My older sisters thought I was a nuisance. They complained to Mem all the time that I pestered them.”
She smiled a little. “I went to my mem more than once about Johan. But what about your younger sister?”
“Dorathee.” His voice took on a faraway, dreamy quality. He smiled. “She lives at home in Leeuwarden with my parents. When she was a baby, she had a very high fever and never fully recovered. She has a hard time learning things and remembering them. The other kids in the neighborhood laughed at her and teased her, but they didn’t get away with it.”
“Why not?”
“I got in trouble for fighting more times than I can remember, but all of my brawls were in her defense.” He shrugged. “Most of them, anyway.”
“So you fought for her?”
“Ja, because she couldn’t fight for herself.” His smile faded.
“When the occupation first started, Dorathee went outside to play. Even though she was sixteen, she still played with dolls. I was coming up the street from working with Heit when three soldiers approached her. One of them ripped her doll from her hands and smashed it on the pavement.”
He tugged on the edge of the sheet. “When she began to cry, they sneered at her and yanked her braids.”
Cornelia sat forward. “The Nazis don’t have hearts at all.”
“Before I could think, I sprinted toward the house, charged those soldiers, and shoved one of them to the ground. The others went after me. One landed a good punch to my face and the other kicked me in the stomach. Before I could catch my breath, they ran off.”
“She is the reason you work with the Resistance.”
All softness left his voice. “I want this land rid of those Nazis before more people are hurt or killed. Before they do worse to Dorathee. I heard rumors about them killing off the mentally and physically disabled in Poland and Germany. I have to protect her. Perhaps I can’t bring those exact three soldiers to account, but I can hold their like responsible for what they have done.”
“Revenge will eat you away.”
“This isn’t revenge. This is justice.”
“Is there a difference?”
“Vengeance is getting even. Justice is giving what is deserved. Justice seeks fairness.”
Cornelia sat back. “If you let this desire to retaliate consume you, then you will have done Dorathee no good.”
“I do her no good sitting here.”
“You do. You are healing, so when the war ends, you will be able to go home to her. God will take care of the rest.”
“Are you always this serious?”
“Are you always this intense?”
Gerrit smiled. “Touché.”
“Tell me something about yourself that isn’t serious.”
“I’m only serious when it comes to children, redheads, and olliebollen.”
Her mouth watered. “Olliebollen is serious business. As far as redheads, you’re only trying to get into my good graces with that remark.”
“Maybe so. Did it work?” He yawned.
“That remains to be seen. Right now, you need to get some sleep.”
As she leaned over him to pull the blanket across his shoulders, he kissed her on the cheek, a little peck, but it started her heart throbbing. “Good night, Cornelia.”
She swallowed. “Sleep well, Gerrit.”
Even with the Allied planes droning overhead on their way to Germany with their fatal cargo, contentment flooded her.
ANKI PREPARED FOR bed, taking more time than usual washing her face in her little bathroom sink. By the time she had returned from Corrie’s house, she was tired and didn’t feel well enough to make a special dinner for Piet. He hounded her all evening to reveal her surprise.
She wanted to tell him. They never kept anything from each other. Secrets ate away at the trust needed to sustain a marriage. Everything in her screamed to tell her husband the truth. All of it. A tiny but powerful little niggle restrained her.
She hated what she was doing.
With little room to squeeze in, her husband came behind her and wrapped his arms around her. Still with her back to him, she reached up and stroked his stubbly cheek.
“You look worn out, Anki.”
She playfully jabbed him with her elbow. “That is a nice thing to say to your wife.”
“I mean that I am concerned about you.” He kissed her neck.
“No need to be.” She couldn’t quite bring herself to tell him about the baby. The time didn’t feel right.
“Then what is going on?”
“Nothing. You are worried for no reason.”
He released her from his embrace, pulling her into the bedroom, holding her at arm’s length, examining her from head to toe. He didn’t believe her. “What is that? You have a stain on your dress.”
She looked down at the top of her light brown skirt. A streak of red crossed just under her waistband. Gerrit’s blood. She must have wiped her hand on her dress without realizing.
“Just a little dirt that will wash off. Let’s go to bed.”
“That’s not dirt. It looks like blood.”
“Blood?” Anki stared at her skirt for a moment, trying to think of a story he would accept. “Ja, how silly of me. This afternoon the neighbor’s littlest boy cut his finger and they asked me to help bandage it. I must have gotten some blood on me then. I will wash it in a little cold water and it will be as good as new.”
Piet raised a single eyebrow. “I was thinking. Since Frou de Bruin has been sick so much, why don’t we go see her tomorrow first thing in the morning. You can bring her a pot of meatball soup.”