Cornelia wanted to hear Gerrit’s story. She took Gerrit by the hands and led him to the table and they sat. “Please tell me.”
He traced a water stain with his finger. “I don’t like talking about her.”
“Where did you meet her?”
“One day she came into Heit’s furniture shop. This was right before the war. Her boss at the bank wanted a new desk and sent her to price them. I helped her and we talked and that is how it started. A few days later the war came.”
Cornelia’s heart stuttered. “Did she . . . ?”
“Nee. Worse.”
“What could be worse?”
“Pepper has nothing on you in the curiosity department.”
“Will you tell me?”
He gulped. “After the incident with Dorathee, I got involved with the Resistance movement. I couldn’t let those Nazis get away with what they did to my sister. They hurt her so much. She became fearful and distrusting. A different person altogether.”
He clenched his fist. “Mies and I were engaged to be married and looking forward to spending the rest of our lives together. Things changed when I became involved with the Resistance. Mies became clingy, afraid I would never return to her. She didn’t want me to have anything to do with the Underground. She wanted me to stop my work for her sake. The last words she said to me before I left were angry and hurtful, accusing me of using her, of deserting her, of not putting her first. She couldn’t love a Resistance worker.”
“I understand.”
“Could you ever love a man in the Underground?”
Could she?
SILENCE THREATENED TO drown out Anki’s thoughts. Perhaps that was a good thing. She ran her dust cloth over the night table in the bedroom she shared with Piet. She had to use caution not to hit her head on the sloping ceiling when she stood straight.
He punished her for lying to him with his silence. If he said three words in a row to her, that was a day to have a celebration. She had been faithful to the promise she had made, but he told her only time would prove if she would remain true to her word.
She returned her brown leather Bible and her round, white alarm clock to their places, then straightened the red blanket on the bed before pulling up the blue-and-white quilt decorated with Delft scenes.
Perhaps she would go to see Corrie. She studied the black numbers on the timepiece. Her sister would soon be on her way home from work. If Anki met her along the way, they could spend a little time together and she wouldn’t see Gerrit. Her promise to her husband would remain intact.
She swept down the stairs, returned the dust cloth to its place, and pulled her sweater from the hook by the door. The rest of the chores could wait.
Only a few steps out of the front door, she noticed a small woman, a fringed blue scarf tied over her head. The young stranger nodded to Anki and stopped in front of her. “Are you Anki Dykstra?”
“Ja. Can I help you with something?”
“A woman at our farm needs you.”
“I’m not sure I understand.”
“She is in labor. I was told that you had worked with Doktor Boukma.”
“She needs a midwife then, not me. It’s been a few years since I worked with him.”
The woman touched Anki’s arm. “I was told I could trust you.”
“What do you mean, trust me?” Although she knew the answer.
“This is a sensitive situation, Frou Dykstra.”
Of course it was. More lies. More deceit. A shattered vow. And if Piet found out she had delivered a Jewish baby in hiding, he would never forgive her. “You can trust me.”
“Will you come? This is the girl’s first child and she is frightened and having a hard time of it. Doktor Boukma is gone and the situation is beyond what I can handle.”
Anki looked at the sky, as if God would drop an answer to her from heaven.
She put herself in the girl’s place. When it came time for her own child to be born, she would be afraid. If there were complications, she would want a qualified professional to help her.
Nee, God didn’t need to send her a reply from heaven. He had placed it on her heart.
Piet, please forgive me. “Let me go inside and get a few things. I will hurry.”
While the woman waited outside, Anki pulled a set of clean sheets from her wardrobe along with a few old towels. Digging in her drawer, she located her stethoscope and added it to her bag, in addition to a bar of strong lye soap, heavy string, and a pair of sharp scissors.
Her mother’s words to her on her wedding day rang in her ears. “Be a good and submissive wife, Anki. If you do that, you will have a happy and successful marriage.” She had stood there in her cream-colored wedding dress, about to walk down the aisle to be married to Piet, and told her mother she would obey him. With all the lies that slid out of her mouth with alarming ease, she hadn’t kept her word.
Her fingers trembled as she wrote a note to Piet.
I have been called to help with a birth. I don’t know how long it will take or when I will be home. All my love, Anki.
CORNELIA HAD GROWN quiet after Gerrit asked his question about loving a man in the Underground. She soon retired to her room with a headache. Johan, too, had gone upstairs to read.
He had been too hasty in asking the question, knowing the answer. Gerrit wanted to make amends with her. Perhaps a cup of hot coffee would ease her headache.
He had watched her in the kitchen a little but had not paid attention to where she kept everything. Sitting around doing nothing for almost a month had rusted his observation skills. Not a good thing for a Resistance worker. Cornelia kept the place neat and tidy, much like his mother’s kitchen. Mem had always said, “A place for everything and everything in its place.”
He searched the cabinet next to the sink, where his mother kept their coffee. This one contained a set of pretty blue glasses and some Delft china, rimmed with scrolls and curlicues. Had these things been a wedding gift?
In the next cabinet, he discovered several pots and pans but no coffee, so he moved to the next one. This cabinet was stocked with tins. Most of them contained nothing. The spice jars sat forlorn. He picked up another container, a wooden box with a tulip etched onto the lid, that perhaps once held tea. Though he suspected Cornelia had emptied it long ago, just maybe he could gather a few leaves. A cup of tea, a commodity that disappeared years ago, would be a real treat. A sure way to win her heart.
Upon opening it, he found not tea leaves but letters. He set down the container and pulled out the first.
He turned over the note. Straight, masculine words strode across the paper. To Cornelia Kooistra. From Hans de Vries.
He sifted through the papers in the box. There must be a dozen or more crammed in here. Why didn’t she keep them in the bedroom, hidden in a drawer? He had been born a snoop, and when he got older, it didn’t take him long to unearth his sisters’ hidden treasures. Always in the bottom drawer of the wardrobe, with the unmentionables. They had gotten so angry with him when they came upon him one day with their love notes spread over their bedroom floor.
Should he?
He remembered his sisters’ wrath and the paddling he received from Heit. While curiosity drove his desire to find out more about the very attractive woman who stirred his heart, his recollections of the ire he had incurred at the time of his youthful indiscretion made him return the letters to their place. In time, perhaps Cornelia would open her heart to him and tell him everything. He replaced the lid and opened the cupboard door to put it back in its spot.
At that precise moment, the floor behind him creaked. He turned to see Cornelia in the doorway, her mouth open like a gasping fish. Horror twisted her lovely features.
Gerrit looked down. In his hands he held the box with the tulip carved on the cover.
CORNELIA STARED AT Gerrit, the white cupboard door open behind him, the precious wooden box Hans carved for her clutched in his leathery hands.
A bubble built in her chest, ready to burst. She dropped the mail she had retrieved, rushed forward, and snatched the box, hugging it close. “How dare you?”
They both stood stock still, Cornelia breathing hard. The clock suspended its timekeeping for a minute as they gawked at each other, a muscle jumping in his square jaw.
Then Johan bounded down the stairs, paused, and touched her shoulder. She brushed him away, keeping her focus on Gerrit. “How could you?”
Gerrit licked his lips, clearly uncomfortable. And he should be. Those letters were between Hans and her. No one else had a right to touch them.
“I let you into my house. I nursed you back to health and risked my life for you. I have lied for you and protected and trusted you. You betrayed me. Is that who you really are? A liar and a traitor?”
His face turned ashen and he opened his mouth to speak, but she couldn’t stop the stream of words. “You have violated my privacy. You intruded on my life with my husband. I should have known better than to give you refuge here. What else have you uncovered?”
Johan squeezed her elbow, probably trying to restrain her from clobbering Gerrit. “Give him a chance to say something.”
“What can he say? There is no defending what he did.”
“Just give him a chance.”
Gerrit stared at the floor, tracing circles on the scarred wood planks with his stocking toe. He said nothing for a full minute. Cornelia clenched her teeth until her jaw ached.
Then he directed his focus on her, his scrutiny enough to make her squirm. He squared his shoulders, looking ready to defend himself to the death. Because of what he did, he might have to.
He gazed hard at her. “I will tell you the truth because I want you to be able to trust me. I decided to make some coffee because I know my question startled you. I didn’t know where you kept the canister, so I did search your cabinets. I saw that box and thought maybe you might have a few tea leaves left in there. Never did I expect to find letters.”
Cornelia crossed her arms, the box still clasped in her hand.
“I didn’t read any of them. I didn’t even pull any of them from their envelopes.”
“Because I surprised you.”
“Nee. I was about to put the box away when you came in. Please believe me.”
She turned to her brother.
“I think he’s telling us the truth, Corrie.”
She looked at Gerrit, who continued to stare straight at her, his blue eyes fixed and unmoving. Her shoulders slumped.
Without saying a word, she returned the box to the cupboard. After the men went to bed tonight, she would move it to a more secure spot. She withdrew another tin, the one with the ersatz coffee made from chicory. “I haven’t had real tea for a long time, and I won’t be able to make any substitute until spring.”
Gerrit touched her hand. “I am sorry.”
His touch caused her skin to tingle. She yanked back her hand. “If you would like coffee, I will make you some.”
“Cornelia, please tell me you forgive me. I stumbled on the box by accident and I was about to put it away. I am sorry for upsetting you.”
She wished he didn’t sound so sincere. Squatting, she gathered the mail scattered on the floor. An official-looking letter addressed to Johan caught her eye. Her heart pounded and moisture dampened her hands. “Wait.”
The paper shook as she stood. “We have a bigger problem.” She handed the letter to Johan, who opened and read it while she held her breath.