Cornelia heard the cough explode beside her, behind the wall. Everything inside her froze. Dear Lord, nee. The three German soldiers in the attic ceased their ransacking. She attempted to cover it up with a hacking cough of her own.
“Did you hear that?” The fierce-looking soldier with a turned-down mouth stopped moving boxes and tilted his head.
Father, protect him. She hugged herself.
The one with a big nose shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe.”
Cornelia faked a coughing fit, continuing the charade until she became dizzy. Anything to make them believe the noise they heard came from her. “I am sorry. Allergies.”
The two soldiers stared at her, bewildered. They must not speak Dutch, and she didn’t translate. A third Nazi, rummaging through Mem’s old trunk, too close to Gerrit for her comfort, stood. “That wasn’t you coughing. It sounded like a man. Who do you have hidden here?” He spoke in the Netherlands’ official tongue.
“No one.” Her voice warbled and her body commenced trembling.
“You lie.” He threw the words in her direction.
She shook her head, concentrating on his Hitler-like mustache. He had been here before, when Gerrit first came. She couldn’t look him in the eye.
Her heart thrummed in triple time. “I am not hiding anyone.”
He slapped her across the face with the back of his hand. Tears stung her eyes. The world buzzed. “Liar. I won’t tolerate any more of your fabrications.” He directed his attention to the other two. “Turn this place upside down. We won’t leave until we find whoever is here. Schneider, watch this woman. She is coming with us.”
Cornelia’s knees buckled and she slid to the floor. Gerrit and Johan would be located and all of them shipped off to someplace she couldn’t allow herself to think about.
“Oh God, oh God, oh God.” She whispered her prayer under her breath, hoping no one heard.
They flung boxes. Heit had plastered the walls in here, making it a pleasant place for his three children to play on rainy days. With bayonets affixed, the soldiers stabbed the walls more than they did before, puncturing holes. Each thrust pierced her heart. The Hitler-like one stomped on the floor. Any minute now they would drag the men away, like they had Maria’s husband.
She bit her lip to halt its quivering and folded her hands, clutching them until her knuckles turned white. She didn’t whimper. Gerrit had warned her not to show her emotions in as stern a voice as she had ever heard. If she cried or screamed, she would be signing their death sentences. Already she had slumped to the floor. She couldn’t do anything else that might give him away.
Herr Hitler yanked her to her feet by one arm. “Take her away. If we can’t find who she is hiding, we will burn the place to the ground.”
Fear coiled around Cornelia and squeezed. The soldier with a permanent frown propelled her forward, down the stairs, out of the house, and into the yard, the barrel of his gun in her back. The buzzing in her ears grew louder.
God, have mercy on me.
Was this how Hans felt? How Gerrit felt?
She marched a few steps, the weapon’s barrel digging into her spine. She wanted to crumple to the ground and beg them for her life. Instead, she concentrated on the still-brown grass under her feet. Well-shined black boots appeared. She dared to peer up. Piercing blue eyes met hers. Her heart skidded. The soldier who lied for Gerrit blocked her way.
“Where are you taking this woman?”
“She is being arrested for violating the order and hiding a man. We heard him coughing but can’t find him. Meisner is going to burn down the house to flush him out.”
The once-kind German interrogated her. “Is there a man in the house?”
Unable to trust her voice, she shook her head. Her stomach completed a few Ferris-wheel turns.
“Who coughed?”
“I did.”
“They claim it was a man.”
“It wasn’t. I coughed.”
“Where is your drunken brother-in-law? How about your sister?”
“I told them if they lived with me they couldn’t drink. They left.”
“Should we burn down your house?”
What should she say? If she said no, they would continue searching until they found one or both of the men inside. If she said yes, they might do it. Oh Father, grant me Solomon’s wisdom.
She took a moment to compose her thoughts, daring to stare directly into the man’s eyes. “Please don’t. My pake, my father’s father, built this house, and it is the only place I have ever lived. I have no family left but my sister, nothing but memories here. It would make me very, very sad if you burned down my house. If you don’t believe me and think it is necessary to prove that I am alone here, go ahead.” May God in His providence keep the soldiers from burning down her house.
She hugged herself so he wouldn’t notice the way she shook. Would he call her bluff? She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t move.
The man turned to his comrades. “Meisner, here. Schnell.”
A short, ruddy-faced soldier answered the call.
“Did you find anything?”
“Nein. But we will burn him out. I know he is in there.”
“I have questioned this woman. Release her and leave the premises. There is no one here.”
Meisner opened his mouth to protest to his superior.
“Move out. Schnell.”
The Nazis marched across the yard and out to the street. On their way, they trampled her tender tulip shoots.
GERRIT HAD HEARD the slap of the Nazi’s hand against Cornelia’s fair cheek. He wanted to fly out of the wall and pummel the Gestapo soldier. Instead, he clenched his fists and bit his lip. One day he would return the favor.
“Take her away. We will burn the place down.” Gerrit imagined them leading her out of the attic and down the stairs, a gun probably in her back as it had been in his. How could he have been so careless? They had taken her into custody. If she came to any harm, he would never forgive himself.
He would never forgive them.
He concentrated on getting out of here, formulating a plan to gain Cornelia’s release. Fast.
The echo of heavy Hun boots moved down the street. He waited for the smoke to begin to rise, for the heat of flames to burn him. He cocooned as still as possible. If he got himself arrested, he could never free Cornelia. Only that thought kept him contained here.
How he would survive the fire, he still needed to figure out.
His mind whirled as time ticked away. He couldn’t devise a plan. Any idea that surfaced, he discarded as too risky. She couldn’t get hurt in the attempt. He didn’t know which guards to bribe even if he had money to pass. Enlisting the services of Maarten and Bear seemed the only option.
So far, no smoke. No flames.
Soft footsteps tapped below him. Had Johan come to get him? But the footfalls indicated someone who weighed much less.
Whoever it was rapped on the wall. “You can come out now.”
“Cornelia?”
“It is certainly not Sinterklaas.” She laughed and no music ever sounded sweeter.
He sprang from that chasm, though the movement sent pain crashing down his arm and chest. He didn’t care.
She grasped him. Cornelia, beautiful Cornelia, safe and here with him. He stumbled out of the hiding place, steadied himself, then lifted her from her feet, embracing her.
“Oh, leafde, leafde, I am so happy to see you.” He fingered the crimson stain of that beast’s hand on her cheek. “Are you all right? Did they hurt you? Those monsters. They deserve whatever they get.” He strained in her embrace.
She held him. “Nee, nee. I’m fine. Just fine. Don’t worry about me. Anger won’t help.” She collapsed against him. “Just never, ever cough again.”
He rubbed her back. “I won’t, I promise. The dust tickled my throat so much. I tried to contain it.”
“I was so scared, so sure they were going to arrest me and send me to Germany. Or worse . . .”
“You were so brave.”
“They threatened to burn down the house. They wanted to smoke out you and Johan. I told them to go ahead!”
“I would have loved to have heard that conversation.” He kissed her forehead.
“They trampled the tulips when they left.”
“The shoots will come back. They always do.”
PIET STOOD IN the front room, his packed valise on the chair, several layers of clothes on his back, his work boots on his feet. His much-worn klompen sat beside the door.
Anki glared at him. He was nothing but a stubborn old Dutchman. He couldn’t forgive her. He wouldn’t listen to reason. How could he place the orders of the occupiers above her and their child? “There is still time. We can hide you in the attic walls and you will be safe here with the baby and me. Stay where you belong.” She clenched her fists.
Piet straightened his back. “The baby doesn’t change the order. I have to go.”
Nee, God, nee. Her words rose in pitch. “You can’t. I need you. Our child needs you. Don’t punish our child because of me.”
“Our child isn’t born yet. I will be back before he is here.”
She screamed at him, as if the louder she spoke, the more likely he would listen to her. “You cannot do this. Don’t go.” She pounded her fists on his chest. “Please, please, please, I am pleading with you, don’t do it. Don’t leave me.”
He caught her wrists and held them. “Do not make this more difficult than it is. Remember, God is sovereign and in control of everything. His ways are perfect. We don’t always understand them, but we must trust Him. In all of this, His plan will be fulfilled.”
She believed God was sovereign. Without that conviction, how could she live her life? But she didn’t think it meant that fighting back against evil was wrong. Doktor Boukma had said so himself, and he was an elder in the tsjerke. Maybe Corrie was rubbing off on her. She was confused and didn’t know right from wrong anymore.
Deflated, she plopped onto the brown davenport, her arms crossed in front of her. Inside, a fire burned. Piet sat beside her and neither of them spoke. All the things they had to say to each other had been said. The persistent tick-tock of the mantel clock marked off their last moments together.
She studied his profile, drinking in the sight of this mule-headed man she loved, knowing she would never see him again. He tilted his proud jaw upward, his green eyes clear, while a muscle worked in his cheek.
Trucks mounted with loudspeakers traversed the streets, their order to report for duty for the Fatherland. The Netherlands and Friesland were their Fatherland, not Germany. Brakes squealed and soldiers marched. The little clock chimed the hour. Piet rose and so did she. He gathered her into an awkward embrace. “I will miss you, Anki. Take care of our baby. I love you.”
She couldn’t have cried even if she wanted to. He was leaving her. “I love you. I am sorry.” What more could she say?
He opened the door, exited, and shut it behind him.
She watched at the window, her hand covering her unborn child. All emotion had left her—the anger, the grief. Later, the pain would come. Now there was nothing besides numbness.
Just two other men on their street waited on their clean-swept steps, their cases at their feet. The neighborhood held its breath. Many more men lived here. Most of them, Anki assumed, hid somewhere inside.
The troops swept down their road. They didn’t lay a hand on Piet. He went willingly.
When he disappeared into the green truck, she turned from the window.