Cornelia scrubbed her face well with cold water from the sink in her bedroom and put on her best work dress, an old red number with yellow, white, and blue daisies. She made sure each hair fell into its proper place as she rolled the sides and pulled the back into a ponytail. Biting her lips to get some color in them, she wished for a tube of lipstick. Well, Gerrit had seen her looking much worse.
She had never dressed for work with such care. Then again, she had never seen Gerrit at Frou de Bruin’s before. She couldn’t keep away the smile that alighted on her face.
Before she left, instead of making a lunch for just herself, she included enough food for two. How fun for her and Gerrit to have a picnic—just the two of them. The March weather wouldn’t allow them to sit outside, but they could spread a blanket on the hay and eat in the deel with the one remaining cow.
She remembered her excitement the first time Hans had asked her to go on a bike ride with him. Today her stomach fluttered in much the same way. As she placed the bread and small hunk of cheese in an old picnic hamper that had belonged to her parents when they courted, she thought about the things she and Gerrit would say to each other.
Courted.
She and Gerrit were courting, she supposed. The thought struck her as strange. Hans had courted her for two years. They had wonderful times together, taking picnics and going to tsjerke. Once they went to the nearby city of Franeker and saw the beautiful Eisinga Planetarium with the working model of the solar system on the bright blue ceiling. When he had held her hand that day, she had fallen in love with him.
She thought she would never be courted again, yet the prospect of calling Gerrit her beau thrilled her. She tried hard not to think of the danger he faced, instead turning her mind to the picnic they would share.
As she biked to Frou de Bruin’s, planes hummed high overhead, hidden by the dark clouds that scurried across the sky. A chill wind blew, but she sang a song to herself as she bumped over the road on her bicycle with its rag-wrapped rims. All the while, the distance between herself and Gerrit shortened.
No sooner had she spied the farm than the cloud dropped its promised payload. Within seconds, the deluge drenched her.
Now cold and shivering, she cranked the pedals hard the rest of the way, her meticulously done hair falling into her eyes. What would Gerrit think of her looking wet and miserable?
Once she stepped inside, Frou de Bruin clucked over her. “Ach, don’t you have the good sense to come in out of the rain? Stay on the rug and drip there. I will get you a towel.” The old woman shuffled away.
Cornelia, much like a ten-year-old would, stood on the mat, pulling in her coat so it didn’t dribble on the floor. Her employer returned with two large green towels a few moments later. Cornelia gave herself a vigorous rub. The old lady waggled her finger once Cornelia stopped dripping. “Come to the kitchen and make yourself a cup of tea.”
Frou de Bruin had been one of the few who took Hitler seriously. For years prior to the invasion, she had stockpiled tea bags. “My sister lived in Belgium during the Great War,” she had said. “She told me about the hardships and privations of war, and I vowed that when the conflict came here, I would have my tea.”
And so she did. Of course, she reused the tea bags until they hardly colored the water. Dutch frugality at its finest.
Cornelia washed the breakfast dishes as her water came to a boil. Gerrit didn’t come to say good morning and she wondered where he might be. Every few minutes she eyed the picnic basket but didn’t ask Frou de Bruin about him. She couldn’t give a reason for not asking, but she didn’t.
She had finished half of her cup of very weak tea and had begun chopping vegetables for dinner when Johan discovered her. He came in from the hall smelling like hay and cows and placed a kiss on her cheek. “At least I won’t miss your cooking. It is like it was before, just in a different house.”
She landed a light punch on his arm. “Ja, and will you continue to complain that we have the same thing over and over again?”
“Of course.” He jumped out of range of her swipe.
“Where is Gerrit?”
“Right after breakfast he rushed off. We had our Bible reading and he disappeared. I know he went to make deliveries, but he refused to take me with him.” Johan thrust out his lower lip. “When he returned, Frou de Bruin put him to work on his chores. I’m finished with mine, but he’s back in the deel.”
“That’s good.” Her shoulders relaxed. Out there, he wouldn’t have heard her arrive.
She puttered around sweeping the floors this morning. The rain stopped and she shook the rugs outside. Gerrit didn’t come to the house at all. Noontime arrived and she poured snert—pea soup—in bowls for Frou de Bruin and Johan. Those were the only two places she set.
The wizened woman took her position at the head of the table and fluffed her old black crepe skirt. “You may set places for the men. Because you know about them, they will eat with me.”
That made Cornelia wonder. She had ever only made enough food for Frou de Bruin. What did those she hid eat? They must have had their secret store of rations hidden somewhere. Perhaps they kept it in the deel. She rarely went in there.
“Nee, those places are for you and Johan.” She picked up the hamper and held it high. “I am going to have a picnic with Gerrit.” Blood rushed to her cheeks and the tips of her ears.
A scowl deepened the wrinkles on the old lady’s forehead. “You will be out there all alone with a man? That is not appropriate.”
Cornelia stood with her feet apart. “It is nothing more than an innocent picnic. Couples have them all the time, out in the country where no one can see them. I went on many picnics with my husband before we married. We will be in the deel, and since it is attached to the house, it is as good as being in here.”
Johan came to the table then and slid into a chair beside the woman in black. “You two behave out there or you’ll have to answer to us.”
If she were closer she would have knocked her brother on the back of his head. Instead, she turned and left for the deel before anyone raised more objections.
Animal smells assailed her. Beppe Kooistra told her if you breathed in that smell, you would live to be one hundred. It hadn’t worked for Beppe, but Cornelia did it anyway. What could it hurt?
More than the odors, though, Gerrit’s song greeted her. He worked in a stall where she couldn’t see him, but she heard him. In his deep bass voice, he quietly sang a traditional Frisian tune. She leaned against the door frame, enjoying the rollicking folk music.
Then he switched songs and began to sing the Frisian Provincial Anthem. Her heart stirred when she heard the third verse.
Unused to bowing, they stayed by the old folk in honor,
their name and language, their sense of freedom.
Their word was law, right, humble and true they teach,
and opposed to coercion from whomever it might come.
Sound loud then and thunder far in a round:
Your old honor, O Friesian ground!
Sound loud then and thunder far in a round:
Your old honor, O Friesian ground!
She neither moved nor announced her presence but listened to every note. His smooth, mellow voice reminded her of the well-worn, beeswax-oiled pews in the tsjerke.
The melody hung in the air for a while before she broke into applause. He peered around the corner of the stall, his grin lighting the dim expanse.
“Bravo! Bravo! I would call for an encore, but you need to be careful. You never heard me arrive over your racket in here. If I’d been the Gestapo or the NSB . . .”
He trotted to her, picked her up, and swung her around until she laughed. “That’s better. Out here no one will find me.”
She had to admit that she had been selfish wanting him to continue hiding with her in town. Fewer eyes lived in the country. “Not until the war ends will you be completely safe.”
“But it will be soon. The farmer I made a delivery to this morning has a wireless set. We sat and listened to the Radio Oranje broadcast. Our daring Prince Bernhard has arrived and is organizing the Resistance so we are better prepared for this final push. If we work together, we will be able to rid ourselves of the Nazis in no time.”
They may push the Germans back over the border, but at what cost? The same as when they crossed it?
For a little while, she wished the war away. She took him by the hand and led him to the middle of the enormous room. The lowing of the one black-and-white Frisian milk cow echoed off the walls. “The rain started just as I arrived. That’s why I look like I’ve had an unsuccessful fierljeppen pole vault across the canal.”
“You’re beautiful.”
“You know the right things to say.”
He tipped his head.
“I brought a picnic, but we will have to eat it in here.”
“Wait. I have an idea.” He disappeared up the ladder into the hayloft and returned a moment later with a green-and-white blanket in his hands, spreading it over the floor.
She set out the bread, ham, and cheese, and a little bit of yogurt. “We can pretend it is a feast.”
He said grace and they ate. All of the things she planned to talk about flew out of her mind. She suddenly became shy around him. “How are things here?” What a stupid question. He must think her incapable of intelligent conversation.
He smiled, flashing his dimples as deep as the sloten filled with water around the farm fields. “Frou de Bruin is quite the character. I admire you for working here for as many years as you have.”
“Don’t let her fool you. She may be all pomp and circumstance on the outside, but she’s a dear, compassionate soul on the inside.”
“I will try to remember that the next time she scolds me for leaning my elbows on the table when I eat.”
“A capital offense, you know.”
“So I found out. Johan and I were condemned to the deel for it.” He smiled, his grin warm enough to melt an icy canal.
She laughed. Hans was sweet but serious. More of a gallant gentleman than a flirt. “Oh dear. Does she let you in the house at all?”
“From time to time, if I behave myself and get all of my chores done.”
She stood. “Then maybe I had better let you get to your work.”
He grabbed her wrist and pulled her to the blanket. “Nee, you are not going to get away from me that fast.” He held her gaze for a long moment. “I missed you this morning.” He had this uncanny way of saying the most disconcerting things. “But I still get to eat your cooking. That I wish I could miss.”
She gazed at him through her lashes. Was he joking with her again? “I never poisoned you. Though if you don’t stop teasing me, I might consider it. You just wait until the war is over and I can cook a proper meal for you.”
He laughed. “So long as you promise not to poison me.” A bolt of something—longing? desire?—flashed across his face, then vanished. It sent a shiver through her.
“Maybe I already have.”
He held away the thin slice of bread spread with a sheen of butter and examined it. “Did you poison this?”
“Maybe. Maybe not. There is only one way to tell. Eat it.”
“Nee, there is another way. You taste it.” He held the slice to her mouth and she took a bite.
“Well, you haven’t keeled over, but now you have butter on your face.” Using his finger instead of the napkin from the hamper, he swiped the bit of butter from the corner of her mouth. The brush of his finger against her lips set her insides on fire. His blue eyes burned.
She didn’t have time to think before he leaned in for a kiss. Gentle and innocent at first, it intensified and flared into passion. She reciprocated, running her fingers through the short curls at the base of his neck.
“What is going on in here?”
Frou de Bruin stood in the entrance, hands on her hips and a scowl on her face.
The beautiful moment lay shattered at their feet.