Under Frou de Bruin’s glare, Gerrit shrank in size until he stood no taller than the Christmas figurines his mother displayed every year. The old woman, feet askance, hands on her hips, stared at him and Cornelia. The wind and rain slashed against the walls of the deel. Neither he nor Cornelia said anything.
The old woman waggled her gnarled finger. “I asked you, what is going on in here?”
Cornelia sat frozen, her mouth slightly parted. He refused to apologize when he had done nothing wrong. “Cornelia and I are courting and we shared a kiss.”
“In my house, I will not tolerate such displays of affection.”
He rose, a half meter taller than her, but didn’t quite know what to say. “I . . . I am sorry.”
Frou de Bruin shook her gray head. “Frou de Vries, come inside with me.”
Cornelia rose to follow her employer. He touched her elbow and spoke to her so the old lady wouldn’t hear. “Don’t feel guilty about that kiss. I don’t. Not at all.”
She stared at the ground.
“Cornelia, I love you and that kiss was meant to express that love to you. We did nothing immoral.”
She twisted the thin gold band around her finger. “I know.”
“Do you?”
A small light flickered in her eyes as she glanced at him. “Yes, I do. But I have to go now and smooth things over with her.”
“Good luck.”
Frou de Bruin tapped her shoe on the barn floor. “Frou de Vries, come right now, girl.”
Cornelia turned back to him. “I am not the one who needs luck. You have to live with her for the rest of the war.”
He had forgotten that fact. No doubt the elderly lady would deal with him later.
CORNELIA FOLLOWED FROU de Bruin through the deel, through the enclosed breezeway where the vehicles were kept and the butter and cheese made, and into the house, all while never stepping foot outside.
The woman drew herself to stand as tall as possible. “What was the meaning of that?”
She didn’t like being scolded by her employer. She also didn’t care for being spoken to like a five-year-old who dumped the flour all over the kitchen. Gerrit was right. They hadn’t committed any crime. “You stumbled onto an innocent kiss.” But had it been innocent? The passion behind it had been real. Gerrit opened his heart to her and she let him see a little of hers.
“Really? It didn’t look like it.” There she went, tapping her long fingernails on the table again.
“Don’t you remember your first kiss? Where was it? Let me guess. Behind the tsjerke after Sunday services?”
“Nee, it was behind this very deel.” The woman’s puckered face relaxed. “He was the handsomest man I had ever seen and I couldn’t believe that he loved me. I will never forget the way he leaned over and kissed me.”
“Then you understand.”
Frou de Bruin slammed back to the present. “I remember the fervor of the kiss and how difficult it was to put an end to it. Trust me, girl, I am saving you from yourself.”
“It is not like I have never been through this before. I was married once.”
“And you still wear the wedding band on your finger.”
Cornelia touched the ring. “You still wear yours.”
“I am not being courted by anyone. Don’t play with that young man’s heart, girl. I like him.” That was high praise from her. “You can’t kiss him that way and still wear your late husband’s ring.”
Truth rang from Frou de Bruin’s words. A truth Cornelia didn’t want to admit.
THE DOWNPOUR DISSIPATED into a drizzle as Cornelia biked home. No one else dared to venture out on such a miserable day. Not so much as a rabbit crossed her path.
She hadn’t seen Gerrit again. He must have been hiding in the deel. Sooner or later he would have to face the dour old woman.
She pondered what Frou de Bruin said all the way home. Peering at her finger, she wondered why she had yet to remove the band. That brief moment in her life happened long ago. So much had happened. So much had changed—both in the world and in herself. If Hans came back today, he would not recognize either.
She still bore his name. Was that much different from wearing his ring? Both declared her connection to him.
Mud splashed her feet and legs with each turn of the wheel, dirtying her socks. She wished she had worn her klompen. At least her feet would be dry and warm.
Did she have the courage to let go of the past and embrace the future? One that might include Gerrit?
She arrived home, kicked off her muddy shoes, peeled away her wet clothing, and dressed in her badly pilled pink robe.
Hans’s photo sat on her nightstand, and she lay on her bed for a long time, staring at him. He posed erect, tall, and broad in his straight-collared army uniform. The black-and-white picture didn’t reveal that the uniform had been dark olive. His creased cap sat not quite centered on his head. The eyes she remembered as emerald green peered through wire-rimmed glasses. He had a round baby face so different from Gerrit’s angular profile.
“I loved you, Hans, with all my heart.” Her tears fell in a steady stream. “When I vowed to be faithful to you until death parted us, I didn’t believe it would come so soon. I never dreamed it would be that very night. When I lost you, I lost my very self.”
She slid from the bed, grasped his picture, and, holding it close, sank to the floor. “Why were you so noble? You could have stayed with me and no one would have blamed you. It was our wedding night. Our army on bicycles didn’t stand a chance against the blitzkrieg. Why, Hans, why did you choose your country over me?”
She keened, rocking back and forth. Hans had been in an impossible situation. She had begged him not to go, but his loyalty was one reason she loved him. He faced the task before him with courage and determination and that made her love him even more.
“I love you, Hans. I will always love you and cherish all of those precious memories. You were my first love. Forever you will hold an honored place in my life. No one will take that from you. Ever.”
She wiggled the band Hans had placed on her finger almost five years ago. Slipping it from her hand felt like ripping a scab from a wound.
Her vows to Hans had ended.
Her ribs became like tight corsets, crushing her lungs, cutting off her breathing as she placed her wedding ring in her jewelry box beside Mem’s peach cameo. The gold band glinted in the pale light. Her hand felt weightless, Hans’s place in her heart vacant. For a long time she stood and sobbed as she rubbed the empty place on her finger.
“Good-bye, Hans. The future is no longer ours.”
Still weeping, she closed the lid of the jewelry box and left the room.
ANKI SAT AT her kitchen table, three sheets of paper filled with news for Piet. She had covered the front and back of each page, including the margins, writing in her tiniest script. She didn’t know where he was, so she couldn’t mail it, but someday he would read it and know what had happened while he was gone.
She wanted to share everything with him, every detail of every day he missed with her. Their baby continued to grow. The one pair of pants she owned had gotten tight, though her loosest dress still hid the slight bulge in her stomach.
She placed her hand over where their child slept and said a prayer for his father. Every night she heard the planes on their way to Germany. How that country could remain standing with all the bombs the Allies dropped, she didn’t know. Each time she heard that now-familiar drone, she woke and prayed for Piet, that none of those bombs would rain on him.
He might still be in the Netherlands, though, building defense works, but the German defenses were falling. Every day Allied troops marched ever deeper into Dutch territory. Perhaps he would come home tomorrow and take her into his arms and this all would end.
Without her husband to care for, her days were empty. She didn’t have his clothes to mend or his food to cook or his company to anticipate. The nights were the hardest. Many hours she lay awake, listening to the planes or to her own breathing, unable to sleep, distracted by the cold spot in the bed next to her.
She rubbed her belly, then collected the paper, lined up the edges, and folded the letter. She slipped it into an envelope and placed it in a box with the others she had written, carefully replacing the cardboard lid.
A cup of coffee sounded good, but a knock at the door interrupted her plans. A man she didn’t recognize stood on her front stoop. A layer of dirt covered him where his tattered clothes didn’t. What rags he wore hung on his emaciated frame. “May I help you?”
He held out his hand and she shook it, touching him as little as possible. “I’m Dirk Tjaarda. I labored with your husband, Piet Dykstra, on the defense works in the south.”
This man had word from Piet? She flung the door open. “Please sit and I’ll make you some ersatz coffee and slice some bread and cheese. Perhaps a little ham?”
He waved her away. “Nee, I won’t stay long. I am from Achlum, just a few kilometers away, and I’m anxious to get home to see my wife and children. I escaped, and I promised Piet I would stop and see you on my way home.”
“Is he coming too?”
Dirk’s face sunk farther, if that was possible. “Piet won’t be coming.”
Her breathing grew shallow and she locked her lips to keep the words from exploding. “That stubborn man. He will stay to the bitter end. Wait until he gets home.” She balled her fists.
“Frou Dykstra, I don’t know how to tell you this, but the conditions we lived under were terrible. Piet got sick and there was nothing we could do for him. He died last week of dysentery. I’m so sorry.”
Her ears buzzed. “He got sick?”
“Ja, very sick. We did all we could, but we didn’t have much medical care available.”
“You didn’t take him to the doktor?”
Dirk’s thin hands shook. “We did, but the doktor didn’t have the medicine he needed. I stayed with him until the end.” His voice cracked and he cleared his throat. “He could talk about nothing other than you and the baby. He told me . . .”
Her throat squeezed shut. Dirk spoke madness.
“He told me to tell you he loved you and that he was sorry.”
Dirk’s image blurred in front of her and everything took on a dream-like haze.
The man touched her shoulder. “Will you be fine?”
How could he ask that? Those two words—Piet died—crushed every hope and dream she ever had. She would never be fine again.
“Is there anyone I should contact? Parents? Siblings?”
“Nee, I’ll let them know.” She needed to be alone. This couldn’t be real. “Bedankt. I am sure you are anxious to get back to your family.”
He handed her a folded piece of paper. “Piet wanted me to give this to you. I’ve included my address if you ever want to contact me.” His rough hand brushed hers and she recoiled.
“Are you sure you don’t need anything?”
She couldn’t breathe. He had to leave. “I am sure. Have a good day.”
Dirk left, looking over his shoulder several times as he ambled down the street.
She shut the door and leaned against it. She tried to draw a deep breath but couldn’t get it around the rock in her throat. “Piet. Piet. Piet! Don’t leave me. Please don’t leave me. Let this be a mistake. Come back to me. Please.”
How could this happen? How could he leave her? She gasped for air.
She opened her hands to brace herself as she slid to the floor and the paper fell. With trembling fingers, she unfolded it. The handwriting didn’t look like his. He wrote with big, bold letters, each formed the way they had been taught in school. The person who wrote this threw the words across the page, the lines slanting downward.
Dearest Anki,
My Lord is calling me home, but before I leave, I wanted to speak to you for the last time. Please don’t be sad. I am not, because soon I will be in heaven with my Savior. I can’t tell you how I am looking forward to that. The hardest thing is knowing I won’t be there to see the birth of our child. Tell him that I love him. Raise him to know and love the Lord. That is my greatest prayer.
I will miss not growing old with you. Do you remember the plans we made together, the children we would have, where we would live, what our lives would be like? The Lord had different plans for me. I trust Him and know He always does what is best. I pray you will trust that too.
I’m so grateful the Lord gave me this chance to be married to you these four years. You are my precious gift, my treasure, my pearl. I love you more than the air I breathe. I don’t regret anything I did. Following the Lord’s commands is always right. This is His will for us. My time is short, but I wanted to say I love you one last time. I love you, darling. I love you. Farewell.
Your devoted husband,
Piet
The signature was his. She touched the page where his fingers had brushed it.
She stared at the other words on the paper, their meaning not penetrating her brain. She read it again. And again. And again.
Then she understood what it said.
She crumpled the paper and threw it across the room.