The many thoughts whizzing through Cornelia’s mind had held sleep at bay last night. She touched the base of her ring finger, the bareness of it.
The trouble was, her heart had gone and fallen in love with another without asking her.
She needed someone to talk to, someone to help her put things into perspective. Johan was only twenty and had never been in love—not that she knew, anyway—and he wouldn’t understand like a woman. She couldn’t speak to Frou de Bruin and certainly not to Gerrit, so she made the short trek to Anki’s house. This being Saturday, it was the perfect time. Cornelia had gone too long without visiting her sister, having been caught up in moving the men and getting them settled.
And angering her employer. Such feistiness contained in such a dainty package. For the rest of the war, she and Gerrit wouldn’t be allowed out of the woman’s sight. They would have to sneak around like teenagers.
A warm breeze brushed her face as she made her way to her sister’s house. At her feet, the daffodils readied themselves to burst in color with the first balmy day.
She knocked at Anki’s door, the third one down in a row of neat houses, but no one answered. Strange, her blackout shades covered the long front windows, though it was ten o’clock in the morning. Cornelia paced on the small step and rubbed her hands together.
She knocked again, but no one stirred inside. Nausea rode a wave across her stomach. She pushed the door open and stepped inside where cold and darkness greeted her.
“Anki?”
No answer. Cornelia struggled to remain calm.
“Anki!”
After a minute or two, her eyes adjusted to the dimness of the front room. Her sister sat in the brown overstuffed chair across from her, curled in a ball, not moving. Her limp, shoulder-length auburn hair hung in strings across her face.
Cornelia rushed to her. “What is wrong?”
Anki withdrew farther, hugging herself tighter, her back buried into the chair. Tear tracks etched paths down her cheeks.
“Is it Piet?” Cornelia shook.
Anki nodded.
“Tell me.”
Her sister pointed to a balled piece of paper across the room. Cornelia retrieved it and smoothed the page. Then she read the awful words.
Dear God, this cannot be happening. Not to Anki. Please, Lord, please, don’t let it be true.
Memories assaulted her—the pop of gunfire, the sweetness of Hans’s kiss, the smell of death.
She knelt beside Anki and held her hands, rubbing them between her own. “Oh, Anki.”
Anki looked at her with sunken, bloodshot eyes. “Do you think it is true?”
“I don’t want to believe it.”
“So long I waited for Hans to return. He never did.” Was this what it meant to love a man of honor? Could she bear the grief if this happened to Gerrit? “Piet sent you this letter?”
“Nee, a man brought it. He said that . . .” She raised her shoulders and swallowed hard. “He said he was with Piet when . . .” Fresh tears raced down her face.
Recollections of those awful first hours of the war slammed into Cornelia. Even when she went home, for months afterward, she expected Hans to walk through the door, sweep her off her feet, and make her laugh. Anki needed time.
“When did this happen?”
Her sister shook her head. “I forgot to ask.” Anki bolted upright and grabbed Cornelia’s wrist, her eyes large in her sallow face. “Oh, Corrie, I forgot to ask.”
She patted her sister’s hand. “Don’t worry. I saw the man’s address. When you are stronger, you can write to him and find out. When did you get the letter?”
Anki slumped back in the chair. “I don’t know. A day or two ago. I can’t remember.”
“Have you had anything to eat?”
Anki shook her head, lost and alone in the big seat.
“You have to eat for the baby. I will make you something.” Cornelia rummaged through the kitchen cupboards and found a small and somewhat stale loaf of bread. Later she would have to take Anki’s ration cards and get more food. She started the kettle for ersatz coffee.
When she had everything prepared, she brought it on a tray to Anki and sat beside her on the armrest as she ate. She nibbled the bread but did drink all the coffee.
“You have to eat more than that. Think of the baby.”
“Piet will never know his son or daughter. This child will grow up without a father.” She closed her eyes.
“You will be a wonderful mother and you will tell your child about his father. We will help you.” Cornelia rubbed her sister’s shoulder.
After she cleared the plate and cup and washed the dishes, Cornelia snuggled her way next to Anki in the chair. They had both lost weight during the war and managed to fit. She wrapped herself around her sister.
For hours, they sat together and grieved.
ANKI WOKE THE next morning and rolled over, wanting to snuggle in bed with Piet before they had to get up. She reached for him, but his side was empty. She maneuvered on the mattress, lumps in the wrong places. This wasn’t her bed at all.
On the opposite wall, she spotted the grainy photograph of her, Cornelia, and Johan as children. She and her sister wore huge bows in their short, curly hair and Johan sported knickers. That picture had always been in Mem and Heit’s room.
That is where she had spent last night—in the large featherbed in their room. In Johan and Cornelia’s house.
Why?
And like the whoosh of air out of a balloon, she remembered everything. The letter. The pain. The emptiness.
She rolled with her face to the wall, coiled in the fetal position, wanting to shut it all out. She didn’t want to remember. She didn’t want to feel.
Piet hadn’t been perfect. They disagreed from time to time, including the last time they had been together. If only she had done things differently. She should have done everything in her power to keep him from going away. Even if he didn’t want her help. Even if he left of his own accord.
She sat up with a jerk.
All of this could have been avoided. They could be sitting at home right now, planning for their coming child. Their world should be filled with joy, not this unimaginable pain.
Many righteous men had chosen to dive underground, onderduikers not willing to surrender to the authorities. She didn’t believe they would burn for disobeying an evil regime. Piet could have done that too. He chose to leave her alone, knowing he might never come back.
She pounded the pillow. He didn’t have to do this. He didn’t have to go. He didn’t have to leave her a widow.
Soft footsteps entered the room. Arms encircled her. “Let it out,” Cornelia whispered. “Be angry. You should be. Let him know how upset you are that he left you.”
Anki turned and grasped her sister’s thin arms, shaking her. “Why didn’t you stop him? Gerrit could have helped. With all we did for him, he owed us that much. He got Johan out of custody. He should have done the same for Piet. I saved his life.”
“Piet went freely. If he wouldn’t listen to you, Gerrit couldn’t have done anything.”
“We should have done more. I should have done more.”
“Don’t blame yourself.”
“I should have told him about the baby sooner. Maybe if he had time to get used to the idea, he would have been more excited. And he would have understood his responsibilities better. He wouldn’t have left then.”
“We can’t change the past.”
Anki sank back against the covers, spent.
“I’m frying a little ham now. Come and have some breakfast.”
Her stomach lurched at the mention of food. “I can’t eat.”
“Think of your baby.”
Through the fog of grief, the light pierced. Forever she would have this part of Piet. She had lost her husband, but she wouldn’t lose her child.
Corrie handed her a dark purple housedress she had packed from home. She slipped it over her head, and her sister brushed her hair and pulled it back with a clip. The gentle pressure on her scalp soothed her.
Ten minutes later she descended the stairs, ready to face the day.
Her first day as a widow.
CORNELIA WANTED TO close the gap between Gerrit and herself as soon as possible, so she pedaled her bicycle hard. She and Anki had spoken to the dominee about a memorial service for Piet, and then Cornelia convinced her sister to lie down for a while. She didn’t want to be gone long but did want to tell Johan the news. And find some comfort with Gerrit.
German soldiers crawled over the countryside like ants, scurrying this way and that, though mostly east. She shivered and quickened her pace.
Just a short distance from the farm, a dull green truck, caked with mud on the lower half, pulled beside her, blocking her way forward. She braked, but her heart continued to pump as fast as her legs had. A young kid, younger than Johan by a few years at least, climbed out of the driver’s seat and pointed his rifle at her. Her knees became as soft as the Frisian sand and she worked at straddling the bike and not falling to the ground.
“Where are you going?”
She shrugged, pretending not to understand.
He motioned for her to produce her identification. Her hands shook as she dismounted and gave it to him. He rubbed his chin as he examined it. His baby face showed no signs of stubble. The kid wasn’t even old enough to shave. If she wasn’t trembling so much, she might laugh.
He, however, took his job seriously. After handing back her papers, the boy spit at her feet, then shoved her off her bike and onto the road. He jumped into the truck and gunned it, splattering mud all over her.
She sat in the muck, dumbfounded. Mud splattered her pink flowered dress, the vibrancy of the colors long since washed away.
Cold outside and numb inside, she picked up her bicycle and continued to Frou de Bruin’s house. As she knocked, she hoped the older woman would stop watching her every move as she had for the past week.
Her cheeks burned as she thought of Gerrit’s and her kiss, and a tingle pulsed in her heart, like fingers thawing near the warmth of a fire after an extended skate on the canal. Just as with defrosting fingers, it hurt sometimes. But in the end, the numbness passes and feeling returns.
Frou de Bruin’s still-sharp blue eyes narrowed when she saw Cornelia. “Why are you here? It is Saturday. And look at you. What have you been doing? A pig is cleaner than you, girl.”
She slipped her hand into her sweater’s pocket. “I’m sorry about the dirt. A German truck splattered mud all over me. Please, may I come in? I have to see Johan and Gerrit. Something has happened they need to know about.”
The gray-haired woman opened the door a little farther, just enough for Cornelia to slip into the house. She led the way to the kitchen. “Gerrit is in here. Your brother is in the deel.”
Gerrit rose from his chair at the table when she entered the warm room. His mouth opened into an O, then his brows furrowed. “What happened?”
Cornelia had difficulty forming the words, as if saying them made the reality truer. “A man who worked with Piet in the south visited Anki yesterday. Piet died of dysentery.”
“Oh no.”
She nodded, her throat clogged like a busy canal.
“How is she doing?”
“She is angry and grieving. All that is to be expected, you know.” She pushed the painful memories aside.
Gerrit came to her and held her hands. She wished he would take her in his arms, but with Frou de Bruin perched on her chair, that might not be a good idea. He leaned toward her and spoke in a low, soothing voice. “And you. What happened?”
“A German soldier in a truck stopped me. He was no more than a boy. When he left, he spun his tires and splashed me.”
“You need a hot bath.” He rubbed her fingers. “How are you coping with the news?”
“I am fine.”
He released one hand, stroked her cheek, then turned to speak to the old woman. “If you will excuse us, we’re going into the front room. Alone. I promise not to kiss her.” He pursed his lips.
Frou de Bruin hardened her face. “I will be in here. And I will be checking on you.”
Gerrit and Cornelia stood on the frayed rug in the front room, facing each other but with plenty of daylight between them.
He caressed her with his eyes. “Now tell me how you really are.”
How did you tell someone you loved about your feelings for your husband? “Alone. In the past few hours, I have thought so much about you. And about Hans.”
Tears began to roll down her cheeks unchecked, and she didn’t know if she would ever be able to stop them.
He came to her, but she pushed him away.