The pungent odor of burning petrol and charred flesh sent bile racing up Cornelia’s throat.
She bit it back and picked her way through chunks of metal and around the smoldering remains of trucks, trying not to look at the bodies, twisted and broken. The stench caused her to gag. She drew her handkerchief from her pocket and placed it over her nose.
The man who had groaned—a boy really . . . he couldn’t have been more than seventeen—quieted when he saw her. “Help me.”
Wishing she possessed Anki’s nursing knowledge, she knelt in the dirt beside the towheaded boy.
“What is your name?” She spoke in German.
“Rolf.”
For his sake, she removed the hankie from her face and smiled. What she had so feared now lay helpless and harmless. Just a boy sent to a foreign country to fight. If situations were reversed, this might be Johan.
She sent the thought away. “This might hurt, Rolf, but I am going to move your shirt to look at your wounds.”
He nodded and she swallowed hard, willing her stomach not to heave as she peeled away the mangled fabric. Every move reminded her of the day Gerrit stepped into her life.
Once she saw the damage to the boy’s body, his shredded flesh, she turned away and coughed, trying not to vomit. Even if she had a medical degree, she doubted she would be able to help the young man.
“Fräulein?”
She turned back to him.
“I am going to die, aren’t I?”
What would be the right thing to tell this boy? She held his hand. “I think you might meet Jesus today, but don’t be afraid. I will stay with you.” Her own calm in the situation surprised her.
“Danke.” Already his breathing grew shallower.
“Do you know Jesus?”
“Mutti took me to church a long time ago. She told me He loved me.”
“He does. Do you love Him?”
“I did once.” He struggled for breath. “I remember praying to Him.”
She smoothed his hair from his sooty, sweaty brow. “God doesn’t forget you. Do you want me to pray with you?”
He nodded, crying.
Peace flooded her as she spoke to the Lord. “Dear Father in heaven, please be near Rolf now. Ease his pain and suffering. Help him remember that You love him and help him recall that love he once had for You. Cover his sins with the blood of Your Son. Wash him clean and clothe him in the white robes of righteousness. Prepare him to meet You and spend eternity in Your holy presence. Amen.”
Rolf’s eyelids fluttered. “I have done lots of bad things. I lied about my age. I shot and killed people.”
“If you are truly repentant for your sins, there is nothing God can’t forgive.”
“I am. I wish . . .” He sucked in air. “I wouldn’t have done those things.”
“Then He will forgive you.”
Rolf lay still for several minutes, his eyes closed, his breathing irregular. Then he inhaled deeply. “What will heaven be like?”
“Beautiful beyond our wildest dreams. More beautiful than a sunset over the North Sea or the sun shimmering on a canal.”
“Or the trees of the Black Forest?”
“Ja, more beautiful than that.” She couldn’t stop the tears flowing down her face.
“I think I see it.”
Rolf’s features relaxed. Cornelia had never seen such tranquillity on a person’s face. His chest rattled, then stilled.
She sat in the blood-soaked dirt for a long time, soot mixing with her tears. She didn’t know quite what to make of what had happened. She had been a part of something terrible and wonderful at the same time.
“Hans, was someone with you when you died? Or were you alone and afraid?” That part bothered her the most. “Did it happen so fast you didn’t even feel anything?” She wished she knew. She never would.
But Rolf’s family could.
She bit her lip and searched his pockets until she found his soldbuch, his pay book, in his tunic pocket. With shaking hands, she flipped the pages until she found his parents’ names and their address. She would write to them and tell them all they might want to know.
Her legs fell asleep, the injured calf throbbing, and she shifted into a more comfortable position, the ration cards poking her skin. She closed Rolf’s eyes, kissed his forehead, and limped away.
Death, life, trouble, peace, fear, calm—all this tumbled inside her.
As she reached the next farm, a large, rotund old man met her at the door.
“I have something you need.”
He smiled and nodded. “Come in, child, come in. You look like you have been through it.”
She limped over the threshold.
“You are hurt.” He spun her around and examined her leg. “Come into the kitchen and sit while I get some things to doctor you. What happened?”
“The planes shot at me. I don’t know if I got hit by a rock or by a bullet.”
The old man shook his head, his jowls following along. “The planes? I heard all that commotion. How did you manage to escape?”
“God.”
“Ah yes.” His blue eyes danced. “You are good to come out in all this chaos. Or foolish.”
She laughed. “One or the other.”
“God bless you, child. Bedankt for the cards. Even if the war ends tomorrow, we will need these.”
His gratitude embarrassed her. “I am just a frightened woman doing what God would have me do.”
AFTER THE KIND older gentleman cleaned Cornelia’s wound and sent her on her way, she walked as fast as her injury would allow to Frou de Bruin’s house. She was dirty and exhausted and hoped the elderly woman would make her a cup of real tea. That would taste better than a beef roast right now.
And she couldn’t wait to see Gerrit, to have his arms around her, for this entire terrible day to be over.
All the way there, she kept vigil, scanning the horizon at all times, waiting for more swooping planes or green trucks to halt her progress. None came. For now, all lay quiet.
She admitted herself to the farmhouse, kicked off her klompen, and made her way to the kitchen where the elderly lady sat enthroned on a chair next to the table, a steaming cup of something in her hand. She waved a bony finger at Cornelia. “I told him you would come.”
By him, she assumed Frou de Bruin meant Gerrit. “Was he worried?” The thought made her smile all over.
“Not worried enough to stay put.”
Cornelia stared at the woman. “He’s not here? What are you talking about? Is he out back?”
Her employer shook her head, her cut-glass earrings sparkling in the pale light. “Someone came to him, begging for help, and Gerrit said he would go. I told him he was a fool.”
“He went into town? Why would he do something like that?”
“He left not long ago, but told me to have you wait for him.” She put on her spectacles and took a good look at Cornelia. “What happened to you?”
Exhaustion overwhelmed her and she shook her head, unable to speak.
“There, there. Heat up some water for yourself and enjoy a bath. It’s the least I can do for you.”
“That’s kind of you—”
Someone knocked at the door.
“Please answer that. My arthritis is bothering me today.”
Cornelia hobbled to the door and was shocked to see her sister’s pale face. “What’s wrong?”
Anki stepped inside but didn’t remove her klompen. “Is Gerrit here?”
“Nee. Frou de Bruin said he had to go out for a while.”
What little color remained surged from Anki’s face.
A cold band constricted around Cornelia’s stomach. “What is it?”
“There was a raid at Bear’s house. I saw them take away Maarten. They said they were waiting for one more person to arrive. Could that be Gerrit? Corrie, he could be walking into a trap.”
“Nee, nee. Not Gerrit.” Please, Lord, don’t let this be a trap. Her prayer didn’t dissolve the cold lump in the depths of her stomach.
Johan stepped in front of her. She hadn’t heard him enter the room. “I’ll find him.”
Cornelia pulled herself together. Courage wasn’t a word. Courage was an action. “I’ll go. It’s not safe for you on the streets. I don’t need to lose both of you.”
Her brother grabbed her arm. “Corrie, let me go this time. I want to do this.”
“I need to do this.”
Anki touched her hand. “Are you sure?”
“Never more sure of anything in my entire life.”
Sure she needed him. Sure she loved him. Sure she had to tell him everything in her heart.
GERRIT ENTERED the little town he had come to think of as home. This game, a combination of hide-and-seek and cat and mouse, had him paranoid. He believed eyes stared at him from every alley. He convinced himself he heard footfalls behind him. Someone’s breath, and not the wind, tickled the back of his neck.
He had to lose the tail before he got to Bear’s. If he wasn’t a wanted man, he would guide them straight to the police station. Or maybe to the tsjerke.
The tsjerke. Perfect. He could slip in one way and slide out another and perhaps shake himself of his follower. Morning services had let out and afternoon services had yet to start. He zigzagged through town, down backstreets and alleys, until he came to the centuries-old tsjerke. He thought of the last time he had been here, when Cornelia had bared her heart to him.
Perhaps someday soon she would pledge herself to him in this same place.
He pulled open the heavy carved doors and entered the cool interior, the ancient wood floors creaking beneath his feet. Good. That would alert him to anyone coming behind him. He crossed into the sanctuary, flying buttresses soaring like eagles overhead. Massive pipes from the organ anchored the front.
Taking just a moment, he rested on the edge of the pew and prayed. Prayed for Cornelia’s safety as she made those deliveries, for the possibility of a future with her, for the success and safety of his mission, and for a speedy end to this long, bloody struggle.
“What time I am afraid, I will trust in thee.”
His taut shoulders relaxed.
“Amen, so be it, Lord.”
He walked down the long center aisle with much more peace than he had when he entered. No longer did he feel like someone pursued him because he remembered Someone walked beside him.
He stood and debated for a while, not knowing through which door to exit. The wrong choice might have him walking straight into the arms of the Gestapo or the NSB. The right choice would mean he could complete his mission and get the ration cards to that woman without incident.
He chose the door on his right, the one leading to the cemetery. Before opening it all the way, he peered out, turning his head in either direction. He didn’t see anyone. Only a little brown-and-black bird hopped on the ground near one of the gravestones. He startled it and it flew away when he approached.
He wandered for a few minutes between the headstones, some weathered and tottering sideways, husbands and wives buried on top of each other to save precious land in this country where it was a greater commodity than gold. Dead leaves from last autumn carpeted the ground, crunching under his feet with each step. He stopped suddenly, but no leaves crunched behind him.
He had lost whoever had been trailing him from the countryside. He wouldn’t be surprised if it was nothing more than his imagination.
Whatever the case, he needed to get to Bear’s.
CORNELIA ARRIVED BREATHLESS on the outskirts of town. Though she had run so hard her leg screamed in pain, she never caught up with Gerrit. Either he had been too far in front of her, or he cut through the farm fields and she missed him on the road.
Her leg throbbed, but she didn’t have the luxury to sit and rest.
She had to find Gerrit.
Fast.