Uncle Josiah was gone and no one in the hotel knew he’d been there. She’d seen him barrel away in his Volvo with the back seat filled with gas cans and prayed he’d be careful. One little fender bender and he’d go up like a firework.
After watching him round a corner, Stella hurried across the square. It wasn’t empty anymore. People were coming in from the provinces, hoping to avoid the bombing or running from it with only scant belongings in their arms. The military was there and the police out in force. There was talk of barricades to block the Nazis from entering the city as if that were possible. No one wailed or was frantic. When Stella found a tram that was working, she marveled at the stoic faces around her, but their voices weren’t so stoic.
“He killed himself,” whispered a woman.
“Surely not. It must’ve been an accident. He was a professor,” said her friend.
“It wasn’t an accident and it’s happening all over the city,” said a man.
“Why would they do it?”
“They’re Jews. Why do you think?”
The conversation went on and Stella blocked it out. It was too distressing. Weronika wouldn’t do that, or would she? It seemed a choice the foreign Jews were making. Stella moved away from the conversation and clung to the pole by the exit until the tram stopped near the Jodenbuurt.
“I heard there are tanks outside the city,” said a man, pushing past her roughly.
“They’re not going to bring tanks into Amsterdam,” said a woman.
“Why not? They mean to crush us.”
“It’s stupid.”
Stella got past the couple. Tanks?
Please don’t let that be true.
Eiger Menswear was closed, but the lights were on and it was the middle of the day on a Tuesday. The lettering on the window said they were supposed to be open, although not many were shopping in the Jodenbuurt that day.
Stella cupped her hands around her eyes and peered inside. No customers and no one behind the register, but the neat racks of clothing weren’t so neat. Some suits had been tossed on the floor and a collection of hats had been taken off the rack and left on the counter. The owner, while not friendly in the least, had been neat and businesslike.
She pounded on the door for a third time and then backed up to look at the attic window. Closed. She could yell, but nobody would hear her. Maybe there was a back way in, but it wasn’t obvious with no alleys. She’d have to loop the block and see if she could find an entrance.
Turning around to decide which way to go, Stella saw a couple glance at the shop and then cross the street, averting their eyes. She waited and it happened again. The people that were out sure weren’t coming anywhere near Eiger Menswear. She turned back to the door and tried the knob. Locked, of course.
She shouldn’t do it, not in broad daylight, but she was short on time and she didn’t fancy going around to the back to find another locked door, if there even was one. Stella huddled up to the door and pulled her tiny set of lock picks out of the secret compartment in the side of her handbag. Two seconds and the lock clicked. She opened the door and wasn’t five steps in before she smelled it. Feces and blood.
Oh, God no.
She rushed around the counter and found the till open and emptied. The smell was worse at the back and she followed it through to the storage area. It, too, had been gone through with boxes opened and rummaged through. She didn’t know what they were looking for, but they weren’t stealing wholesale. Plenty of nice suits had been tossed aside and some good quality sewing machines were left, not to mention a large safe unopened.
Stella turned back around and was going for the narrow stairs when she noticed a door next to them. It was ajar and she could hear a little buzzing.
“Hello,” she said, knowing nobody in that room was going to answer. “It is Micheline Dubois. I’ve come to see the Dereczynski family on business.”
She held her breath and reached for the door.
Not them. Not them.
Inside was a minuscule bathroom with a tiny sink, toilet, and a body. The owner lay slumped down on the toilet with what was left of his head propped against the wall. A revolver lay at his feet with a note. It might’ve said something about a will, but Stella couldn’t worry about that.
She closed the door and ran up the stairs, having to stop at each room with her lungs burning and her cough kicking up again. At the small attic door, she bent over gasping and knocking at the same time. No answer and she almost sat down and cried. If they weren’t there, she had nowhere else to look. They might’ve left Amsterdam and she’d have given up Nicky for nothing at all.
Once she’d caught her breath and calmed her panic, she shifted on the narrow stair to peek through the hole where the knob should’ve been. From what she could see, everything was still there from the hotplate to a small sweater hanging on the back of a chair. Stella could smell cabbage but no blood. They could just be out and she checked her watch. Two fifteen. She could wait. She had to wait. How long to get to the Burgerweeshuis? Twenty minutes by foot, but she’d have the children. They wouldn’t be fast. Myrtle and Millicent were like dragging lead weights, especially when they didn’t want to go. A cab. A tram. She had time, if they would just come back.
She leaned against the wall and closed her eyes. The tiredness overwhelmed her again and what seemed like a minute later, someone shook her.
“Micheline?”
“Mama, she is dead,” said a plaintive little voice in Polish.
“She’s not dead,” said Lonia. “I can see her breathing.”
Stella opened her eyes to find Weronika, Ezra, and Lonia crammed into the staircase and peering at her with worry.
“I’m not dead. I was waiting for you.” She checked her watch. “Oh, my God.”
“What is it?” Weronika asked. “Have they come?”
“No,” said Stella, struggling to her feet. “I don’t know. Where have you been?”
“There has been an accident. I was looking for a new place for us.”
Ezra tugged on his mother’s skirt. “What accident?”
“Poopy accident.” Lonia pinched her nose.
Stella met Weronika’s eyes. “I heard about that accident. Hasn’t anyone else?”
“They have, but with the situation, he is not a priority.”
“When did it happen?”
“Early this morning,” said Weronika. “Józef heard it and he called, but no one came.”
Lonia smacked her mother’s hand. “Heard what?”
“Nothing, darling.”
Stella reached out to her. “Can I come in?”
The mother told her to open the door and she led the way into the small flat. The children went running to their room and Weronika offered to make tea.
“I don’t have time for that. It’s almost three fifteen.”
“You got them a transport,” said Weronika and tears flowed down her cheeks like someone had turned on a tap.
“I did with Tante Truus, but we have to go now,” said Stella.
“Now? They can’t go now. I haven’t…I haven’t talked to them and Józef isn’t here.”
“There are buses leaving at four from the Burgerweeshuis. They’re going to IJmuiden where they’ll get on a ship to England.” Stella took her hand and found it shaky and cold. “It’s the last one.”
“She could…I heard of children getting out through France and Switzerland,” said Weronika.
“That was before. Once the Reich is in control, it will be different.”
“I can’t. Józef would never forgive me. We will wait.” Weronika pulled her hand out of Stella’s and stood shaking like it was five degrees. “Thank you for coming.”
“Don’t do this. It’s their last chance.”
“There will be other chances.”
“Maybe, but there will be thousands trying to get them and I won’t be here anymore,” said Stella.
“Where are you going?” Weronika’s shaking got worse and tears flowed again.
“Home to Belgium. I have to find my family and see if they are okay.”
“When will you leave?”
“Today as soon as I take the children to Tante Truus,” said Stella.
“You aren’t taking them. I can’t. Józef…”
Stella came close and whispered, “Your landlord has killed himself because they are coming. This is not an idle threat.”
Weronika tried to speak but choked on the words, ending up shaking her head.
“I understand this is hard.”
She jerked her head up and her streaming eyes bored into Stella’s. “You don’t have children.” She grabbed at the front of her dress, tearing at the fabric and popping off a button. “They are my heart, my life.”
“That’s why they should go. Protect your heart. This is what you can do and it is the hardest thing, but you know about Tante Truus. You know she saves children.”
“It’s so far and you’re not going?” Weronika asked.
“No, but all the children from the orphanage are. There will be bigger ones and the voyage is short. Once they are in England the children’s society will take over,” said Stella.
“Józef is usually home at five. I don’t know where he is working today. Somewhere on the docks, but if you can wait.”
“I can’t wait. It’s now or never.”
A little voice came from behind them. “Am I going to see Masło now?”
Weronika ran over and swept Lonia up in her arms, sobbing until she crumpled to the floor. Little Ezra ran in and shook a finger at Stella saying, “Stop making Mama cry.”
His mother grabbed him, too, clutching at her babies in a wild searching way that struck at Stella’s heart. She touched them all over, kissing and looking so as to memorize every ounce of their small forms. She was going to let them go and it was breaking her.
“I won’t go, Mama,” said Lonia. “England is awful and wet. I will stay here with you.”
Ezra wailed and buried his head in his mother’s neck. “I’m not going.”
“Weronika, you have to decide. I only have a little time to get there,” said Stella.
“No, I won’t go.” Lonia stomped her foot and her mother pushed her back.
Weronika savagely wiped the tears off her cheeks. “You will go. Micheline will take you to the nice woman. Tante Truus. You remember, we talked about Tante Truus.”
“I don’t want to.”
“You have to or you might not get to see Masło for a long time.”
Lonia swallowed hard. “I want you and Papa to go.”
“We can’t go, darling. It’s only for children,” said Weronika.
“Special for children?” Lonia looked up at Stella.
“Yes,” she said. “You will go with a lot of other children on a huge boat to England. It’s an adventure and you will have to be brave and strong to do it. Not everyone can.”
Lonia puffed up. “I’m very strong.”
Weronika hugged her again. “You are my strongest girl.”
“What about me?” complained Ezra.
She told him that he was the strongest boy and that they could do it and make their papa proud. Slowly, the mother eased them into the bedroom and packed two suitcases. Then she dressed them warmly in their winter coats and asked, “Lonia, do you remember what Micheline told you last time? How do you find Masło?”
Lonia dutifully repeated everything she was supposed to remember and then Weronika had her memorize her parents’ full names and birth dates, where she and Ezra were born, and their address in Poland. Then she looked up at Stella and said, “I heard that was good for them finding us later.”
Stella nodded, overwhelmed by the idea of a six-year-old’s memory being key to finding her parents. “You should write it, too.”
Weronika went back into the bedroom and brought back an envelope. “I did, but things get lost.”
Stella took the envelope and tucked it in her handbag. “We have to go now.”
Weronika hugged her children and told them to be good.
“You can come to the busses,” said Stella. “No one will mind.”
“They might think they aren’t orphans and not let them get on.”
“I don’t think the children are necessarily orphans. Their parents just aren’t here,” said Stella, “and I’ll need you to take them out for me.”
“Out where?”
“Out of here,” she said. “I don’t want to be seen leaving with them.”
“Why?” Lonia asked. “Don’t you like us?”
“I like you very much, but there are other people who wouldn’t like it and I want us to avoid them,” said Stella.
Weronika agreed to take the children out the back. There was a way, but she said Stella wouldn’t have found it. The door to the alley looked like any other door. “Where should we meet?”
“The Waterlooplein?” Stella asked.
“At the market. There’s a stall on the corner with children’s clothes.”
They agreed on the spot, but Stella was reluctant to leave, fearing Weronika would change her mind. There was nothing she could do about it, if the mother couldn’t bear it, so she went down the stairs. It might’ve been her imagination, but the smell seemed worse or maybe it was just because she knew now where it originated. She put a handkerchief over her nose and went through the shop as fast as possible, catching two men coming in with bags and a defiant look in their eyes.
“Excuse me,” said Stella.
One of the men grabbed her arm. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“Out of this stench. When are the politie coming?”
The men hesitated and one said, “Someone called them?”
“That’s what I heard,” she said.
He let her arm go and she scooted out the door before he could think better of it. Then she hurried down the street and that’s when she saw him. She should’ve seen him earlier. Mussert of the torn pocket. The bastard must’ve taken up residence outside the hotel. She’d totally forgotten about him and would’ve assumed he’d have forgotten about her, too, but there he was, lounging on a corner, obvious as ever.
She hurried by him and he followed, only ten feet behind. She couldn’t imagine what was the point of this, but it didn’t matter. Stella got herself into the market at Waterlooplein. Thankfully, all the sellers were there, trying to make one last buck before the Nazis came and stole it all. She weaved through stalls and around tables. Mussert stayed doggedly on her heels, but he didn’t follow her into the larger stalls. Stella smiled. If she could lose Cyril Welk in a market, she could lose a man who didn’t really care the way Cyril did. Cyril had a passion. Mussert had a job and it was time for him to lose it.
Stella ducked into a woman’s clothing stall. It was crammed with the most godawful items, third and fourth-hand dresses, skirts, and shoes, but crammed was called for. She went through the different racks, going in circles. An advantage to being short showed up in a big way. Mussert looked over the racks and Stella looked under them. He made a circuit through the racks and then another. Stella dodged him easily. The lady running the booth caught her and Stella quickly gave her a coin whispering, “He won’t leave me alone.”
The old lady grimaced and picked up a broom. She headed Mussert off and started asking why a man was in her booth. She didn’t have clothes for him. Was he some kind of oddball who bought women’s clothes or worse, stole them? Mussert protested and she smacked him with the broom. Stella peeked between two racks and watched him get driven back toward the exit and she went out the back, just like old times in Paris.
Walking as fast as she could, Stella got to the booth Weronika described a little late and the family was leaving.
“I’m here.” Stella bent over coughing. She couldn’t hold it anymore.
“What happened?” Weronika said, clutching the children to her hips.
“There was a man, but I lost him.”
“Where? What man?”
“It doesn’t—” She spotted Mussert coming through some booths and ramming people aside in his rage. “He’s coming. We have to go.”
They ducked behind a booth full of books and Weronika peeked around the corner. “Which one is he?”
“Don’t do that,” said Stella, checking her watch. Twenty minutes. She’d just have to make a break for it, if Mussert saw and told Bikker so be it. “Never mind. We just have to go or we’ll never make it.”
Weronika peeked out again. “Who is he?”
“He works for Jan Bikker. He isn’t a kind man.”
Ezra began to sniffle. “A bad man is coming?”
“He won’t get you,” said Stella.
“I’ll make sure of it.” The mother dropped down and hugged her children. “Go. I will stop him.”
“Mama,” pleaded Lonia.
“Go. I can do this for you.”
“But Mama—”
“Go now to England and we will come as soon as we can.” Weronika stood up and threw back her shoulders. “Good luck.” With that, she marched out into the market and got in Mussert’s way. “Pieter, it’s you!” she cried.
Stella grabbed the suitcases and said, “Lonia, get your brother. We’re going.”
They went as fast as Ezra’s legs could carry him until they were past the square. Then Stella gave Lonia the small suitcase and picked up Ezra. They weren’t going to make it if they walked and the tram was too far and would take too long. A cab. She looked out at the traffic. There were cabs, but they all had passengers.
“Come on,” she said.
“Where are we going?” Lonia asked.
“To the corner so we can get a cab.”
“I don’t have any money.”
Stella couldn’t help but smile. “Don’t worry. I do.”
They got to the corner and three full cabs went by. Then there was another. He saw them and scowled, driving right by, but someone made a wrong turn and tried to correct in the middle of the intersection.
“That’s our cab.” Stella ran for it, dodging around cars and a mule cart. “Come on, Lonia.”
“But he didn’t stop!”
“He’s stopped now!” Stella wrenched open the door and shoved Ezra in.
“Hey! Get out of here,” the driver yelled.
Stella responded by boosting Lonia in. “To the Burgerweeshuis.”
“I don’t want any dirty Jews in my cab,” he bellowed. “Get out. I’m going to lunch.”
She shoved a fist full of money in his face. “We’ll pay double.”
“I don’t drive Je—”
Stella yanked open his door and shoved her face in his. “Do I look like a Jew?”
“I…I…”
“Good. Now take us to the Burgerweeshuis on the double.” She slammed his door and hurtled herself in the back with the children and the luggage.
“I don’t know who you think you are, but I’m taking you to the politie station,” said the driver as he eased around the now stalled car still in the middle of the road.
“How about you take me to the Baron Joost Van Heeckeren’s house? You can explain why his agent didn’t do as he asked.” A little name dropping never hurt.
“Baron Van what?”
“Heeckeren! The one with the parties and the money and the women. He has friends, you know. Friends in important places.” She put her card in his face.
“New York?”
“That’s right. That’s my company and I work for the baron. Are you going to drive us or not?” Stella demanded. “What’s your name? How long have you been in the city?”
The driver threw up his hands. “All right. All right.”
The cab lurched forward and the children shrieked. The driver began muttering about never getting lunch and the Nazis and the panic. His wife was in a quiet tirade. His son left to fight. He grumbled about anything and everything as they drove across the Amstel River, zipping in and out of traffic without an inch to spare. They were making good time, despite the traffic. Stella kept looking at her watch and the children watched her. Ezra sucked two fingers, despite Lonia trying to pull them out of his mouth and chiding him. Ten minutes. Five minutes.
“Is Papa coming?” Ezra asked around his fingers in his mouth.
“Papa can’t come,” said Lonia.
“Who will take care of us?”
The driver glanced in the rearview and said, “Dirty Poles. They invade our country.” He yanked the car to a side street and slammed the brakes, throwing the children to the floor and Stella against the back of his seat. “Get out.”
“We’re not there!”
“It is right over there.” He pointed in a vague direction and got out to shove the keys in his coat pocket.
“You have to take us!”
“No, I don’t!” He yanked open Stella’s door and grabbed her arm.
“Let go!”
“Pay me!”
“Where is it?” Stella got out and spun around. The driver rolled his eyes and pointed across the main road. “Follow the sign and pay me now.”
Stella would rather have slapped him, but she didn’t have the time. She shoved some coins at him, grabbed the suitcases, and then the children. Carrying Ezra, she ran for it right into the street, nearly causing an accident, but they got to the other side and she saw a sign for the Burgerweeshuis.
“Come on, Lonia,” she said between coughs.
“Are you sick?”
“I was. Come on.”
They ran down the narrow shopping street and took a right past stone reliefs with figures and poetry about orphans to the fifteenth century gate, huge with more orphans and a dove symbolizing the Holy Spirit or so Elizabeth had told her. The right door was open and Stella went through into the large courtyard, but it was empty. Not a single bus. Five after four.
“Where are they?” Lonia asked in Polish.
“Gone,” a young voice answered, also in Polish.
Stella turned and saw two older children with suitcases, a girl and boy about twelve and fourteen, both wearing the saddest expressions she’d ever seen in her life.
“When did they leave?” she asked them. “Did we just miss them?”
They shook their heads and their shoulders dropped as if weight had been added. “They weren’t here.”
“What? Tante Truus—” Stella had to stop and cough until the blood was back.
“We came before they were supposed to leave, but the doorman said the buses were on the Lijnbaansgracht.”
Stella’s legs buckled and she almost dropped Ezra before she caught herself. The Lijnbaansgracht wasn’t close. They’d never have made it. “I…I was told to come here.”
“So were we,” said the boy, his sad eyes fixing on Ezra, who was now snuffling into Stella’s shoulder, “I want Mama.”
“Why are you still here?” Stella asked the boy.
“Our mother wanted us to go and now we’ve missed our chance,” said the girl. “We’ll never get out now.”
“She’ll be so upset,” said the boy. “She cried and cried when we got word, but she will cry more now.”
Lonia tugged on Stella’s jacket. “I don’t get to see Masło?”
All manner of curses went through Stella’s mind and she said, “No, you’re going.” She shoved Ezra into the boy’s arms. “Go to the street. I’m getting a car. I’ll take you.”
“You?” the girl asked. “Who are you?”
“Micheline Dubois. Go to the street. I will be right back. Don’t forget the luggage.” Stella ran out of the courtyard and down the street. She hadn’t run that fast since Berlin, faster even since there was no snow to contend with.
She retraced her steps right back to the cab and it was still there. A café was across the street, packed with people, and that’s where the surly driver would be, him and his grumbling stomach.
All right, Park-Welles, let’s give it a go.
Stella tilted her hat down low over her eyes and once again thanked her mother for making her short in a country of the very tall. She squeezed in easily and no one paid her any mind. Not being young and pretty was always useful, if disheartening. Men saw her and looked away, instantly assessing her as not worth their time. She wanted to kick them, but instead worked her way through the crowd until she saw the driver. He had a beer in one hand and a chunk of bread in the other. He guzzled the beer and yelled something about bombs and the goddamn Reich. Stella was behind him to the left. There was the bulge in his pocket. The keys.
“Soup!” yelled a man at the bar and he held up a heavy bowl with a handle.
“Me!” yelled the driver and he went forward, shoving the bread in his mouth.
A distraction. Park-Welles had drilled that into her. Distract and reach. She’d practiced and had gotten pretty good. Good enough to take her skills into Piccadilly to lift wallets. It was quite good fun, especially when she gave the wallets back to their astonished owners. The keys she would not be giving back.
He reached out over the heads of some other patrons and in her hand went. Keys and cash. She took it all. No time to pick and choose. And then she was away and out the door with shouts of “Shut up” and “Turn up the radio” ringing in her ears. She didn’t know what was going on and she didn’t care. She had a car and it had gas. She’d checked out of habit.
Peeling off down the street and getting back to the Burgerweehuis took only a couple of minutes. She jammed on the brakes in front of the astonished children and cranked back on the brake, making a terrible grinding noise before jumping out.
“Come on, Lonia!” She grabbed their suitcases and tossed them in the back of the cab and then Weronika’s children scrambled in after them with big eyes but no questions. The other two had plenty.
“Where did you get it?” the boy asked.
“A friend,” said Stella. “Are you coming?”
“What friend?”
“Do you want to come? I’ll take you.”
“How do you know where to go?” the girl asked.
Stella didn’t, but she thought she could worry about that later. Getting going was the important thing. “We’re going to IJmuiden to the SS Bodegraven.”
“Can you drive?”
“You saw me drive.”
The older children’s faces were a riot of emotion. They wanted to go, but they were afraid. She was a stranger, after all, so she had to play on the one thing that would work. Disappointing Mother.
“If you don’t come with us, you’ll have to go home right now and tell your mother that you missed Tante Truus and then you didn’t go with me,” said Stella, crossing her arms. “My mother wouldn’t be happy with me if I did that and she won’t be happy if I leave you here either.”
“How old is your mother?” the boy asked with a grimace.
Stella threw up her hands. “Does that matter? The Nazis are coming.”
The pair exchanged a look and shuffled their feet. Stella was losing the fight, but she wasn’t going to argue all day. They had to get there before Truus was on the boat or she couldn’t get Lonia and Ezra on.
“All right. It’s your choice,” she said.
Lonia stuck her little hand out the door. “Come on, Wolfgang. Come on, Gisela. Don’t be scared. My mama says Micheline is the best person and she will help us.”
That did it. Testimony from a child and the big ones climbed in the back seat. They were going to IJmuiden with a total stranger. Stella only hoped they wouldn’t regret it.