Page 22 of Winter's End
He saved her the trouble. “UntersturmführerHans Vogelmann, fraulein. May I sit with you?”
Again, Evi shyly inclined her head. “Ya, bitte,” she said, pleased to toss off one of the dozen German phrases Mila had drummed into her.
The brute smiled, slipped onto the stool next to her, and placed his cap on the bar. His face was flushed, and she was startled to see sweat beading on his broad brow in spite of the cold in the tavern.
Steeling herself, Evi played out every nuance of the script Mila had prepared for her. She told her sad story, flirted outrageously, pretended to sip from her stein of beer. By the time the SS underling ordered his fifth beer, and another for the beautifulfraulein, he was half-sitting in her lap.
“Untersturmführer,”she murmured, taking his big hand in hers. “I think that perhaps you like me a bit,ja, and I like you, too. Perhaps you would like to walk with me to my lonely little house just near here?”
Leaning in, he planted a sloppy wet kiss on her cheek, tossed some guilders on the bar as he slipped off the stool, steadied himself, and clapped his cap on his head. “Ya, beautifulfraulein.It would be my pleasure.”
Evi’s heart hammered, but she hung onto the German’s arm as he crashed through the tavern’s back door, clearly so drunk that he had trouble navigating on his own. With his arm heavy across the back of her neck, she struggled to remain upright, but she murmured softly into his ear as she led him toward the dark of the woods.
When they arrived at the clearing Evi had been shown, she moved to untangle herself from his grasp. The big man stumbled and fell, and tried to right himself, but it did not matter because the moment Evi was clear of him, she heard the pop of a pistol.
The German lay sprawled on the leaf-strewn groundcover, eerily still, silent. Evi was horrified, fixed on his body, hypnotized as blood pooled under his head.
Before she could respond, big hands reached out to grab her, and Mila appeared at her side.
“Good girl, Evi,” Mila whispered, holding her close. “You are good?
Evi nodded stiffly in the darkness, looking into Mila’s face.
“Good” Mila smiled. “You did well, Evi. You are a very brave girl. Come. We will take you home at once.”
PART TWO
HAARLEM, THE NETHERLANDS
DECEMBER, 1944
ZOE
November slipped soundlessly into December, the days short, the nights pierced with pangs of hunger and the sounds of Luftwaffe air raids. In the midst of a sleepless night, Zoe began to wonder how many innocent Dutch had been already sacrificed to Hitler’s war – how many brave men lay, maimed, in hospital on this very night.
The idle thought made her sit up in bed, suddenly inspired and counting the hours until first light.
Telephone service was at the whim of the Germans, but she was able to reach Daan at home that morning, telling him only that she would not be at thekliniekuntil noon.
She debated trying to call her cousin in Heemstede, but decided that an in-person visit was safer and more practical for her purpose. She was dressed, her face and tawny curls half obscured by a woolen scarf, and out the door before eight.
She could easily walk the few kilometers from Haarlem to Heemstede, she thought – another reason why her plan could work. But the commuter bus was still running. It would save her some time, andthere was less chance she would find herself walking into a Nazi roadblock.
She sat sipping ersatz coffee in the depot until she could board the bus. There were Germans everywhere, imposing, watchful, even on this daily commuter run. Zoe shivered, that pistol in her face forever etched into memory, then boarded the bus, withdrew into her scarf, and passed the time with her eyes closed, a worn paperback novel in her lap.
There were two short stops, passengers out, passengers in, nothing out of the ordinary. Zoe was one of the first to get off the bus when the Heemstede stop was called.
...
It was an old hospital, brown-bricked, five stories tall, overlooking a post office and a shuttered glass factory. Zoe went to the front desk and asked for Dr. Gerrit Visser. To her vast relief, she was summoned almost immediately to his office on the second floor.
An airbrush of cheeks, a quick hug. “Zoe! What a surprise! You are well?”
Gerrit, like everyone, had lost some weight, and his posture was slightly bent. His hairline, like his father’s, was receding early, making him look older than his years. But his brown eyes were as warm as ever, his short beard neatly trimmed.
“I am well, cousin, yes, dank u!,”
He settled her in a chair across from his desk and took a seat behind it.
