Page 24 of Winter's End
Zoe allowed herself to feel excited on the short bus ride home. Moving numbers of people into the hospital unnoticed would present its own challenge. But the prospect of protecting all those families and children would make it more than worth the risk.
She thought of the two Jewish orphans Lotte Strobel was reluctant to harbor because they could not be left alone in the hold of the barge. At the hospital, there would be daylight and space to move around, and plenty of people to look after all the children.
She burst into Daan’s office at thekliniekwithout bothering to knock.
He was bent over a ledger, pen in hand.
“Daan, you will never guess what happened.” She closed the door behind her, took a seat in front of him. “I have truly wonderful news.”
She told him of Gerrit’s agreement to mask off a floor of the hospital in Heemstede, to hide as many families as they could manage.
Daan pounded a fist on his desk. “Brilliant, Zoe, I do not know how you made this happen, but may God bless you – and your cousin! There is already panic, especially among the hiding families who have only days to evacuate.”
He reached for the telephone. “I will let Pieter know at once. How soon can we begin the transfers?”
Zoe thought. Increasingly, the Germans were withholding food to keep the Dutch in line. Even with rations, most of the country relied mostly on bread and root vegetables – boiling potato peels for soup to fill their bellies.
“There is an issue, Daan,” she said. “I promised Gerrit we would find a way to provide food.”
Daan did not appear to be deterred.
“Not all the news is bad, Zoe. One or two of our civic-minded public servants are embezzling the occasional batch of ration cards. It is a risk, but you can tell your cousin not to fear. We will keep them supplied with food.”
MILA
For Mila, it was a fait accompli. Evi had been brilliant, all had gone as planned, and a Nazi pig was in a shallow grave, his uniform and papers commandeered to help save innocent lives.
She was less sure when – or whether – Evi might agree to a repeat performance. The girl had been quiet on the way home, understandably anxious, and Mila had not pushed, only praised her for being so brave, and allowing her to gather her thoughts.
Tomorrow, she would pay another visit to the barge. Today, she had other things to do.
She brushed her hair, let it fall into place, caught up one side with a gold barrette. Strange as it seemed, in the year she had been repeating German dinner talks to Pieter from the privacy of her bedroom, she had never met him face to face. She expected he had a very good reason for wanting to meet with her now.
In the kitchen, she refused to eat the sausages her father’s Nazi guests had brought, instead making do with a chunk of bread and a cup of tea.
“You are wasting away, Mila,” Reit admonished.
“As are we all,” Mila said. “Tell Mother I will be home in time for dinner – and if there is more food than you need for the table tonight,Reit, please take some to the Dans Hal, where it will help feed those who need it more than we do.”
Riet would grumble, but she would comply, Mila knew, and it gave her no end of pleasure to know that the Nazis who came to her father’s table were inadvertently feeding the people for whom they held such contempt.
...
The address Pieter had given her was in a shabby, red brick building set between a barber shop and a shuttered camera store. Mila picked her way around a bombed-out crater in the cobblestoned street and crossed the road. The sign on the glass door read,Van der Gruden Plumbing Supply. Mila knocked gingerly and walked in.
The man sitting at the only desk in the room was blond and clean-shaven with the greenest eyes she had ever seen. He rose from the desk to greet her, and something in his smile caught at her heart.
“Mila,ja? Please, come in!”
Shaken, she worked to find her voice. “Pieter?Ja, hallo. It is good to finally see your face.”
What astupid thing to say,”she told herself.‘Good to see your face!’
But he did have a remarkable face, strong, compelling, intelligent. And how could he not be all these things, four years at the head of the Resistance movement in one of the largest cities in the Netherlands?
Pieter only smiled again, indicated a chair facing his desk, and waited for her to sit before he did. “It’s good to meet you, too, Mila,” he said in the resonant voice she knew. “And to thank you in person on behalf of the Council. Your contributions have been invaluable.”
She took a moment to match her tone to his. “Thank you, Pieter, but hardly necessary.”
