Page 27 of Winter's End
Mam greeted Mila warily, watching from her chair, where she sat unraveling an old afghan blanket for yarn that could be repurposed.
“You have a strong and clever daughter, Lotte,” Mila sat. “You should be proud.”
She turned to Evi. “I am proud, Evi. You preformed a great service in a time when we all must fight just to survive.”
Evi sat next to her, on the edge of her seat. “If you are here to ask me to do it again, Mila, the answer is yes. I will.”
“Evi, are you certain –” Mam leaned forward.
“I am as certain as you are, Mam, that taking the barge to Den Helder for tulip bulbs is worth the risk you will be taking.”
ZOE
Radio Oranjewas calling it theHongerWinter– the winter of hunger – and justly so, with the Germans consistently shrinking rations, and starvation threatening all but the most self-reliant.
The worst of it, Zoe thought, as she turned off the broadcast and hid the radio behind a stack of linens in the closet, was that many Dutch farmers were more than willing to share what little they could grow in the cold – but even moving the food from the countryside to the city was difficult under German watch because the bounty was often commandeered.
Since Gerrit had come through with his promise to house the displaced Haarlem families, Zoe and a cadre of Resistance volunteers had somehow managed to move people, never more than a few at a time, into the hospital in Heemstede.
Today, if all went well, Zoe would transport several more, as always walking a circuitous route to avoid German scrutiny.
Because the SS and the Gestapo frequently shifted checkpoints to take the unsuspecting by surprise, Zoe planned to walk the route once by herself before moving anyone else. Even if she needed to recalculate, she thought, she should be at the petkliniekby noon.
...
There were two men, three women and two children under the age of five in the designated area of the park, huddled in heavy coats andscarves. Among them stood a uniformed Royal Dutch policeman. Zoe sucked in her breath as he approached.
“MevroewVisser,” he said quietly. “My name is Lukas Jenssen. I have been sent to assist you in this transport.”
He looked young to be wearing the uniform. “Who sent you here?”
“The thane of Cawdor.”
She hesitated. They were the right code words, stolen from Shakespeare’s Macbeth. But she needed to be certain. “And why should I trust you?”
“Because these people trust me. Because the Resistance Council knows that a Dutch police escort will lessen the chance of German interference.”
Zoe relaxed. Amareschaussee…
A kerchiefed woman whose Persian cat Zoe had treated more than once rose from a nearby bench.
“Else Jenssen, Zoe,” the woman laid a hand on the young man’s shoulder. “Lukas is my son. We are proud of him.”
“As you should be,” Zoe stepped away. “Let us not tarry, then. I will leave it to you, Lukas, to get these people safely to the hospital.”
...
She stopped briefly at her favored café, where she ate a quick lunch of boiled potatoes and came away with a Dutch driver’s license and a French passport liberated from a couple of winter coat pockets.
Daan was waiting when she arrived at thekliniek. “A moment in my office, Zoe.”
“Apologies for sending Lukas to your meeting spot unannounced,” he said when they were seated. “Pieter tried to telephone you earlier, but the call did not go through.”
She dropped the stolen driving license and passport on his desk. “I am always fearful of German roadblocks. But thanks be to God, nearly all our refugees have been transported.”
Daan examined the purloined ID’s. “Bedankt,Zoe. Two more lives perhaps saved.”
In the quiet that followed, Zoe realized what was missing – the low thrum of barks and animal sounds that had once always emanated from the kennels. These days, with food and guilders short, overnight stays for doctoring their animals was out of the question for most.
