Page 38 of Winter's End
Mila swallowed. “For the most part, yes. Mother – and I do have a wonderful seamstress.”
“So you do…and in these trying times, the world is need of beauty.’
She leaned toward Mila as Reit filled her wine glass. “So, my dear, when this war is over, do you plan to go back to design school?”
Her father strode in. “Sorry to be late. I had to take a phone call.” He seated himself, signaled for the wine. “Do I hear something about going back to school?”
Mila held a hand over her glass. “None for me, thank you.” She looked at her father. “Possibly – perhaps some advanced classes in fashion design.”
To her vast relief, her mother signaled for dinner to be served before the wine glasses were refilled. “Pity,” she said, “for the universities to be closed just when we need them most.”
As if, Mila thought, they had closed on their own simply to inconvenience the wealthy.
There was a roast of beef with potatoes and broccoli. Mila pushed the food around her plate, glancing at her watch under the table.
As dessert was served, she asked to be excused. “I can still make that bridge game, Father.”
He looked at her for a long moment. “All right then, Mila, go ahead. Take the car, if you wish.”
“I’ll walk, I think, but thank you.”
She said quick good nights, kissed her mother on the cheek, and hurried out of the room.
EVI
Mam’s ear was glued to theRadio Oranjebroadcast, her face inches from the contraband radio that sat on the table between them.
Evi listened with dread. The Germans had broken through the American front in almost the same spot where they had broken through years ago. But this time, apparently, the American troops had been depleted and unprepared, giving the Germans an opportunity to seize key crossroads on their march to the Meuse River.
So fierce and determined was the onslaught, the British commentor said, that some Belgian townspeople were already taking down their Allied flags and displaying swastikas.
Mam began to cry. “How could this happen?” she sobbed. “Only six months ago, after Normandy, we were so certain liberation was near!”
Evi took her hand. “God knows,” she murmured, close to tears herself.
...
When she could listen no more, she picked up her mug of tea, went to her sleeping quarters and sat heavily on her bed. Then she set the mug on her nightstand, pushed open the curtain at the front of her closet,and fingered the silk scarves and taffeta dresses Mila had given her to wear for her rendezvous with German officers.
She recalled every moment of each encounter, the first one that went exactly as planned, the second less so, but successful in the end, even if it had taken an American airman appearing out of nowhere coming to her rescue.
She fumed for a moment. Shewouldlearn to shoot. She might not yet be seventeen, but she had proven herself to be capable under pressure – and picking off Nazis one at a time was not enough in the scheme of things. She wanted to kill dozens – maybe even hundreds, until there was food enough and freedom in the Netherlands.
It was clear from theRadio Oranjebroadcast that the Americans needed help. They needed the French, the British, the Americans, the Dutch, all of them, to step up their efforts in whatever ways they could. How fast could they respond – and would they?
She sat on her bed and sipped the cooling tea. She would try to reach Mila tomorrow – or perhaps she could talk to Zoe Visser, who was near enough to Daan Mulder to plead Evi’s case for learning to shoot.
ZOE
She was halfway to Heemstede, just past the Franz Hals Museum, when she came suddenly upon a makeshift German check point. She felt her heart begin to hammer. Had news of the train wreck spread so quickly?
She was too near, even in the murky darkness, not to have been spotted by the guards. But lieve god,what of the others, carrying all that food?
“Approach and halt!” The guard spoke in rapid German, but there was no mistaking his intent. His rifle was pointed in her direction and her blood froze.
She managed to slow the bicycle to a stop and put both her hands in the air.
A younger guard, who looked barely old enough to shave, joined them. “Papers, bitte.”
