Page 6 of Winter's End
Lotte closed her eyes.
“We do what we can,” Mila paused and turned her attention. “This is your daughter, Evi, yes?”
The girl looked up. “Hallo.”
“How old are you, Evi?
“Sixteen. Seventeen in February.”
Mila glanced at her schoolgirl attire. “Yes, I thought as much.”
The girl followed her gaze, brushed at her schoolgirl skirt. “I dress like this and put my hair in pigtails so that I look younger when I am – running errands,” she said. “I mostly manage to escape the notice of the Germans.”
“Ah, clever.” Mila pondered. “You’re a brave girl, Evi.”
“I try to be.” The girl stood straighter. “I hate the Germans. I wish I could do more for the Resistance.”
Mila nodded. The girl could be perfect for what she had in mind – if Lotte could be persuaded to let her do it.
EVI
It was past three when she hurried down the wharf, the wind pushing at her back, and made her way along the row of dingy houseboats tied up at the pier. Finally, she let herself into the familiar yellow barge, shivering in her grey sweater.
She stood for a minute and listened. It was quiet in the barge, the kind of light quiet, the way it felt to her when there was no one inside but her. It was different from the heavy quiet she felt when there was another human breathing beneath her feet. She guessed that whoever was to be smuggled into the hold had not yet been delivered.
What if the day came when a pair of SS men blustered in…would they detect the heavy quiet of someone living and breathing beneath their feet?
The thought sent ice chips down her spine.
She changed her grey sweater for a warmer blue one and pulled on heavy stockings beneath her plaid wool skirt. She ran a brush through her fine blonde hair, then stood before the mirror and braided it into two long plaits, which she tied with ribbons.
She looked at her image and made a face at herself. The braids, along with her small frame and pale complexion made her look more like twelve than her nearly seventeen years. She loathed that, almost as much as mourned the barely swelled chest under her sweater. She wished she could trade it for Sophie’s ample bosom…
On the other hand, as Mam was quick to point out, her petite frame was a virtue – a blessing when she bicycled across the city with sensitive materials stowed in her battered book bag.
Buttoning a jacket over her sweater, she took a last, forlorn look at herself. Then she searched under the sink, where Mam sometimes left paperwork for Evi to transport. She found an envelope with her name on it, stashed it between the books and drawings in her bag, hefted the bag over her shoulders and swung herself up out of the barge.
She unlocked the shed, retrieved her bicycle, and pedaled off toward the Dans Hal.
ZOE
“Ah, you’re back,” Lise called from the reception desk. “Dr. Mulder has not yet returned, and a patient is already waiting.”
Zoe glanced at her watch. It was not yet one, but a young boy and his mother sat at one end of the waiting area, a freckle-faced springer spaniel pup draped across their laps.
“Hello there,” she smiled. “I am Dr. Visser. “And who is this?”
“This is Bella,” the boy volunteered. “Back for her four-month shots.”
“Ah, yes,” Zoe said. “I thought she looked familiar.” She beckoned them into the first examining room. “And how has Bella been behaving?”
“She iswonderbaar– very good,” the boy put the pup down, holding her leash in one hand, and looked up at his mother. “Right, Mam?”
“Mostly,” his mother agreed. “She has got the hang of housebreaking pretty well,lieve god,but she is chewing on just about everything.”
Zoe grinned. “Normal for the age. Keep your shoes and house slippers out of her reach for a while, and be sure she has something of her own to chew on – a toy, or an old sock – while she is still teething.”
She lifted the Spaniel pup to the table, ruffling her black and white coat. She felt the pup shiver, and ran a soothing hand down her back. “You will be fine, Bella, I promise,” she assured her canine patient. “This will all be over sooner than you think.”
