Of Windmills and War (12 page)

16

“Yes?”
Anya said. “Go on, Bram. There are people?”

The
farmer took his seat again. Resting his elbows on the table, he leaned in
toward her, lowering his voice. “There are people who are organizing.”

She
pushed her chair closer, leaning in as far as she could. “I’m listening.”

“They’re
coming together, people just like you, wanting to help those in grave danger in
our country. They have begun an effort to mobilize individuals like you, like
Wim and Ella and myself—people who are tired of the injustices against their
Jewish countrymen.”

Wim
spoke as quietly as his father. “Anya, it’s very dangerous. The things they do
could get all of them—all of
u
s killed. Are you sure this is something
you want to do?”

She
swallowed hard. “Yes. I want to be a part of this group that is organizing.
Tell me what I must do.”

“First,
you must understand you can tell no one of your involvement,” Bram began. “And
I mean no one. A slip of the tongue could cost any one of us our lives. I would
never ask you to keep something from your parents, but I’m afraid I must. It’s
as much for their safety as yours. The less they know, the better.”

She
looked down at her tea cup resting on its saucer. Could she be a part of this
without telling her father? He seemed to know her so well—how she thought, how
she acted. Would he see through her? Still, she knew what she must do.

“Yes,
I’ll do it. I may have to be creative in explaining my absences to Father, but
I can do it. I must do it.”

“Good,”
Bram said, folding his arms. “Your help will be greatly appreciated.”

“What
can I do?”

“At
this point, much of our work is primarily that of communication. When so many
of our people handed over their radios to the Germans, they cut themselves off
from the truth. The German newspapers are filled with lies and propaganda. We
must get the truth to our people. Every night at the
8:00
broadcast on the BBC, we have people who take down the information in
shorthand. They transcribe their notes, then others print the news which is
then carefully, so very carefully distributed.

“As we
inform our people by spreading the news, we shall grow stronger in numbers. But
I warn you again—not everyone wants the truth. Some have already fallen for the
lies.”

“Only
yesterday, I delivered milk to some homes just inside the city,” Wim said. “When
the woman at the first home opened her door, I was shocked to see a huge
picture of Hitler on the wall behind her.”

“A
Dutch woman?” Anya cried. “How can she be so stupid?!”

“That
is between her and God,” Bram said. “But Wim learned quickly how to shield his
feelings. Didn’t you, son?”

“I
forced myself to act like I hadn’t seen it. I went about my business. But I
realized what my father has said is true. We can trust no one.”

“Ja, and
we must work faster, husband,” Ella said then turned to Anya. “Today we heard
such horrible news. It seems the Germans have already started rounding up the
Jews. The curfews they have set are merely a way to try to hide their dirty
work. These
razzias
are nothing more than mass kidnappings under
darkness. Entire families rounded up and put on trains,” she said, shaking her
head.

“Many
are taken to labor camps where they are forced to build ammunition. Imagine,
being forced to build the very weapons used to annihilate
your own people! And these are the most deadly
locations because these factories are prime targets for our Allies. It’s an
impossible situation. We must stop as many of these transports as we can.”

Anya
noticed Wim nervously tapping his spoon on the table. He continued where his
mother left off. “The Jews are frightened and with good reason. Many of those
who came here to escape the persecution in
Germany
are
refusing to surrender. They receive notices, ordering them to show up at a
certain time and place. They are allowed only one suitcase. Some are told to
show up at the train station for immediate transport to
Poland
.”

“Surely
they do not show up as instructed? Surely they know not to—”

“Many
of them are confused. They think it’s just a temporary situation. They think
the war will be over in a few months and they can return to their homes. And
some actually believe the lies in the German papers telling them this is for the
Jews’ own protection—‘from the barbaric Dutch people who despise them.’ Lies,
all of it. Still, some are naïve and do as they’re told. But not all. The ones
who came here from
Germany
know all too well what the
Nazis are capable of. They give up. We heard that more than 300 of them
committed suicide rather than surrender to the Germans.”

“I
cannot believe this is happening,” Anya cried, shaking her fists.

“The others,”
Wim continued, “the other Jews ordered to show up are taken to certain Jew-only
neighborhoods which the Germans are calling ‘ghettos’. They tell us it is
because the Jews are all infected with terrible diseases. But we are not
fooled. To keep them all together makes it easier for the Germans to rule over
them or deport them.”

Anya
raised her hand. “Wait a minute. Back up. Why are they transporting the Jews to
Poland
? Why
would they move them out of the country?”

“Not
all of them are taken out of the country,” Bram answered. “Some are taken to
labor camps not so far away—just down the road at
Amersfoort
or on
the coast at Scheveningen. But the things we are hearing about these camps,
especially the ones in
Poland
 . . .” Bram
closed his eyes, shaking his head. “It is urgent that we keep as many as we can
from getting on those trains.”

“How?” Anya
asked, her voice thick with emotion. “How do we do that?”

Bram
folded his hands, his index fingers pointing at her. “Anya, we have to hide as
many of them as we can. We have to transport them away from our cities and
villages. But unlike the Germans, we can’t just round up large groups of them.
No, we must take them a few at a time. A couple here, a child
there . . . nothing so as to attract attention or arouse suspicion.”

Anya
sat up straighter, her resolve growing. “Let me help. Show me how. Teach me. I
have to help my friend Lieke and her family as soon as possible. I must help
them—take them far from here! How soon can I do this?”

Bram
looked at his wife, then his son, then back to Anya as a broad smile widened on
his weathered face. “Anya, I’m glad you asked.”

17

Anya
still couldn’t understand God’s silence in the Occupation of her country, but
she thanked Him anyway for protecting her ride home that evening. How else
could she have traveled that distance after curfew without encountering a
single German? As she tiptoed into the house she asked God for a second favor—to
be able to sneak in without disturbing her father.

“Anya!”

She cringed,
recognizing the aggravated tone in her father’s voice. “Yes, Father?”

“Where
have you been? I’ve been out of my mind with worry!” By the time the sentence
was out of his mouth, his hands were clamped tightly on her shoulders.

“I’m
sorry, Father! I should have—”

His
hands gripped tighter. “You should never have left without asking me!”

“
I know
, but I—”

“Anya,
what if something had happened to you? What if the Germans had taken you away
from me?! What if—”

“But
they didn’t! I’m here! I’m home, Father! I’m so sorry!”

He held
her at arm’s length, his face wild with anger. Then, in a split second he
crumbled, gathering her into his arms. “Oh my little Anya! I was so frightened.
I thought I’d lost you!” He wept quietly as she hugged him back. “I thought I’d
lost you.”

Anya
bit back her own tears, still vowing to keep her resolve even as her eyes
burned. “I’m sorry, Father,” she whispered. “I should have told you.”

Finally,
he pulled back to look her in the eye, struggling to find his voice. “Helga
told me you went to the Boormans. How could you disobey me? You knew I would
worry, but more than that, you disobeyed me. How could you?”

She
pulled out of his grasp, avoiding his penetrating stare. “It was wrong. I know
it was wrong. But I . . . I had to go, Father. I was so upset.”

“Why?
Why were you so upset?”

She
turned back to face him. “Because I cannot continue living my life as if
nothing’s changed!
Everything
has changed! We’re at war. Our friends,
our neighbors . . . they’re not just hiding behind closed doors.
The Germans are rounding them up like so many cattle to be slaughtered! I
cannot turn a blind eye to them anymore!”

Her
father wiped his face with a handkerchief, letting out a long sigh. “Anya,
sit.”

“What?
I don’t want to sit.”

“Sit!
Do as I say.” He motioned toward the kitchen table.

She
dreaded the lecture, but knew she deserved it. She slowly took a seat as her
father sat across from her. She kept her head bowed, unable to face him. His
fingers tapped slowly on the table. She waited.

“I am
not blind, Anya. I know what is going on around us. Today I met with other
ministers in our city. We talked. For many hours we talked. The things I heard,
well, it all made me sick.”

Anya
looked up. “What?”

“The
atrocities against our Jewish friends and neighbors—unspeakable.”

Had he
heard the same things the Boormans had told her today?

“All
afternoon, one after another—such horrors against them, I cannot tell you. Then
I come home only to find you gone? Dear Helga tried so hard to cover for you
until I told her what those Nazi animals are capable of. She burst into tears,
begging my forgiveness as she ran from the house. I could not leave your
mother, and so I paced. And with each step I imagined another despicable act
forced upon you by German monsters.”

Anya
looked away again, sickened that she’d caused her father so much pain. “I’m
sorry. I’m so sorry, Father.”

He blew
his nose into his handkerchief.

“It was
wrong of me to burden Helga like that. I will apologize to her.”

“It’s
not just Helga. It’s not even me, Anya. It’s the danger you put yourself in!
You said it yourself—everything has changed. We are at war. And we are
smothered by these godless Germans who make a sport of torturing anyone in
their way, Jew or non-Jew. When I told you not to leave the house except to go
to school, it was for your own protection.”

“I
know.”

“Then
what am I to do with a sixteen-year-old daughter who disobeys me? How can I
make her—make
you
understand the risk of wandering about alone when evil
lurks all around us?”

“That’s
precisely why I had to go to the Boormans!”

“Why?
What could possibly be so important, you would risk your life to go there?”

His
question hung between them. What could she tell him? Hadn’t Bram warned her to
keep her mouth shut, even to her father?

“Well?”

She dug
deep inside for the courage to say what must be said. Bram was wrong. She could
not take part in this movement behind her father’s back. She would not.
Lowering her voice in case their guests might be listening, she began. “I went
to ask for their help, Father. I’ve decided I’m not going back to school—”

“That’s
ridiculous. Of course you’ll go back to school. I won’t allow you to quit.”

She
clenched her teeth. “No, I will not. I cannot waste another moment when lives
are at stake.”

For a
fleeting second, her father narrowed his eyes. Then just as fast, he blinked.
“Go on.”

Go on?
She
tried to read his expression but couldn’t. “I cannot sit in a class half-empty
because all the Jews are gone. I cannot sit by and watch Lieke and her family
dragged off to some death camp in
Poland
! I
have to save them, Father. Don’t you see?” He said nothing so she continued.
“The Boormans are like family to me now. I trust them. They too have guests,
many more than we do. So I knew they would understand the urgency I feel in my
veins. This calling in my heart to
do
something!”

“And
what is this you think you can do?”

“I had
no idea until I spoke to Bram and Ella and Wim.” She paused, still hesitant.
Her father tilted his head just so, the way he always did when he listened with
his heart. It was one of the things she loved about him. “They told me of many
others.”

“Others?”

“People
like me, like the Boormans, who are desperate to do what we can to help the
Jews.”

Again,
something flickered in her father’s eyes along with the slightest hint of a smile.
“And that would be?”

“To
hide them. As many as we can. And not just in
our
homes, but everywhere—to
shuffle them here and there, put them in safe houses away from the hideous
shadow of the swastika.”

He sat
back, folding his arms over his chest. “Anya, Anya. When did you grow up on me?
Eh? One moment you were this little girl, covered in dirt, your wooden clogs always
covered in mud, your braids flying in the wind as you climbed the wings of our
windmill . . . and suddenly, the next moment I look across the
table and see this beautiful young woman whose heart beats for her country, her
friends. Such a remarkable change. But one, it seems, I had not noticed. How
did this happen?”

“It
happened when we lost Hans.” She searched for the right words. “Nothing was
ever the same after he died. Not me, not you, not Mother. We all changed. Then
the Germans began to breathe down our necks. They stormed our borders and fell
from the sky, destroying everything in their way. I believe they stole our
innocence as well.”

“I’m
afraid you’re right.”

She
reached for his hand. “So you understand? You accept my decision?”

 He
took a deep breath. “Yes and no. Yes, I understand why you’re so passionate.
But no, I’m not sure how wise it is for one so young to walk such a dangerous
tightrope.”

“But
you just said—”

“I
know, I know.”

“Father,
may I ask you a question?”

“Of
course.”

“This
meeting of ministers you attended today. Is it possible some of these men of
God are also organizing to help our friends? Could you and I both be stepping
into the same organization?”

He
gazed at his hand over hers for a moment, then raised his eyes to meet hers.
“It seems your mother and I raised a very smart girl.” He winked. “A very smart
girl, indeed.”