Of Windmills and War (15 page)

Anya
felt her face heating.

“There
are no Jews here, Colonel,” Wim said with authority, moving to stand beside
Anya’s father. “Reverend Versteeg is a man of God. To ask him such a thing is
to question his integrity as a minister and a leader of our town. You owe him
an apology.”

Anya
took a breath, thankful for Wim’s quick thinking. She suddenly stood up,
shoving her chair back. “I agree with Wim. You owe my father an apology, as
well as my mother. To come into our home at this hour, and to question my
mother when she’s obviously so ill, then insult my father with your accusatory questions?
Enough. I shall ask you to leave at once.”

Von
Kilmer tapped his fingers twice, fixing a polite smile on his face as he slowly
stood. “Very well.” He nodded at Anya’s mother and father. “I trust you will
accept my apologies. I meant no harm.” He took great care putting his hat back
on his head. “We shall leave now.” He turned, then stopped. “However, as many
of our questions have not been adequately answered, I should warn you that we
will return for another chat. Perhaps then your wife will be feeling better and
more inclined to put our concerns to rest.”

Anya,
Wim, and her father remained silent.

“Very
well, then.” He turned, starting down the hall. “It was a pleasure to meet you.
We shall see ourselves out now. Guten Nacht.”

Wim
followed them down the hall then closed the door after them. As he stepped back
into the kitchen, Anya’s mother rose to her feet and cried out, “Hans! There
you are! You’ve come home!”

“Mother!”
Anya snapped again. “This is not Hans! This is Wim. Hans is DEAD! When are you
going to get that through your head?”

Her
father grabbed her arm. “Anya! You will not speak to your mother in that tone!”

“Hans
is . . . dead?” Her mother fell back into her chair. “My Hans?”

Reverend
Versteeg immediately helped his wife to her feet. “Trüi, let’s get you back to
bed. We’ve had enough excitement for one night.”

As they
made their way down the hall, Anya heard her mother’s whimpers. “My baby? My
dear Hans?”

“Wim, what
will we do? Von Kilmer and his men will be back. They know. They’ll be watching
our every move. They’ll tear this house apart looking for Lieke and Inge. What
will we do?”

He
gathered her into his arms, holding her tight. “We will find a way, Anya.”

She
relaxed in his embrace but fought the sting threatening her eyes. Wim rubbed
her back trying to calm her. When she looked up, he kissed her forehead.

“Shhhh.
God will make a way for us, Anya. We must trust Him.”

“I’m so
scared, Wim. I’m just so scared.”

“I know
you are. And God knows too. He knows all our fears. He will make a way. We will
trust Him.” He rested his chin on her head. “We will trust Him. We
must
trust Him. There’s nothing else we can do.”

Just two
days later, word spread quickly of an uprising in the
Utrecht
ghetto. Anya and her father nervously peeked out the front window, watching
wave after wave of German soldiers rush by in trucks, on motorcycles, and even
on foot. Anya couldn’t imagine how the poor Jewish residents could fight off
such a force. She wanted to pray for their safety but lately, it felt as if God
wasn’t hearing her prayers.

Suddenly
her father jumped up. “Anya! This is it!” He quickly grabbed her hand. “This is
our chance to move our guests! Hurry! We haven’t a moment to lose!”

In less
than ten minutes, Reverend Versteeg and his daughter had sent word to their
Resistance contacts, asking for immediate help to move Lieke, her sister Inge,
and the Wolff family. By the time they’d gathered their belongings, a
horse-drawn carriage driven by Helga’s husband Lars arrived at the back
entrance of the church.

“I
cannot thank you enough,” the reverend said to their good friend.

“It is
my honor,” Lars answered as he covered his passengers with a tarp. “Now, you 
must remain silent. Not a word until we get to the Boormans’ farm. Then you
must do exactly as I tell you.”

“Father,
I’m going too,” Anya announced, hopping onto the cart. “I’ll ride back with Lars
once everyone is settled.”

“All
right, but be careful. And hurry home. We have no idea how long the Germans
will stay preoccupied with the uprising.”

“Yes,
Father. I’ll be home as soon as possible.”

As the
cart began to move pulled by Lars’ horse, Anya heard her father call her name.
She peeked from beneath the tarp. “Yes, Father?”

“You
see? He did it! God has answered our prayers. He has made a way for us!"

22

January
1941

As the
Jewish residents of
Utrecht
scattered into homes and
farmhouses across
Holland
, tucked safely away from the
Germans, their non-Jewish friends and neighbors tried to make the best of life
under German Occupation. Like so many others involved with the Dutch
Resistance, Anya and her father grew strangely accustomed to leading double
lives. Reverend Versteeg kept up appearances going about his daily routine
while his daughter tried to do the same. She no longer attended school, instead
playing the charade of the Reverend’s assistant, helping her father manage the
affairs of the church while acting as parsonage hostess in her mother’s
absence. Most of the church members marveled at the change in her, admiring the
maturing young lady, no longer the Versteeg’s “problem child.”

“Never
thought I’d see the day,” she heard them gossip. “That wild child has become
such a beautiful young lady, don’t you think?”

“Can
you believe she has such lovely hair? It was always such a rat’s nest before!”

“It’s
about time. Look how lean and poised she is. Why, even with those freckles,
she’s quite striking, don’t you think?”

Anya
heard their comments and noticed their stares, but chose to ignore them all.
She’d made a conscious effort to work on her appearance, better able to play
the role she’d taken. She’d even learned to walk with an air of grace when she
had to, especially whenever she encountered German soldiers. For such
occasions, she’d quickly learned how to play another role—that of a daft young
Dutch woman.

“Guten Morgen,
Fräulein,” they’d say with their wide smiles.

“Ah,”
she’d answer, giggling as if she hadn’t a thought in her head. Then speaking
Dutch in her most flirtatious tone she’d say, “I would never speak your filthy
language, you pathetic maggots!”

Oblivious
to her meaning, they’d laugh as she laughed, circling her like bees to the
hive. “Sprechen Sie Deutsch, Fräulein?”

Laughing
even harder, she’d respond, “How hilarious you are, you disgusting, good for
nothing swine! As if I would lower myself to speak your horrible language!”
While they joined in laughing, she’d break through their midst and go along her
merry way, sometimes turning back to give them a dainty wave while cursing them
under her breath.

Anya
had learned to play the game and play it well.

But she
also learned to play other roles. Throughout the summer and fall of 1940, Wim
and Anya helped transport many more families—
onderduikers—
or
“underwater” which was code for hidden Jews and other Dutch who needed to be
safely hidden away. Each time taking a different route, they constantly used
different strategies to avoid detection by the ever-present German soldiers. Sometimes,
these charades fell into place seamlessly; others made for close calls as
they’d narrowly make their “deliveries” as planned.

As the
Resistance grew stronger, Anya learned more about the various arms of the vast underground
movement. While some worked feverishly to produce falsified IDs and papers,
others ran illegal printing presses to provide publications and bogus food
stamps. Eventually, the Allies began dropping paratroopers into
Holland
for
the specific purpose of coding and decoding messages to and from
England
. These
messages were then sent by couriers to other members of the Resistance
throughout The Netherlands keeping them informed of the latest war news.
Likewise, they’d report developments back to Queen Wilhelmina and her
administration still governing from
London
.

Others
handled the finances, vital to keep the Resistance movement in motion. The
National Relief Organization, made up of brilliant financiers, kept the flow of
money moving as needed to each arm of the Resistance, all the while staying in
close touch with their counterparts in
London
.

Still
others handled the sabotage necessary to cover the movement’s tracks and do the
dirty work as required. These men and women functioned under the radar, blowing
up bridges and buildings when required, freeing political prisoners whenever
possible, and killing as many Germans as necessary along the way.

No task
was too small. Even young boys and girls did their part, setting up intricate
schemes to steal bicycles, a mainstay for transportation in
Holland
. When
tires became scarce, they’d scrounge up wooden wheels to keep the bicycles
moving.

Back at
home, Anya’s father maintained his role pastoring over his membership while
using the parsonage to help the cause in any way he could. Like everyone else
in his beloved country, he learned to trust no one.
Through the church
grapevine he and Anya learned that members like the van Oostras had
not-so-secretely partnered with the Germans, keeping them informed of friends
and neighbors who assisted the Jews. While the van Oostras and others grew
wealthier with each tip provided to the Germans, those arrested were often shot
or sent to one of the many concentration camps springing up throughout the
country.

Such
news grieved Anya and her father, but it also fueled their commitment to the cause.
Time after time, Anya’s father reminded her that God alone would have to deal
with traitors like the van Oostras, but it took every ounce of resolve for her
to be civil to them when their paths crossed.

In the
elaborate system of transporting Jews here and there, Anya insisted that Lieke
and her sister Inge must remain at the Boormans’ farm. Ella Boorman had grown
to love Lieke and her young sister, treating them like family. Lieke never
stopped hoping to find out about her parents and siblings, but with Ella’s
help, she’d learned to take life one day at a time.

As the
months passed, more and more of Anya’s charges were young children. As the
Germans rounded up all the Jews and forced them to live in ghettos, Jewish mothers
and fathers looked desperately for ways to find a safe haven for their
children. The Resistance provided passage for these little ones, though they
were often moved constantly to avoid suspicion. Even with her self-imposed vow not
to cry, Anya couldn’t help the tears which moistened her eyes every time a
mother or father placed their child in her care. As much as she wanted to help,
she despised those heart-wrenching moments when anguished mothers or fathers
had to walk away from their screaming, confused children. Instead of caving in
to the constant grief, she funneled her emotions into ever-increasing hate
toward the evil Occupiers.

On a frigid,
blustery day near the end of January, she and Wim were accompanying a young five-year-old
girl and her three-year-old brother to the train station in
Amsterdam
. From
there, they would travel north to a village near
Leeuwarden
in the
province
of
Friesland
. Just
outside of
Amsterdam
, the dairy truck they were riding in broke
down.

Their
driver, a fellow member of the Resistance named Dirk, rolled the truck to the
side of the road where it sputtered to a stop.

He
pulled an unlit pipe from his mouth. “Sorry, folks. I had a feeling we’d run
out of gas. Hard to come by these days. I’m afraid you’ll have to walk the rest
of the way.”

“How
much farther is it?” Anya asked, already chilled to the bone.

“About four
more kilometers. I’m terribly sorry.”

Wim checked
his pocket watch then opened the passenger door of the truck’s cab. He stepped
out, juggling the sleeping girl in his arms. “We still have time to make it.
Thank you for bringing us this far, Dirk. Come, Anya.” He helped her lift the
young boy out of the truck. “We’ll have to walk fast. If we miss the train
we’ll have to wait til tomorrow. The longer we stay in the station, the more
likely we’ll arouse suspicion.”

“Thank
goodness the doctor supplied us with sedatives for the children,” Anya said.
“Better they sleep through all this. I just hope this cold wind doesn’t wake
them.” She covered the little boy’s head with her knitted scarf as she plodded
along beside Wim.

Half an
hour later, Wim adjusted little Liesbeth onto his other shoulder. “Anya, hurry.
We haven’t much time.”

“I’m walking
as fast as I can, Wim. I can’t feel my feet anymore.”

He
stopped, waiting for her to catch up. “Here, let me take Henri.”

“You
can’t carry them both. Don’t be silly.” She picked up her pace. When she
matched his stride, she made a face at him.

He
laughed and reached over, draping his arm over her shoulder. “After we tuck
these little ones safely away in their new home, I think you need to take a
break.”

“I
can’t. There’s too much to be done.”

“You
haven’t had a break in months, Anya.”

“Neither
have you, so why should I?”

“Because
fatigue can be deadly. You know that as well as I do. These little ones are
precious cargo, and they deserve the best we can give them. When you’re tired,
you can’t possibly function at—”

“I was
thinking of Hans just now.”

He
exhaled, his breath a brief puff of air whipped away by the wind. “What?”

“Hans believed
a person could do extraordinary things by simply pushing through disappointment
or fear or fatigue.”

“Well,
that’s true, I suppose, but—”

“I still
miss him so much.”

He was
silent for a moment.

“I wish
you could have known him.”

“But I
did. We met a few times.”

“No, I
mean I wish you could have known him. Like I knew him.”

He
gently squeezed her shoulder before shifting Liesbeth to his other side. “I do
too. I think we might have been good friends.”

She
smiled up at him. “You do?”

“Of
course. Now hurry. We’re almost there.”

Moments
later as they rushed into the old train station, Anya heard someone call her
name.

Wim
closed in, stepping just behind her. “Don’t look back. Ignore it and keep
walking.”

They’d
been trained for situations like this, warned to maintain their falsified
identities under all circumstances. A blown cover could land them in a cold
dark cell. Or worse.

“Anya
Versteeg!”

Anya’s
heart pounded as she tried to keep up with Wim. “What do I do?” she whispered.
“It’s obviously someone who knows me!”

“We’re
almost there. You are not Anya Versteeg. You are Hannie Hendriks.”

Someone
pulled at her elbow. “Anya! I thought that was you!”

She
stopped cold, staring into the face of Franz van Oostra.

Wim
intervened, smiling as he extended his hand to their fellow church member.
“Hello, Mr. van Oostra. What a surprise! What brings you to
Amsterdam
?”

Anya
watched as he shook Wim’s hand. “Business. Always business. But I should ask the
same of you. What brings the two of you here?” His eyes flitted back and forth
on the children in their arms.

“Well,
it’s actually a most unusual circumstance,” Wim began. “You see, Anya agreed to
accompany me on my journey. My niece and nephew here were staying with us at
the farm while their parents were on holiday. They’ve just returned from their
travels, so we’re taking the children home to their parents.”

Van
Oostra’s eyes narrowed. “I see. How nice they could get away, though you’d have
to agree it’s a most unusual time to take a holiday.”

“How
so?” Wim asked, his face a blank page.

“Why,
the Occupation, of course. I would think most parents would want to keep their
children close at hand. Who knows what dangers could befall them?”

“True,
I suppose, but they’re safe with us. We would never let anything happen to them.”

Anya could
tell the church busybody wasn’t buying a word of it.

Van
Oostra nodded without smiling. “Yes. Yes, of course.” He patted Henri on the
back. “And where might you be taking the children?”

As if
it’s any of your business?

“Oh,
I’m quite sure you’ve never heard of their village. It’s on the coast near the
Belgian border.” Anya hoped he didn’t hear the quiver coating her lie. She
glanced at the massive clock on wall above them. “But you must excuse us now as
it’s time to board our train.” She turned to go. “How very nice to see you.
Please give our best to Mrs. van Oostra.”

“I
shall.” He nodded slowly, his smile now vanished.

Wim
touched his hand to the brim of his hat. “Good day, sir.”

“Yes,
good day to you as well. I trust you’ll have a safe journey.”

Anya forced
a smile and kept walking. She half expected him to alert the Gestapo right then
and there and have them all arrested before they neared their train.