Of Windmills and War (39 page)

54

Evening,
02
April 1945

With
the Allied airmen safely on their way to
England
, Anya
and Frederic started on their trip back to Enschede. With a full tank of stolen
fuel supplied at their last stop, they should be able to make it back before
midnight
. As
Frederic rattled on, as he always did, sharing his dream of going to
America
once
the war was over, Anya tried to bolster herself before seeing Danny again. As
much as she might secretly wish to open her heart to him, she knew she
couldn’t. Eventually, growing weary of the argument between her head and her
heart, she tuned back in to Frederic’s latest idea.

“A
movie star. I’m a natural, don’t you think?”

“You?
Starring in American cinemas?”

“Yes!
Like the Clark Gable or the Lawrence Olive.”

“Olivier.”

“What?”

“His
name is Olivier.
Lawrence
Olivier.”

“Ja. As
I said. What do you think? I have a certain flare—a mystique, no?” He tilted
his head, waving his hand as if giving the performance of a lifetime.

“Not
mystique. More like a
mistake
, Frederic. Why do you allow yourself to
think such things? You could die tomorrow. Why, you could die tonight, here on
this road. Look all around you. Everywhere, the reminders of war. It’s a waste
of time to dream such silly dreams.”

“But if
we do not dream, we shall not survive, Anya. What good is life if we see only
gloom and doom, eh?” He reached over to nudge her on the arm. “We are much too
young to give up. Look at us! We have survived many years of war! And they say
liberation is close—so very close! It could happen any moment, Anya. Even tonight!”

He
burst into song, proudly singing the Dutch national anthem. Anya shook her head
at his continuous antics, suddenly feeling exhausted. As the serenade
continued, she leaned her head against the door and closed her eyes, trying to
ignore the bumpy ride.

She
wasn’t sure how long she’d slept when the truck came to a halt. But instead of
the safe house in Enschede, they were parked in front of her home in
Utrecht
. The
overcast sky didn’t dampen the glorious sight in front of her—her home? Still
standing, as if welcoming her home from a long journey?

“Frederic,
what are we doing here?”

“I was
told to bring you here before I continue on. Do you need me to walk you inside,
or will you be all right?”

She
stepped out of the truck, anxiously looking around to see if Nazis still
patrolled the neighborhood. But all she saw was her beautiful home. Even her
mother’s beloved tulips lining the front walkway were in bloom. How could they
have survived the war? Yet there they stood, as if proudly saluting her
homecoming. As she knelt beside them, cupping her hands around the brilliant
red, yellow, and white petals, she heard the loud grinding of the truck’s
gears.

“I’ll
see you in a few days!” Frederic called as he backed the truck down the
driveway.

“Goodbye!”
She waved without watching him drive out of view.

“Anya!”

The
shock of hearing her mother’s voice vacuumed the breath right out of her lungs.
“Mother!” she cried, running up the cobbled walkway and into her mother’s
outstretched arms. “Oh Mother! I knew it was all a lie! You’re alive!”

“Yes,
dear Anya! I am here, I am here.”

They
hugged and laughed and cried until Anya thought she’d pass out from sheer joy.

“Come,”
Mother said, turning her toward the house. “Someone very special has come to
see you.”

“Father?
Is Father here?”

“No,
child.”

Her
heart ached. “He is dead, then? Did he die in the concentration camp?”

“What?”
Mother looked perplexed. “No, no, he’s at the church practicing his sermon.
Come inside and see for yourself.”

They
walked up the steps, arm in arm. But as the door opened, the interior of the
home she loved was . . . missing? In its place, the ice-covered
canal. She turned to ask Mother about it, but her mother was gone.
No doubt
making those special tea cakes I love so much
, she thought happily.

“Anya!”

It
can’t be! It can’t . . .
But there, out on the ice,
stood her brother waving at her. “Anya! Come skate with me!”

“Hans!”
She flew across the snow-covered field, hardly believing her eyes. “Hans, how
can it be? We thought you died!”

And
suddenly, he scooped her up in his arms, whooping and hollering. “My little
Anya! I have missed you so! Where have you been?”

“There
was a war . . . and the Germans, they did such horrible
things . . . and Hans, there were so many bombs!”

“What?
Don’t be silly,” he chided, putting her down on the ice. “There’s no war. The
only bombs are over the border. We are safe. Always, the Dutch are safe. Oh,
Anya, it’s so good to see you again!” He hugged her tight once more, then took
her hand. “Come! Everyone’s here! You’re just in time for our skating party!”

She
pulled back hard, shaking her head. “No, Hans. We mustn’t. It’s not safe.”

He
turned to look back at her. “What? Don’t be such a silly girl. Look there—all
our friends! They’ll be so surprised to see you!”

She
followed him, despite a haunting sense of dread and foreboding. Looking down,
she noticed her favorite skates on her feet, laced and glistening as she glided
along behind him. “But how did . . .?”

“Look,
everyone—Anya is here!”

They
all crowded around her, all their friends, everyone wanting a hug.

 “Rieky!”
she cried, “Oh my goodness, dear sweet Rieky—you’re
alive
? I thought you
and Hans drowned beneath the ice!”

The
little girl giggled behind her mittens then skated off to join the other little
girls.

“Anya?
Is it really you?”

Anya
turned at the sound of her best friend’s voice. There, beyond Rieky and her
friends was her best friend Lieke doing figure-eights on the ice with little
Inge in her arms.

“No! No,
it cannot be. Lieke? But I thought you . . . I was there when
the awful German soldier put a bullet in Inge’s head. How can she be here?”

Suddenly,
something way down deep inside released a horrible shiver that stretched from Anya’s
head to her skate-covered toes. While everyone laughed and skated and carried
on, she heard a piercing cry in the distance. Someone somewhere was in trouble.
But where? She pushed through the crowd, so terribly frightened of what she
might find, yet unable to stop herself.

“Please,
someone! Help me!” the voice cried.

I
recognize that voice . . .

Her
heart pounded as she kept skating toward the cries. She turned her head back to
where her friends were—but they weren’t there? They were gone, every one of
them except Hans. “Please, Hans! Come help me! Someone is drowning!”

“Oh, my
little Anya, you were always such a melodramatic child. No one is there.” He
pointed beyond her. “Look—no one.”

He was
right. No one was there. Then she heard it again, a desperate cry.

“Please!
I can’t hold on much longer!”

That’s
when she saw the enormous jagged crack in the ice. And there, between the thick
walls of ice, a mittened hand reached up from the icy water, waving frantically
before disappearing again.

“Hans,
we must save her!” But when she looked back, Hans was gone. She was all alone. She
would have to make sense of it later. Now, it was entirely up to her to save
whoever had fallen through the crack.

She got
down on all fours, crawling her way closer to the edge of the fissure. She lay
down on the ice reaching her arms down toward the person. “Give me your hand!”

“I
can’t! I can’t! Please help me!”

Anya
froze. The person she watched batting at the frigid water . . . was
her?

And
just that fast, she became the one in the water fighting for her life. The
freezing water took her breath and her voice.
It’s so cold! I can’t bear it!
Please! Save me! Save me!

The
realization came to her—with no one there to help, this would be her last dying
breath. She must force herself up one more time.

Oh God,
please! Send someone to save me!

As her
face then arms broke through the water, she saw him! He grasped beneath her
arms and easily lifted her out of the freezing grave and into his arms.

“Oh
Anya! Thank God!”

Her
teeth chattered so hard she couldn’t speak and her body trembled violently, but
she couldn’t take her eyes off him. He wrapped his coat around her then pulled
her close against him as if willing his body heat to warm her. Tears fell from
her eyes blurring her view of him.

“Thank
God . . . oh, thank God,” he said over and over.

Unable
to speak, she breathed his name . . .
Danny?

55

“Anya!
Anya, what’s wrong?”

It felt
so good to be there in his arms. A feeling unlike anything she’d ever experienced—an
overpowering sense of warmth and security and protection all rolled into one.
As though nothing would ever harm her again. As though this was her destiny,
where she’d always belonged. Even with her clothes still soaked by the freezing
canal water, she felt such tremendous relief in Danny’s arms. “Nothing’s
wrong,” she murmured, content to stay right where she was for the rest of her
life. “Nothing.”

“Anya!”

She
looked up, startled by the sound of someone else calling her name. Only then
did she realize she was still in the truck, though it was no longer moving.

I don’t
understand. Where is Danny?

“It’s
about time,” Frederic growled as he stepped out of the truck. “Come along
inside.” He belched. “It’s late, and I’m exhausted.”

She waved
him on then sat there a moment longer watching him go inside the house—not her
home in
Utrecht
, but
the safe house in Enschede. “Oh no.” She dropped her head in her hands.
It
was only a dream?
Her hands wore no wet mittens. Her clothes were dry. And
she wasn’t nestled in Danny’s warm embrace. She was sitting in the smelly cab
of the old truck.

Anya clamped
her teeth together. What could possibly have caused such a cruel scene to
play out in her mind? She yanked the cap off her head and raked her hand
through her hair, thinking she must surely be losing her mind. She held the cap
pressed against her face and rocked back and forth, wondering why she couldn’t
just die and get it over with. What was the point? Life held no meaning any
more. Not like this. Better to rot in a grave than have her heart broken and
stomped on by something as foolish as a dream.

Someone
tapped on the truck’s window, scaring a scream out of her.

“I’m so
sorry!” Danny said as he opened the door.

“You
scared me to death!”

“I
know, but I didn’t know how else to get your attention. Why did you have your
hat over your face?”

As her
heart started beating again, she huffed. “Don’t ever sneak up on me like that!
I could have shot you!” She jumped down from the truck’s cab onto the ground
beside him.

“Are
you carrying a gun?”

“Of
course. I always carry a gun.” She slapped the hat back on her head. “What are
you doing out here anyway? It’s almost
one o’clock
in the
morning. It isn’t safe to be out.”

“I was
worried when you didn’t come in with Frederic.”

She
started walking toward the house, then paused, looking back at him. “Where did
you get that?” she asked, pointing at the single crutch beneath his arm.

“Eduard
got it for me from one of the other safe houses.”

She
looked him over, carefully avoiding his eyes. “Well, come inside before you get
us both arrested.” She opened the back door, holding it as he hobbled through,
then closed it behind them.

“When
Eduard told me you all were on your way back, I waited up.”

“I can
see that, but you shouldn’t have.” She pulled off her gloves and stuffed them
in her coat pocket. Still standing in the back entry hall,
she looked around him at the uncovered stairway
leading down to the cellar. “You should get some rest. Is everyone else asleep?”

“Yes, I
believe so. And Frederic went downstairs as soon as he came in.” He limped to
her side. “Anya?”

She
pulled off her jacket and cap, hanging them on the peg beside the door. “What
is it, Danny?” She didn’t mean to snap at him. He was only being kind to her. Why
was she always finding excuses to be rude to him?

She
stopped abruptly, frozen where she stood—her back to him, her hands still on
the jacket she’d just hung up. The fresh, vivid memory of the dream roared
through her, overwhelming her with the same compelling warmth and security
she’d felt in his arms.

Anya
heard him closing in behind her. “Anya, I was just hoping we could—”

Without
a single trace of hesitation, she turned and grabbed his face, pulling it down to
hers, kissing him with a passion she hadn’t known she possessed. Her heart
pounded in her chest as his arms wrapped around her, his crutch banging against
the floor where it fell. He kissed her with such hunger, holding her so tight,
so secure in his arms, she could hardly breathe. As she lost herself in his
embrace, she realized—it was just like in her dream.

And
just as in her dream, Anya could no longer deny it.

This
truly is my destiny, the place where I belong. I know that now. But how? How
can it be? After all these years, how is it possible?

Danny was afraid to open his eyes. Could this really be
happening? He kissed her tenderly, then pulled back. “It’s really you. I can’t
believe—” He leaned his forehead against hers. “Anya, it’s really
—”

“I had a dream,” she whispered, her voice warbled. “I was
back at home and Mother was there, and Hans, and all our friends. And then we
were on the canal skating, and I could hear someone crying for help, and I
skated to the crack in the ice. And then I looked down and stretched my hand
out . . . and it was me! I was the one drowning!”

She was talking so fast he could hardly understand her. So
he simply held her as she wept, her face buried against his chest, her body
trembling in his arms. “Shhh. You’re not drowning, Anya. You’re here, safe in
my arms.”

She looked up, searching his eyes as tears streamed down her
face. “I know—that’s what I’m trying to tell you. I was so scared and
frightened and—and
so cold
. I knew I only had one last chance. I pushed
up once more from the water . . . and you lifted me up, Danny!
It was
you
.”

He pushed a strand of dampened hair out of her eyes, then
cupped his hand around the side of her face. “Well, there you have it.”

She hiccupped. “Have what?”

“It must have been a dream because I’m not much of a
skater.”

She laughed and cried and burrowed deeper into his embrace,
all the while murmuring, “You saved me, Danny. You saved me.”

He rested his chin on her head. “I would lay down my life to
save you, Anya, if you’d let me.”

She wept quietly in his arms for a long time. When she
finally took a long rugged breath, he released her. “Could I be a bother and
ask you to help me into the other room?”

Anya seemed perplexed, but willingly wrapped her arm beneath
his, letting him lean on her as they made their way to the bedroom. At the
doorway, she hesitated. “Danny, I don’t think—”

“Anya, we’ll leave the door open,” he said smiling. “And we
will sit
on
the bed, not
in
the bed. We have so much to talk
about, but I can’t stand any longer because of this blasted foot. I assure you,
my intentions are that of a gentleman.”

She smiled through her tears and helped him into the bedroom
where he’d first stayed. “Then we shall sit
on
the bed, not
in
the bed, and I shall assure you
my
intentions are that of a lady.”

She stacked pillows behind him as he settled onto the bed,
then slowly made her way to the door. “But we shall
not
leave the door
open, Lieutenant McClain, because it is none of their business what we do.”

“Well, I, uh . . . then if,
uh . . .” He swallowed hard.

She climbed on the other side of the bed and snuggled up
against him, pulling his arm around her. “Wait,” she said, reaching down for
the quilt folded at the foot of the bed. She wrapped it over them and returned
to his arms.

“Now
I
am the one dreaming,” he said, taking hold of
her hand. “And if I am, then I never want to wake up.”

She looked into his eyes. “When you found me in the truck, I
was furious, Danny.”

“Why?”

“Because Frederic had just awakened me from that dream,
telling me we were back here. I felt so angry, so cheated. I’d been in your
arms, but then I wasn’t.”

“That’s why you were mad at me?”

“Yes! Well, no. I wasn’t mad at
you
, I was just so
disappointed. If you must know, I was mad at myself for having such delusional
dreams.” She laid her head on his shoulder. “For so long I
have . . .”

He waited, not wanting to rush her but praying she would
share her heart with him. “Go on.”

“For so long I have wanted no one to come close to me. I
couldn’t . . . I
wouldn’t
let anyone get near to me.
These people here, they are co-workers only. Nothing more. I respect most of
them, but never do I let them become my friend. Except perhaps Eduard. He is
more of a father figure, I guess you would say.”

She paused, and he waited again. He stroked her hair, giving
her as much time as she needed. He would wait as long as it took for her to
tell her story.

“It is because—I knew if I lost again, I would not survive. I
have lost 
everyone
.”

He listened for more, stroking her hand with his thumb. When
she finally spoke again, her words were slow. Deliberate. As if each was harder
to speak than the last.

“Hans. Mother. Father . . . and Wim.”

For hours, he had wondered. The entire time she was gone, he
had tried to think what possibly could have happened to Wim that the mere
mention of his name could cause her such sorrow. He knew Wim must have died,
but how he died, Danny had no idea.

“Tell me about him, Anya. I know he meant a great deal to
you.”

She nodded, her head still resting on his shoulder. A moment
passed then another until she finally began to tell her story. She told of
traveling with Wim to transport children from one safe house to the next. She
told of close calls and frightening situations, their lives always in danger.
She told him of their clandestine return to
Utrecht
and
making their way to Wim’s farm. She lost her voice as she told of finding
little Inge, her friend’s baby sister, alone in the field beyond the farmhouse.
She grew animated as she described Wim dashing to bring the baby out of that
field and their unbridled fear, both of them knowing that something was
terribly, terribly wrong.

Anya grew quiet again. He said nothing but silently prayed
for God to give her courage. When she continued, she fought to get the words
out. “Wim insisted on sneaking up to the house to find out what had happened.
Almost as soon as he left my side, I felt a gun pressed against the back of my
head. I was so afraid . . . I held little Inge close, so
frightened we would be killed. The soldier came around to stand before me,
moving the gun to press it against my forehead.”

Danny swallowed hard. He wished he knew how to spare her
this pain.

“I begged him not to hurt us. But . . . all
of a sudden, he turned the gun to Inge’s head and . . . he shot
her. He
shot
her!”

She sat up, pushing her hair out of her face with trembling
hands, then cradling her arms as if holding a baby. “She fell limp in my arms.
And I wanted to kill him!. I was so . . . but then I threw up,
and he kicked little Inge’s body aside. He pulled me up by my hair,
then . . . then suddenly, he just fell to the ground. Wim had
smashed a rock over the German’s head!  And he was there with me. Wim was there
with me, and he held me . . .”

Danny held his breath as he listened. He grieved for the
wild look in her eyes, knowing she was reliving the horrible scene. He knew she
had to do this, and so he remained silent.

“Wim told me the Germans had . . . it looked
as if they had lined up his family along with the Jews they’d been hiding
beneath their barn, and . . . and they executed them. His
parents, Lieke—all of them.” She paused to wipe away the endless tears. “And then
as he held me—”

She stopped. He said nothing.

“A shot rang out. And I looked over Wim’s shoulder and saw
the German soldier—we’d thought he was dead but he wasn’t. And just as I saw
the smoke coming from the gun in his hand, I felt Wim’s body slump against me. And
I knew he’d been shot. The soldier—he moved the barrel of his gun, pointing it
straight at me—” Anya fought to find another breath. “I knew he was going to
kill me. And I
wanted
him to kill me!” She shook her head back and
forth. “But the gun fell from his hand and his head fell into the dirt.”