Page 88 of Winter's End
She imagined Willem, lost in the sort of adolescent dreams that she could barely remember.
She thought of the Beekhof elders, of their faith and generosity, curled, perhaps in each other’s arms, sheltering one another from the frenzied world in ways she could only guess at.
And as the last of the moonlight drained from the sky, and she could no longer battle the insistence of sleep, she closed her eyes and saw the yellow barge bobbing somewhere in the cold North Sea – forever guarded, she wished with all her heart, by the ghosts of her mother and the poor, sick baby, Jacob Rood.
ZOE
Zoe met her cousin’s gaze. “Gerritt, you’ve been kind and patient throughout this whole ordeal,” she said, “and resourceful, hiding these fugitives behind the semblance of a faked renovation.”
“Ja,but I am increasingly worried as my German friend becomes more demanding,” he told her. “I am not all certain, should he send introops to search, that they would not simply bully their way past our little subterfuge.”
Zoe pressed her lips together. “I have been wondering the very same thing,” she said.
Gerritt sighed. “The fifth floor seemed like the best option, Zoe, because it is light by day, which is at least a more normal way for people to live.”
He paused. “But the prospect that a German search party might find it fills me with something very close to terror.”
As it should, Zoe understood. Gerritt’s own life would then be in jeopardy…
“Also,” she said, “there is no escape route, Gerritt - nowhere for the fugitives to run. They would be sitting ducks should the Germans find them…”
When he spoke, Gerritt’s voice was firm. “That is something that has nagged at me from the start,” he resumed his pace.
Finally, he sat. “There is another option,” he said. “The basement. It is where we housed our pathology lab until the power was cut, and we were forced to move it. It still houses the morgue. I rejected it as a hiding place because it is below street level. There is little natural light, to speak of, and space is limited. But there is a doorway there that leads to the ambulance bay outside.”
“Zoe pondered it. “The morgue. I can see your reluctance, cousin. It would be a difficult space for anyone to inhabit…”
Gerritt nodded.
“Also,” he said, “there is a small sub-basement. It was used for storage at one time, I think, but now it is mostly empty. There is a short staircase leading down to it from the morgue that also empties into the ambulance bay – and since the sub-basement is not a part of the elevator system, it might more easily escape notice.”
“That’s perfect,” Zoe said. “A search party cannot find what is not there.”
Gerritt was quiet, but Zoe plowed ahead.
“We would need to be careful about moving the refugees,” she said. “On gurneys, perhaps, a few at a time, as though they are headed for the morgue...If we manage it right, with no undue sense of urgency, it should not alert staff on any of the other floors.”
Gerritt’s face registered his hesitance.
“It will not be an easy place for people to co-exist,” he said. “It will be cramped at best, with little available light. Anxiety levels will soar, and it may be all but impossible to keep the little ones from acting out.”
A vision of Kurt reading stories passed before Zoe’s eyes.
“We can bring in some light – lanterns perhaps,” she offered.
“But people will have to make do with pallets or blankets on the floor.”
Zoe brought her hands to her face. “It is far from ideal, Gerritt. But little is these days – and in the worst case, with the ambulance bay outside, there’s a chance, at least, that some of these people may be able to outrun German bullets…”
MILA
Without a conscious thought about where she was going, Mila found herself staring across the intersection at the closed and padlocked door of the plumber’s office. There was no sign of Pieter or anyone else.
Heartsick, and wary of being seen in the area after her father’s admonition, she tugged gently at Hondje’s leash and turned the corner – and realized almost instantly that she was not far from the auto parts shop where she had met with Pieter and Johan Steegen.
She stood for a moment outside the shop, and watched as Steegen slid out from under a silver-colored Porsche. Hearing the tinkle of a bell over her head, she opened the door and ducked inside, Hondje close at her heels.
Steegen, seeing her, rose and looked around him, as though to be sure no one was watching. Then he nodded formally. “MissenBrouwer.”
