Escape to the Hiding Place Page 3

The gray morning light crept in the window. They both got up at the same time. The entire houseful of people gathered outside to say good-bye.

  Everyone except one member of the family.

  “Where’s Bernard?” Beth whispered to Patrick.

  Patrick shrugged. “Maybe he’s upset that he can’t go with us.”

  Mr. Vos wheeled two bicycles toward them. “Here you are,” he said, smiling. “You get to ride bikes with tires.”

  “Don’t most bicycles have tires?” Beth asked.

  “Not anymore,” Mr. Vos said. “The Germans took all of our rubber. We hid these tires. These bikes are only for emergencies.”

  Beth bit her lip. This was an emergency.

  “Now, listen carefully,” Mr. Vos said as he handed them a small piece of paper. A rough map was drawn in pencil. “You’ll follow the canals northwest. Look for Haarlem road signs.”

  Beth and Patrick both nodded.

  Mr. Vos had everyone form a circle around them. They all bowed their heads in prayer.

  Mr. Vos prayed. He said, “God, we ask that You guide the steps of Beth and Patrick. Give them wisdom. Blind the eyes of our enemies so that our friends will have safe passage. Amen.”

  Mrs. Vos had wrapped up the baby snugly in a blanket. She placed the baby in the wooden basket on the front of Beth’s bicycle.

  Then she gave the cousins the backpack. She told the cousins, “There is food for you. You’ll also find a bottle of milk tucked inside. In case the baby wakes up.”

  “Thank you,” Beth said.

  “We didn’t have diapers, but I put in some parachute cloth to use,” Mrs. Vos said. “I think you’ll see that God has indeed provided for you.”

  There was nothing left to do but go. Beth headed down the road with Patrick just behind her.

  The streets were empty. Beth didn’t see anyone moving. Maybe they heard the radio warning, too, she thought. They must be hiding from the Germans.

  After a few hours, Beth’s legs felt heavy. She wasn’t used to riding such a large bike. She wanted to ride faster, but she couldn’t. What if we don’t get to Haarlem in time? she wondered.

  Beth looked at Patrick. He kept glancing back at the street behind them.

  “What’s the matter?” Beth asked finally.

  “There’s a motorcycle,” Patrick said, “and it’s coming up behind us.”

  The Dutch Police

  “Just keep riding,” Patrick said. “Act like nothing is wrong.”

  The motorcycle behind them got louder. Then it sped ahead and cut in front of them.

  Patrick and Beth stopped their bicycles.

  There were two men in black uniforms riding the motorcycle. One was in the sidecar. He got out and walked toward the cousins.

  The man who stayed by the motorcycle said, “You take care of them, Hans. It’s a waste of time to question them. They’re only children.”

  Patrick eyed the symbol on their black caps. These weren’t German soldiers. They were Dutch policemen.

  “We were told to watch everyone leaving the area,” Hans said. He stood next to the cousins. “Even children.”

  Patrick gulped. He tried not to look at Beth’s basket.

  “Your identification papers, please,” Hans said.

  Beth and Patrick handed him their cards.

  He nodded stiffly. “These seem to be in order,” he said.

  He pointed to Patrick’s backpack. “What is in that?” Hans asked.

  “A few groceries,” Patrick said as he handed the backpack to Hans.

  “Where are you two going?” Hans asked. He dug into the backpack.

  Patrick said, “We’re running an errand. For a friend.”

  “Where does your friend live?” Hans asked.

  “Haarlem,” Beth said. She pulled the address out of her dress pocket.

  Hans looked at the address. His eyes widened.

  He knows, Patrick thought. He started to panic. He knows Jews go there to hide.

  Then Hans returned the paper to Beth without saying a word. He pulled out pieces of material from the flour sack.

  It was silk from the parachute.

  Hans gave them a hard stare. “This is silk. Parachutes are made of silk.”

  “We found it in the woods,” Beth said quickly.

  “Well? What’s taking so long?” the other policeman called from the motorcycle.

  From the corner of his eye, Patrick saw movement in the bicycle basket. The baby was stirring.

  Beth saw it, too, and she stared at Patrick. She looked panicked. She moved in front of the basket so Hans couldn’t see it.

  For a second, no one said anything. Patrick could hardly breathe.

  “These children need directions,” Hans said to the other officer. He looked at the children. “I’ll be back.”

  Beth gently touched the bundle in the basket.

  Patrick stepped up to her.

  “Pray the baby doesn’t cry,” Beth said.

  “I am, I am!” Patrick whispered. He watched the two policemen.

  Hans returned with a map. He came close and pointed down a road. “Now, this street leads out of town,” he said loudly. It was as if he wanted the other officer to hear.

  Hans glanced over his shoulder. The man on the motorcycle was looking the other way.

  Hans lowered his voice. He showed the map to them. “Listen carefully,” he said. “The police station is near the street you’re looking for,” he said. “You’ll have to be very careful.”

  He’s trying to help us! Patrick thought.

  “I know many Dutch police officers in Haarlem,” Hans said. “If you’re in trouble, tell them you are friends of Hans Kristoffson.”

  Patrick nodded.

  Hans folded up the map. The baby made a small whining sound. Hans looked at the basket, then back at Beth. “Go. Quickly. And we’ll hope your bravery doesn’t get you in trouble.”

  Patrick opened his mouth to thank him. But Hans turned and walked away.

  Patrick put on the backpack again. He and Beth climbed on their bikes and pedaled away as fast as they could.

  They turned a corner and went down a side street. After a few minutes, Beth called out. “Wait!”

  Patrick stopped his bicycle. Beth stopped beside him. “I want to check on Miriam,” she said.

  “Miriam?” Patrick asked.

  “That’s what I named the baby,” Beth said. “Like in the Bible story. Miriam hid her baby brother Moses in a basket.”

  “Why not call her Moses then?” Patrick asked.

  Beth rolled her eyes. “That’s not a girl’s name,” she said.

  She unwrapped the bundle in her basket. Miriam squinted in the sunlight. She started to cry.

  “She needs her diaper changed,” Patrick said.

  “Oh, right,” Beth said. “Those Red Cross lessons will come in handy after all.” She got out the parachute cloth. “I’m glad we have something we can use for diapers.”

  “Do you think Hans Kristoffson works for the Resistance?” Patrick asked.

  “Maybe,” Beth said. “Mrs. Vos said they had a friend in the police force.”

  Beth finished changing Miriam. Then she fed her with the bottle of milk.

  “Here,” Beth said, handing the empty bottle to Patrick. She wrapped Miriam up again. “How much farther until we get to Haarlem?”

  “It’s a long way,” Patrick said.

  They started riding again. Patrick’s mind raced through all the things that could still go wrong.

  I hope Mr. Vos’s prayer works, Patrick thought.

  Haarlem

  The sun was just starting to set when the cousins reached Haarlem.

  The buildings stood right next to each other. The canals had walkways all around them. The city looked almost cheerful.

  It had been a long day. But Patrick was grateful they hadn’t been stopped again. So far.

  “Watch for German soldiers,” Beth said.

  “You watch for soldie
rs. I’m trying to figure out these street signs,” Patrick said. The long bike ride had made him tired and cranky.

  Just then Patrick saw two men in gray uniforms. They were talking to each other, facing away. But Patrick knew they were German soldiers. If they turned around, they might ask questions.

  That’s when Patrick heard a high-pitched buzz, like bees. Except this buzz was mechanical.

  He looked up. Three gray-and-yellow planes flew overhead. The tail of each plane had a swastika symbol on it.

  Nazi planes, Patrick knew. He gulped. I hope they’re not on a bombing raid.

  “Into that alley!” he said to Beth. They ducked their bikes between two buildings.

  Patrick peered out of the alley. The people in the street were all looking up at the planes too.

  Patrick wondered, Those planes won’t drop bombs on their own men, will they?

  “Let’s wait here until the soldiers are gone,” Patrick said.

  Beth shook her head. “If we wait too long, we will be out after curfew,” she said. “We have to go now.”

  Patrick checked the street. There were even more men in gray uniforms. He didn’t know what to do.

  Beth peeked around the corner. “There are people on the street now. We’ll blend right in,” she said.

  She was trying to sound brave. But Patrick could tell she was scared.

  Beth peeked into the bicycle basket. Miriam began to whimper.

  “I think she’s hungry,” Beth said. She took the baby out of the basket and rocked her. Miriam’s whimper stopped. “Let’s hurry.”

  Beth placed the baby back into the basket. The cousins pushed their bikes into the street. People were still talking about the planes. They glanced up at the sky with worried looks on their faces.

  Patrick raced past a group of German soldiers.

  “Slow down,” Beth called to him after the soldiers were behind her. “You don’t want me to crash, do you?”

  He slowed down to let her catch up. “Sorry,” he said.

  They turned a corner. Patrick was thankful no soldiers were on this street. He brought his bike to a halt. He got off and walked over to a kind-looking older woman.

  “Excuse me,” he said. “Can you tell me where this street is?”

  He showed the woman the paper with the address.

  “Oh yes,” the woman said. “That’s the street near the police station.”

  She rattled off a string of directions. Patrick struggled to follow what she was saying.

  “Thanks!” Patrick said.

  “Now, you children hurry,” the woman called after them. “No one should be out after dark. It’s not safe.”

  Patrick almost laughed. “We know,” he called back to her.

  Patrick and Beth rode quickly through the streets of Haarlem. As the sun set, darkness spread. The shops began to close. People left the streets.

  “Look,” Beth said finally. She pointed up at the street sign. It read, “Barteljorisstraat.”

  “Wait here,” Patrick said.

  He got off his bike and leaned it against a wall. “I’ll find the house. I’ll whistle if it’s safe to bring the baby,” he said.

  “Don’t leave me by myself!” Beth said. She got off of her bike too. “What if you get caught?”

  “I have papers,” Patrick said. “It’s the baby who doesn’t. And she might start crying.”

  He was right. They didn’t have much of a choice. “Okay,” Beth said finally. She stood in front of a bakery. She took Miriam out of the basket and held her close. I’m not going to let anything happen to you, she thought.

  “I’ll be right back,” Patrick said.

  Beth watched him walk up the street.

  Suddenly a soldier stepped from an alley, grabbed him, and pulled him away.

  The Gestapo

  “Patrick!” Beth shouted. She started to run after him.

  “Halt!” a man shouted. “You, girl! Stop!”

  Should I keep running? she wondered. But she imagined someone shooting her. She froze where she was.

  A man in a black uniform stepped up to her.

  Beth swallowed and tried not to look afraid.

  The man was smoking a cigarette. He wore a red armband. It had a white circle and a black swastika on it. Beth thought the swastika looked like an evil spider.

  The man was a member of the Gestapo, the German secret police.

  Beth hugged the baby closer to her.

  “Why are you out after curfew?” he asked, scowling.

  He spoke with a thick German accent. The w sound in “why” came out like a v sound. Beth had a hard time understanding him.

  “I was trying to get in before it started,” she said. “That’s why I was hurrying.”

  “Where is the boy?” the officer asked.

  “What boy?” Beth said.

  “The one who was just with you,” he said.

  “I don’t know where he went,” Beth said truthfully.

  She prayed that Patrick was all right. She then prayed that she would be all right.

  “Give me your papers,” the officer said.

  Beth reached for her ID card.

  Then the soldier noticed her bike. “You have rubber tires,” he said, kicking them. “Where did you get them?”

  “They were a gift,” Beth said quickly.

  The Gestapo officer stared at the bundle in her arms. He lifted the blanket.

  Miriam was asleep. Beth tried to pull her away.

  “Does the baby have papers?” the officer asked.

  Beth shook her head. Fear tightened her stomach.

  The officer glared at her. “Running in the streets after curfew. No ID for the baby. Rubber tires . . .”

  “Like I said, I was trying to—”

  “Stop talking and give me your papers,” the officer said. His voice was filled with anger.

  Beth took the ID card from around her neck.

  The officer glanced at it. Then he took a brass lighter from his pocket. He held the flame to the card.

  The cardboard quickly caught fire. Soon, it was just ash on the end of a string.

  Beth stared in horror. “What are you doing? I can’t travel without that card,” she said.

  “You have dark hair, dark eyes. Who is to say you are not Jewish?” he said.

  “I’m not Jewish!” Beth shouted.

  The noise woke Miriam. She started to cry.

  “Or perhaps you work for the Resistance,” the officer said. “Where else would you get the tires?”

  He gripped Beth’s arm. “You are coming to the police station with me,” he said. “Then you will see what we do with Jews and spies!”

  Kabang!

  The soldier slapped his hand over Patrick’s mouth. Patrick couldn’t shout.

  The soldier dragged Patrick farther back in the alley. Patrick struggled wildly. He punched out at his captor.

  “Stop!” the voice said in a harsh whisper. “You’ll give us away.”

  Still, Patrick struggled.

  “Patrick, it’s me!” the voice said. He let Patrick go.

  Patrick spun around to face his friend Bernard.

  Bernard was wearing a soldier’s uniform instead of a dress or farm clothes.

  Patrick relaxed and tried to catch his breath. “Where did you get that uniform?” he asked.

  “From home,” Bernard said. “It was for the pilot. I sort of . . . borrowed it. I couldn’t let you leave without me. I’ve been following you.”

  “But why did you grab me?” Patrick asked.

  “Because the Gestapo agent was watching you,” Bernard said.

  He turned Patrick toward the street. A man in a Gestapo uniform was questioning Beth.

  Patrick started to run toward the street. But Bernard grabbed him.

  “Wait,” Bernard said. “I have a plan.”

  Patrick nodded.

  Bernard then led Patrick into an apartment building. The boys climbed a central staircase. At the top
, they dashed through a door that led to a balcony. They looked down.

  Patrick’s mouth dropped open. The Gestapo officer was lighting Beth’s papers on fire.

  “The backpack,” Bernard said. “My mother gave you lunch.”

  “Yes,” Patrick said. “This is a strange time to think about eating.”

  “Give it to me,” Bernard said.

  Patrick handed the backpack to Bernard. “There’s not much left.”

  Bernard opened it. He grabbed the empty milk bottle.

  “What are you doing?” Patrick asked.

  “Just a little Resistance trick,” Bernard said.

  Bernard took a handful of small white stones out of his pocket. They looked kind of like chalk. He shoved the rocks into the bottle. “Carbide,” he said. “We use it in lamps.”

  “You’re going to attack the Gestapo with a lamp?” Patrick said.

  “No,” Bernard said. He brought out a canteen and poured water inside the bottle.

  Then he shook up the mixture. “I’m adding water to the carbide,” he said. “That way, it will explode.”

  “You’re making a bomb?” Patrick asked.

  “It’s not a bomb,” Bernard said. “Only a distraction. You’ve heard one before.”

  Patrick suddenly remembered. “The loud noise in the woods!” he said. “When we were looking for the pilot.”

  Bernard nodded. “That noise came from one of these.” He plugged up the bottle with the rubber cap.

  Patrick and Bernard stepped to the edge of the roof.

  The Gestapo officer was pulling Beth along the street. Miriam was crying.

  A few bubbles formed inside the bottle.

  Patrick asked, “How do you know when it’s ready to explode?”

  “You guess,” Bernard said, grinning.

  With that, he heaved the bottle over the edge of the roof.

  The bottle exploded in midair.

  Kabang!

  The Gestapo officer jerked toward the sound. He shielded his face.

  Patrick watched as Beth broke loose from the officer’s grip. She ran toward the alley.

  “Come on,” Bernard said. “Let’s get off the roof before someone sees us!”