“And look at all these people who must have been hidden,” Lena said when Truus released her again. Crowded among the people she knew were strangers Lena had never seen before. Their milk-white skin and frail bodies told her they were shadow people. “I had no idea so many of them were hiding right here in the village!”
“And do you notice who isn’t here?” her cousin asked. “The filthy collaborators have all fled.”
“What a relief.” Lena wondered if they would face justice for what they’d done. They had much to atone for.
Lena had known these villagers all her life, had worshiped beside them in church every Sunday, and she knew that the war had brought tragedy into every life, every home. Now they were cheering and hugging each other, and asking, “Is it really over? Are they finally gone?” One of the elders from her father’s church burst into song, and everyone joined in singing the words to the psalm: “‘O God, our help in ages past, our hope for years to come; our shelter from the stormy blast, and our eternal home.’” Lena gripped Bep’s hand and wiped tears as she sang. If only Lena’s husband and father were here to see this. She needed to hurry home and tell her own shadow people the good news. Max and Ina could come out from behind the piano. The onderduikers could go home to their families. Maybe Pieter and Ans and Wim were on their way home right now.
She traded the milk for some cheese and a loaf of bread from the bakery. “You can carry these for me on the way home,” she told her daughters. “There’s no need to hide them anymore.” Joy and hope warmed her like spring sunshine as she pedaled. The fields looked greener now than they had on the way into town. “You can come out! It’s safe!” she called as she parked her bicycle in the barn. “The Netherlands is free!”
“You’re sure?” a voice called.
“Very sure! Quick! Run over to the windmill and tell the others.” Lena’s daughters hovered close to her as shadows emerged from every corner of the barn. Maaike and Bep would have no idea who these men were. Lena laughed and motioned for them to follow her through the passageway to the kitchen, then into the front room. She bent down and rapped on the lower panel on the piano. “It’s safe to come out! The Netherlands is liberated! We’re free!” The girls watched in astonishment as the panel opened and Max and Ina emerged as if in a daze. Lena flung the front door wide for them and said, “Look! It’s a glorious day! You can go outside at last!” They moved as if in a dream as they joined the other shadow people outside in the barnyard. Like the villagers, they gazed around in wonder, laughing and rejoicing. Ina dropped to her knees, her face hidden in her hands as she wept. Across the field, several men stood on the windmill’s upper deck, cheering and lifting their faces to the sun. She waved to them from her front door.
“Who are all these people, Mama?” Maaike asked. She stood in the doorway beside Lena. “What are they doing here?”
“They were hiding from the Nazis. Papa said they could stay here with us, where it’s safe. But they don’t need to hide anymore.” She looked around for Bep and saw her crouching down to peek beneath the piano.
“Look, Maaike!” Bep said. “There’s a little room inside the piano, with blankets and a bookshelf and everything! Come and see!”
As Maaike went over to take a peek, Lena spotted the studio photograph of her family on top of the piano. She lifted it down to study her loved ones’ faces. The photo had been taken in 1939 during a trip to Leiden, a year before the Nazi invasion, before any of them ever imagined they would be engulfed in a war. Her oldest daughter, Ans, had been eighteen—so beautiful with her pale-blonde hair and slender frame. Her bold smile and confident stance revealed her strong will. Wim stood beside his sister, already as tall as she was, his fair hair bleached nearly white by the sun. He’d been a curious eleven-year-old boy before the invasion, who loved to swim in the canals and tease his sisters. The war had forced Wim to become a man before his time. Five-year-old Maaike nestled on Lena’s lap in the picture, her little surprise baby, born when Lena was thirty-four. Lena had convinced her father to pose with them for the family portrait too. He stood behind Wim and Ans, looking every inch the stern pastor. Or maybe he had simply been grieving the loss of Lena’s mother, who had died a few months earlier. Pieter, the love of Lena’s life, stood behind her with his hands resting on the back of her chair—his strong, calloused, sun-browned hands. Would she ever take those hands in hers again? Out of the six people in the photograph, only Lena and Maaike were left.