14
“You’re going where?”
“Amsterdam.”
“Why?”
Nora explained her plan.
“That’s crazy!” Richards’s voice blasted through the receiver. “You’re chasing ghosts!”
“No, I’m not. There has to be a connection and I’m going to find it.”
“Nora, the investigation is here, not in Holland. You have to be patient, not run off halfway around the world. I know you’re afraid—”
“You’re damned right I’m afraid. I’m not going to sit here doing nothing while the only lead we’ve got is to find Abram Rosen and why this madness happened!”
“At best all you’ll learn is if your parents were Nazis. It won’t get us any closer to finding Rose!”
“But you haven’t come up with anything.”
“You have to give me time,” he said. “I’ve put the investigation at the top of my list. The goddamned FBI is coordinating with the Dutch. What can you possibly find that they can’t?”
“I have to do this,” she said softly. “What if it were your daughter?”
He didn’t miss a beat. “Then I would do exactly what I’m telling you now. And what if the kidnapper calls? Are you at least leaving your friend here to handle that?”
“No, she has to go back to work. One of your female officers can respond to the tapped line.”
“And if something happens here?”
“I can be home in ten hours.”
“Damn it, at least leave me a number where I can reach you.”
“I will. Please don’t be angry.” All she heard was a dial tone.
She hung up and turned to Marijke. “Let’s go.”
15
When Ariel finally emerged from Customs, juggling his carry-on and Rose, he saw Leah and smiled. Leah waved and rushed toward him. Then she saw the baby and stood rooted, a hand clapped to her mouth. Ariel walked over and placed Rose in her arms.
“Ariel!” she gasped. “Whose baby is this?”
Ariel put his arm around her, kissed her and then Rose. “She’s ours.”
Holding the baby awkwardly but tightly, Leah collapsed onto a chair. She pushed the yellow blanket back and stared at Rose, then Ariel, then Rose again. The baby began to cry. Leah cooed and kissed her until Rose nestled into her arms. When Leah looked up, tears fell like prisms from her eyes. Ariel sat next to her and told the bizarre story, the brutal murder, Isaac’s death and his last wish.
When he finished, Leah shook her head. “Ariel, we have to give her back! We can’t steal another woman’s child!” She kissed Rose on the forehead. “Oh, God, I wish we could.”
Ariel cringed at the naked longing in her voice. She shook her head. “We have to go to the police.”
“We can’t, sweetheart. Do you want them to arrest and deport me? Throw me in jail for the rest of my life?”
“Of course not!” she cried. “But you have to find a way to give her back to her mother. It isn’t right.”
“Okay, we’ll talk about it later. All I want now is to go home. I can barely stand up.” He grasped Leah’s elbow as they walked outside to the taxis.
“But what about Amarisa?” asked Leah. “She’s waiting at the apartment. What will you tell her?”
“I’ll worry about that when we get there.” Ariel hailed a cab and they got in. He roused himself a bit as the taxi whizzed through the narrow cobblestone streets. When they approached their apartment, a different dread filled him.
Oh, God. Amarisa. How do I tell her?
He paid the taxi, got his luggage and looked at Leah. Rose was sleeping. “I want you to take the baby and leave for half an hour.”
“But why? I need to take care of her.”
“Because of Amarisa. When I tell her that Papa is dead, she’ll go berserk.”
Leah jiggled Rose and shook her head. “But where will I go?”
“To the
Bijenkorf.
Buy her what she needs—clothes, blankets, anything I’ve forgotten.”
“All right,” she said uncertainly.
Ariel kissed her and touched Rose lightly on her cheek. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of everything.” He watched Leah amble down the street like any mother out with her baby for a morning walk, except she had no stroller. He took a deep breath, unlocked the door and went inside.
“Isaac?” His aunt ran into the foyer, pushed Ariel aside, flung open the door and looked frantically down the street. “Isaac! Where are you?” She whirled back to Ariel, her dyed black hair wild around her face. “Where is he? Where’s your father!”
“Please, Amarisa, come and sit in the living room. We have to talk.”
“Talk to me here!”
Ariel hung his head. “Papa is...dead.”
“Dead!” She clutched her throat and staggered. “That’s impossible!”
“Oh, God, Amarisa, I’m so sorry to have to tell you this way.”
She backed up against the wall, her face ground chalk. Even her grotesque scar seemed whitewashed. “No, no,
no—
”
He gently grasped her arm. She twisted away. “Don’t touch me!” Suddenly her legs buckled and she sank to the floor, wailing. Ariel knelt next to her and put his arms around her. She kicked him away and then struggled to her feet, shaking. Ariel couldn’t tell if she was driven by grief or rage.
Although petite, she grabbed his arm with her talons, shoved him into the living room and pushed him onto the sofa. “Tell me—tell me what happened!”
Ariel felt the terror she always incited in him, like a small child who knew he was to be beaten just for being alive. “He tortured that Brouwer woman and then killed her!”
Her eyes were cruel slits, her voice hissing coal. “I knew he would kill her.”
“But then he had a heart attack...” He choked up.
She slapped him—hard. “You little son of a bitch! How could you let this happen?”
Ariel rubbed his stinging cheek. “Please, Amarisa, listen to me. There’s more.”
She sat down, took a cigarette out of a silver case studded with diamonds, lit it and inhaled deeply. “Speak.”
He saw Amarisa staring at him like a judge at Nuremberg. The tears on her face had dried, the ropy scar back to its hideous purple. While he talked, she stubbed out her cigarette and paced from one end of the sofa to the other.
When he finished, he stood and tried to put his arms around her again. But she came at him with her fists, punching his chest, his face. “You should have done something! Given him his nitro—it’s always in his pocket—taken him to the hospital!”
He pulled back. “Stop! It won’t help. He’s dead and there’s no way we can bring him back.”
Amarisa collapsed on the nearest chair, her head in her hands, and wailed. Ariel had never heard such sounds, as if she were being eviscerated before his very eyes. He did not try to approach her again. After what seemed like hours, her sobs subsided. Her dark eyes smoldered. “But he killed that bitch?” Ariel nodded. “Well, I’m glad for that. I only wish I’d done it myself!”
Ariel sat on the couch. “There’s more.”
“More!”
“Yes. There’s the baby—Anneke’s grandchild.”
A harsh laugh. “Why would I give a damn about the spawn of that traitorous bitch?”
“Because.” His voice was a hoarse croak. “She is Abram’s granddaughter.”
Amarisa was speechless. Her dark eyes widened and her jaw dropped. Red rage flooded her face. “That lying whore! She ran off with that sniveling Nazi boyfriend of hers.” She stood and grabbed her purse. “Whoever the father was, it wasn’t Abram.”
“Isaac thought it was,” he whispered.
She stomped over to him. “What do you mean?”
He screwed up the courage to stare into the molten hatred of her eyes. “Papa made me promise to take the baby with me, to raise her as a Jew. It was his final wish.”
She turned away, her body sagging. “This is too much...too much.”
Ariel cringed at her grief and the frailty of her thin shoulders as she sobbed. He waited for her to stop. “Amarisa.”
When she finally turned, she seemed to have aged twenty years. Her eyes were flat, her spine stooped. Ariel thought of an old, sick lion, abandoned by its pride to perish alone. “So what more do you want from me?”
“I have the child,” he whispered.
“What?”
“Leah is bringing her home soon. I wanted to talk to you first.”
“But how did you—”
“Never mind.”
Something like hope flickered now in her eyes. “What is her name?”
“Jacoba.”
16
“Wilt U iets drinken of eten, mevrouw?”
“Nee, dank U wel.”
There was no way she could eat a bite. Groggy from the ten-hour plane ride amid intermittent and frightening dreams, Nora managed a smile for the engaging blonde stewardess offering orange juice and coffee, a good Dutch
broodje
and a cold slab of Dutch butter. She glanced at the headlines of the paper the stewardess had handed her.
Americans Taken Hostage in Tehran! Carter Holds First Press Conference. Vows To Bring Them Home.
She couldn’t read any further. It should be Rose’s disappearance that was sprawled across every headline! She lifted the window shade and stared down at the gray dawn breaking over the land. She felt her gloom lift.
It was how she always felt during the approach to Schiphol. Holland, even from the air, felt like home. Small squares of land, each centimeter of fertile polder put to purpose. Fields of green, flowers ripening under the rich earth and white-and-black cows lying together in the deep, green grass—looking like a swirl of chocolate-and-vanilla ice cream from the sky.
They dropped toward the runway at Schiphol Airport. She heard the wheels descend and then felt the satisfying bump as they landed. It was dark and rainy. Nora thought that the most boring job in the Netherlands was to be a weatherman. The forecast always the same. Rain, rain and more rain.
She turned to Marijke, who was still sleeping in the seat across from her, and tapped her shoulder. “Wake up, we’re here,” she whispered.
Marijke, her blond hair tousled, opened one eye and looked at her. “You know I always wanted you to come back and visit, but this isn’t what I had in mind.”
“Not my plan, either.” Nora smiled. “But we’re here now and I have the feeling we’re going to find something. You think so, too, don’t you?”
Marijke did not respond, suddenly busy putting her books and papers into her carry-on. Nora felt a sudden keening.
Where was Rose? Why wasn’t she in her arms so she could wrap her more tightly in her blanket when she cried or plant soft kisses on her velvet cheeks?
No,
no
. She had to avoid such forays into her hyperactive imagination. They paralyzed her ability to think keenly, and that she couldn’t afford. Most important, her fantasies didn’t help Rose and Nora’s instinct told her that only she could help her baby now.
She had called Bates from the Houston airport. He had reluctantly extended her leave for another week. The intimation was that she better be back by then or he would have to let her go.
She and Marijke stood in line for Immigration. The wait was maddening. It was never quick, but today it seemed as if flights from every country in the world had arrived at the same time. Nora finally reached the red line painted on the floor that meant she was next. After a few moments, the
douane
motioned her forward. Nora paid no attention to him other than to hand over her passport. She saw Marijke in line a few rows over and smiled at her. Marijke rolled her eyes.
“Are you in Amsterdam for business or pleasure?”
“Pleasure.” If she had said business, she’d have had to explain what kind and answer other annoying questions she had no time for. She reached to take back her passport, but the
douane
shook his head and then looked up at her.
“Is there a problem?”
He stared at her, then looked down at her passport, turning its pages.
“I’m sure everything is in order and I’m in a hurry.”
“Just one moment, please.” He spoke with the stiff, authoritative voice of all petty officials. “Where will you be staying?”
Nora was surprised. She’d never been asked that. “With a friend,” she said curtly.
“Address?”
“Is that necessary?” He just gave her a look that said he held all the cards. She shrugged. “Prinsengracht 353.” He gave her another piercing look, copied the photograph page of her passport and then waved her through.
Nora hurried to meet Marijke at the exit. After a short tram ride, Nora stepped out onto the wet cobblestones and lugged her suitcase up the steep stairs to Marijke’s flat, with Marijke huffing behind her. Fortunately, Marijke lived on the first floor, which in Holland meant the second. When Nora was last here, Marijke had lived in a four-story walkup.
“Godverdomme,”
Marijke cursed as she struggled with the lock. “Why do I live in an old canal house? I could be in the country with a rich husband and two children.”
Nora put her bags down and walked to the large bay window in the living room. Outside people passed by with shoulders hunched against the wind, their feet sometimes slipping on the wet cobblestones. Looking past them, Nora saw the canal, its brown water flowing quietly by, interrupted by a guide blaring out the history of Amsterdam on yet another endless city boat tour. Nora smiled and pointed. “If you moved away, you wouldn’t have this.”
“Ja, ja.”
Marijke stood next to her. “You’re right. I’m too set in my ways to change now.”
After Nora unpacked in the small guest bedroom, Marijke insisted that she have a cup of tea and a
broodje
before she rushed off to the
Instituut.
Nora knew it would be useless to refuse. The Dutch believed that unless one fortified oneself constantly with coffee, tea or a heavy meal, one ran a risk of starvation, even if walking only from the Prinsengracht to the nearby Herengracht, where the
Instituut
was located.
“Why don’t we call some of your friends?”
Nora thought of Fina, Gertrude, Liesbet. Fina laughing at parties, walking with Gertrude in the Vondelpark, the pleasant hours spent with Liesbet sifting through the flea markets. And there was Jan Brugger, her old boss. She shook her head. “What could they do?”
“They could give you moral support. Who knows how else they could help?”
“Fina is a lawyer, Gertrude is an insurance agent and Liesbet runs an employment agency.”
“Don’t you want to see them?”
“Not now. I can’t spare time away from the
Instituut.
”
“I could invite them to dinner.”
“Marijke, it would seem like a homecoming party. While Rose is lost out there, I just can’t deal with it.”
“Perhaps later.”
“Maybe.” She smiled. “Besides, you’re all the moral support I need.”
“Tell me if you change your mind.”
“I will.” Nora finished the
broodje
ham
quickly and stood. “It’s time.”
Marijke nodded. “I’m staying here. At least I still have a job.”
“You’re not serious?”
“You didn’t hear me on the phone with the university president?”
“No.”
Marijke winked. “I told him that I had contracted a terrible case of rare American flu that was highly contagious.”
Nora laughed. “Let me guess. He begged you to stay away.”
“Alders, in his heart of hearts, believes that all air travel is life threatening.”
“And your mother?”
“I’ll check in with her now that I have the plague.”
Nora gave Marijke a quick hug. “Time to go.”
“Good luck.”
Tension snaked through Nora’s body. Marijke must have seen it. She gave Nora another hug.
“Hou je sterk,”
she whispered.
Nora tried to reply, but the words stuck in her throat.
Whatever she found, would she be strong enough to face it?