REMNANTS
by
Stan Poel
REMNANTS BY STAN POEL Published by Heritage Beacon Fiction an imprint of Lighthouse Publishing of the Carolinas 2333 Barton Oaks Dr., Raleigh, NC 27614 ISBN: 978-1-946016-39-3 Copyright © 2018 by Stan Poel Cover design by Elaina Lee Interior design by AtriTex Technologies P Ltd Available in print from your local bookstore, online, or from the publisher at: ShopLPC.com For more information on this book and the author visit: http://stanpoel.com/ All rights reserved. Noncommercial interests may reproduce portions of this book without the express written permission of Lighthouse Publishing of the Carolinas, provided the text does not exceed 500 words. When reproducing text from this book, include the following credit line: “Remnants by Stan Poel published by Lighthouse Publishing of the Carolinas. Used by permission.” Commercial interests: No part of this publication may be reproduced in any form, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means—electronic, photocopy, recording, or otherwise—without prior written permission of the publisher, except as provided by the United States of America copyright law. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and incidents are all products of the author’s imagination or are used for fictional purposes. Any mentioned brand names, places, and trademarks remain the property of their respective owners, bear no association with the author or the publisher, and are used for fictional purposes only. All scripture quotations, unless otherwise indicated, are taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version®, NIV®. Copyright ©1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.TM. Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved worldwide. www. zondervan.com. “NIV” and “New International Version” are trademarks registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office by Biblica, Inc.TM. Brought to you by the creative team at Lighthouse Publishing of the Carolinas (LPCBooks.com): Eddie Jones, Ann Tatlock, Shonda Savage, Tom Threadgill, Brian Cross, Elaina Lee Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Poel, Stan. Remnants / Stan Poel 1st ed. Printed in the United States of America
DEDICATION For the Jan Atsma family, who sheltered Dutch Jews on their farm in the Netherlands. They represent the courageous Dutchmen who protected their neighbors, risking everything with no expectation of reward or recognition.
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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS I thank God for giving me stories to tell and blessing me with both the capacity to write and a fantastic support system that compensates for my shortcomings. Number one in my support system, in my writing and in every other aspect of my life, is my wonderful wife, Wilma. She was the first to read my drafts and provided invaluable insights, along with tremendous patience and encouragement. I owe much to the great publishing team at Lighthouse Publishing of the Carolinas. A special thanks to the two editors who led me every step of the way to publication. Tom Threadgill is a master at bringing life to characters. Ann Tatlock has been the ideal managing editor. I have greatly appreciated her kindness and guidance. I must recognize my faithful critique partners: Barbara Allison, Mary Hamilton, Scott Hamilton, Victoria Kendig, Linda LaRoque, Jan Matlock, Jane Strickland, and Betty Willis. We became friends as we grew together. Watch for their names. Some are already published. I hope they all reach that goal. A special thanks goes to Chris Fabiszewski and Jane Strickland for their valuable insights after careful study of the entire manuscript. They were wonderful.
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Chapter One 6 May 1940 Nijkerk, Netherlands
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speeding airplane flashed low overhead and shattered the quiet air. The wooden bucket slipped from Jenny’s grasp, and she dropped to her knees. A nearby flock of hens exploded into a flapping and screeching panic, raising a cloud of dust and white feathers in the fenced chicken yard. She blinked her eyes open just in time to catch the shape of the single-engine plane disappearing over the trees. Exhaust fumes from the low-flying craft drifted to the ground and pushed aside the earthy scents of the farm. Jenny ignored her terrified flock and studied the sky where the plane disappeared. The Germans have come. A few billowing cumulus clouds greeted her. Nothing more. She stood and brushed off the dust. The hens returned to pecking and scratching the dirt. A half-minute later, her heart rate spiked at the sound of an airplane in the distance. He’s back. The plane appeared over the trees, flying directly toward her. Her anxious gaze scanned her surroundings, desperately searching for safety. The nearby chicken coop offered refuge from view, but no protection from guns or bombs. She dropped to her knees again and gritted her teeth. The aircraft cruised past, slower this time, an orange triangle proudly displayed on the plane. Its wings dipped a few times. 1
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Tension drained from her body as the craft disappeared in the distance. She turned to her flock. “You girls just relax. It wasn’t a German attack at all. It was one of our planes. I bet it was that crazy DeVries kid showing off.” She picked up her pail. “Alec is playing war hero with nobody to fight.” The door to the farmhouse opened, and her mother stepped outside. “What’s the racket out here, Jenny?” “I think it was just that DeVries boy, Mama. The one who became a pilot. I think he was trying to impress me.” A smile appeared on the older woman’s face. “Did he succeed?” “Maybe. But only a little. Mostly, he made me mad when he scared my chickens.” “Don’t be too hard on him, dear. He will make someone a good husband when he grows up a bit.” Her mother stepped back inside, and Jenny rolled her eyes before turning to her little flock. “Last thing I need right now is a husband. I have things to accomplish, but not on a farm and not just as some guy’s housewife.” She dumped the remainder of the chicken feed from her bucket and moved toward the gate. “Now, if you sweet girls will excuse me, I have laundry to do.” Jenny closed the gate to the chicken yard and strode to the barn attached to the back of the farmhouse. Using a hand pump, she filled two wooden buckets with water and attached them to the ends of a yoke. She groaned as she hoisted the contraption onto her shoulders, then toted the buckets outside and emptied their contents into the wood-fired water heater. After stoking the flames, she returned for additional water. Minutes later, she carried hot water back into the barn and filled two large wooden tubs. She added soap to one, tossed soiled clothing into the mix, and proceeded to stir the contents with a wooden paddle. When done, she rinsed the clothes in the second tub. A full hour later, she carried a wicker basket filled with clean, wet laundry to the outdoor clothesline. The clip-clop of a pair of large horses echoed as her father guided the family wagon into the farmyard. He slowed to a stop beside her. 2
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“Nicolaas left word at the store that he was coming home today and bringing a friend with him.” As he paused, the horses jerked the wagon forward, and he yanked the reins. “These boys always get a burst of energy when we head for the barn. So, everything all right here, Jen?” “We did have a little excitement, Papa. A Dutch plane buzzed the farm. Probably Alec DeVries.” His eyes crinkled into a smile. “Sounds like him. Those young pilots do have some fun when they are training.” A frown appeared. “But things may get more serious for them soon.” “Maybe he’s just wasting good Dutch fuel preparing for a war that won’t happen.” “Maybe so.” He snapped the reins, and the horses pulled the wagon into the barn. She lifted the wet, faded apron her mother had worn as long as Jenny could remember, pinned it to the clothesline, and paused. Was war coming? Papa is worried. Mama too. A clattering sound caught her attention, and she peeked between the hanging garments. Two men on bicycles rattled along the quiet farm road and turned into the DeHaans’ driveway, then rested their bikes against the house. Jenny returned a wave from the taller of the two, her brother Nicolaas. She looked down at herself, wearing dirty men’s slacks and a too-large man’s work shirt. A visitor and I’m looking like this. She shrugged. Maybe he’s not cute. As the young men approached, she waited, hands on her hips. “So, the schoolboy returns. I’m glad you’re here. There’s real work to be done.” She tucked a loose strand of her long hair behind her ear and grinned. “Hello, brother.” She took Nic’s hand, pulled him to herself, and gave him a firm hug. She turned to the other man. He actually was fairly cute. Slim. Beautiful brown eyes. “I’m Jenny. Who are you?” She gripped his hand and gave it a firm shake. He blinked and gazed somewhere over her shoulder. “I’m Marten. Um, you have a strong handshake.” 3
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“And your hand is about as soft as a baby’s butt. Do you ever work?” Marten blinked again. “Well, um, not the kind of work you do, but I would like to try.” Jenny studied him, head to foot, then turned to her brother. “This guy might be all right, Nic.” She shrugged. “We’ll see.” She grinned at Marten. “Actually, my brother has told me a lot about you. It’s nice to meet you.” He responded with a weak smile. Nic glanced at the clothes hanging on the line and shifting in the breeze. “Must be laundry day.” “Sure is. Every Monday, week after week after week.” “Well,” Nic said. “I guess we’ll go inside and check on Mama. See you when you’re done, Jen.” As the men headed for the house, Marten turned and locked gazes with her for only a second before hurrying after Nic. Jenny watched him all the way to the house. Something about that guy. Attractive but vulnerable. Even strong in his own way. I need to find out more. She rushed to finish her chores. Near noon, with the week’s laundry finally complete, Jenny hurried into the kitchen. Her brother and his friend were already seated at the table. Her mother stood at the stove, giving the meal one last inspection. “You’re just in time for dinner, sweetheart.” She placed a lid on a pot and wiped her hands on her apron. “I hope you like simple farm food, Marten.” “I’m sure I will, Mrs. DeHaan.” “Good. You boys might want to wash up. Albert will be on time for dinner.” “The schedule on the farm is a bit different,” Nic said. “The day here starts at about four o’clock with feeding the animals and milking. That’s every day. Dairy cattle don’t take any time off. We come in for breakfast at eight. Then we have a big dinner at noon and a big supper at the end of the day. We work hard around here, and we eat well, thanks to Mama.” Marten looked around. “I guess we should wash up then.” 4
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Jenny pointed at the hand pump at the sink. “Water is right here in the kitchen.” She nodded her head toward the back door. “Toilet is outside.” The back door opened, and Father appeared. He pulled off his cap, revealing his thick blond hair. His deeply lined and tanned face spoke of his many years working outdoors. He strode across the room and shook the hand of the young visitor. “You must be Marten.” The voice was deep and gentle. “A real pleasure to meet you. From what I hear, you have been a big help to Nicolaas at the university. I’m Albert DeHaan.” “It is a pleasure to meet you too, sir. I have been anxious to visit.” Father gave Nic a quick, strong hug. “Can you stay the night, son?” “We can’t, Papa. Sorry. We were off today but have classes tomorrow. I just needed to pick up a book I left on my last visit, and I thought Marten would like to see the farm.” Mother set a serving dish on the table. “All right, everybody. Let’s eat before the food gets cold.” A simple Dutch dinner of pork chops, potatoes, vegetables, and home-baked bread topped with farm-fresh butter covered the large kitchen table. The family gathered around it, and while they held hands, Albert said a short prayer: “Bless us, oh Lord, and these thy gifts which we are about to receive from thy bounty.” After a quick pause, he continued, “And protect our family and our peaceful country from war. Amen.” “Do you think the Germans are coming, Papa?” Nic asked. Albert studied his wife’s frowning face. “Probably not, but they did invade Denmark and Norway last month. That does concern me, Emma.” She picked up a serving dish and passed it to her husband. “Let’s not talk of such things at the table.” Marten paused to observe the family loading their plates. His gaze met Jenny’s, and she stifled a smile. “Better eat up. When it’s gone, it’s gone.” Mother frowned. “You take your time, Marten. Believe me; there is plenty.” He looked back at Jenny, and she winked. 5
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When the dishes were almost bare, and no one seemed to want more, Nic, still holding his knife and fork, rested his forearms on the edge of the table. “Does it look good for this season, Father?” “It does. The animals are healthy. We should get enough calves and piglets. And if we can avoid a late frost, the fruit should be good. So, how about school, son? Are you getting all your work done while you’re holding down that job?” “Working in the print shop does slow my education, but I am learning a lot too. And I even have time for fun.” Jenny sliced the last of her meat. “Must be nice. Here I am, nineteen years old, stuck on the farm while my brother, barely a year older, goes to college.” As a tense pause settled over the room, she continued, “I’m still determined to go to university. I learned English and German at our school, and I’m ready after spending this past year working on the farm. And I’ve already applied to Utrecht.” Papa stopped loading tobacco into his pipe. “I’m proud of your spirit, Jenny. I was happy when you applied, and I hope you find a way to go. I am sorry we have no money to pay for your university. What little we have to offer must go to Nicolaas since he will be a breadwinner one day.” She set her knife and fork on her plate, looked down, and gritted her teeth. “There are other girls at school, Jen,” Nic said. “They have jobs. You could get one. Uncle Jake and Aunt Cora said you could stay with them.” “You would fit right in,” Marten added. His bright expression encouraged her. “If you don’t mind hanging around with a first-year student,” she said. “A girl with ideas of her own.” “Hey, this is university,” Marten said. “It’s all about ideas, learning new things, and making new friends. Are you thinking of a career as a teacher or a nurse?” Typical man. She glared at him. “A doctor, actually.” She winced at the pained expression on their visitor’s face. “Sorry I popped off like that. I get a little intense sometimes.” 6
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Marten’s face softened. “No problem.” He paused for a moment. “Say, Jen, next weekend Nicolaas is going with me to my home in The Hague. We are going with my father to an Ajax soccer game. Would you like to come with us?” “Sounds good.” She turned to her father. “Can you spare me for a couple days, Papa?” He smiled and nodded. “I can ride back as far as Nijkerk with you this afternoon,” Jenny said. “We can talk more.” Mama stood and retrieved a dish from the counter. “How about some appeltaart before you kids leave?” Almost faster than they could respond, she placed a slice in front of Marten, along with a bowl of whipped cream. He smiled up at her. “The Americans call this pie. Yours looks better.” He held his fork poised over the dessert. “I’m glad I had a chance to visit your family today. I love your farm. Nijkerk is a nice town too. This morning I got a quick tour as we passed through. Nicolaas showed me his old school and your church.” Papa smoothed a generous helping of whipped cream on the appeltaart. “Which church do you attend?” “The Sephardic synagogue in The Hague.” Mama gasped and brought her hands to her cheeks. “Oh, my.” The conversation froze. Nic cast a nervous glance at Marten. “What’s the problem, Mother?” “What’s the problem? The problem is I just fed the boy some pork. That was not good. I am so sorry, Marten.” She studied the dessert dish in her hand. “It’s a bit late on the pork, but is the appeltaart all right?” “It’s fine, Mrs. DeHaan. My family is very relaxed about the food thing. We never require kosher when we visit non-Jewish friends, or even when we eat in restaurants. Frankly, I like pork, especially bacon.”
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Three bikes rattled along the unpaved road on the half-mile ride into Nijkerk, passing small farms on each side. “I love the quiet out here,” Marten said. “Not a car in sight. Much different from the city.” Jenny pulled alongside him. “What’s it like in The Hague? I’ve never been there.” “Just another town. I’ll show you all around.” He paused for a moment. “So you want to be a doctor, Jen. Me too, maybe. What made you decide on that?” “Well, it’s like this. The thought of spending my life feeding chickens or being a housewife doesn’t work for me. Don’t get me wrong. I plan to settle down and have a bunch of kids, but not right now. I need to strive for something—something hard and meaningful. I have mountains to climb. Know what I mean?” “Maybe you should head for Switzerland to climb your mountains, Jen,” Nic said with a chuckle. “This country is flat as Mama’s kitchen table.” “Oh, you know what I mean. I need a big challenge, something to fire me up. And I like helping people, especially kids. Medical school seems perfect.” “Do you have a backup plan?” Marten asked. “Nope. Don’t need one. I plan to succeed.” The three friends rolled into the small town of Nijkerk. “Let’s get a Coca-Cola at Vander Molen’s store,” Nic suggested. “I’ll meet you there,” Jenny said. “I need to pick up the mail.” They stopped in front of the store, and she crossed the street to the post office. She pulled out the one envelope waiting in the box, and her heart leaped. In bold letters, the return address shouted at her: “University of Utrecht.” With trembling fingers, she ripped open the envelope and read it aloud. “Dear Miss DeHaan. We are pleased to inform you”—she gasped and began again— “We are pleased to inform you that you are accepted as a student of the University of Utrecht.”
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“Yes, yes, yes!” Her words echoed around the room. The wideeyed postmaster gaped at her. “I’m in, Jake.” “In what?” She ran for the door and shouted over her shoulder. “In university.” She burst through the post office door and ran toward Marten and her brother, waving the letter as she went. “I’m in. Utrecht accepted me.” She hugged the beaming friends. “Marten, about that trip to The Hague on the weekend. I think I need to postpone it. I need to see about a job in Utrecht.”
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