Chapter 4 Ingrid
Ingrid
A prosecuting attorney’s office was an unusual place of refuge, yet it was the one Ingrid had sought ever since she was a
little girl. She was not a child anymore, but she still came here at every opportunity, and nearly every day since early May.
Since Holland had succumbed to the Nazis after only five days.
Five days. Every time she remembered that tiny number, her heartbeat climbed as it had when she sat at her bedroom window,
listening to planes roaring overhead, watching enemy troops swarming the streets. Her country’s sense of security had been
eroding while the war swept across Europe, yet to have succumbed after a mere five days left her painfully aware of how strong
the invading forces were. At least Lars was home from the front, although she was not certain he would be any safer here.
She toyed with the diamond ring on a chain around her neck, usually worn beneath her clothing—the engagement ring he had given her after returning from the service.
A secret she kept from Mother, since Mother disapproved of him simply because Lars was a Dutch military man, not a wealthy British aristocrat worthy of her daughter.
“What if this occupation is not temporary, Opa?”
Ingrid had always clung to the assurance that it would end soon, but here, in the security of her grandfather’s law office,
she allowed fear to emerge just this once. Opa looked up from behind his desk, where he had been quietly working. He peered
at her through his spectacles, smoothing his gray mustache.
“Will an occupation change your beliefs?” he asked.
“No.”
“Then there is your answer. If it endures, the only difference is you might need to find a place where you are free to maintain
such beliefs.”
Ingrid nodded slowly. Every time Opa spoke of freedom, his eyes ignited with curiosity and longing. Despite his commitment
to Dutch law, he had always spoken admirably of American democracy. Once, when Ingrid was ten years old, she had come home
from boarding school and hurried to Opa’s office, where she told him about her studies, then turned the pages of his American
history book.
“Would you ever go to the United States?” she had asked.
He shook his head. “I am too old, too settled. But it would be fascinating, would it not? To be there to study its constitution,
its laws, its elections. What a remarkable country it is.” He nodded to the massive tome. “And you, Ingrid? Would you go to
the United States?”
“Not without you,” she replied, to which a faint smile appeared beneath his bushy mustache.
That had been eight years ago. Now Ingrid glanced at the American history book on Opa’s bookshelf. She could not abandon her
country, her loved ones, yet the idea of freedom was certainly appealing.
A knock sounded on the door, then it opened to reveal a man in a green uniform.
Ingrid knew that shade of green even before he fully entered the room.
Orpo officers were everywhere, overtaking the city.
She sat taller, heart racing, and glanced at Opa, whose expression remained neutral while the young officer tipped his hat and offered her grandfather a document.
“A notice for attorneys and government officials. Effective immediately, laws instated by the Third Reich are to be enforced.
Should you have questions, my name is Wachtmeister Julius Hochheimer.”
Ingrid gripped the arms of her chair as her temper threatened to flare. They could not force her grandfather to do this. Still,
if the Third Reich was enforcing its laws, then this occupation might not be as temporary as she hoped.
Slowly, Opa accepted the paper, then removed his spectacles. “Ingrid, go home.”
His voice was calm, yet suddenly Ingrid felt like she had received the harshest, most undeserved reprimand. He had never ordered
her away before. A lump found her throat, a combination of hurt and confusion she could not ease.
Before she could decide between protesting or obeying, Hochheimer held up a hand. “Any questions can be addressed in front
of her.”
A muscle along Opa’s jaw tensed. He glanced at Ingrid, a look she could not decipher, then handed the notice back. “As an
attorney, I cannot in good conscience practice under any laws other than those of my country.”
Despite her lingering confusion and uncertainty, a flush of pride warmed Ingrid even as the tension in her chest increased
so much, she could hardly breathe. So far, Hochheimer had been polite and official. Now, a slight hardening overtook him like
a storm brewing in the near distance, seconds from being unleashed.
“These orders are to be followed, and you will follow them.”
Opa remained as he was, offering Hochheimer the document. Ingrid sat perfectly still, blood rushing in her ears while neither
man wavered.
“You will not adhere to any laws except those of your former government?” The Orpo officer jerked his head toward Ingrid. “Does she feel as you do?”
“She is a girl.”
Implying such matters would not interest her or, even if they did, she was a woman, a girl with no right to an opinion. Opa
made the remark for Hochheimer’s benefit, she knew. Her grandfather was the one who encouraged her to expand her knowledge
and form her own thoughts. She still fought the urge to protest. The officer seemed to agree, though, judging by the dismissive
glance he gave her, to which she exercised all her control to keep quiet.
“Your colleagues, then? Do they agree with your beliefs?” Hochheimer seemed to take Opa’s silence as confirmation. “Tell me
the names of those who share your views, and you may keep your position. Refuse and you are dismissed, effective immediately.”
Ingrid sprang from her chair. “No, you can’t forbid him from working!”
“Hold your tongue, or I will arrest you both.”
Arrest them for what? For being forced to name others who shared Opa’s views? For losing his career if he didn’t? For Ingrid
pointing out the unfairness of such a demand?
Opa had already risen to his feet and placed a restraining hand on her. “I will collect my belongings, and the space will
be vacated by this time tomorrow.” He stepped from behind the desk, holding Ingrid’s arm firmly, and led her past the Orpo
officer.
She could do nothing except walk beside him, her mind whirling too much to make sense of what had just occurred. Only once
they had safely exited the building and proceeded to the next block did he release her, and she whirled on him.
“He can’t do that to you! It’s not right.”
Gently, he took her shoulders. “If I cannot be proud of the work I’m doing, then I don’t want to be doing that work. My career
is not worth my integrity.”
She looked into his bright blue eyes, warm and kind and matching her own. She had never known her father, but knowing her grandfather felt like knowing Papa in a small way. Except Papa had left. Opa had not.
Ingrid wrapped her arms around his neck, infusing all her love and pride for him into her embrace. He kissed her cheek, then
released her and nodded her along, since Lars was waiting on the corner to accompany her home. She hurried toward him, every
step fueled by the temper she could never seem to control.
“It’s wrong. It’s all so terribly wrong,” she announced when she reached her fiancé.
Then she poured out the whole story. A good, kind man who had been a dedicated attorney for decades had lost his job over
refusing to compromise his beliefs. Because no one in Arnhem was free to do anything anymore.
When she finished, Lars brought her into his embrace, where her heartbeat finally slowed. Opa was her comfort, but so was
Lars.
“Your grandfather is a brave man, and you, my love, are a brave woman,” he said. “All we can do is defend ourselves, even
when it isn’t enough.”
Always so calm and reassuring and everything she needed. He brushed her dark hair from her face and kissed her cheek, then
she threaded her arm through his as they began their walk. For the past two years they had been inseparable—ever since one
summer afternoon when she had swerved her bicycle to avoid a vehicle stalled in the road, nearly crashing into the handsome
blond fellow attempting to fix it.
Once at home, they paused outside the door, where she brought his mouth to hers. She was not even free to do this, to kiss
the man she intended to marry, because if Mother opened this door she would put a stop to it. Ingrid didn’t care. Mother could
attempt to take her fiancé, and the Third Reich could attempt to take her freedom, but Ingrid would cling to both with everything
she had.
After leaving Lars with a final kiss, Ingrid went inside. She closed the door softly, then pressed a palm to her chest, feeling the tiny ring hidden beneath her clothes.
“Ingrid? Where have you been all day?”
She pressed her teeth together. She was already on the precipice of unleashing every emotion tangled inside her, letting it
all out in a flood of tears, of rage, of she did not know what. One single provocation from Mother was all it would take.
Mother entered the foyer, eyebrows already furrowed in disapproval. “Have you been with that boy? You know how I feel about
him.”
“I also know how I feel about him,” she retorted with a rush of satisfaction when Mother bristled. “Opa approves of him.”
“Your grandfather is not your mother; I am.” Then she sighed. “Darling, I only want what’s best for you.”
Ingrid and Mother had very different opinions of what was best for her. Mother hailed from England and envisioned a posh aristocrat
in her daughter’s future. Was it wrong to want someone else? Mother would sigh about Ingrid’s strong-willed nature, saying
it had come from her father. Was it wrong to speak her mind? Mother would encourage her away from politics and toward more
ladylike pursuits. Was it wrong to take an interest in important matters?
“An Orpo officer dismissed Opa from government work. All because he doesn’t agree with their laws. Are you pleased, Mother?
Is that what you and your friends wanted?”
“Me and my—?” Then Mother stopped, realizing what Ingrid was implying. “How many times must I explain it? I believed the promises,
the lies . . . So many of us did back then. Will you punish me for it all my life?”
It was childish and unfair of Ingrid to resort to such a jab.
When the war began in Europe, Mother had tearfully professed repentance of the beliefs she had held in the 1930s.
Right now, though, Ingrid was too angry to care.
There were no Wehrmacht soldiers or Orpo officers here for her to blame for the fascism overtaking her life, so she could only lash out at the woman who had once upheld the same views.
Neither was Ingrid so sure she could trust Mother’s change of heart after she had spent so many years supporting the party.
Although she tried to push past Mother, a hand found her shoulder, then arms encircled her. Ingrid lost the strength to resist,
the will to argue, the need to do anything except succumb to tears and fury and her mother’s embrace. She did not want them
to fight as often as they did; it just seemed to happen. For this moment, though, she could pretend it did not. She could
cry on her mother’s shoulder. Mourn the injustices her grandfather suffered. Fret over the rumors circulating about what this
occupation might mean for Jews. Long for the life she wanted with a fascinating career in politics or law and a loving husband
by her side.
A life she would never have until they found freedom.