Chapter 6 Ingrid #2
Ingrid had always expected the distasteful thing to return. Mother had never done anything to convince Ingrid she was no longer
a fascist. No vocal support of Queen Wilhelmina or Dutch leaders, no discussions with Opa about law, no political talk except
when instructing Ingrid to develop an interest in something else. Still, the photograph left a knot of disappointment in her
stomach. For all her doubts, she wanted to believe Mother. Yet this proved she had been lying all this time. She had never
changed and never would.
Aleida, too, paled at the sight of the photograph. Ingrid glared at it a moment longer, then pressed on, so her sister followed.
Upstairs in their bedroom, Aleida placed a new pair of pointe shoes and satin ribbons on her bed. As her sister rummaged for
her sewing kit, Ingrid clenched her shaking hands.
A mother who likely still supported the fascists, as evidenced by the Reichsparteitag photograph.
A fiancé who would be forced to fight for them unless he deserted.
A grandfather who was dismissed from his position due to his opposing views.
A Jewish dance instructor who was so concerned for the future, she was raising funds to help those like her escape.
Arnhem was dangerous now. It would not be safe again until the war ended.
“Lars can go underground,” Aleida said as she threaded a needle. “Madame Bellamy has contacts who will help.”
“Right, underground, where I can’t see him, can’t communicate with him, where God knows what will happen if he’s caught? No,
he can’t stay here, we can’t—” Ingrid broke off with a bitter laugh. “God, I’m such a hypocrite.”
Too cowardly to stay in her occupied homeland and see the fight against fascism through. And she called herself an advocate.
Yet despite her eagerness to help, the situation was beyond their control. Arnhem was no longer a place for anyone who stood
against the Nazis.
“You’re not a hypocrite; you love him,” Aleida replied softly. “And you’re right, leaving is best. I’ll keep Mother from finding
out.”
Aside from Opa, Aleida was the only person Ingrid had trusted with the news of her engagement to Lars. Throughout their relationship,
Aleida had been immeasurably helpful in orchestrating moments for Ingrid to spend with him or in keeping Mother from discovering
where she was. Her sister’s willingness to protect Ingrid’s relationship always left her heart warm. This time, though, she
frowned. How did Aleida expect to distract Mother when she would be going with them? But when Aleida didn’t look up from her
sewing, a coldness settled over Ingrid, sharpening her voice.
“No, you are absolutely not going to—”
“I have a needle, and these shoes have quite a hard box, and I’m not afraid to use either if you pester me.”
With an exasperated breath, Ingrid sat beside her, though she was wise enough to keep her hands to herself. “You can dance anywhere, but you can’t stay here. Certainly not with her.”
Neither could Ingrid face such a possibility. Not when the thought of being apart from her sister was unfathomable.
“You saw the photograph,” she persisted. “If you stay in a fascist household—”
“This has nothing to do with ballet or Mother.” At last Aleida stopped sewing. “Aside from Madame Bellamy, I’m the only one
who knows who our contacts are, and I’m not Jewish, so if matters worsen and the laws limit her more severely, she’ll need
me even more.”
“I need you.”
“You don’t. Not the same way the work needs me or Lars needs you.”
She was right; if Aleida stayed, Lars would never ask Ingrid to abandon her sister for him. Nor would he flee for his own
safety while Ingrid remained in an occupied country. She couldn’t let him stay or bear the thought of being apart again. But
to leave Aleida? Just the possibility made her feel sick.
“You’re always saying the war is temporary. Isn’t that all this is? Temporary.” Aleida took Ingrid’s hand. “Be with the man
you love. Marry him. You can’t do that freely here.”
“My sister or my fiancé, then?” Ingrid swallowed hard, blinking past her hazy vision until Aleida gently wiped an escaped
tear. “Please,” she managed, meeting her sister’s steady blue-gray gaze. “Please don’t make me choose between you.”
“You’re not. I’m choosing your happiness—and my own, because I can’t be happy knowing you’ll be miserable if you stay.”
They had spent nearly every moment of their eighteen years of life together—from this childhood bedroom to the boarding school
in Kent to this war. She had to change Aleida’s mind. And she had to protect Lars.
Then, all at once, she knew exactly where they would go: America.
The United States. A place far from the war overtaking Europe and where they would be free to live as they wished.
The idea was almost tempting enough to make her concede.
Yet even with Aleida’s blessing, doubt and confusion wrestled inside her. She could not leave her sister.
A tap sounded against the window—a pebble lightly striking the glass, indicating Lars was attempting to be discreet, since
Mother would order him away if he knocked. Aleida stepped to the window and waved, meaning Ingrid would be down to see him.
Then she faced her sister.
“You know I’m right, Inge,” she said softly. “It’s the only way to protect him, so do it, please. For him and for me.”
Ingrid swallowed hard. She could not deny that the possibility of freedom had fanned the spark of hope inside her to a full
flame, even as the thought of being separated from her sister threatened to douse it entirely.
Outside, moonlight illuminated his silhouette beneath the shadows of the old chestnut tree, their usual meeting place. The
hasty swish of her footsteps through the grass carried her closer to him, narrowing the distance even as they constantly faced
the endless distance of separation.
“I had to see you were home safe,” Lars said when she was within earshot. “I know I should have told you sooner, and that
I don’t need to protect you from this war, but are you honestly angry with me for wanting to protect you? For wanting to enjoy our time together without it being ruined by—”
She silenced him with a fierce kiss while the tension coursing through his body shifted into a different intensity as he held
her close. Maybe she didn’t need protection. Neither could she ever resent him for giving it to her anyway.
“Darling, we’re all right,” she murmured before meeting his gaze, his eyes shining silver in the moonlight. “Aleida and I
have an idea.”
After she relayed it to him, his eyes brightened with irrepressible hope, then he took her hands. “Are you certain this is what you want? I don’t want to cause a rift between you and your family.”
The rift between Ingrid and Mother had existed long before Lars. This was what they had to do, the only way to avoid losing
him. Even if being separated from her sister for a time—only a time—already felt like losing a part of herself.
The next evening, after Mother retired to bed, Ingrid gathered her belongings—a few clothes, bread, and a canteen of water.
Anything more would be too conspicuous and cumbersome, and she didn’t have time to delay. If the rumors of conscription proved
true, Lars needed to get out of Arnhem before he received his orders, so they were leaving tonight. These were her last moments
with her sister, who had spent all day diligently helping Ingrid prepare and not saying a word about their impending separation.
“I understand why you want to stay,” Ingrid said quietly as Aleida offered her a folded blouse. “I couldn’t be prouder of
you, truly. But there’s time to change your mind.”
Aleida responded with a wistful smile, crushing the hopes Ingrid knew better than to permit. Then she tugged on the chain
around Ingrid’s neck, freeing the engagement ring. The small diamond sparkled in the lamplight.
“You’re going to be the most beautiful bride, Inge. And I’m going to miss you terribly.”
The ache that had lingered in Ingrid’s chest all day intensified even as a pulse of energy joined it.
Bride. Once they were settled, she and Lars were to be married.
On that day, the first of a lifetime with the man she loved, her sister would not be there to celebrate with her.
She covered Aleida’s hand with her own, seeking words, finding none.
Aleida cleared her throat and stepped back, adopting their mother’s pursed lips and judgmental frown before imitating her
crisp, refined lilt. “Ingrid, Ingrid, where did I go wrong? That girl has always been too much like her father.”
Despite immediate giggles, Ingrid shook her head in protest. “Don’t make me laugh; that’s not fair.”
Aleida’s cheeky grin failed to eradicate the heaviness in her eyes, though her voice was steady. “Once you’re safe, write
to me at the Muziekschool. Mother won’t be able to intercept the correspondence, and Madame Bellamy will give me the message.
Promise me.”
“I promise. Write back the moment you receive it.” As Aleida nodded, Ingrid took her hands. “Lars and I are forever indebted
to you. And I will see you soon.”
“Of course you will.” Aleida quickly escaped Ingrid’s hold and shoved the bag into her hands. “Go, don’t keep him waiting.”
True, they needed to make the most of the evening hours, yet Ingrid paused at the bedroom door. Quiet settled, broken by her
resolute breath. This was it, then. A new life and a time apart. Her opportunity for freedom and happiness deformed by the
gaping wound she would carry with her.
She turned and caught Aleida in an embrace, blinking past tears as Aleida’s fierce grip and shuddering breaths matched her
own. For this moment nothing else existed—not the war, not their choices, only her sister.
Their time apart would be temporary.
Except war held the power to take what was temporary and make it permanent.