Chapter 26 Ada
Ada
Constance de Vos enters Gordon Sharpe’s home as if she’s never belonged anywhere else. The same rigid posture, the same scrupulous
gaze, a few more fine lines across her face. The war has left its mark on her as it has on so many others.
Mother is here, alive, leaving Ada no time to process the realization before Mother suddenly berates her, every barbed word
driving deeper.
“After all I did to protect you, none of it mattered. I didn’t matter. You left without a word, Aleida, without a single indication you were alive despite how difficult it was for
us when Ingrid—” Then her voice breaks and she pulls Ada close.
Something within Ada shatters as she clings to Mother and fights her own tremulous breaths amid Mother’s choked sobs.
“How could you? How could you let me endure such a terrible ordeal a second time? To lose both my daughters, my darling little
girls . . .”
Every part of Ada prickles with heat—shame, guilt, relief, and uncertainty all at once.
“I’m sorry . . .” The words fall away, partially because Ada can’t find them, partially because she doesn’t know what to say.
She has so many questions, ones she was never permitted to ask. Because she was told simply to trust Mother and keep quiet.
Once Mother has calmed, Ada draws back.
“How did you find me?”
“I’ve looked for both of you ever since the war ended. I came to America and hoped you might be here, or perhaps England,
then I saw a film advertisement, and there you were. So here I am.” Gently, Mother cups Ada’s cheeks, her eyes welling with
more tears before she regains her composure. “Might you have any tea? This is all rather overwhelming.”
Ada leads her into the kitchen, where she sits while Ada brews tea, fetches two cups, and rummages through Gordon’s cabinets.
Crackers and sliced cheese will have to do.
When Sowerby pads into the room, the intrepid little fellow approaches Mother despite her discouraging frown. She never was
one for pets. Ada calls to him, so he remains underfoot while she works in silence. Once the tea is served, Ada takes her
seat. Then she can keep silent no longer.
“Tell me the truth, Mother. I have to know.” Already she feels it—the scar on her breast, burning and aching as if fresh.
She fights to voice his name. “Did Dietrich force you to be with him? Or was it your choice?”
Ada does not know which she expects, or which would be worse to hear. A shadow passes over Mother’s face—sorrow, regret, or
something else, Ada cannot tell.
“Being associated with your grandfather put us in enough danger, considering he was publicly anti-Nazi. We needed protection. When I think of what those men might have done to us, to you—” Mother stares into her teacup, swallowing hard.
“I met Dietrich one day when I was out shopping. He took an interest in me, and when I learned he was such a high-ranking officer, I thought I could pretend for a little while. To keep us safe. No, he did not force me, nor did I want to give him or anyone else the opportunity. So I chose to be willing instead.”
A choice, yet not a choice. Ada stares into her own teacup, a sour taste filling her mouth.
“I couldn’t admit the truth to anyone, not even you, because it was safer for us both.” Her voice breaks, so Ada meets her
eyes. “How could you truly believe my actions were sincere?”
Ada had not known what to believe—at times fully convinced it was all real yet praying she was wrong and it was an act. Hearing
the truth now gives her slight relief, even though her next question is tight.
“What happened to him?”
“A few days before Germany’s surrender, I woke up and found he had fled.”
Dietrich survived, then. Unless he was arrested or killed later. If he is alive, Ada’s chance for justice remains, yet the
realization brings little reassurance even though it’s what she wants, what his victims deserve. Whether he is alive or dead,
condemned or acquitted, this unsettled feeling will never leave her. He will never leave her.
“Darling, I realize how difficult those times must have been for you. How confusing. How frightening.” Mother covers Ada’s
hand with her own, her gaze clear and earnest. “Every choice I made was for our protection. Your protection. All I ask is that you try to understand.”
A ray of hope blossoms in Ada’s chest. If Mother is telling the truth, she was simply a woman in an occupied country faced
with an impossible choice. So she made the one that she thought might aid in her family’s survival, wrong though it was to
align herself with the enemy. Still, maybe she is not the dedicated fascist Ingrid fears her to be.
Perhaps they can start again.
“The war couldn’t have been easy for you either.”
“I did my best for you. And for Ingrid.” When her voice breaks, she pinches the bridge of her nose.
“Such a stubborn girl, that one.” A fragile breath, leaving Ada’s heart tightening.
“For years, every day has been agony. And I’ve tried to accept it, I have, but how can I accept never knowing what happened to my little girl? ”
“No, please don’t worry, Mother. Ingrid is all right, she’s alive, she’s—”
And then Ada can’t quite comprehend what she’s done. What she’s said. Ingrid might not want to be found, and Ada blurted out
the information without her sister’s permission.
Mother looks up, eyes bright. “You’ve found her? Oh, thank God.” She places a hand on her chest, closes her eyes to resist
tears. “Please, you must convince her to meet with me.”
Ada is not certain Ingrid will be convinced, but she nods. Perhaps Ingrid will surprise her; maybe she will set aside her
mistrust long enough to hear Mother’s explanation.
Mother’s chair scrapes across the floor as she stands. “I’ll do whatever I must to prove myself to both of you. To earn your
understanding and forgiveness. To erase the past. All of it.”
Despite the reassurance of her willingness, a chill settles over Ada’s skin. If only it were so easy. Forgetting.
Ada will never forget. Dietrich made certain of that.
“I know you took evidence, Aleida. Evidence against him. And against me.”
The quiet statement is not critical; rather, it is so anguished, Ada can’t meet Mother’s gaze. Because she is right. Ada has
held evidence against her own mother all this time. Even if it was a choice made to protect them, Mother betrayed innocent
people. Can Ada forgive her for something so terrible?
“Do you know what happened to Dutch women accused of collaborating?” Mother presses.
“Their heads were shaved. I was spared only because I fled right after Dietrich did. With help from a few officers under his command who escaped with me, I got out of Arnhem, but I saw what was happening. Those women were publicly shamed, humiliated, left with a visible reminder of their treachery. Perhaps some collaborated out of genuine support. Perhaps others were falsely condemned. Still others might have felt they had no other choice, or they were coerced, forced, threatened, assaulted, God knows what. And yet, no matter the reason, each woman was mocked and ridiculed just the same.”
The disturbing images fill Ada’s head, and she struggles to suppress them while Mother continues.
“Would you wish the same fate upon me? Because as long as you cling to your evidence, you cling to the past. To your mistrust.
I can explain myself over and over, but I can’t force you to believe me. All I ask is that you allow me time to earn your
trust. To be your mother.” A hand brushes a sudden escaped tear from Ada’s cheek. “We can be a family again.”
Despite the confusion and uncertainty swirling inside her, the words settle Ada slightly. It’s all she wants too—for Mother
to be a mother. Not a Nazi supporter, a mistress, a collaborator.
“I think time will be good for us,” she agrees softly. “Gordon has a guesthouse near the rose garden, if you’d like to stay.”
Mother offers a little smile. “I’d like nothing more.”
Ada shows her the way and helps her settle into the little cottage, then she returns to the main house, her heart pounding.
Ingrid will be here soon. And Ada has invited both her and Mother to stay here. A notion Ingrid will certainly reject when
she finds out.
How Ada is going to explain any of this to Ingrid, she does not know. She cannot lose her sister a second time.