Tales from the Fountain Pen Read Online Free PDF Page B

psst.”
    I go to the back gate and find Siepie standing there holding a small child by the hand. A little girl with dark curls and dimples in her cheeks. She can’t be more than four or five years old.
    “Siepie?” I ask, wondering what she’s up to now. I’m still a little leery after the fountain-pen-message smuggling incident.
    “Open the gate, hurry,” she says, looking behind her. I comply and let her and the child in.
    “What’s this all about?” I cross my arms in front of my chest and try to look stern, but I have a hard time of it; the little girl is so cute and Siepie is still my best friend, no matter what.
    “Shh, keep your voice down,” Siepie says, and places a finger against her lips, which the little girl copies with a very serious look on her little face. “I can’t be sure we weren’t followed.”
    I raise an eyebrow. Why would anyone want to follow her and that adorable child? Surely they would think they were sisters or cousins out for a walk.
    Siepie pulls out a yellow Star of David from her pocket and holds it over the girl’s coat. Only then do I notice the stitches that once held the star in place, in compliance with the rules of the occupiers of our country.
    A child! Must they label and threaten even an innocent child?
    I nod at Siepie. “What can I do?” I ask, for I feel sure she wants me to do something. Something I won’t like.
    “I need you to shelter Irma for me.” Before I can even protest and say how scared it will make my father, she places her hand over my mouth and continues. “Her mother is on her way to England, we think her father might have been captured, but we don’t know for sure. Her uncle was killed. We hope to send Irma to England on the next crossing—her mother is working with the Dutch resistance there. You know, Her Majesty, Wilhelmina’s group.” I nod and take her hand away from my mouth.
    “How long?”
    “A few days. Just keep her out of sight. No playing outside, at all!” Siepie says sternly.
    I wonder what my father will say, but I can’t say no. Siepie had to be very desperate to bring this child to our house, especially after I got so mad at her over the fountain pen.
    “I’ll keep her safe, but don’t leave her here too long,” I say. “My father might get attached to her.” I smile but inside I feel sadness; the sadness my father will show in his eyes when I tell him the little girl’s story.
    Siepie says goodbye to Irma and hands me a small overnight case. She tells Irma to be a good girl and that they’ll have her back with her mother very soon.
    “Come along, Irma,” I say and take her hand. “Would you like some warm milk?” I offer when I feel how cold her hand is. When did she last eat, I wonder? I notice she’s very thin when I help her out of her coat.
    I sit her down at the small table next to the stove in the kitchen and pull out a pan and some milk. We have extra because my uncle Adema will often bring us a bottle or two on his way to market. He could get in trouble for that but he seems to enjoy putting one over on the enemy.
    “Toast, too?” I ask, and see the eager look in her eyes as she nods her head, her curls bobbing along in harmony.
    As I slice the bread Betty comes in and stares at the child.
    “Who is that?” she asks. “And why are you giving some of our meager rations to her?”
    “Betty, sometimes I’m ashamed to be your sister,” I snap. Then I tell her Irma’s story, hoping it will soften her.
    “I see,” she says, still with a sharp edge to her voice.
    All this time the little girl has kept quiet.
    “I’m waiting here for my mommie,” she says in a soft, high-pitched voice. I can see Betty start to melt a little, but rather than admit it, she turns and quickly leaves the kitchen.
    “Here you go, sweetheart.” I place a cup of warm milk and a plate with buttered toast before her and am rewarded with a big smile.
    I watch the child enjoy the food and milk and I again wonder when