better than the rain lily’s blooms. The doorbell rang again.
“Coming!” She hated her quiet afternoons with Rose to be interrupted. It was a golden, sacred time, not to be broken by some lost deliveryman who needed directions or, worse, a zealot who wanted to lead her to Jesus. At the door, she looked through the peephole, opened it and clapped her hands. “Flowers! Oh, how wonderful!” She saw a tall man with white hair and a craggy face holding a brilliant arrangement of tulips—yellows, reds, whites—looking as if they would burst from the silver paper wrapped around them.
As she reached for them, the smile on the man’s face disappeared. He threw the flowers inside and lunged for her. In seconds, he had gloved hands around her neck. He kicked the door shut and forced her backward.
Terrified, Anneke opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came. His hands were tourniquets. She couldn’t breathe. She felt herself passing out, but then he released his grip. She stumbled, fell to the carpet and took deep, hacking gulps of air. Her mind reeled in horror. Who was this monster? What did he want?
The man stood over her. “Look at me, you bitch!”
Gasping, Anneke slowly hauled herself up and stared at the furious man, his white hair and black eyes. Dutch! He was speaking Dutch!
“Don’t you recognize me?” He grabbed her shoulders and then shook them—hard. When she did not respond, he shook her again in a wild rage.
“Please,” she whispered hoarsely. “I don’t know you.”
“Speak Dutch to me, you bitch. Or have you forgotten that, too?” He yanked her toward him and then shoved her down onto the living room floor. She tried to scramble away, but he was quick and kicked her fiercely in the ribs.
Anneke screamed and writhed on the white carpet. Her heart slammed in her chest, her legs would not obey her. “Stop!” she cried in Dutch. “Take what you want. My purse is on the counter! Just please, please, don’t hurt the baby!”
As if she knew what was happening, Rose began wailing. Anneke held up her arms, as if to ward off another blow. The man moved quickly to the bassinet and picked up the baby, swathed in a soft yellow blanket, and stood grinning at Anneke. “And who is this? The grandchild of a whore?”
“No!” He had the baby— Oh, God! She struggled to her feet and tried to wrest Rose from his arms. Rose’s screams became screeches. Every cry was a spike into Anneke’s heart. Rose! I have to get her—now!
The man blocked Anneke with one arm, holding the baby just out of reach of her desperate arms, taunting her with crazed black eyes. He thrust the infant high above him. Rose howled even louder, her face a florid red as the blanket fell to the floor. He then yanked off the baby’s yellow hair band and threw it onto the carpet.
“Stop!” Anneke fell upon him, her fists pummeling his arms and head, but her blows were futile. The man struck her across the face. It was as if a hammer had slammed into her jaw. God, he wasn’t going to stop until he killed them both!
“Get out of my way.” He pushed Anneke aside and dumped Rose in her bassinet.
Anneke rushed to the baby, who was purple from screaming, and clutched her precious Rose to her breast. I have her safe—in my arms! She whirled around and felt fury rise in her. “What is it you want! If it isn’t money, then what?”
He smiled at her, a twisted grimace. “I’ve waited for this moment for over thirty years.” His voice was soft and cruel. “You know me from the war. Can you guess now?”
Anneke quickly laid Rose in her bassinet, trying to breathe. Who could he be? “I don’t—really, I—”
He glared at her. “Isaac.”
Feeling shocked and confused, she stared at him. And then it hit her. “Isaac? Can it be?”
He smiled at her, a twisted grimace. “Remember me now?”
Her hand went to her throat. “Abram’s brother,” she whispered.
“Don’t even say his name, you Nazi! You and your
“Coming!” She hated her quiet afternoons with Rose to be interrupted. It was a golden, sacred time, not to be broken by some lost deliveryman who needed directions or, worse, a zealot who wanted to lead her to Jesus. At the door, she looked through the peephole, opened it and clapped her hands. “Flowers! Oh, how wonderful!” She saw a tall man with white hair and a craggy face holding a brilliant arrangement of tulips—yellows, reds, whites—looking as if they would burst from the silver paper wrapped around them.
As she reached for them, the smile on the man’s face disappeared. He threw the flowers inside and lunged for her. In seconds, he had gloved hands around her neck. He kicked the door shut and forced her backward.
Terrified, Anneke opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came. His hands were tourniquets. She couldn’t breathe. She felt herself passing out, but then he released his grip. She stumbled, fell to the carpet and took deep, hacking gulps of air. Her mind reeled in horror. Who was this monster? What did he want?
The man stood over her. “Look at me, you bitch!”
Gasping, Anneke slowly hauled herself up and stared at the furious man, his white hair and black eyes. Dutch! He was speaking Dutch!
“Don’t you recognize me?” He grabbed her shoulders and then shook them—hard. When she did not respond, he shook her again in a wild rage.
“Please,” she whispered hoarsely. “I don’t know you.”
“Speak Dutch to me, you bitch. Or have you forgotten that, too?” He yanked her toward him and then shoved her down onto the living room floor. She tried to scramble away, but he was quick and kicked her fiercely in the ribs.
Anneke screamed and writhed on the white carpet. Her heart slammed in her chest, her legs would not obey her. “Stop!” she cried in Dutch. “Take what you want. My purse is on the counter! Just please, please, don’t hurt the baby!”
As if she knew what was happening, Rose began wailing. Anneke held up her arms, as if to ward off another blow. The man moved quickly to the bassinet and picked up the baby, swathed in a soft yellow blanket, and stood grinning at Anneke. “And who is this? The grandchild of a whore?”
“No!” He had the baby— Oh, God! She struggled to her feet and tried to wrest Rose from his arms. Rose’s screams became screeches. Every cry was a spike into Anneke’s heart. Rose! I have to get her—now!
The man blocked Anneke with one arm, holding the baby just out of reach of her desperate arms, taunting her with crazed black eyes. He thrust the infant high above him. Rose howled even louder, her face a florid red as the blanket fell to the floor. He then yanked off the baby’s yellow hair band and threw it onto the carpet.
“Stop!” Anneke fell upon him, her fists pummeling his arms and head, but her blows were futile. The man struck her across the face. It was as if a hammer had slammed into her jaw. God, he wasn’t going to stop until he killed them both!
“Get out of my way.” He pushed Anneke aside and dumped Rose in her bassinet.
Anneke rushed to the baby, who was purple from screaming, and clutched her precious Rose to her breast. I have her safe—in my arms! She whirled around and felt fury rise in her. “What is it you want! If it isn’t money, then what?”
He smiled at her, a twisted grimace. “I’ve waited for this moment for over thirty years.” His voice was soft and cruel. “You know me from the war. Can you guess now?”
Anneke quickly laid Rose in her bassinet, trying to breathe. Who could he be? “I don’t—really, I—”
He glared at her. “Isaac.”
Feeling shocked and confused, she stared at him. And then it hit her. “Isaac? Can it be?”
He smiled at her, a twisted grimace. “Remember me now?”
Her hand went to her throat. “Abram’s brother,” she whispered.
“Don’t even say his name, you Nazi! You and your
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