Page 33 of Who We Think We Are

“ W inschoten is a pretty town,” says Kate. “With that typical European mix of historic and modern.”

She and Mikelia meander through the cobblestone streets toward Roegh Stadscafé.

“Just think, if your family stayed in the Netherlands, you might live here … if you were ever born, that is.”

“Very funny,” says Kate, laughing all the same. “Here’s our restaurant. Looks nice.”

They walk in, and it is packed. The hostess asks if they have a reservation. “Yes,” says Kate. “It should be under the name Ingrid Becker.”

“Ja. We have you seated in the vault.”

“The vault?” asks Kate.

“This building used to be a bank, and your table is in what used to be the vault.”

“Apropos for what we’re doing here today,” says Kate. “Way to go, Ingrid.”

“And I love the metaphorical resonance.”

“I wish I thought like you, Mikelia. Sometimes, but not all the time. Don’t get a big head.”

“You used a metaphor, Kate. Or is it an analogy? I don’t know the difference. But anyway, you used one. Maybe you’re coming around.”

“I doubt it.” Kate is grateful for the playful banter to calm her nerves. “I’m glad you’re here with me, Mikelia. Thank you.”

“Are you kidding? I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

Two women walk into the restaurant who can only be Ingrid and her friend. The older woman is tall and slender, her red hair in a bun, and she is wearing a forest green turtleneck and slacks, with a gorgeous shawl in autumn colors.

“Oh my God, Kate. She dresses like you.” Kate is wearing the same outfit, except in taupe and jewel tones, and her hair is down.

The younger woman, who is also tall, has her blonde hair in a ponytail and is wearing a navy tracksuit. Kate and Mikelia stand at the front of the table. They all shake hands and introduce themselves, except Ingrid’s friend, who is looking down and playing with the fringe on her shawl.

After they sit down, Ingrid says, “My aunt does not want to use her real name. I couldn’t tell you before, but Frida is my aunt. We have to call you something, Tante. I’ve decided we shall call you Frida.”

Frida smiles a little.

“Frida is the name of her dog.”

They all chuckle.

Kate says, “My dog’s name is Coco. She’s a chocolate-brown labradoodle. What kind of dog is Frida, Frida?”

Frida looks at Kate for the first time, and Kate feels a stab in her chest and gasps. Frida has Oma’s eyes. Oma’s exact eyes. Kate has never seen that color of turquoise in anyone else’s eyes.

Somebody has said something.

“I’m sorry. What did you say?”

“I said my dog is a keeshond,” says Frida. “Do you know what a keeshond looks like?”

“I do. My grandmother had one when I was a little girl. She looked like a miniature husky. A gray and black ball of fluff. I loved her, but she shed like crazy, which is why I always have nonshedding dogs. Oma’s dog’s name was Ana.”

At that moment, Kate’s heart races as she realizes that Oma named her dog after Anneke, the woman sitting across the table from her.

“Frida does shed horribly, which is why I always have a lint brush,” says Frida, smiling, pulling one out of her purse.

A handsome young man dressed all in black walks into the vault and says something in Dutch. Frida answers him in Dutch. He says, “Oh, I am sorry. I will speak English. My name is Hendrik, and I will be your server today. Here are your menus. May I start you off with drinks?”

“Thank you, Hendrik; I will have coffee. Black,” says Frida. They order their teas and coffees and look at the menu.

“You speak Dutch, Frida?” asks Kate. Frida nods.

“My aunt is being humble,” says Ingrid. “She has a gift for languages. She is a polyglot, meaning she speaks many languages. How many is it now, Tante Frida?”

“Fourteen, I think. Yes, I can safely say fourteen now. I’ve been learning Arabic lately.”

“Wow,” says Mikelia. “I’m proud of myself for speaking three.”

“I’m embarrassed to say I only speak one. And a tiny bit of what I remember from high school French,” says Kate.

“What is that joke you used to say to your students, Tante Frida?” asks Ingrid.

“What do you call a person who speaks one language?” asks Frida.

“I don’t know,” says Kate.

“An American!” says Ingrid, and they all laugh.

“But you’re Canadian, so I suppose we’d better say North American.

Tante Frida is still being humble. She is retired now, but she was a professor of linguistics at Humboldt University of Berlin.

In fact, she was the head of the linguistics department for many years. ”

Frida says, “Thank you all for putting me at ease. I was ready to leave until we started talking about our dogs. Ingrid has told me to at least listen to what you have to say.”

Hendrik comes to take their orders and leaves, closing the door to the vault behind him.

“That’s much better,” says Kate. “Now we don’t have to shout. I don’t mean any harm to you, Frida. Let’s take this one step at a time. Would you like to hear my story?”

Frida nods.

“Let’s see. Where should I start? Oma, my grandmother, Katrina Van Dijk, grew up in the Netherlands during World War II.

When she was eighteen and living in Dalfsen, a Canadian plane crash-landed in a field near her house, and her life changed forever because that is how she met her husband, the pilot of that plane.

” Kate tells Frida and Ingrid how they moved to Canada, a bit about their lives, what a wonderful grandmother she was, and that she had dementia and, a few months ago, blurted out the secret that she had been in the Hitler Youth.

“Is your grandmother still alive?” asks Frida.

“No.” Kate realizes that she has just told Frida that her mother has died.

“I am so sorry, Frida. Oma died a few months ago. A few days after she let out the secret. After she passed, I came to the Netherlands to learn the truth about her life. While doing research, I discovered that not only was she in the Hitler Youth, but she had a baby at the Luxembourg Lebensborn home on 19 December 1942 when she was only sixteen and that the baby was a girl with red hair whom she named Anneke. Since then, I have been trying to find Anneke. I can tell you many more details later if you like, but those are the main points of my story.”

Hendrik delivers their meals and leaves, closing the door behind him again.

“Did you never know any of your grandmother’s wartime experience?” asks Ingrid, taking a bite of her sandwich.

“I knew a few stories about her nearly being killed in bombings, skating on canals, being hungry, moving to Dalfsen, being in the resistance, and how Oma and Grandad met.”

“I’m sorry to interrupt, but it is interesting to me that you call your grandmother Oma and your grandfather Grandad,” says Frida.

“I don’t know why. I just always have. Oma is Dutch, and Grandad is Canadian with Scottish roots. So, it seemed strange to call her Grandma or him Opa.”

“Forgive me. As a linguist, phrases or words that are anomalous intrigue me. Please carry on.”

“No problem. After Oma blurted out that she had been in the Hitler Youth, Grandad admitted that he had asked Oma to keep her and her family’s Nazi past a secret so she would be accepted and fit in with his family. He feels horrible about it now and has encouraged me to search for the truth.”

“So, he knew about her being in the Hitler Youth and that she had a baby in the Lebensborn program?” asks Frida.

“Yes, she was honest with him.” Kate leaves the part out about Oma telling everyone the baby died. She doesn’t want Frida to feel erased.

“My aunt has given me permission to tell her story,” says Ingrid.

“I’m sorry, Ingrid,” says Frida. “I am too tired for that right now. I’d like to have some time to take in what Kate told us. We got up early and have been on the go all day. I need to rest before we have that conversation.”

“Are you going to run away, Frida?” asks Kate.

“No,” says Frida. “I really do need to rest. We can meet again for dinner.”

“I’ll drive my aunt to Graanzicht. Do you want a ride?”

“No thanks, I’d like to wander around town a little,” says Kate. “You can go if you want, Mikelia.”

“No, I’ll wander with you.”

“Great. Do you both eat meat?” asks Kate.

They nod.

“OK, I’ll order dinner to be brought to Mikelia’s and my room.

It has a dining room table and a seating area.

Dinner will be an adventure. They don’t say what the chef will make; you just have a choice of meat or vegetarian.

Can you take our bags so we don’t have to lug them around? Thanks. See you at dinner at seven.”

Kate and Mikelia wander around the quaint shops, and Kate buys Chanukah gifts and stocking stuffers for everyone.

While they’re wandering through the shops, Mikelia asks Kate, “So, what do you think?”

“Oh, it’s her.”

“How can you be so sure? They haven’t said much yet.”

“Did you see Frida’s eyes? They’re Oma’s. I’ve been looking into those eyes my entire life.”

Kate and Mikelia take a cab to Graanzicht and have a rest. Kate sits on her bed and writes a text to Jake and the girls: “Had a great lunch with Oma’s daughter today.

How do I know it’s her? She has Oma’s eyes.

I’ll hear her story at dinner tonight.” But before she hits send, Kate realizes she is about to break her promise to Ingrid and Frida and deletes the text.

Then she opens her email and sees one from Cobus Janssen:

Hi Kate,

I hope your research is proving to be fruitful. I am working on some final thoughts from my research on your family at the National Archives and the Hitler Youth. I will send it to you soon.

Sincerely,

Cobus

I don’t want to break my promise here, either. I’ll reply to him after this weekend.

Frida and Ingrid arrive at Kate and Mikelia’s room at 7:00 p.m. Kate asks, “Merlot or Riesling?”

Kate and Frida choose Riesling, and Mikelia and Ingrid choose Merlot. They each take a seat in one of the antique wingback chairs positioned around a coffee table where Kate and Mikelia have set plates with slices of baguette, cheese, sausage, and grapes.