Tales from the Fountain Pen by E. Lynn Hooghiemstra

each have a fried egg for supper,” Mother explains.
    “I suppose it will have to do,” Betty sighs, and stirs her gruel. Watching her struggle through each bite almost makes my spoonfuls bearable.
    I remember it is Saturday and I do not have to go to school. Maybe Siepie and I can go into the village and stand in line at the bakery for Mother. At least on the way there we can talk, even if we can’t while we wait in line to see if there’s any bread today.
    I rush through my chores and bundle up before going next door.
    As I wait for Siepie to answer the door the soldiers come out of our house. The one I know is called Johann comes cheerfully up to me, his smile wide and his bright blue eyes sparkling with some inner joy, no doubt because he will get a decent breakfast.
    “ Fräulein , good morning,” he says, obviously proud of himself for speaking some Dutch. I just nod in response.
    “You go visit friend? Maybe we walk later, together?”
    If he weren’t a German soldier I would happily go out walking with him, but this is just too much. How dare he even ask!
    “ Nein!” I say harshly in his language, which only seems to amuse him and encourage him.
    “Perhaps tomorrow you will?” He tries again. I shake my head and turn my back to him. Just then Siepie opens the door and asks if anything is wrong.
    “No, I just thought you might like to walk to the bakery with me to see if they have any bread today.”
    “I can bring you bread,” I hear Johann say behind me. I turn eagerly but quickly catch myself when I see his uniform with those dreadful insignia. I haven’t tasted real bread in weeks, but I don’t want his.
    “No thank you!” I say firmly.
    Johann shrugs and stuffs his hands into his pockets before turning to join his comrade already in the road, headed toward their camp.
    When I turn back to Siepie, I find her deep in thought as she pulls on her coat, scarf and boots.
    “I’m going to the bakery with Maggie,” she calls to her mother. “I won’t be long.”
    “Be back before noon,” I hear her mother calling back to her, followed by coughing.
    “Is she sick again?” I ask as Siepie pulls the door closed.
    “It’s nothing, just a touch of croup from the cold, maybe she caught it from my brother,” she says.
    “Maybe we can find some wood along the way that you can burn in your stove to make it a little warmer in your house.”
    “They’ll just take it away if they catch us. Besides, we’re managing fine with blankets and hot water bottles,” my friend says and gives my arm a quick squeeze.
    We walk in silence until we reach the end of our street, then I stop her for a moment and tell her in a hushed voice what I’ve learned from Johann.
    “If you know anyone in the resistance, you must let them know so they can warn England. Somebody has to send a message to Mr. Churchill,” I plead.
    Siepie nods slowly. “I suppose someone should. If only I knew someone.”
    I am briefly taken aback, but then I realize she has to be very careful; nobody can know that she’s part of the resistance.
    She links her arm with mine and we slowly continue our walk.
    “You know,” she says after a while. “That soldier who spoke to you outside your house seems to really like you. That could be useful.”
    An uncomfortable feeling starts to grow in the pit of my stomach as I fear what she’ll say next.
    “Maybe you should go for a walk with him,” she says, calmly. “Maybe let him talk.”
    “Siepie!” I cry. “You can’t be serious!”
    “Maggie, listen, there’s a war on. People are dying and we, I mean the resistance, needs information on the enemy’s movements and plans.” She pauses.
    “But, Siepie, do you know what you are asking? I don’t want to be branded a collaborator. Those are horrible people.”
    Siepie raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t respond to my last comment. “I understand. It was just a thought. Forget I said anything.” She sounds so calm but I can tell she