Corrie could hardly believe what she was hearing. She had been so worried about the guests. Silently she thanked God; there were still good men in Holland like the policemen who had risked their lives for the guests at the Beje.
Just as Flip finished telling the story, the door opened and Lieutenant Rahms stepped inside. “Has the will been read yet?” he asked politely.
The Dutch lawyer who had been standing in the corner of the room indicated it had not and then opened a large envelope, pulled out a document, and began to read. There were no surprises in the will. Casper ten Boom’s only belonging of any value was the Beje and its clockshop, which he left to Betsie and Corrie as long as they chose to live there.
When the reading was finished, the lieutenant walked over to Corrie. “You must go now,” he ordered.
Corrie took one long, last look at her brother and sisters and stumbled out the door. She could hear Betsie being escorted out behind her.
When she got back to her cell she felt lonelier than ever. She lay on her cot and relived every moment of the visit. She was worried about Willem and Betsie. Although Willem was out of prison, he looked thin and weak, and Betsie, with her blood disease, was paler than Corrie could ever remember seeing her. Corrie also thought about her father’s will. The words the lawyer had read echoed in her mind: “Elizabeth and Cornelia can have the Beje as long as they choose to live there.” After all the family had been through there, Corrie couldn’t imagine living anywhere else but in that wonderful house on Barteljorisstraat in Haarlem. But before she could live there again, she had to survive her present nightmare.
Chapter 11
The Word Struck Terror
All prisoners, collect your things together and stand by your door,” barked the voice of the guard. Corrie stood up; she had been crouching, having a “conversation” with a visiting ant. It was just after breakfast on June 12, 1944, and she had been a prisoner now for three and a half months.
Corrie scooped up the Bible Nollie had given her, placed it in her coat pocket, and stood by the door, her heart thumping wildly. What could it be? The other times she had left her cell it had been alone, but this time the guard was yelling for the whole prison block to prepare to move. Had the Allied Forces landed in Holland? Were they about to be freed? She stood eagerly by the door and waited for it to be unlocked. But nothing happened. Lunchtime came and went, and still the door stayed locked. No one brought the usual slice of bread for lunch, and Corrie’s stomach began to churn. Was it just a mean trick the guards were playing on them, trying to make everyone think they were leaving while they sat in their common room laughing at the stupid prisoners? Corrie was beginning to wonder.
Finally, at midafternoon, the door was unlocked and swung open. “Hurry up,” a guard Corrie had never seen before yelled into her cell. “Fall into a line and march. Now!”
Corrie stepped out into the corridor, eager to see other human beings. The whole place was crowded with dirty, thin women. Even though Corrie didn’t recognize any of them, she wanted to hug each one. They were fellow prisoners, and they were all living the same nightmare she was.
Like streams joining a river, the women in the cells near Corrie’s joined the throng of prisoners marching along the corridor. As they marched, one word was whispered up and down the line of prisoners. “Invasion.” Corrie hoped it was true. Maybe she would be free soon.
Before long, about one thousand men and women prisoners were standing in the courtyard. Corrie craned her neck looking for an auburn bun belonging to Betsie. Before she could spot her sister, Corrie was herded onto a large bus. The windows had been painted over and all the seats removed. “Move up, move up,” yelled a guard, with his hand on his rifle to help get his point across. Corrie felt herself being squeezed from all sides. “More, more,” yelled the guard. “Do you think this is a sightseeing trip?” He laughed loudly at his own joke as he shoved the women closer together and waved for more to get on the bus.
When the guard was finally satisfied that not another body could be packed in, the bus lurched off. It swung dangerously around corners, and there was nothing to hold on to, but no one fell; everyone was packed in too tightly.
About twenty minutes later, the bus stopped and the door opened. Corrie was carried along from the bus by the crowd.
“Fall back into lines!” another guard yelled outside the bus, and Corrie shuffled into position, daring to turn her head slightly as she did so. The prisoners were on a large paved area beside a railroad track. There were no trains in sight, and the sun was beginning to set. Corrie had had nothing to eat since the meager breakfast prisoners were fed, and she felt weak and hungry. She hoped they would get some food to eat soon.
“Stand still,” bellowed a guard as he slammed his rifle butt with all his might into the stomach of a woman. Corrie shut her eyes and prayed as the woman doubled over and collapsed. It was so hard to watch such needless cruelty.
For more than an hour, bus after bus brought more human cargo. Like most of the other prisoners, Corrie studied each new group that arrived. She desperately wanted to catch a glimpse of Betsie. And then finally she saw an auburn bun. It had to be Betsie! As the woman in front of her shifted from one leg to the other, Corrie caught a better view. Her heart leapt. It was Betsie. Corrie tried to keep an eye on Betsie as her head bobbed in and out of lines of people. Eventually, Betsie joined a line of prisoners about one hundred yards from where Corrie was standing. Corrie promised herself she would find a way to get to Betsie before the day was over.
Corrie stood and waited, feeling the bodies of the other women near her. After three and a half months on her own in a cell, it was wonderful to have other women so close. And when the guard was not patrolling nearby, Corrie looked up at the sky. Pink, puffy clouds slid across the horizon in front of the setting sun. Corrie thought it was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen. Finally, as the last rays of sunlight streaked through the clouds, she heard a noise. It got louder and louder until Corrie knew for sure it was a train. It hissed to a stop in front of the prisoners, spewing billows of smoke and steam in their faces.
“Get on. Stay in your lines,” ordered the guard as he opened the first carriage. Quickly the orderly line broke down, and the women, each one eager to claim a seat rather than be left standing, surged forward. Corrie saw her chance. She had to resist the crowd and elbow her way to Betsie. She gritted her teeth and slipped into a space between two women. Like a swimmer fighting a strong current, Corrie struggled to avoid being swept into the train by the flow of the prisoners. Just when Corrie didn’t think she had enough strength to do it, Betsie bobbed back into view. She was only three or four people in front of her now. With a dive, Corrie parted the crowd and grabbed her sister’s hand. Betsie turned to see who it was. “Corrie! Thank God it’s you, Corrie,” she beamed as they were carried along and up into the train by the rest of the crowd. They were grateful that they were able to find a seat together.
For several minutes all the two sisters could do was to put their heads on each other’s shoulder and weep. It was such a relief to be together again. As they sat and wept and talked, time sped by. Occasionally, Corrie looked out the window into the darkness and wondered where they were heading. But it did not seem to matter so much now that she had her big sister with her.
Eventually the train came to a stop. Everyone now peered out the window, trying to work out where they were.
“It looks like we are in the woods.”
“I don’t see a railway station.”
“We were definitely going south; I saw the Delft Cathedral tower.”
The comments flew throughout the train as everyone waited nervously to see what the Nazis had in store for them next.
“Hurry. Hurry. Get out of the train,” a guard began yelling.
Corrie helped Betsie to her feet, and once again they joined the sorry flow of women prisoners, not knowing where they were going.
Once outside the train, they realized that they were indeed in the middle of a forest. Corrie breathed in the heady scent of pine that filled the air. It smelled better to her than expensive perfume. Again the prisoners were ordered to form rows. Then they were told to march. After walking for more than a mile, they emerged from the forest into a clearing.
“Vught,” the woman to Corrie’s right muttered. The word struck terror in Corrie, who had heard about this place from the prisoners in her first cell at Scheveningen. Vught was located in the south of Holland near Brabant, but it was not a Dutch prison. It was a German concentration camp especially designed for prisoners the Nazis thought were the most dangerous to them. Corrie could feel the dread rising inside her as they marched through the barbed-wire gates of the camp and into the first building. They were in a dining room with rows of long wooden tables. Corrie and Betsie found seats together, laid their heads side by side on a tabletop, and drifted off to sleep, exhausted from the trip.
Despite the fact that she was in a notorious concentration camp, Corrie was happier at Vught than she had been at Scheveningen. There were other people around to talk to, she slept next to her sister, and together they held Bible studies in the evenings for the other women prisoners. Everyone was given a job to do, and even though they worked for twelve hours every day, it was far better to Corrie than sitting alone in a cell with only ants for company. Corrie’s job was at the “Phillip’s Factory,” one of the clapboard prison barracks buildings where prisoners put together radios for German fighter planes. Corrie started out sorting glass rods into groups by size, but when Mr. Moorman, a kind trusty who was her supervisor, found out she was a watchmaker, he gave her a much more technical job to do. At lunchtime, the workers were given half an hour off, and Corrie would use it to lie on the grass soaking up the sun.
But Corrie was worried about her sister. Betsie seemed to be getting weaker by the day. She was assigned to work in the sewing room, along with many of the other older prisoners and young mothers with babies. She told Corrie the work was easy, mainly mending uniforms and pillowcases. But after a few days, Corrie began to wonder. Betsie’s hands were swollen, and one day she came back to the barracks with them wrapped in rags. After a lot of questioning, she admitted to Corrie that most of her day was spent braiding heavy ropes together. She hadn’t told Corrie about it because she did not want her to worry. There were enough other things to worry about in Vught. But Corrie did worry. She wondered how long Betsie’s weakened body would hold up under such difficult circumstances.
Back in Scheveningen, Corrie’s world had been no bigger than her cell, but at Vught, she was surrounded by other people and their problems and difficulties. The woman who worked next to her putting together the radios had a baby one night, but the child was as weak as her mother and was dead by morning. A young Jewish girl received a letter telling her that her brother had been shot trying to steal some food. Now she was the only living member of her family left. The list went on and on. Every woman had a tale of misery to tell. Many of the women had husbands or sons locked up in the men’s side of the concentration camp.
Spring turned into summer, and things began to get more tense in Vught. The guards exploded in rage at the littlest thing, and all the prisoners were punished for one person’s “crime.” More often, Corrie found herself lined up for roll call at four in the morning instead of the usual five o’clock. The women would have to stand at attention for the extra hour. Corrie continued to worry about Betsie, who was skinnier than ever, now weighing under ninety pounds. And Corrie’s stomach particularly churned itself into knots with worry during the long roll calls. Corrie knew that the women who collapsed at roll call were punished with a trip to the bunkers, tiny cupboards the size of a coffin. The prisoner was locked inside one of the cupboards for the day with no air and no food. Many women never came back to the barracks after going to the bunkers. Corrie hoped and prayed Betsie wouldn’t be one of them.
