“Are you ever allowed in the yard when these men are out?” She waited while Mr. Lemaire translated.
“He has seen them once or twice,” Mr. Lemaire relayed.
Communicating with the prisoners was forbidden, but Delia couldn’t help herself as the words poured out of her.
“If you ever see Finn, please tell him I love him. Tell him I’m sorry for every mean, small thing I ever said to him and that I think he has the biggest, most generous heart in the whole world. He taught me to be brave and to dream and to do bold things. Thank him for befriending me when I was alone and had nobody. And tell him to never give up hope. Never, never, never because I’m working to get him out.”
Mr. Lemaire rested his hand on her knee, kindness in his tired, old eyes. “My dear, you know that my son cannot deliver your message. It would put his life in danger.”
She realized that, but it felt good to say the words out loud. “I know,” she whispered.
The best she could do for Finn was to pray for the war to end soon.
As suspected, after revealing her position at the CRB to the men at the post office, word quickly spread throughout the neighborhood. People loitered outside her hotel whenever she emerged to post a letter, buy a cup of tea, or carry her clothes to the laundress. Some were sympathetic, like the lady who asked if her elderly father suffering from pneumonia could be entitled to an extra ration. Others less so, like the portly man with red hair and the world’s widest handlebar mustache who approached her when she returned home from church one Sunday morning.
“Rumor has it that the latest CRB ship to arrive in Rotterdamhad a case of chocolate bars aboard,” he said, fiddling with the waxed tip of his mustache.
It was more than a rumor. TheAthenahad arrived in Rotterdam last week, and the inventory reported a huge donation of chocolate bars from the Hershey Company. Two hundred crates of chocolate had been sent to various distribution points throughout Belgium, all of it earmarked for children. Milton Hershey was a renowned humanitarian who had a special place in his heart for children, and so the chocolate bars had been designated to go to the youngsters of Belgium, who’d had little enough to smile about during their bleak childhood.
“As always, each crate of the donated food has been sent to locations where it will do the most good,” Delia said.
“Forgive me, and allow me to introduce myself,” the portly gentleman said. “My name is Frederik Mulder, and my wife has a particular love of chocolate. How might I acquire a crate of the chocolate?”
An entire crate! This man had some nerve. It didn’t matter how great a person’s love for chocolate, nobody could consume an entire crate’s worth. Mr. Mulder clearly intended to resell the chocolate on the black market.
“I’m afraid that won’t be possible,” Delia replied.
“I am happy to pay a fee,” he said, not giving up. “In fact, I shall personally deposit a generous fee directly into your hands. You see, my wife simplyneedsthe chocolate. She has a medical condition.”
It was an attempt to bribe her, and it was easy to refuse the Frederik Mulders of the world. Far more difficult to turn away were the two cheerful nuns who lived at the church nearest Delia’s hotel. Sister Agatha was dressed in a black habit from head to toe, while Sister Gita was a nun-in-training who wore a white habit. The younger sister also wore a short white veil that showed her carrot-colored hair. The sisters had cheerful smiles and arrived with a bouquet of roses clipped from the churchyard garden and a jar of honey. Delia was in her office at the time.
“These are for you,” Sister Agatha said, extending the bouquet to her. “As soon as we heard a single young lady had come all the way from America on behalf of the people of Belgium, we hurried over to welcome you to Brussels.”
Both women spoke perfect English and invited themselves into her office with peals of laughter. Once they had settled in the chairs opposite Delia’s desk, Sister Agatha handed over the jar of honey. “It’s linden tree honey from our own beehive,” the older nun said.
“Linden honey?” Delia asked. “We have apple blossom honey in New York, but I’ve never heard of linden honey.” Sunlight streaming through the window made the honey look like liquid gold.
The younger novice clasped a hand to her chest. “Then you are in for a treat. The bees love linden trees and become positively drunk on their nectar. Truly, you will be able to taste the joy in their honey.”
“Indeed,” Sister Agatha said. “We are so glad to welcome you to Brussels and will add you to our list of people to pray for.”
My, these women were wonderfully clever. They were clearly setting the stage to ask for something, and Delia steeled herself because these two were both kind and charming.
“We run the orphanage at the end of the street,” Sister Gita said. “We have thirty orphaned children in our care, and the food provided by the CRB has been lifesaving.”
“Yes, but it’s not enough,” the older nun added, her expression turning serious. “We would like to request an additional fifty percent added to our weekly ration.”
How quickly the tone had changed. Delia set the jar of honey on the desk. “Thank you for caring for the children. I grew up in an orphanage, so I know how important your work is.”
Sister Agatha nodded. “Does that mean we can expect additional food, then?”
“I’m afraid not,” Delia said. “I cannot deviate from the distribution amounts without taking from someone else.”
“But our allotment was set in 1914,” said Sister Gita. “At thetime we had only twenty-one children, and since then the number has grown. The war has taken a terrible toll, and with so many of the men taken by the Germans, their children can become homeless quickly.”
Sometimes saying no was simply impossible. The sisters had an excellent justification for requesting extra rations. If a woman gave birth to another child, she received an additional ration, so it seemed logical that an orphanage who took in more children should also get more.
“I will appeal your case to New York,” Delia promised. “Until then, I must stick with the authorized distributions.”
