Memories of Glass Read online

  Praise for Memories of Glass and other novels by Melanie Dobson

  Memories of Glass

  “Memories of Glass is a remarkable, multi-layered novel that weaves stories of friendship and faith in wartime Holland together with a modern-day orphanage in Africa. Memorable characters portray the complexity of human relationships and reveal the lasting consequences of our choices, whether cowardly or courageous, and the mysteries kept me turning pages, leaving me with much to ponder.”

  LYNN AUSTIN, BESTSELLING AUTHOR OF LEGACY OF MERCY

  “Like colored shards in sunlight, Melanie Dobson once again shines her light of truth in this elegantly complex and gripping tale of the hidden terrors of the Netherlands during WWII. Memories of Glass is a remarkable story, and one that will linger in the hearts of readers long after the last page.”

  KATE BRESLIN, BESTSELLING AUTHOR OF FOR SUCH A TIME

  “Breathtaking, heartbreaking, and ultimately uplifting, Memories of Glass shows the beauty of helping others, the ugliness of people helping only themselves, and the destructive power of secrets through the generations. Melanie Dobson’s memorable characters and fine eye for detail bring the danger of the Netherlands under Nazi occupation to life. This novel will stay with you.”

  SARAH SUNDIN, AWARD-WINNING, BESTSELLING AUTHOR OF THE SKY ABOVE US

  “Heart-wrenching history combines with gripping characters and Melanie Dobson’s signature gorgeous writing to create a tale you won’t be able to put down—and won’t want to. Memories of Glass is an amazing, intricately woven story of finding light in the least likely of places.”

  ROSEANNA M. WHITE, BESTSELLING AUTHOR OF THE SHADOWS OVER ENGLAND SERIES

  “I couldn’t stop turning the pages of Melanie Dobson’s Memories of Glass. Drawn from history to highlight the Dutch resistance to Hitler’s Nazi regime, the story is sweeping in its scope of setting, each vividly alive on the page, and its pace felt like a snowball rolling downhill, gaining in suspense as the life-and-death stakes mounted. Peopled with characters heroic, flawed, and unforgettable, Memories of Glass is sure to please longtime fans of Melanie Dobson’s books as well as readers new to her novels.”

  LORI BENTON, AUTHOR OF THE KING’S MERCY

  Hidden Among the Stars

  “This exciting tale will please fans of time-jump inspirational fiction.”

  PUBLISHERS WEEKLY

  “A romantic tale of castles, lost dreams, and hidden treasures wrapped inside a captivating and suspenseful mystery complete with an unpredictable, unforeseen, and unexpected ending. Not a book to miss!”

  MIDWEST BOOK REVIEWS

  “Star-crossed, forbidden love and the disappearance of family members and hidden treasure make a compelling WWII story and set the stage for modern-day detective work in Dobson’s latest time-slip novel. . . . Hidden Among the Stars is Dobson at her best.”

  CATHY GOHLKE, CHRISTY AWARD–WINNING AUTHOR OF UNTIL WE FIND HOME

  “Hidden Among the Stars is a glorious treasure hunt, uniting past and present with each delightful revelation. It’s must-read historical fiction that left me pondering well-crafted twists for days.”

  MESU ANDREWS, AWARD-WINNING AUTHOR OF ISAIAH’S DAUGHTER

  Catching the Wind

  “Dobson creates a labyrinth of intrigue, expertly weaving a World War II drama with a present-day mystery to create an unforgettable story. This is a must-read for fans of historical time-slip fiction.”

  PUBLISHERS WEEKLY, STARRED REVIEW

  “Dobson skillfully interweaves three separate lives as she joins the past and present in an uplifting tale of courage, love, and enduring hope.”

  LIBRARY JOURNAL

  “A beautiful and captivating novel with compelling characters, intriguing mystery, and true friendship. The story slips flawlessly between present day and WWII, the author’s sense of timing and place contributing to the reader’s urge to devour the book in one sitting yet simultaneously savor its poignancy.”

  ROMANTIC TIMES

  “Readers will delight in this story that illustrates how the past can change the present.”

  LISA WINGATE, NATIONAL BESTSELLING AUTHOR OF BEFORE WE WERE YOURS

  Visit Tyndale online at www.tyndale.com.

  Visit Melanie Dobson’s website at www.melaniedobson.com.

  TYNDALE and Tyndale’s quill logo are registered trademarks of Tyndale House Publishers, Inc.

  Memories of Glass

  Copyright © 2019 by Melanie Dobson. All rights reserved.

  Cover photograph of mother and son copyright © Lee Avison/Trevillion Images. All rights reserved.

  Cover photograph of buildings copyright © Victoria Semenjak/EyeEm/Getty Images. All rights reserved.

  Cover photograph of scratches copyright © Steve Ellis/EyeEm/Getty Images. All rights reserved.

  Cover illustration of Delft blue pattern copyright © dutchkris/Getty Images. All rights reserved.

  Dedication photograph copyright © Andy Stewart. All rights reserved.

  Designed by Jennifer Phelps

  Edited by Kathryn S. Olson

  Published in association with the literary agency of Natasha Kern Literary Agency, Inc., P.O. Box 1069, White Salmon, WA 98672.

  Scripture taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version,® NIV.® Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.® Used by permission. All rights reserved worldwide.

  Memories of Glass is a work of fiction. Where real people, events, establishments, organizations, or locales appear, they are used fictitiously. All other elements of the novel are drawn from the author’s imagination.

  For information about special discounts for bulk purchases, please contact Tyndale House Publishers at [email protected], or call 1-800-323-9400.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Names: Dobson, Melanie, author.

  Title: Memories of glass / Melanie Dobson.

  Description: Carol Stream, Illinois : Tyndale House Publishers, Inc., [2019]

  Identifiers: LCCN 2019006670| ISBN 9781496434180 (hc) | ISBN 9781496417367 (sc)

  Subjects: LCSH: World War, 1939-1945—Underground movements—Netherlands—Amsterdam—Fiction. | Jewish children in the Holocaust—Netherlands—Amsterdam—Fiction. | GSAFD: Historical fiction.

  Classification: LCC PS3604.O25 M46 2019 | DDC 813/.6—dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2019006670

  ISBN 978-1-4964-1739-8 (ePub); ISBN 978-1-4964-1738-1 (Kindle); ISBN 978-1-4964-1737-4 (Apple)

  Build: 2019-09-03 12:24:09 EPUB 3.0

  Johan Wilhelm van Hulst

  January 28, 1911–March 22, 2018

  A Humble Servant of God, Guided by His Grace

  Susie Joy Oertli Stewart

  April 6, 1968–March 7, 2018

  Warrior Princess and Treasured Friend

  Daughter of the King

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven br />
  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Preview of Hidden Among the Stars

  Author’s Note

  Discussion Questions

  About the Author

  PROLOGUE

  Brilliant color flickered across her canvas of wall. Sunflower yellow and luster of orange. Violet folded into crimson. A shimmer like the North Sea with its greens and blues.

  Most of the walls in her bungalow were filled with treasures of artwork and photographs and books, but this pale-cream plaster was reserved solely for the light, a grand display cast through the prisms of antique bottles that once held perfume or bitters or medicine from long ago.

  The colors reminded her of the tulip fields back home, their magnificent hues blossoming in sunlight, filling the depths of her soul with the brilliance of the artist’s brush. Spring sunshine was rare in Oregon, but when it came, she slipped quietly into this room to watch the dance of light.

  Sixty-eight bottles glowed light from shelves around her den, their glass stained emerald or amber or Holland’s Delft blue. Or transparent with tiny cuts detailing the crystal.

  These wounds of an engraver—the master of all craftsmen with his diamond tools—made the prettiest colors of all.

  Only one of the bottles was crimson. She lifted it carefully off the shelf and traced the initials etched on the silver lid, the ridges molded down each side, as she lowered herself back into her upholstered chair.

  All of them she treasured, but this one . . .

  This bottle held a special place in her heart.

  Her fingers no longer worked like they used to. They were stiff and curled and sore. But her mind was as sharp as a burnishing tool. Perhaps even sharper than when she was a girl.

  She held this bottle to her heart, leaning her head back against the pillow.

  No matter what happened, she wouldn’t forget.

  Couldn’t forget.

  A cloud passed over the sun, darkening the room for a moment, and she felt the keen coldness of the shadow. The memories.

  Some memories she clung to, but others she wished she could lock away in one of the vaults under Amsterdam’s banks. Or a tunnel carved into the depths of the old country.

  Closing her eyes, she remembered the darkness, the chill of air deep underground seeping back into her skin. The memory of it—of all she’d lost in Holland, of the terrible mistakes she’d made—had haunted her for more than seventy years.

  Shivering, she pulled the afghan above her chest.

  Seconds ticked past, time lost in the cold, before sunlight crossed over her face again, color glittering in the gaps of darkness. When she opened her eyes, the light returned to illuminate the wall.

  Slowly she stood, balancing against the lip of wainscoting that rounded the room until she placed the bottle back on the shelf. Her legs felt as if they might give way, just for a moment, but she regained her balance long enough to find the sturdy legs of her chair. A front-row seat for her memories.

  “Oma?” her great-granddaughter called from the hallway, on the other side of the door.

  Her children and their children all worried about her, but they needn’t worry. Even in her heart sadness, even when her body tripped over itself, all was well with her soul.

  Her family, they knew about her Savior, but they didn’t know all she had done. No one who remained in this world knew. It was her secret to harbor, for the safety of them all.

  “Come in,” she said softly, her gaze back on the glass.

  Even if her mind began to slip like her feet, this room would always remind her of the ones she’d lost.

  And the one she had to leave behind.

  I hope I will be able to confide everything to you,

  as I have never been able to confide in anyone.

  * * *

  ANNE FRANK

  THE DIARY OF A YOUNG GIRL

  ONE

  JOSIE

  GIETHOORN, HOLLAND

  JUNE 1933

  Flower petals clung like scraps of wet silk on Josie’s toes as she ducked alongside the village canal. Klaas Schoght could search all afternoon if he wanted. As long as she and her brother stuck to their plan, he would never find them or the red, white, and blue flag they’d sworn to protect.

  Klaas’s hair, shimmering like golden frost, bobbed above his family’s neatly trimmed hedge across the canal from her. She watched the sprig of sunlit hair as Klaas combed through the shrubs, then between two punts tied up to a piling, before he turned toward the wooden bridge.

  There were no roads in Giethoorn—only narrow footpaths and canals that connected the checkered plots. Most of the village children spent their time swimming, boating, and skating the waterways, but her brother preferred playing this game of resistance on land.

  “Jozefien?” Klaas called as he crossed over to the small island her family shared with a neighbor.

  She ducked between the waxy leaves of her mother’s prized hydrangea bushes, the blossoms spilling pale-purple and magenta petals into a slootje—one of the many threads of water that stitched together the islands. Her brother had taught her how to hide well in the village gardens and trees and wooden slips. Even on the rooftops. She could disappear for hours, if necessary, into one of her secret spaces.

  “Samuel?” Klaas was shouting now, but Josie’s brother didn’t respond either.

  All the children learned about the Geuzen—Dutch Resistance—at school, their people fighting for freedom from Spain during the Eighty Years’ War. Her brother was a master of hide-and-seek, like he was one of the covert Geuzen members fighting for freedom centuries ago.

  In their game with Klaas, neither she nor Samuel could be tagged before her brother pinned the Dutch flag onto the Schoght family’s front door. Klaas didn’t really care whose team he was on, as long as he won.

  Between the flowers and leaves, Josie saw the hem of Samuel’s breeches disappear up into a fortress of horse-chestnut leaves. They had a plan, the two of them. Now all she had to do was hide until her brother signaled her to dive.

  It wasn’t the doing, Samuel liked to tell her, that was key to resisting their enemy. It was the waiting.

  And Klaas hated to wait.

  The boy wore a black cape over his Boy Scout uniform, but she could see the white rings around the top of his kneesocks as he searched one of her family’s boats.

  This afternoon he wasn’t Klaas Schoght, proud scout, tenacious son of their village doctor. This afternoon he was the pompous Fernando Álvarez de Toledo, the Spanish governor over Holland, trying to capture the Dutch resisters and their flag made from the fabric of one of Mama’s old dresses that was, thankfully, too threadbare to remake into a shift for her only daughter.

  Josie much preferred wearing the long shorts and blouses that her mother reluctantly allowed during the summer so she wouldn’t keep ruining her dresses. And even more, the Brownie uniform she wore today—a light-brown dress that hung inches below her knee. Her knit beret and brown shoes and long socks were tucked away in the house behind her.

  The three of them had developed the rules for this game, but she and her brother kept their own names—Josie and Samuel van Rees, the children of a teacher and a housewife who sometimes helped at the kinderschool.

  Klaas didn’t know that the Dutch flag had climbed the tree with Samuel this afternoon. When her brother gave the signal, Josie would distract Klaas so Samuel could hang the stripes of
red, white, and blue on the door.

  Water lapped against the bank, and she glanced again between a web of white blossoms and waxy leaves to see if Klaas had jumped into the water. Instead of Klaas, she saw a neighbor pushing his punt down the canal with a pole.

  Her knee scraped on one of the branches, and she pulled it back, wiping the glaze of blood on a leaf before it stained the hem of her uniform.

  The injuries from their battles were frequent, but now that she was nine, she tended to them on her own. Once, a year or so back, she’d run inside with a battle wound. Mama took one look and fainted onto the kitchen floor.

  Ever since, Josie visited Klaas’s father if she had a serious wound.

  When the punt was gone, she listened for the thud of Klaas’s boots along the bank, but all she heard was the cackling of a greylag, irritated at Josie for venturing too close to the seven goslings paddling behind her in a neat row. They looked like Dutch soldiers following their orange-billed colonel, each one uniformed in a fuzzy yellow coat and decorated with brown stripes earned perhaps for braving the canals all the way to the nearby lake called Belterwijde.

  If only she could reach out and snatch one of the goslings, snuggle with it while she waited in her hiding spot, but the mother colonel would honk, giving away her location to the governor of Spain. And Fernando Álvarez de Toledo would brag for days about his triumph. Again.

  This time, she and Samuel were determined to be the victors.

  Long live the resistance!

  The battalion of geese swam around the punt below her and disappeared.

  “Jozefien!” Klaas was much closer now, though she didn’t dare look out again to see where he was.

  Did he know Samuel was up in the tree behind her? Klaas didn’t like climbing trees, but his fear of heights would be overpowered by his resolve to win.

  A stone splashed into the canal, rocking the boat, and her heart felt as if it might crash through her chest. Operation van Rees was about to begin. While Klaas was searching for whoever threw the stone, she would hide on the other side of the bridge.