Her aunts with their tight-bunned hair seemed very happy when she asked for permission to play outside before she dashed into the alley. And to be allowed to explode beyond those limits, five-year-old Corrie had to play outside in the narrow alley. Still, as gezellig as the home was, there were limits on the quantities of sound and activity that were correct and proper for a Dutch home in 1897. Each time he placed some tiny thing in a watch he would pause and say, Thank You, Lord, as gently as if he were talking to Corrie or Mama. She watched bearded Papa bent over his bench. Silently she sat and smelled his cigar and listened to clocks ticking and tocking like hundreds of heartbeats. She could even creep down the steps into Papa’s workroom behind his shop that faced Barteljorisstraat. A five-year-old like Corrie could have a wonderful party with her doll Casperina under the dining room table. As far back as she could remember her home was gezellig, close and warm and cozy-smelling of soup and fresh bread, and sounding of soft laughter and the rustles of Mama and three aunts in long dresses.

The past was so wonderful that thinking about it softened her pain. She had slept in this very same bedroom in this very same house as long as she could remember. Is it night or day? She tried to focus her eyes. Their victims were groggy, unprepared-like Corrie felt now. How much longer could their secret last before the dreaded Gestapo bashed on their door? The Gestapo struck at night like vipers.

They never had less than seven fugitives living with them these desperate days. The ten Booms had been hiding Jews and Dutch boys in their house for two years.

The worst of all the Germans were the slithery Gestapo, the secret police of the Nazis. Holland had been infested by German soldiers for four years. It seemed everyone in Holland must know the ten Booms were hiding fugitives in their house. Jesus had been in her heart for a very long time, and she hoped her fear was just momentary, just another unpleasant symptom of the flu.īut everything has gone wrong lately, she muttered. Her prayer was a plea for many things to pass. But more than age caught up with her today. It seemed as if until today she had never stopped long enough in all her fifty-two years to let age catch up with her.

Aches shadowed every movement of her body.Ĭorrie ten Boom felt her years. The vapor settled over Corrie ten Boom, who clutched a blanket over herself on a bed. The vaporizer on the small alcohol stove spewed a fog of camphor and water into the air of the dark bedroom.

Corrie ten Boom by Sam Wellman