ANGELS OF THE RESISTANCE: A WWII NOVEL
Author: Noelle Salazar
ISBN:
9780778386797
Publication
Date: November 29, 2022
Publisher:
MIRA
Historical Fiction
Book
Summary:
The second WWII novel by
Noelle Salazar, bestselling author of the THE FLIGHT GIRLS, follows two teenage
sisters in the Netherlands who are recruited as part of the Dutch Resistance
effort against the Nazis. Inspired by true events, this moving story about
ordinary young women who become extraordinary heroes will appeal to fans of Pam
Jenoff and Kate Quinn.
Netherlands, 1940. In the small town of Haarlem,
fourteen-year-old Lien lives a simple life with her mother and sister in a
farmhouse on the outskirts of the city. Elsewhere in Europe bombs are falling,
but the pall on their house is more from the recent loss of their baby sister
as a result of an accident Lien believes she could have prevented than from the
oncoming war. Until the Nazis invade the Netherlands and their lives are
overturned once more.
Recruited by their late father’s friend, Lien’s older
sister Elif reluctantly joins the Dutch resistance movement. Spurred by the
injustice of the Nazis’ treatment of Dutch citizens as well as a terrifying bombing
of their small town, and forever seeking atonement for her baby sister’s death,
Lien begs to join as well. The sisters’ youthful, innocent looks and ability to
disappear into a crowd make them the perfect resistance soldiers. Together with
a handful of like-minded youth, including the gallant Charlie with whom Lien
forms an instant connection, the sisters are trained and begin to carry out
missions, from distributing and collecting information to moving Jewish
families from hiding places to luring and killing influential Nazis. The toll
of the war and their work is evident in their collective psyches, and Lien
starts to make mistakes that could cost her and her newfound friends their
lives. Until one very personal mission shows her that the atonement she
desperately seeks for her sister’s death cannot be found at the end of the
barrel of a pistol, but must be found from within her heart.
Haarlem, Netherlands
April 1940
Sunlight dappled through the green
leaves, scattering golden light across the blanket where I sat, my back against
the trunk of a tall birch tree, while I kept watch over the Aberman children.
The rain that had kept me up the night
before, pummeling the roof above the third floor bedroom I shared with my older
sister, scented the air with the smell of damp grass, stone, and bark. I
breathed in, soothed by its familiarity, and yawned, my eyes blurring with
exhaustion as I tried to stay present. Too many late nights and early mornings
were beginning to take their toll, and the clatter of dice being shaken and
rolled by tiny hands before me, accompanied by laughter, shouts of outrage, and
harrumphs of frustration, were almost soothing, lulling me into a false sense
of security.
I glanced down at the book in my hand and
the paragraph I’d read at least a dozen times without retaining one word.
Unfortunately, sometimes running from my own thoughts by feeding my brain new
information didn’t work. Guilt and fear, it turned out, loved a quiet moment,
whispering in my ears at night as I tried to sleep, and nudging at me while I
sat at my desk in class, trying to focus on what the teacher said. Which was
why I’d decided two months ago that I needed noise. Noise would distract me and
help me escape the thoughts running through my mind.
Going, doing, and helping was what led me
to taking the Saturday afternoon childcare job. It was why I’d suddenly began
offering to run errands or clean for my mother, rather than complaining when
she asked. It was why I’d begun staying after school, poring over books I knew
I’d be assigned to read the following year in an attempt to get a head start.
I’d been determined to become a barrister like my father had been since I was a
little girl, and the extra studying filled my head with new and complicated
words, lofty ideas, and imaginings of grandeur—which were a much-needed
diversion from my otherwise too quiet world. And Haarlem, our sweet little city
by the sea, was more than just quiet. It was practically silent, as if all
sound emitted was whisked from our homes and carried by the near-constant wind
out across the water where it dissipated into the gray clouds above.
“You cheated!”
“I did not!”
I blinked, startled out of my thoughts,
and turned my attention to Isaak and Lara, whose earlier mirth had become
something less friendly. At six and eight years old, I knew their moments of
getting along would become less and less frequent as their interests changed
and their peers’ desires began pressuring them in other directions. But for
now, they still got along for the most part. Until someone inevitably cheated
at a game.
“Lien,” Lara, the younger of the two
whined, her wide brown eyes staring up at me, “Isaak cheated.”
“I didn’t!” the older boy protested, his
mop of brown curls vibrating with his insistence.
I crossed my arms over my chest, becoming
a miniature version of my father when he’d been alive as he’d solved similar
skirmishes between me and my elder sister, Elif.
“Well,” I said. “I wasn’t watching to say
either way so what shall we do? Quit? It would be a shame. You were both having
such a good time. Perhaps have the roll in question rolled again? What would be
fair to the two of you?”
Like my father had always done, I gave
both participants a choice, rather than accusing or taking sides. If they were
having fun, the one at fault would usually feel bad and acquiesce, so as not to
ruin the day.
Isaak huffed. “I’ll roll again,” he said.
I hid my smile. Isaak nearly always
cheated; Lara was just finally catching on. Keeping my expression thoughtful, I
nodded.
“Sounds like a sensible plan,” I said,
and then shot to my feet as a sudden shriek split the air in two.
I leaped over their game and stood at the
edge of the blanket, a human barrier between whatever trouble was brewing and
the children I was responsible for.
“What was that?” Lara asked beside me.
Without looking, I corralled her behind
me, my eyes scanning the park around us.
Haarlemmerhout Park covered sixty
hectares of land in the southern part of the city. Beech, horse chestnut,
linden, and silver maple trees towered above lush green blankets of grass and
mossy winding paths where lovers were often caught stealing a kiss by young
families out for leisurely bicycle rides. In a park so big, on any given day,
one could find a spot to spend several hours in and not be bothered by others.
It was strange enough to hear sounds besides ours, but sounds of distress were
especially surprising.
Movement on the other side of some nearby
shrubbery caught my eye, and I glanced over my shoulder.
“Isaak,” I said. “Watch your sister for a
moment. I’ll be right back.”
Heart thudding in my chest, I marched
across the soft, damp grass, intent to stop whatever danger was in motion. But
as I rounded the tangle of budding green plants, all I saw were two boys in the
middle of the walking path bent and staring at a small lump on the ground
between them.
One of the boys prodded the lump with a
stick and the lump shifted and lifted its small head, hollering again at his
aggressor. I sucked in a breath, pinpricks of anger and sorrow mixing behind my
eyes, making them burn.
“Stop that!” I yelled, trying to make all
162 centimeters of me look taller than they did. “Get away from that bird!”
Two pairs of wide eyes met mine, and then
the stick was dropped as the two boys ran off and out of sight.
I hurried to the bird, tears clouding my
eyes.
“Hello, little love,” I whispered,
looking for an obvious injury. “Did those mean boys hurt you?”
He eyed me from where he lay, and I
chewed my lip as I looked him over best I could without touching him. The wing
I could see seemed intact, his spindly legs curled into little enraged fists.
“Is he okay?”
I wiped my eyes and glanced up at Lara,
who was standing with her brother beside me, their small faces pinched with
worry, dark eyes full of concern.
“I’m not sure,” I said, and pointed.
“This wing looks okay, but I can’t see the other one without moving him.”
“Should we take it somewhere?” Isaak
asked.
I sniffled and leaned back, getting hold
of myself before my emotions erupted from the place I kept them shoved inside.
It was only a bird after all. Not worth the tremors of despair threatening to
burst.
“No,” I said. “But maybe we could move
him out of the way.” I pointed to the shrubbery beside us. “Why don’t the two
of you build him a little nest over there?”
As they ran off to gather leaves and
small branches, I stared down at the creature.
“I’m sorry you’re hurt,” I whispered, my
eyes once more filling with tears.
There was something so awful about seeing
a creature, fragile and vulnerable, unable to help itself, left to the
devices—or torture—of others. To feel and be so powerless…
“We’re done,” Isaak said, kneeling beside
me, his cheeks pink from the effort. “Are you crying?”
I shrugged.
“It’s just a bird, Lien.”
I pursed my lips. “It’s a living
creature, Isaak,” I said, my voice soft. “We should always do everything we can
to help others. Even if they’re just birds.”
I pulled the scarf from my neck and
stared down at the gull. “You ready?” I asked him, and then swooped the fabric
over it and wrapped my hands gently around its body.
“Do you think it will live?” Isaak asked
as I set the bird in the nest.
A glimmer of sadness pressed at my heart.
I knew that sometimes even when the best efforts were made and all the prayers
were whispered, they were still not enough.
“I hope so,” I said, setting the
grumbling fowl on the nest the kids had made. “The two of you did a great job.
It’s a handsome nest. He should be very grateful.”
“He doesn’t sound it,” Lara said, and I
managed a laugh.
We watched the gull for a while longer as
he warily eyed us back and shifted his small body on the pile of foliage and
sticks, and then I shepherded the children back to the blanket and their games.
“Play with us,” Isaak said, holding up a
well-loved deck of cards.
I nodded and took a seat, happy for the
distraction.
As the afternoon passed, the children,
easily bored, moved on from card games to running through the grass, twirling
until they were dizzy, and a game of tag until, tired out, they lay side by side,
Isaak reading and Lara drawing, while I opened my math book and studied for an
exam the following Monday.
A breeze kicked up and I shivered,
noticing the light around us had changed from golden hued to dismal. I glanced
at the sky to find the sun, tired from her brief exertion, had pulled up her
blanket of clouds and disappeared beneath a dark gray cover, giving the cold
wind permission to sweep in and scatter the papers Lara was busy drawing on.
“Hurry,” I said, and the three of us took
off in different directions, chasing down pictures of dogs, horses, and trees,
all the while laughing as papers somersaulted and cartwheeled across the vast
lawn.
As I pulled a gangly giraffe drawing from
the branches of a budding shrub, and a rotund elephant from a springy bed of
moss, I heard the telltale buzz of a plane in the distance. I searched around
me for more drawings and then lifted my eyes to the clouds again, listening as
the sound amplified, the airplane coming into view, heading in our direction.
“Kids,” I said, my voice a warning. I
gestured for them to come closer and then took hold of their arms and pulled
them beneath the cover of a tall birch tree.
“It’s just a plane,” Lara said.
But no plane was just a plane when a war
was going on.
Lara pulled on my arm and I gave her what
I hoped was a smile as a light rain began to fall, tapping on the leaves above
us before sliding off and peppering us with drops.
The planes had come more and more often
in the past several weeks, but I’d never given them much thought before today.
Had never felt even a glimmer of fear, assuming they were headed to France or
England where the war was actively happening. But for some reason today, the
sight and sound of this one put me on edge and the closer it got, the harder my
heart beat.
The drops of rain grew in size with every
second I stood with my eyes glued to the plane, watching and waiting, but for
what I didn’t know. And then I saw a door open.
“Isaak,” I said. “Lara.” I pushed them
behind me, causing Isaak to trip over a large root. He recovered and grasped my
hand, his eyes wide with fear as I placed my body in front of theirs, the
rumble of the engine above like thunder, shaking the air around us.
But no guns discharged as it flew by. No
bombs were dropped. No damage was done at all, save for the fraying of my
nerves and a cascade of fluttering white.
“What is it?” Lara asked.
We watched as the wind caught and
scattered the overturning debris, sending it floating through the air across
what looked like the whole of the city.
“I don’t know,” I said, letting go of
their hands and taking a step forward, watching as one of the items landed
softly on top of a shrub near where our blanket was laid out.
Isaak reached it first, snatching it from
where it lay and turning it over, a frown on his handsome face.
“What’s it mean?” he asked, handing the
paper over to me.
I took it and frowned. Vibrant blues,
reds, and whites glared back at me as I tried to make sense of what I was
seeing. A white bird on a flag. A drawing of a young, blond man in uniform with
a large drum strapped over his shoulder, and words. Dutch words with a German
message that sent a shiver down my spine.
I swallowed, my fingers trembling as I held
the paper. Because they weren’t just a German message. They were a Nazi
message.
A Nazi invitation.
“For the good of your conscience,” it
read. “The Waffen SS is calling you.”
My fingers tightened, crumpling the
paper. It wasn’t the first time I’d seen one of these garish signs. I’d spotted
them a couple of times over the past several months, adhered to light posts and
once, shockingly, in the window of a small shop. Was this where they had come
from? Or was this a new tactic? Were we to be inundated regularly with this
raining down of terrible requests for our men to join the German forces?
Of course, I knew all about the war
Germany had started. It was all anyone talked about since the news the year
before that Hitler had invaded Poland had come not so much as a shock as it had
with a sigh of acceptance. And when England and France quickly declared war on
Germany in retaliation, no one was surprised. Scores of Jews had been entering
the Netherlands for the past two years in hopes that our neutrality during the
Great War would extend to whatever this war turned out to be. But the poster in
my hands made me worry that perhaps they were wrong. Perhaps this time we
wouldn’t be so lucky.
Because if we were to stay neutral, what
was that plane doing here?
“What’s it say?” Lara repeated her
brother’s question, reaching for the poster.
“Nothing.” I folded it and shoved it in
my coat pocket. “It’s trash.” I checked my watch, noticing a thread had come
loose on the worn, too-big brown band, making it sag on my wrist. I tucked it
inside the cuff of my sweater. “We should get you two home. Your parents will
worry if we’re late.”
The three of us packed away the items
we’d brought in a cloth bag, and then I stood by trying to quell my impatience
as I watched the two of them take the corners of the blanket and try to fold it
into a neat square.
“Here,” Isaak said, handing me the lumpy
heap with a proud smile.
I grinned as I tucked it under my arm and
took a last look around for stray toys, papers, and drawing implements.
“Ready?” I asked, and the two nodded.
“Shall we check on our bird friend before we go?”
“Yes,” they said in delighted unison.
The gull was just as we’d left it, and in
fact looked to have made himself more at home, burrowing deeper into his new
nest of leaves and twigs, his narrow beak nestled down into his puffed white
chest.
“See?” I whispered, glancing at the
children crouched beside me. “I told you you made him a handsome home. Look how
happy he is.”
Convinced the bird would live, we walked
across the grass to the sidewalk. I glanced at the sky and then moved in
closer, making sure I was at most an arm’s length away from both kids should I
need to protect either of them from an oncoming bicyclist or any other dangers
that might befall them.
I knew how fast the unthinkable could
transpire. I’d seen it happen before.
“That was a bad one,” Lara said as we
walked.
“What was a bad one?” I asked, looking
around to see what she was talking about.
“The plane,” she said. “It was a bad one.
I saw the spiders.”
Spiders. It was what she called the Nazi
insignia.
I nodded. They were the bad ones indeed.
I’d never felt that more than I did now, a seed of doom planting itself in the
pit of my stomach as I wondered if that plane, its engine noise still
reverberating through my body, was just the beginning of something more. The
warning crack of thunder before a storm.
Excerpted
from Angels of the Resistance by Noelle Salazar. Copyright © 2022 by Noelle
Salazar. Published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
Buy
Links:
Harlequin:
https://www.harlequin.com/shop/books/9780778386797_angels-of-the-resistance.html
Barnes
& Noble: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/angels-of-the-resistance-noelle-salazar/1141412268?ean=9780778386797
Author
Bio:
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Noelle Salazar was born and raised in
the Pacific Northwest, where she’s been a Navy recruit, a medical assistant,
an NFL cheerleader, and always a storyteller. When she’s not writing, she can
be found dodging raindrops and daydreaming of her next book. Her first novel,
The Flight Girls, was an instant
bestseller, a Forbes, Woman's World &
Hypable book of the month and a
BookBub Top Recommended book from readers. Angels of Haarlem is her second novel. Noelle lives in Bothell,
Washington, with her husband and two children. Author
Website: https://www.noellesalazar.com/ Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/noellesalazar Instagram:
https://www.instagram.com/noelle__salazar/ Twitter: https://twitter.com/noelle_salazar
Goodreads:
https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/18424925.Noelle_Salazar
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