Bride Flight Page #4

I'm fertile. All of us at home are.

- Marjorie?

One look is enough.

My big sister has four.

Our Greet is expecting her third baby.

Don't be alarmed.

I'm almost seven months gone.

So all that time...

- I don't want it.

I've lost my customers.

I've been thrown out of my room.

Mrs Young felt awkward, but an unmarried

mother would damage her reputation.

But I can deal with that.

I don't want to have a Jewish child.

Why not?

And Leon?

- It's not Leon's.

Whose is it then?

You don't know?

Why didn't you get rid of it?

You must know places.

- I won't have an abortion.

Virtually nil isn't nil.

- But it remains virtually nil.

So should I just throw myself

into the ocean?

That's not what I mean.

It could be our eldest

if we are lucky to have more.

And if we don't?

- Then at least we have one child.

Yes, otherwise you'd never have

any children and you'd hate me.

Okay, we won't do it then.

Hans, don't cry.

Sorry.

No one will ever find out. Never.

Not even the child.

- That's the one condition.

Promise.

- Promise.

It's our child. My own child.

It will have a good and safe life.

Is... Is it okay?

She's perfectly healthy.

A gorgeous daughter.

Julie.

Julie.

Perhaps God's forgiven us.

- Perhaps.

I'll put it here.

June 1954.

Dear Mum and Dad,

thank you for sending me the magazine.

It's a shame there was only one copy.

Everything is fine.

My belly is really starting to swell,

but I'm feeling fine.

I'm really busy preparing

for the arrival of our little one.

It's adorable.

July 1954.

We've got snow. Isn't that funny?

Everything is back to front here.

My blood pressure is a little high.

So I can't have salt anymore.

No more salt...

- Awful.

Other than that, all is going perfectly.

I feel great.

Pressure on my bladder,

painful thighs, can't lie down anymore...

Apart from the usual complaints

that you get when you're pregnant.

I think about you a lot, Mum.

Yes. Me too.

About my mother.

Not yet. Hang on.

- Okay.

The next one, or the one after that.

- Wait. I can't.

The baby won't wait.

Bloody hell...

Rush as hard as you can.

And don't swear.

Well done. Now go ahead.

Rush, push.

Well done. Keep going.

Rush, push, push, push.

A little more. Yes, yes.

There's salt in it again now.

There.

Here you are.

It's a recipe from the Margriet.

Mum still sends it.

How is...

- Don't. We wouldn't talk about it.

Dear Mum and Dad.

Our baby is making us wait, which

is good because we are busy moving.

The weather is better

on the North Island, so I said to Hans,

''Let's go,

we get enough snow in Holland.''

Keep it a secret.

- Yes.

A safe life.

- Yes.

Promised?

Yes.

Everything's going well.

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