My Marigold

My name is Kyland Jansen. My only “crime” in this world was trying to save Evi Meijer.

The Great War began in 1914. I was 34 years old, living in Belgium with my wife Helga and our 3 children - my whole world. I was a literature professor at Katholieke Universiteit in Leuven, just east of Brussels. With Belgium between France and Germany, the Germans invaded almost immediately. The invasion was horrific; the escalation, far more so.

We narrowly escaped “The Rape of Belgium” and the civilian executions that took place. We evacuated to Paris, where I joined the French army. Being educated, I was given an officer’s commission and men to command - some of the bravest souls I have ever known. The Battle of Verdun was our crucible.

Outnumbered five-to-one, we fought the Germans trench by bloody trench, but we were losing. The only thing that kept my spirits up were the letters from my wife Helga - my marigold, I called her. She always said marigolds were like holding the sun in your hand. The last thing she gave me before I left for war was a kiss and that flower: “Keep it with you always - for luck.” I pressed the flower into my journal, where it stayed with me those bloody years.

History will tell you that the tide turned once “The Lion of Verdun,” Marshall Phillipe Pétrain was appointed the Commander-in-Chief, but the tide was really turned by us; the men in the trenches dodging bullets, living off of rat meat and whatever else we could find. In October of 1916, I was promoted to captain and a group of “tunnelers” were put under my command. That’s when I met Judah Meijer and Lambert Van Dijk, the most terrifyingly effective soldiers I have ever had the pleasure to serve alongside.

Judah was one of the largest, strongest men I have ever met. Seventeen years old, he stood at almost two meters, with an inhuman strength and rage, like a bull. I once saw him fight men five men at a time, hand to hand, and toss them around like rag dolls. He frequently carried a Hotchkiss machine gun into battle and held it like a rifle…an absolute terror. Lambert, much smaller than Judah, was scrappy and cunning - just as deadly with a knife and pickaxe as he was building bombs. Lambert was the miner responsible for creating the explosion that would later be known as the “Pool of Peace,” a 129-meter explosion in June of 1917 - some said you could hear it in London. Together, they were the best tunneling squad we had. Once Lambert would break through to another trench or enemy tunnel, Judah would be directly behind him. The enemy never knew what hit them.

My company became so famous that Lambert, Judah and I once had our photo taken for the Americans’ Stars and Stripes newspaper. By the time of the armistice, they were not mere soldiers under my command, but my dearest friends and comrades. Thanks to Lambert and Judah, I made it to the end of the Great War; I owe them my life. After seeing so much bloodshed, I promised myself that if I survived the war, I would find a quiet farm with Helga and our children, and live in peace. We did just that. Helga and I found the perfect homestead, just outside of Arnhem in the Netherlands, and the first day was spent planting marigolds in the front yard.

Returning to civilian life was difficult - more so than I had anticipated; the doctors called it “shell-shock.” Helga would sometimes find me in the middle of the night, in the basement screaming about “tunneling towards enemy lines!” This didn’t end until I had completed a tunnel that reached our barn. I sometimes woke to find myself in the basement at the tunnel entrance - not digging, just staring into it like some portal to another time. I decided it would be best to leave the tunnel (which admittedly might be considered odd, but it helped me), so I hid the entrance with a large wine rack. Over time, the compulsion faded.

When Judah married, I convinced him to buy the next farm over. Judah and Lily would bring their children over to play with my grandchildren when they visited; those were the days I lived for. One day, Judah stopped by the house without his family.

“Kyland, I need to talk to you.”

Having known Judah for many years I could tell when he was worried, although nobody else would have been the wiser - he kept his cards close to the vest.

“Come inside. What troubles you?”

“It’s the Germans. I’ve heard whispers and rumors of Jews disappearing in Germany and Poland. I haven’t heard from my Polish cousins in quite some time,” Judah said, his eyes wide. “If the Germans come to the Netherlands, my family and I may need to hide. Will you help me?”

I had never heard such fear in his voice. It was infectious, I could feel it - brought me back to the civilian executions and the horrors of the Great War.

“Of course, my friend, but do you really think they will get this far? The Netherlands has always remained neutral.”

“If they invade, my family will have to move quickly. Can I count on you?”

We spent that night devising an evacuation plan.

Three weeks later, the Germans invaded, and the Meijer family required our protection. The night they fled, they sat at my table as they had so many times before, with one exception - Captain Heinrich Richter circling us. I know Judah better than most, and I could see the look in his eyes, the same look he had in the trenches. I hoped that age had tempered Judah’s rage, otherwise we might all die tonight. That Captain had no idea how much danger he was in; without the SS squads outside watching the house, Judah would have torn him apart in seconds. He held it together beautifully, all the while pretending to be my son Barend, and the captain left.

The plan was for their daughter Evi to stay with us, while Judah and the rest of the family went to Eindhoven until Judah had acquired passage and passports out of the country. Unfortunately, the Germans had learned from their past mistakes, and the Meijers were stuck in Eindhoven. I held to my word though, and Evi became our ward. Helga and I taught her as if she was our own; she was such a remarkable child. When she discovered the tunnel in the cellar, she made it her own.

“It’s my secret princess tunnel!” she confided in me one afternoon.

Suddenly, my darkest memories and basement secret had been redefined by this beaming, bright child with her mischievous smile. She loves hiding in the tunnel, running back and forth between the house and barn - especially when the Germans made unexpected visits. It was as if my compulsion to build this tunnel wasn’t a carryover from the war but really an unknown preparation for safeguarding her. Helga was so happy hearing the pitter-patter of a child’s feet running through the house; she so dearly missed being surrounded by the sounds of children playing.

I often sent Evi on “princess missions” – pulling the brightest flower from the front yard, I told her “Your mission, young princess, is to deliver this flower to the fairest queen in all the land.” With a wink, she completed her task. One afternoon, I was searching the yard for just the right flower for such a mission when a car pulled up. Captain Heinrich Richter and three soldiers exited the car, and I knew right away that today was different from other visits. The captain had not darkened our doorway in almost four years.

“Captain Kyland Jansen – retired – of the French Infantry and Corps of Royal Engineers,” he spat happily.

Adrenaline pumped through my body. “You looked up my old war records, I see,” I replied coolly.

“I had to do quite a bit of digging – to find out what I could about you. I had no idea you were a hero…or villain, depending on the company.” His pleasant demeanor began to fade.

“It was a crazy time; my wife and I barely escaped The Rape of Belgium.”

He scoffed, “The Rape of Belgium – what an exaggeration. Those executions were completely lawful.”

“Well, when my wife and I reached France, I had no choice but to join the army. I could just as easily have fought for Germany if I had been on the other side.”

“But you weren’t, and after looking at your record, a part of me wishes that you were.” He began reading from a file in his hand. “Captain Kyland Jansen, Honorably Discharged. A distinguished service record with multiple commendations, awarded three purple hearts, Bronze Star, The Croix de Guerre, and an Allied Victory Medal. Most impressive.” The captain seemed genuine. Two of the soldiers behind him also appeared impressed.

The captain turned to his men, “And famous, no less.” He pulled newspaper out of the file and showed it to his men, before turning back to me. “You were even featured in the Stars and Stripes American Military newspaper.”

My heart sank like a stone. He continued reading “Left to right, Captain Kyland Jansen, Corporal Judah Meijer and Sergeant Lambert Van Dijk, having successfully completed an operation resulting in another allied victory over the Germans.”

I knew exactly where the captain was going with this. “This picture is very interesting, see I thought this man in the middle was your son Barend-“

“Good memory.” I interjected.

“-but of course, that’s not true, and how many men are this size?” he continued.

“Not many.”

The game is up, no more hiding. I need to warn Helga and Evi. I’m not fast enough to take the captain and his men.

“Where is Judah Meijer?”

“I don’t know.” I maintained eye contact.

“If you turn them over now, we will arrest them, leave your home, never to return, and you can continue to live out your days in peace.”

I remained silent. I spotted the perfect marigold to give Helga.

“Where are Judah, Lilith, Evelyn, and Levi Meijer? Where are you hiding them? Turn them over now!” His voice became shrill.

“You know why you will fail?”

The captain scoffed again, like the idea of failure had never entered his mind.

“Because you are wrong. There are always men like you who think they are better than everyone else, but you aren’t, you are no different than the Jews you hunt and good people will always stand up to a bully like you.” The captain’s face flushed red with rage as he upholstered his pistol. “HELGA!” I yelled, and began to run towards the house. I could see her face in the kitchen window, her mouth agape with horror. As the gunshots rang out, I felt the familiar sting of bullets in the flesh of my back, blood spilling onto those perfect little petals that filled my garden. My legs gave out, and I fell to the ground. My head lay next to that perfect marigold.

I hope she runs; I hope she gets out.

“My marigold,” I wheezed.

Moments later, I heard Helga yell “Evi, RUN!” followed by machine gun fire. Tears filled my eyes.

My Helga! The warm caress of sunshine, and the cold kiss of death washed over me simultaneously. See you soon Helga, my love, my marigold. Evi, stay hidden child.

The captain rolled me over, “You will never find her; you will never find them. God help you if you do.” I spit blood in the face of the captain and smiled.

My only crime was hiding a wonderful Jewish girl named Evi Meijer.

These flowers are so beautiful.

My eyes closed for the last time.