by Ines Thorn
“What are you doing here?” he asked, putting down the harpoon.
“I . . . I need to talk to you.”
“Can’t it wait until evening?” Arjen pointed to the wall, where several half-finished harpoons stood. “The men are leaving in a few weeks to go to sea. I have to finish the harpoons before then.”
“This won’t take long.” It had been so difficult for Inga to gather her courage that she couldn’t bear to be sent away.
“Fine.” Arjen washed his hands in a bucket and then cleared a stool for her. “Sit down.”
Inga did as he suggested. She looked at Arjen, and her heart twisted painfully. She’d wanted to love him—more than any woman on Sylt had ever loved her husband. But she didn’t love him at all anymore. She’d pursued him, longed for a kind glance or word, and clung to him with almost canine devotion, but none of that was love.
“What’s so urgent?”
Inga took a deep breath. “I’m here to beg for your forgiveness.”
“Forgiveness? For what?” Then it occurred to him. “This is about the pregnancy, isn’t it? Well, I forgive you.”
Inga shook her head. “It’s not about the pregnancy; it’s about us. I forced you into this marriage, and I want you to know that I am truly sorry for it.” She smiled a little crookedly. “I’ve learned that love can’t be coerced. Please forgive me.”
Arjen sighed. He didn’t make any accusations; there were no bitter words. He just sighed deeply, from the bottom of his soul. “What can we do now?” he asked.
Inga shrugged. “I don’t know. But you are free. Go to Jordis and live with her. You will never be happy with me.”
Arjen stood up abruptly and nodded. “I thank you for your words, Inga, but it’s too late. We’re married, and we can’t just set each other free. The only one who can do that is a representative of the church. But in order to separate, we need a good reason. We’d have to prove that our marriage vows can’t be fulfilled.”
Inga leapt to her feet. “What if I tell my father we never consummated our marriage? He would nullify it.”
Arjen shook his head. “He wouldn’t do that. He would think that you were purposely trying to make him the laughingstock of Rantum. Besides, now everyone thinks you’re pregnant.”
He took one of the harpoons from the wall, laid it on the anvil, and struck the tip so hard with the hammer that sparks flew.
CHAPTER 11
Tamme couldn’t wait until darkness fell; there was no time to lose. He walked in the full light of day to Jordis’s hut and pounded on the door with his fists until she opened it. He slipped inside and closed the door behind him.
“What’s wrong, Tamme?” Jordis said. “You’re out of breath.”
“Danish soldiers landed in List. They’re looking for him.” He nodded at Lian, who was asleep in the bed.
Jordis’s brow creased. “Why? The bailiffs couldn’t find him; why are the Danes here now?”
“Something about plans or drawings he was carrying. He’ll have to hide.”
Jordis shook her head. “How can he hide? He’s ill. I’m grateful for every day he survives.”
“He may not survive if he stays here. He has to leave. The soldiers aren’t here yet, but it won’t be long until they come to Rantum.”
Jordis glanced around as though she was looking for hiding places in her hut, but there were no possibilities. The trunk was far too small, and the hut was only a single room.
“Where can we take him, then?” Jordis asked. Her voice rang with desperation. “I don’t know of any better hiding place than here.”
“He wouldn’t be safe with us. Our house is only a little larger than yours. I have an idea, but we’d have to let Inga in on the secret.”
“Inga? Never!”
“Why not?”
Jordis bit her lip. She had sworn to herself that she’d never speak to Inga again. “She betrayed me.” Hesitantly, Jordis told him about how Inga had cut the cross from the church ceiling.
Tamme was silent for a moment, but then he put a comforting hand on Jordis’s shoulder. “She’s changed,” he said. “Life has been cruel to her. And she told you herself what she’d done. Don’t you think everyone deserves a second chance?”
“A second chance? Yes, I suppose. But not when someone’s life is at stake. I can’t trust her. What is this all about anyway? What could Inga do?”
Tamme stroked his chin. “There’s one place in Rantum that the soldiers won’t search.”
“Where?”
“The church. Or rather, the coffin that’s in the church. Old Grit died. Her burial is in a few days.”
Jordis’s eyes went wide. “You want to take Grit out of her coffin and put Lian there instead?”
Tamme shrugged. “Grit was small, and she became very thin at the end. We could put Lian on top of her.”
Jordis pressed a hand to her mouth in horror. The idea sent a cold shiver down her back.
“From what I knew of Old Grit, she wouldn’t have minded a younger man lying on top of her.” Crooked Tamme laughed and Jordis relaxed a bit.
“It’s not a bad idea,” Jordis said. “But how will we manage it?”
“Today, the soldiers will search List,” Tamme replied. “Tomorrow, they’ll be in Westerland, and the next day, they’ll be in Rantum. We’d have to bring Lian to the church tomorrow night. Inga would have to get the key. We can hide Lian in the vestry, and Antje can keep the pastor away from the church the next morning. When the first Danish outriders reach Rantum, we’ll put him in the coffin. I’ll make sure that the soldiers don’t start with the church. And once they’ve moved on to Hörnum, we can bring Lian back here.”
Jordis went to the bed and placed a hand on Lian’s forehead. “He still has a fever. The church is cold and damp. He’ll probably get lung fever.”
“We have no choice, Jordis,” he said. “You have to decide now. I still need to talk to Inga.”
Jordis nodded reluctantly. “All right. It’s the best chance.”
A little later, Tamme knocked at Inga’s door. She had just returned from the smithy. She felt lighter and freer than she ever had, though she knew that she still had much to do until her conscience would be at ease. She opened the door to Tamme with a smile. Her cheeks glowed pink, her eyes shone, and Tamme thought Inga looked more beautiful than she had in a long time.
“How nice to see you,” Inga said, instead of her usual brusque greeting. “What brings you here?”
Tamme followed her into the kitchen, sat down at the table, and nodded when she offered him a cup of grog. She placed the steaming cup on the table and sat down across from him. “What can I do for you?” she asked kindly.
Tamme sighed. He knew the old Inga. He wasn’t sure yet about the one who was sitting in front of him.
“I know about the cross,” he began.
Inga lowered her eyes and her cheeks reddened with shame.
“I’m so sorry that I did that,” she said softly. “I’ve changed, even if you can’t see it at first glance. And believe me, I would give anything I could to make up for it, and for you to forgive me.”
Tamme’s brow creased in confusion. “I have nothing to forgive you for.”
“Oh, yes you do!” Inga retorted. She didn’t dare to look up. “And you know it.”
Tamme didn’t understand what she meant, but he could tell she was in earnest.
“We need your help,” he explained. “A life depends on it.”
Inga looked up. “You trust me?” she asked in amazement. “Or do you have no other choice?”
“I’ve known you since we were children, and I know life hasn’t been easy for you. You aren’t a bad person, Inga. You never were. That’s why I trust you.”
A small tentative smile played over her mouth. She took Tamme’s right hand in both of hers. “That’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me. It means so much to me. Especially since it came from you.”
Tamme was embarrassed. “I
mean it.”
Inga let his hand go. “What can I do?”
“You can visit your father tomorrow evening and get the key to the church from him. We only need it for an hour, then you can return it. But we’ll need it again the day after. Can you do that for us?”
Inga sighed. “It won’t be easy,” she said. “Father carries the key in his pocket. I’ll have to take it while he’s sleeping.”
“What about Branntwein? Everyone in Rantum knows he likes a glass or two.”
Inga glanced at the door to the larder. There was an entire demijohn full; Arjen rarely drank Branntwein. “I don’t know . . . What would Arjen say?”
Tamme thought for a moment. “I’ll ask him. He needs to know so the responsibility won’t fall on you alone.”
Inga nodded so resolutely that her curls swung back and forth. “I’ll do it,” she said.
“But you don’t know the reason.”
“I don’t care. I know you wouldn’t ask me if it wasn’t important. I trust you too, Tamme. You don’t have to tell me. Because a secret one doesn’t know can’t be told.”
Tamme smiled, and Inga saw his entire face light up. His eyes flashed, and he glowed in a way she’d never seen before. She realized she had brought about this change. She thought Tamme had never looked so good before. What did it matter if his back was hunched, or his disability made it difficult for him to work? He was a good person, and that was all that mattered. Her heart raced, and she shivered with delight. How had she never noticed what a kind person Tamme was?
“Tomorrow night,” he said. “Tomorrow at midnight we need the key. Or you can unlock the church for us and return the key immediately. That would make it less risky for you. I have to go now; there’s still much to do.”
Inga nodded and went to Tamme and gave him a kiss on the cheek. It was very brief, no more than a gentle peck, but Tamme blushed and touched the place she had kissed. He gazed at her in amazement and then abruptly turned and left the house.
He went to the smithy next. Arjen stood at his workbench in the glowing light of the fire, smoothing the point of a harpoon with sand.
“Can I talk to you for a moment?” Tamme asked.
“Of course.” Arjen dropped the sand into a bucket and leaned the harpoon against the wall. “What can I do for you?”
Tamme sat down on a stool, slid closer to the fire, and briefly warmed his hands.
“It’s complicated,” he said. “But your brave wife and Jordis are involved.”
“You make it sound exciting.”
“You’ve heard about the man who survived the shipwreck? The bailiffs were looking for him.”
“Yes. But they didn’t find him. He’s probably dead under a dune somewhere. I would like to know why they were so desperate to find him. No one usually cares about someone the sea washed up.”
“He comes from Iceland and lived in England for a time. He’s supposed to be the best navigator in the world.”
“Aha. I’d like to know his methods.”
“That’s not what this is about.” He hesitated. “Or perhaps it is. He had plans with him for a new navigation device. He was supposed to bring the plans to Denmark. They’re at war to control the Baltic Sea area. A tool for improving navigation could determine the outcome of the war. Now the Danes have landed in List, and they’re looking for him, or at least the plans.”
“How do you know all of this?” Arjen asked.
“Everyone knows that the Danes have landed on Sylt. There are gossips on every corner. But I learned about the plans from Jordis.”
“From Jordis? What does she have to do with it?”
“She found the Icelander on the beach. Some beachcombers had buried him alive. He managed to get a hand out of the sand and they cut it off.”
“You saw it happen?”
“I wasn’t with Jordis, no, but I saw everything from a distance. The Icelander has gangrene, and Jordis has been trying to heal him. He’ll probably recover. But we have to hide him from the Danes.”
“Why does he have to be hidden from the Danes if he was on his way to Denmark anyway?” Arjen crossed his arms over his chest.
“He thought he was going to Iceland. They told him that the ship would stop briefly in Denmark and then go directly on to Iceland. He wanted to bring the plans to his people so they wouldn’t be caught in the middle of a war and be overpowered by the stronger forces of Denmark, Russia, and Sweden. But the Danes had already learned about the plans and wanted them, so they tricked him.”
“And now he’s staying with Jordis? She hid him?”
Tamme nodded. “And the Danish soldiers will find him there unless we help her. That’s why we have to bring him to the church tomorrow night. Inga is going to get the key while her father is sleeping and then will let us in. Old Grit is lying in a coffin there. We’ll put the Icelander in the coffin with her, and when the Danes are gone, he can go back to Jordis’s hut.”
Tamme had the impression that Arjen wasn’t really listening to him. “But the plans are safe?” Arjen asked.
“No, actually, they aren’t. The ink bled during the shipwreck. The Icelander wants to redraw them. But he can’t, because his right hand was cut off.”
“Do you think I could see them?”
Tamme groaned. “Arjen, this isn’t about the plans. It’s about the man’s life. Don’t you understand?”
“Yes, of course. I’d be glad to help. I’ll carry him to the church with you and help get him into Grit’s coffin. But I would also love to see the plans.”
“We can talk about it when the Danes have left the island, all right?”
Arjen nodded. “There’s one thing I need to know: Is Jordis in danger?”
“Only if she’s caught with the man in her hut. That’s why we have to get him to the church.”
“Is she well?”
Tamme nodded. “Yes, she’s well. The foreigner is helping to keep her loneliness at bay.” He looked at Arjen carefully. “She needs friends. Do you understand that?”
Arjen nodded. “I will always be her friend. Even though she makes it difficult for me.”
Tamme scratched his chin. “But you left her. You were betrothed to her, and yet, you married Inga instead. Doesn’t she have reason to mistrust you?”
Arjen sighed. “I’m tired of being thought of as a traitor. I didn’t betray Jordis. I married Inga to protect Jordis.”
“You did?” Tamme shifted uncomfortably on the stool.
“Yes. But I can’t talk about it. Inga is not the wife I wanted, but she’s changed recently. She turned out to have a good heart. And she is my wife. I swore before God to protect her. She made terrible mistakes, but she has long since regretted them.”
Tamme stood up. “I don’t understand, Arjen. But we are friends. I’m sorry you don’t trust me with the full story.”
“I do trust you, but I’m trying to explain without being unfair to Inga. It’s not about me, it’s about my wife.” Arjen lowered his eyes. “It’s true, I didn’t want Inga. She forced me to marry her. She thought she could make me love her, but it didn’t work. At first I was furious at her, and I punished her terribly for it.”
“I know. Or at least, I was fairly certain of it,” Tamme replied. “But it sounds as though you have forgiven her.”
“I have forgiven Inga. But I’ll only be free when Jordis forgives me.”
CHAPTER 12
“You told Arjen?” Jordis’s eyes went wide. “He can’t be trusted!”
“He can be trusted,” Tamme said, disagreeing. “At least, I trust him. He’s a good friend.”
“He betrayed me.”
“Not everything is as it seems at first glance.”
“What are you talking about?” Jordis asked.
“I’ll tell you later,” Tamme said. “Arjen will be here soon to help bring Lian to the church.”
Jordis went to the Icelander and touched his shoulder. “He’s doing a bit better. The fever is lower, and his arm
is beginning to heal. But it’s cold in the church. He can’t stay there long.”
“We’ll do everything we can to make sure he won’t have to.” Tamme had barely spoken when there was a knock at Jordis’s door. It was Arjen. When Jordis saw him, her cheeks went red with anger. Her eyes flashed threateningly, and her voice hardened.
“I’m not pleased to see you,” she said brusquely. “But there’s no other way.”
Arjen walked in wordlessly and went directly to the table, where the plans were lying. “What is this, exactly?” he asked Lian.
Tamme stopped him. “Leave it be now. This is about something more important.”
Arjen unfolded a thick sheepskin vest. “He should put this on. It will keep him warm.”
Jordis helped Lian put on the vest and wrapped a blanket around his shoulders. Then the three men left the house.
Jordis stood at the window, watching them. The night was black. Thick clouds rolled across the sky, and fog rose from the sea, so they vanished after just a few steps. She turned, folded the plans, and hid them under a basket of dried sheep dung in the corner.
As expected, Danish soldiers on horseback arrived in the morning. The six cavaliers carried long, heavy muskets and wore sabers over their uniforms. They rode into the center of town, and one soldier blew a horn. The villagers opened their doors immediately. Men, women, boys, girls, the elderly, and even toddlers streamed out of their homes and gathered in the village square in front of the church.
“The king of Denmark decrees that the Icelander Lian Gustavson must be delivered into our custody. You have one hour. After that, every house and hut in Rantum will be searched. Hiding the Icelander is punishable by death, unless you come forward now.”
The Danish soldier and his five comrades gazed intently at every single face. Tamme stood with Arjen at the edge of the gathering. When the soldier’s gaze met his, Tamme spoke.
