by Kris Tualla
Why shouldn’t he accept? He hadn’t been with a woman since leaving Norway. That was a long dry spell for him.
He watched Kyle make her way to the bar and saw men notice her along the way. She was tall for an American woman, he guessed five-foot-eight, and the blonde in her hair was natural, not the result of peroxide.
When a small table opened up, Tor grabbed it and waved to Kyle when she turned around. She was holding two beers.
“Here you are, Captain.” She set one of the glasses in front of him. “A delayed welcome to America.”
“I’ll buy the next round,” he declared, a little irritated at her. “I am a gentleman, after all.”
“What’s he sayin’ to you, honey?” The man approaching clearly had a head start on the evening’s alcohol consumption, and the glass in his hand was nearly empty. “Do you understand his gibberish?”
Kyle shot the man such a cold look that Tor felt a shiver run up his spine.
“It’s not gibberish, it’s Norwegian,” she answered in stern English. “This man is an Olympic skier who’s come to Camp Hale to teach our soldiers how to ski.”
Kyle.
Be quiet.
“Well la-dee-dah.” The man wiggled the fingers of his empty hand in the air and then fixed Tor with a sarcastic look. “Since you don’t speak American, it won’t do me any good to tell you I’m borrowing this little lady for a while.”
“No thank you.” Kyle leaned away from the man’s reach. “I’m staying right where I’m at.”
Tor saw clear signs that this man was not at all dissuaded. He slid off his stool and stood looking down at the top of the man’s head.
“Tor Hansen,” he growled. “Du?”
“Dale.” He lifted his chin angrily. “Dale Maple.”
“Dale.” Tor pointed at Kyle, then at himself. Then he made shooing motions at Dale.
Dale frowned. “I’ll go when I’m good and ready.”
Tor clenched his fists in front of his chest. He threw an inquisitive look at Dale.
Dale sniffed and spat at Tor’s feet. “Fucking foreigner.”
As he turned his back to walk away Tor quivered with the desire to smash his heavy boot squarely into the man’s back.
Kyle laid her hand on his arm. “He’s gone.”
Tor perched back on his stool and drained his beer in one long pull. He slammed the glass on the round tabletop.
“I’ll be back.”
Chapter
Five
Kyle watched Tor like a hawk, afraid he was going to pick a fight with Dale, but the Norseman was only headed to the bar. He returned with a beer and a shot glass of some amber liquor.
“Skål.” He threw back the shot and followed it with a gulp of beer.
Kyle looked toward the dance floor in the center of the bar and then turned back to Tor. “Want to dance?”
“No. You go. I’ll watch.”
“Are you sure?”
He nodded determinedly. “I need to cool off.”
Kyle hopped down from the chair and wiggled through the crowd to where Frances and Flo were doing the jitterbug with each other. A soldier she recognized from the camp grabbed her hand and started dancing with her—and he was good. It wasn’t long before the crowd opened around them and cheered them on.
Kyle loved to dance. She watched others and practiced the moves in her room at night, though as a second lieutenant she had a roommate.
But Marguerite was seldom around. Where she snuck off to after dark was none of Kyle’s business. And if she was having a torrid affair with some soldier in the camp, her frequent disappearances gave Kyle that much more privacy.
Kyle danced with the soldier—whose name was Charles—through three consecutive songs before begging for a break.
“Come back, beautiful,” he called after her. “You sure know how to cut a rug!”
Kyle laughed and turned toward Tor.
A glaring Dale stood square in her path.
*****
Tor was fascinated as he watched Kyle dance. Her sense of rhythm and graceful moves had him spellbound. The most amazing thing was her incredible smile—it lit up the entire dance floor as far as he was concerned.
Knowing she must be working up a thirst, Tor went back to the bar to buy Kyle the beer he promised her. When he set it on the table beside her almost empty glass, he looked up to find her.
Oh no.
Though Kyle was facing him, her way was blocked by that same Dale who was disrespectful to both of them earlier.
Before Tor could act, Kyle shoved Dale aside and marched to the table.
“Some people,” she growled. She looked up at Tor. “Thanks for the beer.”
“Do I need to step in?” he asked.
She brushed a lock of damp hair off her forehead and took a decent drink from the cold fresh beer before she answered him.
“Please don’t. He’s not worth getting the MPs involved.”
Tor glanced across the bar at the two soldiers with white holsters strapped across their chests and the letters M and P emblazoned on their arms.
He returned his angry gaze to Kyle’s. “Only if it becomes necessary.”
Dale didn’t seem to know how to take no for an answer. He and a couple buddies planted themselves at a nearby table with refilled drinks. They sneered at Tor as if challenging him to engage in battle.
While they drank, they talked. Loudly.
About Kyle.
“A sweet mouth like that? I bet she gives it to him real good.” One of the men made a rude gesture with his tongue hanging out.
“I’d bet he spent all his time growing that body and there weren’t nothin’ left over for wood, if you know what I mean.”
“She’d know!”
“Look at her squirm—she’s hot for it right now.”
Another rude gesture. “I got what you want right here. Come and get it.”
Tor stood. Rage was turning his vision red.
Kyle’s hand clamped down on his forearm. He paused and looked into her eyes.
“Let’s go somewhere else.” She downed her beer and slid from the stool. “Come on.”
Tor reluctantly followed Kyle on her winding path through the bar crowd. When they reached the door, Tor stopped.
He met the MP’s eyes with an intense glare. Then he shifted that glare to the table of taunting assholes. And then back to the MP.
The policeman narrowed his gaze as if taking Tor’s measure.
Tor gave a little nod, then left the bar with Kyle.
“Jeez it’s cold.” Kyle buttoned the double-breasted front of her Army-issue woolen coat. “Where should we go now?”
“I don’t know this town,” he pointed out. “You choose.”
Kyle wrapped her scarf around her neck. “Well… there’s a pizza place—”
“You whoring for foreigners tonight, bitch?”
Tor stepped between Kyle and the challenge. He figured the three men must have left the bar from a back door so they wouldn’t cross paths with the MPs at the front.
“Hey, buddy. Get out of the way.” Dale sauntered unevenly toward Tor, flanked by his motley back-up crew. “My date’s waiting behind you. Gonna give her the time of her life.”
“Let’s go,” Kyle tugged on his arm.
Tor held his ground. Every single insult he wanted to throw at the trio of idiots rumbled around in his head and sent steel into his fists.
Come and get me.
If you dare.
“He’s an officer,” Kyle shouted from behind him. “You’re only enlisted men.”
“Yeah? I don’t see no stripes.” Dale sniffed and spat again.
“Come on, Tor!” Kyle yanked on his arm. “He’s not worth it!”
“You haven’t tried me yet, honey. You don’t know what I’m worth.” Dale grabbed his own crotch and his laugh taunted Tor. “I’ll make you scream little lady. You’ll get so hot—”
Dale’s words were smashed from existence by
Tor’s fists in a one-two attack. He dropped like a rock.
“Lieutenant, get the MPs out here, now!” Tor barked the order and jumped over the fallen man.
He raised his fists again as he stepped toward the other two. “Ja? JA?”
They backed away.
“Hey, we didn’t mean anything.”
“Nah, just having a little fun.”
Fun? FUN?
These Neanderthal assholes considered harassing a woman with sexual taunts fun?
I should beat them half to death for even thinking like that.
Tor leapt forward.
The two cowards turned tail and ran.
He heard heavy footsteps behind him. Dale moaned pitifully.
Tor turned to face the MPs and put his hands in the air.
*****
Kyle sat with Tor in the infirmary and dabbed a stinging antiseptic on his split and swollen knuckles.
“It’s a good thing you got the MP’s attention before we left the bar,” she conceded. “It was easy for me to convince them you weren’t at fault.”
Tor winced as Kyle replenished the medicine on her cotton ball. “No man, for any reason, should ever speak to any woman like they spoke to you. There is no excuse.”
Kyle froze, the cotton ball suspended over Tor’s hand. “How do you know what they said?”
Damn.
“I’m a man,” he began carefully. “I understood the expressions on their faces and the tone of their voices. And if there was any doubt at all, when Dale grabbed himself that doubt disappeared.”
Kyle’s gaze moved away from his and she resumed the cleaning of his wounds. “What a way to spend our last Saturday before Christmas, huh?”
“Have you heard from your family?” Tor intentionally changed the subject.
“My parents sent me a package.” Kyle dropped the spent cotton ball into the waste can. “That should do it. Let me wrap it so you don’t bleed on your clothes.”
Tor did let her. Being alone in the quiet with her was nice after the crowded and loud bar. “What about your fiancé?”
“Nothing yet.” Her tone sounded strained. “I think he’s jealous.”
Tor recoiled. “Jealous of what?”
Interesting gray eyes with green centers met his. “Of you. What else?”
“Me?” Tor looked at her like she just told him his hair was on fire. “Why on earth? What did you say?”
“Nothing, really. I only said that you were interesting to talk to.” She looked like she might cry. “I didn’t even tell him what you look like.”
Tor held his breath while he tried to figure out what that meant. He let it out in a whoosh when another thought arose.
“Does he want you to go back to Viking?”
Still a stupid name for a town.
“Of course he does.” Kyle tied off the bandage. “But I reminded him that I enlisted for a two year tour of duty.”
She rose from her seat and put the antiseptic and unused bandages back in the first aid kit.
Tor gingerly flexed his hand but stopped when spots of red appeared through the gauze wrapping. “Will you honor your engagement?”
“I’m a woman of my word.” Kyle turned back to face him. “And I love him.”
“I’ve never been in love,” he confessed. “Someday you should tell me what it’s like.”
December 25, 1943
Dinner in the mess hall was a small affair with so many soldiers gone. When most of the officers had finished eating and left, Torger Tokle dropped into a seat at Tor’s table.
Kyle excused herself, saying she’d be back. Tor watched her exit the mess hall wondering if everything was well with her.
“God jul, Tor.”
Tor shifted his regard back to his companion, smiled, and answered in Norsk. “Happy Christmas, Torger.”
Torger flashed a conspiratorial grin and pulled a flask from his pocket. “Want some aquavit in your coffee?”
“God, yes.” Tor pushed his cup toward his countryman. “Thanks.”
Torger poured a substantial amount into Tor’s cup. “How is it going for you so far?”
Tor glanced at the small gathering of novice skiers several tables away. “Better than them, I think.”
The other man turned around to look, and then faced Tor again. He nodded his agreement as he capped his flask and tucked it away.
“For you and me the mountain is our beloved friend. For them, it’s still their adversary.”
“True.” Tor inhaled the steam rising from his fortified coffee before taking a delicious sip. “Ah. That’s good.”
Torger lifted his mug. “A toast? To being safe and warm this Christmas.”
Tor touched his mug to Torger’s. He kept his thoughts about Torger never actually seeing any of the war to himself.
He took another sip of the coffee, savoring its aroma and flavor, before changing the subject. “So what is it like when you jump?”
“You mean when I fly?”
Tor paused, his cup suspended in front of him. “Is that what it’s like?”
Torger’s eyes brightened. “No. It’s what it is. I crouch low and tight as I slide down, my muscles coiled and ready to leap. And then, at the perfect moment…” He swooped one hand down and up as he talked. “I launch myself into the air. And for those few seconds there is nothing in my sight but my skis and the far horizon.”
Tor was spellbound by the description.
“Then I see the ground and I prepare to land.” Torger wagged his head reverently. “But until I do, I’m a bird of prey, Tor. Flying over everyone.”
Tor took a gulp of coffee, contemplating Torger’s words.
“What about you?”
The question broke into Tor’s thoughts. “Me?”
“Yes, you. When you fly down the side.” Torger smiled. “What’s it like for you?”
Tor saw the picture in his mind’s eye. “First I stand on top of the world, you know? I can see everything just as you do.”
Torger grinned. “Yes.”
“And then… I guess I’m like a bird, too. But one that flies low over the sea, and dives for its prey.” Tor liked his impromptu analogy. “I skim effortlessly over the surface, swerving this way and that. I take jumps over waves of snow. I change direction to follow my prey.”
“The bottom of the mountain.”
“Yes.” Tor gave Torger a wistful look. “Don’t you wish the journey took longer?”
“Every single time.”
The men clunked their mugs again and took another sip.
*****
“What are you guys talking about?” one of Tor’s students, a novice named Kossin, stood beside their table. Four men stood behind him.
On a crazy impulse Tor climbed on top of the table. He pointed at Torger and then began to mime the actions the ski jumper had just described. He narrated in Norsk, knowing that though the soldiers wouldn’t understand his words, they would understand the excited expression in his voice.
The men began to chuckle.
Tor flexed his knees, then straightened, leaning as far forward as he could and blinking frantically like wind was in his eyes.
The chuckles turned to laughter.
Tor crouched and wobbled, mimicking the landing.
“Well done, Captain!” Kossin shouted clapping his hands. Even Torger applauded.
As Tor climbed down, the ski jumper pretended to hang multiple medals around his neck.
“My turn,” he said in English. “This is the famous Tor Hansen, Norway’s downhill champion.”
Torger moved to the aisle between tables. He grabbed a couple forks to indicate ski poles.
He paused and looked down and around as if surveying his kingdom. Then using the forks, he mimed pushing off with the poles.
Torger swerved on his ankles as he shouted, “Around that tree, over this rock, take that jump! I’m faster than a mountain lion and twice as pretty!” Then he swung around and faced the opposite directi
on. “I’m so good I can do it backwards!”
The men were doubled over with laughter.
Tor had to sit he was laughing so hard. “Stoppe! Jeg kan ikke puste!” Stop! I can’t breathe!
Then he jumped up and pointed at Kossin. “Ja?”
“Yes!” the soldiers chorused.
Tor walked to the spot Torger vacated. Torger handed him the fork props. Tor stood still and took a deep breath, staring straight ahead. Everyone waited, silent.
Tor slid one foot forward, looked panicked, wind-milled his arms frantically, and dropped to the floor.
Raucous hilarity filled the hall, with Kossin laughing the loudest of all.
Chapter
Six
Kyle heard the men’s laughter and decided not to go back inside. She would be out of place. Besides that, her mood was sour and she didn’t want to have to feign cheerfulness.
She opened the package from her parents that morning. Bless their hearts, they tried. But no matter how many times Kyle told them that she was safe and well-supplied, they listened to reports of soldiers overseas and assumed she had the same needs.
Socks. Always socks.
And chocolate bars.
At least her mom’s letter was long and chatty. Pappa was fine, her seventeen-year-old brother Lars had hit his growth spurt finally and was as tall as her father, and twenty-year-old Ingrid was being courted by a Swenson boy who returned from the war after losing a finger to a grenade. Her closing was as plaintive as it could be:
We miss you so much. Please promise you’ll be home with us next Christmas.
Love, Mamma and Pappa
Kyle felt a stab of guilt when she read it, but it dissipated quickly. If she were being honest the letter and the gifts made the differences between life in Viking and life in Colorado that much more stark.
Erik’s correspondence—or lack of it—angered her. He sent her a card. A card. Signed it: Love, Erik.
