While the World Is Still Asleep (The Century Trilogy Book 1)

by Petra Durst-Benning

  Had Josephine gone away somewhere? And if so, where? And why now? he wondered, as he stared helplessly at the closed shutters. He needed answers. The emporium owner, who was standing out on the street nearby, would be sure to know. Josephine did business with him regularly. And if that didn’t work, he would go to the clubhouse. He would only visit Isabelle as a last resort.

  Adrian had just turned to leave when he heard a low sobbing sound come from the garden. He started, and his heart beat faster. Was Josephine perhaps still there?

  “Clara?” Adrian looked in horror at the figure curled up on one of Josephine’s garden chairs. Clara’s arms were covered in red weals and her right eye was badly swollen. She was weeping.

  Suppressing a cry of pain, Adrian lowered himself onto another chair. Gently, he raised Clara’s chin and sought eye contact with her. “Who did this?” suspecting the answer even as he asked the question.

  Instead of replying, Clara made an almost imperceptible motion with her head. Don’t mention it. Act as if nothing had happened.

  Adrian sighed and tacitly agreed to do as she wished. He was tired from traveling, crushed that Josephine was away, and not fit to wade into a battle between a warring couple.

  Clara did him a favor in return: she did not ask him about his condition. But her eyes told him that she knew. “Don’t you want to know where Josephine is?” she asked quietly. Haltingly, she began to explain. About Susanne Lindberg’s visit, about Jo’s decision to ride in the race, and about the grueling training regime she and the others had endured.

  “They cycled in all weather, even if it was snowing!” A hint of a smile crossed Clara’s face. Her voice grew stronger as she spoke; the other women’s courage seemed to be rubbing off on her.

  “Josephine, Isabelle, Luise, and my sister are on their way to a six-hundred-mile race?” Adrian was dumbfounded at the thought. He wanted to know more.

  “They’ve been riding ten or twelve hours at a time the last few weeks. Can you even imagine?”

  “I met Charles Hansen years ago at a race meeting. He’s a careful man. I don’t doubt that he’s organized the race as well as it could be done and that he’s looking out for the safety of the cyclists.” Adrian was still trying to overcome his surprise, but elation was growing inside him. His Jo, off on such a grand adventure!

  “A few men are going along, too. As a kind of protective escort. Veit Merz and Leon Feininger are among them.”

  “I know Veit Merz, of course, but I can’t say I’ve ever heard of Leon Feininger.”

  “Oh, that will change soon enough. Trust me!” Clara said with a trace of mischief.

  Adrian would have liked to find out more about the man who had become a permanent guest at the cycling club, but Clara said nothing more about him.

  “I would have loved to go along. Not as a rider, God forbid! But as an observer, as a tourist, as they say these days. But my husband . . .” Clara bit down on her lip. She summarized the campaign that her husband had instigated against the women’s cycling club.

  “He can denounce women’s cycling to hell and back, but that’s no reason to hit you,” replied Adrian angrily. “Clara, you can’t just accept your husband’s forbidding your friendship with Jo. She’s your friend; you’ve known each other since you could walk. Besides, however much a couple may disagree, it is beneath the dignity of a gentleman to attack someone weaker. You can tell him that from me.”

  “Who says I’m weaker?” Clara shot back, and Adrian saw a spark of anger flash in her normally docile eyes.

  But instead of responding, Adrian had an idea forming in his head. What would happen if . . .

  He took a deep breath and asked, “When did they leave? Did Josephine tell you anything about their plans for the next few days? The race isn’t going to start tomorrow morning, is it?”

  Clara said they were going to have two days to acclimatize in Copenhagen first. Then the race would start on May 4.

  It was May 1. Adrian did some quick calculations in his mind. Then he smiled.

  “That throws all my plans out the window, but what the hell! I’d probably regret it forever if I didn’t go.”

  “You want . . . to go to Copenhagen? But you just got home! I don’t know if that’s a good idea. Isabelle . . .”

  Adrian held up one hand. “I’m not interested in Isabelle,” he said. “It’s Josephine I’ll be there to support.”

  Clara’s eyes widened. “You and Josephine?” She laughed softly. “Why doesn’t that surprise me? At some level, I’ve suspected it for a long time.”

  “Because you’re a true friend.” Adrian took Clara’s hand in his. “Why don’t you come along? I’ll pay for the trip. If you like, I’ll try to talk your husband into giving you his blessing.”

  But Clara shook her head. Then she stood up and smoothed her skirt. With a steady voice and a steadier gaze, she said, “My place is here, with my son, just as you belong with Josephine. But I’ll promise you this: when Josephine and the rest of you get back to Berlin, I’ll be standing at the station to welcome you!”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  “The most important thing is remembering to drink! You should be refilling your flasks with fresh water at least every two hours.” Charles Hansen scanned the assembled group intently. “Every farmstead you pass has a well. The water is of a good quality across Denmark. We’ve informed every farmer along the route about the race, and you should meet friendly, helpful people wherever you go. If anyone offers you fresh milk, drink it! And if they offer you the schnapps bottle instead, a nip of that won’t do you any harm, either.”

  The men and women all laughed.

  All the participants had come together that first evening in the hotel dining room and gotten to know each other over a traditional, solid Danish meal. Susanne Lindberg placed great store in harmony and amity. “What counts here is not a competitive mindset, but the will to finish the race,” she had said more than once. The evening might never have come to an end if Charles Hansen had not prompted them to go to bed. Getting enough sleep was an absolute must before such a race!

  The next morning, Charles Hansen handed out the small booklets that they needed to have stamped at each checkpoint. The first checkpoint was in a village called Kalundborg, about sixty miles outside Copenhagen. The next was fifty miles ahead, and so on.

  Kalundborg, Slagelse, Næstved, Vordingborg—Josephine was having trouble just pronouncing the names of the Danish towns, and she had no idea what to expect once she reached them. Her anxiety was growing by the hour. She could hardly wait to finally get going.

  After receiving the booklets, the entire squad went out cycling together. It was a leisurely ride, so that everyone could get used to pedaling again after the long train journey. Susanne and Charles set the pace, and most of the riders found it far too slow.

  Charles Hansen continued his explanations during their third meeting.

  “As you well know, the race is to take place over four days. That’s ninety-six hours. How many of those hours you choose to sleep is up to you. We recommend, however, that you take a break after ten or twelve hours of riding. It will do no one any good if you are exhausted and have an accident. Whether you choose to lie down in the grass or ask a farmer to sleep in his shed for the night, or happen to find a small pensione—all of that is entirely up to you.”

  Ten or twelve hours in the saddle followed by a short break lying on the grass? Josephine and Isabelle turned and looked at each other with raised eyebrows.

  “Don’t go getting scared now,” Isabelle whispered, and Jo nodded vigorously. Both giggled excitedly.

  “Ninety-six hours for six hundred miles—that’s half an eternity,” said Leon with some contempt. “Do you seriously expect us men to ride at such a snail’s pace?”

  The women grumbled. None of them was planning to ride at a snail’s pace!

  “Each of you will choose your own tempo,” said Charles Hansen, once he had managed to restore order. “That app
lies to the women as well as the men.”

  Leon grinned. “What happens if I ride away from our dear Susanne here and steal the show from her at the end? Would that be all right? I mean, you’re calling this event a women’s race, right?”

  Now it was Susanne’s turn to answer. “I would be more than happy to have somebody set the pace for the entire route. If you think you’re up to it, then by all means go ahead.”

  Charles Hansen and the Danish women laughed.

  But Leon frowned and said nothing. He was supposed to be the pacemaker for another rider? Was Suzanne trying to pull his leg? It appeared they had no idea what an outstanding cyclist he was.

  Charles Hansen cleared his throat. “Let’s return to the logistics. Each day, we will set up one food station for you. After eating, you will have the opportunity to make sandwiches to take with you before you get going again. Dried fruit and nuts will also be provided. However, we advise you in the strongest terms to eat something warm when you reach each food station!”

  Josephine nodded. Susanne and her fiancé seemed really to have thought of everything. Oh, if only they could get going . . .

  Isabelle rocked restlessly in her chair and rubbed her hands together nervously. She had been feeling an uncomfortable tingling in the hands and feet all day. Could it be from the kola syrup Leon had bought for her at a local pharmacy? They hadn’t brought any pep pills or kola with them from Berlin because Leon had claimed they would be available everywhere—apparently Ekarius’s wonder drugs had been a favorite among Danish cyclists for ages.

  But he had been wrong! They had been unable to find anything of the sort in Copenhagen, and the stuff he’d brought back the previous evening had nearly driven her up the wall. Whether or not it would help her on the long tour remained to be seen.

  Charles Hansen was just launching into an explanation of where they could find shelter for the night when there was a knock at the door. Everyone turned around.

  It took a moment for Isabelle to realize who it was standing there with a broad grin on his face. That . . . that was impossible!

  “Adrian!” Irene’s voice nearly choked in disbelief.

  “Adrian! I don’t believe it!” shouted Veit Merz. “A remarkable fellow,” Veit said to Leon, who was sitting beside him.

  Josephine rose to her feet as if in a trance. But Isabelle was faster. She shot up from her stool and practically launched herself at her former fiancé. She planted herself in front of him with her arms folded across her chest. “What do you think you’re doing, showing up here? You’ve got no business coming back into my life. You come barging in right in the middle of our meeting, inconsiderate—”

  “Hello, Isabelle. Nice to see you.” With a tolerant smile, Adrian pushed her gently out of the way. “Please let me by.” He shook Charles Hansen’s hand. “I’ll be leaving again in a moment, then you can carry on with your meeting. I’m sure we’ll find time to talk later,” he said to Hansen, and also to Irene, who was pushing her way through to him. Adrian looked straight ahead as he limped through the room.

  “Your leg!” Irene cried. “What . . .”

  Isabelle watched in shock as Adrian walked down the aisle. What was wrong with his leg? And why was Josephine suddenly looking so oddly transfigured? Why was she going up to him?

  “Josephine . . .”

  “You came . . .”

  “I . . . couldn’t . . . Your adventure . . . alone.”

  “I . . . missed you so much . . .”

  “And I . . .”

  What was all that whispering? That sounded like two lovers purring away! Isabelle gave a hysterical laugh. No, she must be mistaken. Her ears and eyes were playing tricks on her . . . That horrible kola syrup, the tension before the race, her frayed nerves . . .

  “Adrian, what’s this all about?” asked Irene, her voice frosty.

  “I don’t believe it!” Veit repeated himself. “Our Jill-of-all-trades and you? I need a schnapps for that. Oh, to hell with it, schnapps for everyone! Waiter!”

  Isabelle could only look on in shock as Adrian and Josephine lost themselves in an embrace, utterly forgetting the world around them.

  This is impossible. Not those two. This—is—not—possible!

  Charles Hansen cleared his throat. “Well, by the looks of it, we can welcome another true cycling great to our meeting. What an honor! No doubt Adrian will tell us all about his trip to America later. But for now I’d like to suggest that we get back to our agenda and—”

  “You two are together?” shrieked Isabelle, recovering from her initial shock. “You got involved behind my back?” She knocked Adrian’s arm off Josephine.

  “Isabelle . . . What is it? Come on, sit down.” Leon tried to pull her away, but she shook him off like an annoying insect.

  “Let me go! This is my battle.” Her glare bored into Josephine’s flushed face. “How long has this been going on? How long have you been lying to me, dear friend? Have you been laughing yourself sick behind my back?” Her voice sounded shrill in her own ears, but she couldn’t help herself. The sense of betrayal washed over her like an enormous wave, and she gasped for air, trying to keep her head above water.

  “Isabelle, calm down, please,” said Adrian. “You just said yourself that you and I have nothing more to do with each other. Why are you so upset?” He placed one hand on her arm in an attempt to placate her, but that only made Isabelle more furious.

  “How can anyone stoop so low?” She curled her fingers into fists. Just a nudge, and she—

  “Enough!” snapped Irene. “I’m astounded myself and less than pleased at this . . . development. But I think we should all behave like adults and—”

  “Adults? You’re one to talk!” Isabelle hissed at her. “You’re not the one adults sold like a head of cattle! You didn’t have years of your youth taken away. Ask your darling brother how he and I ended up engaged! Maybe he’s finally found the guts to tell you the truth about that.” She was shaking so hard that she was having trouble articulating her words properly.

  “Isabelle, chérie . . .” Leon held a schnapps glass under her nose. “Have a sip. It will calm you down.”

  She swatted his hand away. “And while we’re on the subject of truth . . .” Slowly, like a snake facing a hypnotized rabbit, she turned to Josephine.

  Never in her life had she been so disappointed by another human being. She would have trusted Jo with anything. And now this.

  “Does your dear paramour happen to know the whole truth about you? Does Adrian Neumann, son of the great Gottlieb Neumann, know that you weren’t just away somewhere for those years, but that you were in prison for being a common thief?”

  That was when the real commotion started. Questions were shouted from all sides, and the group cast questioning—and disparaging—looks at Josephine and Adrian. Josephine in prison?

  Susanne Lindberg and her fiancé exchanged a look of deep concern. This frenzy was the last thing they needed on the eve of the race. A scandal could endanger the whole undertaking!

  Charles Hansen turned to Isabelle, Josephine, Adrian, and Irene and tried to make himself heard over the din. “I think the four of you should leave the room and go try to sort out this . . . matter elsewhere. Better now than during the race. Once we get started, it will be all about fairness and a spirit of cooperation—”

  Isabelle interrupted him harshly. “Thank you for your suggestion, dear Charles. But there’s nothing to sort out. A great deal is clear to me now.”

  “But Isabelle, it isn’t what you think at all!” Josephine cried. “Adrian and I, we didn’t betray you, we—”

  “Shut up!” Two words, like strokes from a whip.

  Isabelle stalked toward the door, trembling with fury. “I’ll see you on the racecourse.” It sounded like a threat.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Instead of going to bed at a decent hour, as Charles had advised all of the racers to do, Josephine had spent half the night awake. She and Adrian had had
so much to talk about, and her years in prison were the least of it.

  “Moritz Herrenhus wanted to get you out of the way,” Adrian said flatly once she had told him everything. “He let you use his bicycle for months. There’s no way he should have been so upset that you borrowed it secretly. But that’s just like the man—he probably didn’t like the fact that his daughter was spending so much time with a free spirit like you.” Josephine’s past changed nothing about how he felt about her.

  And they had talked about Isabelle, too, of course. And about America. Adrian had raved about the bicycles waiting for him in Berlin. When Josephine tried to raise the subject of his injured leg, he waved it off casually. “Later . . .” was all he said.

  When they finally had parted and Jo was lying in bed, so many things were going through her head that she couldn’t sleep at all.

  By the next morning, Jo felt so wound up that if the race didn’t start soon she thought she’d throw some kind of fit.

  It was a picture-perfect day, bright and sunny. The starting line had been set up on the outskirts of Copenhagen, on the road that led westward, first to Roskilde, then Kalundborg. The snow-white houses gleamed in the sunlight, and a few seagulls that had found their way into the city flapped and squawked overhead.

  Of course, the members of Susanne’s and Charles’s home club were there, as well as Susanne’s own family. But very few of Copenhagen’s citizens had turned out, as the race had not been heavily publicized in advance. Charles Hansen planned to sing the praises of the race and the participants afterward, with the motto “See what women can do when no one’s looking!”

  Josephine had no interest in the press or anyone else. Adrian was there, and that was all that mattered to her. Now there was only one more thing she wanted: to start! When she looked into the faces of her fellow riders, she saw that they all wanted the same thing. She caught Lilo’s eye, and they grinned at each other.

  All around her, final adjustments were being made to bicycles, hats were being straightened, jackets buttoned, provisions distributed, and final prerace sandwiches eaten. The women’s voices were more shrill than usual, their faces flushed with excitement. One or two drank a glass of sparkling wine to calm their nerves, a practice that earned a look of disapproval from Susanne Lindberg. The air was practically vibrating.