She had to concentrate, damn it. She’d show Jo who the better rider was! Still jittery from the curve, she reached into her saddlebag for her water bottle. But the bottle had slipped all the way to the bottom. In her attempt to get it out, she came within a hair’s breadth of crashing, the second time in two minutes. Then she realized that she’d forgotten to fill it back at the checkpoint. Isabelle clapped the bulky saddlebag closed again and instead took a small medicine bottle from a pocket of her jacket. The kola syrup tasted disgustingly sweet, but it at least made her feel as if she’d drunk something. Then her heart started beating uncomfortably quickly. There was not a farm in sight where she might stop and get fresh water. She had to catch up with Leon! He’d surely let her drink some of his water. All she had to do was catch up . . . She pedaled even harder.
Leon . . . He took everything so casually. But she had been finding it harder and harder to do that lately. Too many thoughts were swirling in her head all the time. She couldn’t even switch them off at night. Instead of sleeping, she lay awake, her mind churning.
What would happen after the race? Would Leon simply leave again, never to return? What would become of her? Quite apart from the fact that it would break her heart, she would officially have been abandoned by a man for the second time. She could already imagine the gossip. Looks like no man could stand being around her for long!
Leon . . . She was crazy about him. When she was around him, she felt young and carefree. She found his charm more refreshing than any glass of bubbly! Leon . . . She would marry him on the spot.
Isabelle pedaled harder, though the muscles in her thighs already felt as hard as stone.
Did Leon ever think about marriage? They had hardly ever talked about the future.
But Josephine and Adrian—she could practically hear the wedding bells ringing for them already! Did Clara know about them? Had she also betrayed Isabelle?
The road ahead of her was straight as a die again. Had he caught up with Susanne yet? She had to ride faster! Isabelle opened her mouth to get more air. Almost immediately, a fly flew in. She coughed and spat. A moment later, she grew dizzy. Ignore it. It wasn’t like her to dawdle like this. It was all the fault of that stupid, never-ending whirl of thoughts in her head . . .
Leon. He loves me. He loves me not. He loves me . . . As children, she and Josephine and Clara had played that game with daisies. In more innocent times. Friends. She had none anymore. She was alone. But hadn’t she always been alone?
Isabelle tasted something salty on her lips. It wasn’t the damp sea air. Ride, spin, faster. Maybe the speed would help her escape the grinding in her mind. Faster, faster.
It seemed to work . . .
But then she experienced a flat, empty feeling somewhere down near her belly. Was it hunger? Thirst? She couldn’t tell. She didn’t want to eat another slice of stale bread.
Maybe Leon had managed to rustle up something better for her? One of those sweet pastries they had in the patisseries in Copenhagen and a cup of hot tea.
Isabelle turned her wrist to check the time on her watch. A surge of panic welled up in her as she stared at the hands on the watch face. What did the position of the hands mean? It was just before eight in the morning. They had started almost twenty-four hours earlier. She saw a sign that read “Slangerup” nailed to a large oak tree. The name sounded familiar. Had she passed this point before? No, that other village was called Jyderup. What strange names. She started to giggle uncontrollably. Did this mean she would be in Copenhagen soon? Copenhagen . . . turning point. A place to turn around. How idiotic of Charles Hansen not to just have the race finish there. Three hundred miles would not set any long-distance records for women, but it was still nothing to sneeze at, right?
Charles Hansen and Susanne Lindberg. Another one of those couples . . . Still no sign of Copenhagen. Was she making any progress at all? Or was she falling farther and farther behind?
Isabelle whimpered as she battled into the wind. She was so alone. And so tired. Where was Leon?
The sun climbed quickly into the sky and grew glaringly bright. Isabelle squinted against it. Her eyes teared up and she could not see clearly. It was all so stupid. The race, the route, the others. But was that any wonder in a women’s race? Her laughter sounded strange to her own ears and gave her an eerie feeling. What was wrong with her?
Then all she saw was darkness. Her bicycle began to swerve, then veered across the road and down an embankment. Isabelle tumbled headlong over the handlebars onto the grass. The sun was gone. She felt no thirst. No hunger. Finally.
Slangerup. Like so many Danish villages, this one had been founded by a Viking. But where had all those wild seafarers come from? Jo wondered as she rode past the sign. She’d do better to focus on the winding road instead of pestering herself with unnecessary questions.
It was only eight thirty in the morning, but the sun was already high above the horizon. It felt much brighter here in the north, so close to the sea. Visibility was difficult in the glaring light, and she longed for her peaked cap. As soon as she reached Copenhagen, she would stop and get the cap out of her bag.
Copenhagen . . . She would soon have half the route behind her. And she would see Adrian there. He and Gerd Melchior were somewhere behind her. If none of the riders had a serious breakdown that held them up, then the two men would arrive in Copenhagen shortly after her. She decided that she would wait half an hour for Adrian, and if he didn’t show up by then, she would ride on.
She was doing well, timewise. Almost three hundred miles in twenty-four hours—wasn’t that amazing? Of course, she knew she wouldn’t be able to keep up that pace. She would have to take another nap around midday. But she still felt good. Better than good, in fact. She felt fantastic!
Josephine’s smile vanished when she saw something glittering on the side of the road ahead. Was that broken glass? She squinted in an effort to see better. If it was glass, she’d have to be careful not to slice open a tire. She slowed a little. Then she saw that it was a bicycle lying in the high grass of the embankment. A bicycle she knew only too well.
Oh, no. Please no! A shudder ran through her as she came to a stop. Instead of putting her bicycle down carefully, as she normally would, she let it drop in the middle of the road.
“Isabelle? Then she slapped her hand over her mouth in horror.
Isabelle lay fifteen feet below, her head tilted strangely backward, her arms thrown out from her body. Her skirt had blown up around her, half covering her face. Even from where Jo stood, she could see blood on Isabelle’s left temple. Her eyes were wide open and not moving.
Josephine looked around frantically. She needed help! Why wasn’t there anyone around?
She slid hastily down the steep embankment, grasping at the sharp-edged tufts of grass to avoid falling. Her hands burned as if on fire. When she finally reached Isabelle’s seemingly lifeless body, she put a trembling hand to Isabelle’s throat. She felt a weak pulse there, like the flapping of butterfly wings. Thank you, dear God, thank you.
Her friend was only unconscious. But she might have suffered a concussion or broken something. Jo studied Isabelle’s inert body. What should she do? What could she do? She didn’t want to hurt her by moving her the wrong way. To do something, she straightened Isabelle’s skirt and put her legs together. Then she lifted her right arm and moved it back and forth very slowly. It didn’t appear to be broken. Carefully, she stepped over her friend and did the same with her left arm, which also seemed to be all right. When she had both arms in a more or less natural position, Jo scrabbled along the embankment until she was sitting behind her friend’s head. She took her handkerchief out of a pocket, moistened it on her tongue, and dabbed away the blood on Isabelle’s temple. Fortunately, it was just a minor cut. Then she stroked Isabelle’s mussed hair out of her chalky face and whispered her name softly. Isabelle didn’t move. What if she had broken her neck?
Josephine pushed both hands under Isabelle’s head.
/> “Isa . . . don’t be afraid . . .” Sweat dripped from Jo’s forehead—she was the one who was terribly afraid—as she ran her fingers over Isabelle’s head and neck. She felt the strong bones where the spine became the neck, the twin strands of muscle to the left and right, the small indentations behind the ears. Everything felt good. But she was no doctor.
She heard a low groan. Startled, Jo stopped her examination.
Isabelle blinked once, twice. “Josephine?”
“Yes, it’s me . . .” Jo stroked Isabelle’s cheek with relief. “Everything will be all right.”
Isabelle groaned again, then closed her eyes.
Jo looked down helplessly at her friend. What now? “Can you lift your head? I’ll help you . . . Does that hurt? No?” Inch by inch, she moved Isabelle’s head until it was finally resting in her lap.
“What . . . happened? Where am I?” She opened her eyes and looked around uneasily. She tried to get up, but like an injured animal caught in a snare, she only managed to turn left and right in vain.
Jo held her gently but firmly. “You’ve had an accident. I think you should just lie like this for a while.” She leaned forward to give Isabelle’s face a little shade. Isabelle’s body felt hot. Was it the relentless sun? Or did she have a fever? Jo had no idea.
What now? She would never be able to get Isabelle back up the slope on her own. In her mind, she ran through the positions of the other riders. Susanne and her group had ridden past this point much earlier, as had Leon, apparently. Irene was also ahead, no doubt. Lilo and Luise Karrer! Both of them had left Køge just after her—
“I . . . thirsty . . . water . . .”
“Water. Of course.” Jo reached into her jacket. Why hadn’t she thought of that? She lifted Isabelle’s head a little, then put the flask to her lips.
Isabelle greedily swallowed a few mouthfuls.
“Do you want to eat anything? I’ve still got an apple.” As she spoke, Jo took out the apple, the last of her provisions, and held it out to Isabelle, but Isabelle shook her head.
Jo hoped to bring a little color back to Isabelle’s deathly pale cheeks, but a moment later, Isabelle’s head sank back onto Josephine’s lap and she fell unconscious again.
Jo could have wailed. She adjusted her legs and leaned back against the sandy slope. An exposed root dug painfully into her right shoulder blade, but when she tried to move, Isabelle groaned loudly. With a sigh, Jo stayed where she was.
Dear God, please send help soon! Exhausted in both mind and body, Josephine closed her eyes.
She could not have said how long she sat there like that. Although it felt like an eternity, it was only a little past ten when Adrian and Gerd Melchior found them.
“It shook me to my core when I saw your bicycle lying in the middle of the road,” said Adrian. “But putting it there was a good idea! I don’t know if we’d even have spotted you otherwise.”
The two men picked up Isabelle, and with Josephine’s help, they got her back up to the road. Gerd pushed aside the tools and spare parts covering the floor of the wagon, and they laid her down on a blanket.
“What about you? Everything all right?” Adrian lifted Jo’s chin to look her in the eye.
Jo smiled. “I’m fine. I’ve just had another hour’s sleep, whether I wanted it or not. But Isabelle . . . I’m worried about her. She might have some kind of internal injury.” Before she knew it, she started to cry.
Adrian gently wiped away her tears. “That’s the tension, sweetheart. But don’t worry too much. I think that Isabelle is just totally exhausted. It looks like this race was too much for her. And her wonderful boyfriend didn’t exactly help her take it at a reasonable pace. Where is he, by the way?”
“I’d like to know that myself,” Jo sighed, pressing one fist into her sore back. “When I got here, she was lying there, God knows for how long.” She chewed her lip. Would it be unsporting of her to . . . After a short pause, she cleared her throat.
“Would it be possible . . . You and Gerd are here now, and Copenhagen isn’t far, and Isabelle will be safe in a hospital there. I mean . . .” Josephine looked longingly at her bicycle, which was still lying on the road.
Without a word, Adrian went over to the wagon and dug out a water bottle and two sandwiches wrapped in paper. He held them out to her with an encouraging smile. “Provisions for the next sixty miles. As you know, the next food station’s in Kalundborg.” He kissed her. “Now get going! But carefully, please, one accident’s enough.”
Jo climbed back onto her bicycle and immediately felt her spirits rise. Isabelle was in good hands. What mattered now was the race.
Chapter Thirty-Four
The cramps began after Ballerup, a small town just west of Copenhagen. At first, it was only her right calf, which started pulling painfully tight every time she straightened her leg. Then her left calf started to cramp, too. Josephine took her feet off the pedals and stretched and twisted her legs every way she could think of, hoping the cramps would disappear on their own. But when she started to pedal again, the cramping in her right calf grew so sharp that she cried out in pain. Her bicycle wobbled dangerously for a second, and she had no choice but to roll to the side of the road and climb off. She massaged her calves, close to tears from the pain. But after the crabbed position she’d just endured while sitting with Isabelle, she wasn’t entirely surprised.
She climbed back onto her bicycle, her face contorted with pain. Even light pedaling was hard, but at least she was moving again. After just a few miles, she had to dismount again; the cramps were becoming unbearable. Massage the calves, drink some sugar-water, hope it would help, mount up, ride a short way, dismount again when the cramps returned—the next hour passed in a crippling rhythm. When Roskilde came into view, she was both aggravated and furious. It just wasn’t acceptable for cramping calves to ruin her race!
Unless she was mistaken, there was a farm with a large watering trough just beyond the next checkpoint in Roskilde. She’d noticed it the first time she rode past because it appeared to be much better tended than most of the other farmsteads in the region. Maybe it would help to soak her feet in water for a while?
After getting her stamp in Roskilde and a ten-minute ride at a snail’s pace, she reached the trough. There was no one in sight. The farmers were undoubtedly all out in their fields. All the better! This way she didn’t have to come up with tedious explanations.
Awkwardly, Jo lifted first one leg, then the other, into the trough, then sat on the edge of it. The water was ice cold. Josephine formed her hands into a bowl, held them under the faucet above the trough, and drank greedily. She splashed the refreshing water over her face, cooling her skin, which was hot and burned from the merciless sun. She sighed, feeling suddenly invigorated. She never wanted to leave here!
After a quarter of an hour, though, she swung her chilled legs over the edge of the trough and set them on the sandy ground. She felt fresher and stronger than she had for hours. But when she took a step toward her bicycle, a new cramp struck, this time in her right thigh . . .
What now? She couldn’t just sit in the trough for hours as if it was a bathtub! In desperation, Jo rummaged through her pockets for anything that might help her. Suddenly, she heard a loud male voice behind her: “Hey!”
Jo spun around. A big, powerfully built man with a similarly massive dog at his side stood before her. The dog’s head reached the man’s hip.
The farmer and his watchdog. Just what she needed.
“Hvad er der i vejen?” the man snapped. His face was shot through with red veins, which could either be a sign of too much aquavit, or the result of working out in the raw sea air. Jo straightened up clumsily.
“Hvad med dig her?”
What she was doing there? All she wanted to do was be on her way again! She took a step back, but the man spread his feet and planted himself between her and her bicycle, blocking her path.
“Stop!” It sounded like the crack of a whip. The man’
s dog growled.
Jo’s heart was hammering in her chest as she tried to move past, first on the left, then on the right, without success.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you. I just wanted . . . water.” She pointed to the trough. “Vand—do you understand?” she asked, the word that Charles Hansen had used so many times suddenly coming to her. “En flaske med vand.” A bottle of water. “Can I please go now?”
The farmer nodded, but he did not move aside. Then he pointed to her shaking legs.
“Du er syg?”
“Am I what? Sick? Ney . . .” Jo bit on her lip. If she said the wrong thing now, he’d probably think she was easy prey and—
The farmer pointed to the bicycle and uttered something in Danish. Jo understood only two words. Susanne Lindberg.
“Yes!” she shouted with relief. “I’m riding in the race! But my . . .” She gestured at her trembling legs.
The man’s dour expression transformed into a broad grin. This was followed by an excited but completely incomprehensible speech in which Susanne’s name came up several times.
Relieved but still plagued by cramps, Jo went to move past the man to her bicycle. But the farmer was faster. He picked it up and held it out to her. Then he said something that Jo took to mean that she should wait. Gesticulating wildly, he ran back to the farmhouse.
She waited. With the pain in her right thigh, she would only be able ride a few hundred yards, anyway. No longer afraid, she now hoped the man would bring her a glass of milk or something to eat.
But when the farmer returned, all he had in his hands was a small glass jar. He removed the lid and held the jar under Jo’s nose.
The smell was so sharp and penetrating that Jo instantly started to cough. She waved her hand frantically in front of her face to clear the stench.
The farmer laughed. Then he handed her the jar and made a motion with his hand as if he were rubbing his right leg.
Jo looked doubtfully at the farmer, then at the dark-brown stinking ointment. She’d heard many times that people in the country had miracle cures for all kinds of ailments. But should she try the stuff? The better question, she realized, was, what did she have to lose? Either the stuff would help with her cramps and she could continue riding, or her race was already over.
While the World Is Still Asleep (The Century Trilogy Book 1) Page 38
