This Shining Land

by Rosalind Laker

  “But here?” Johanna said again. “Under the noses of the Germans!”

  “All the better. It’s the last place they’d search in any emergency. Now come along. I’ve locked the verandah door and the lace curtain will keep out prying eyes. If I give the alarm signal that Steffen has fixed up, you must come back into the house at once.”

  Johanna held her breath, partly through excitement and partly through trepidation as to how it would be when she was with Steffen again, remembering the initial restraint between them at their last meeting. Creeping under the stairs, she went through the small doorway into the cellar. Chill air and blackness met her. Then the sudden up-turning of a lamp-wick threw out a limited radiance, showing her the man she had waited so long to see again.

  “You’re really here,” she exclaimed spontaneously.

  He darted forward even as she tripped on the unexpected steepness of the steps, and she half fell into his arms. With a gasp she flung her own arms about his neck, caught on a surge of love that almost frightened her by its force, and became lost in her mouth’s reunion with his. Not until he set her back on her feet again was it possible for her to draw back a pace, her fingers linked in his, to study how he looked, the two of them held in the nimbus of the lamp’s glow. It gave her a pang to see at close quarters that he looked older and sterner, as if whatever he had been through on his escape to England had left its mark on him. Had he become a stranger to her again? She thought his kiss had belied that, but she could not be sure. Nothing was sure any more.

  “You look well, Jo,” he said approvingly. “Thinner, but well.”

  She gave a rueful little smile. “Everyone is thinner in Norway these days, except the enemy.”

  “I’ve been anxious about you.”

  That warmed her. “I wanted so much to speak to you when you came aboard the steamship.”

  “In my case, I had to resist the temptation to share the same compartment with you on the train from Oslo.”

  “Were you on it for the whole journey, then?”

  “I boarded just after you.”

  “How long have you been back in Norway?”

  “Only a couple of weeks.” He put an arm about her waist and they sat together on a bench drawn up to the old table on which the lamp stood. “There are some things I can tell you and some I can’t, simply because I have to obey certain security rules, and one of them is not to disclose how I reached England, for that escape route is still open. When I got there, I was lucky enough to be picked out by the late Captain Linge for special training with the Linge Company under the British Special Operations Executive, known as S.O.E., an organisation set up by Winston Churchill to direct subversive activities in occupied countries.”

  “Then you’re here to stay.”

  He gave a half smile. “Let’s say I’ll be coming and going. My immediate task is to recruit and train agents and help to organise resistance in this area.”

  “What sort of resistance work?”

  “Sabotage, espionage, the gathering of vital information about naval movements and much more. Normally you wouldn’t be hearing anything of this from me, one of our orders being to stay away from the women and families in our lives.”

  “That’s too severe a rule,” she protested.

  “Not when so much is at stake. A thoughtless word in a small community or a remark simply overheard could destroy a whole carefully planned operation. In Britain people have become remarkably reticent and security-conscious, which is what we want in Norway. There’s a poster on buses and walls and in the London underground trains that says, ‘Careless Talk Costs Lives.’ The Milorg here can’t put up posters, but we can work individually to impress the importance of silence on all aspects of resistance.”

  “Why have you made me an exception to this order?”

  “Two reasons. Firstly, when I decided to make this secret cellar a refuge I knew it couldn’t be done without Astrid’s knowledge, and since I hope you are going to be a frequent visitor, sooner or later you might have suspected something. It was better to give you the full facts.”

  She glanced about her from where she sat. The lamp could not reach into the far depths. Rough rock walls showed how it had been cleaved out of the mountainside. “It’s an enormous cellar. I’ve never seen anything like it before.”

  “It has the advantage of two secret outlets, impossible to discover from outside since they pass through piled boulders from some ancient avalanche into a thickly forested area. The entrance to the house could hardly be used for escape except with firearms, which is something that must never happen. Astrid’s only protection is to feign ignorance of her cellar’s being used by the Resistance if ever suspicion should fall on her.”

  “She’s courageous.”

  He nodded. “The best.”

  “How are you able to move around freely? Aren’t you afraid of being recognised by people who know you in the town?”

  “I’ve haven’t been home enough since my school and university days in England to be well known around here, and I’m careful not to frequent haunts where I might run into old acquaintances. In my pocket there’s a ring of master keys that could get me into any building if I had to go into hiding quickly, and if I’m stopped for papers I frequently show a card that states I’m a member of the Quisling secret police.” He grinned over that. “It gets me out of anything, even being in an area normally forbidden to civilians.”

  “You seem to have thought of everything.”

  “It comes with training. Anyone would have thought you had been similarly trained after the way you acquitted yourself in Oslo.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Leif Moen sent a report on you to one of my local contacts, who knows all about your getting the Alsteens into Sweden.”

  “Are they all right?” she questioned swiftly. “Have you heard from them?”

  “No, I haven’t, but you’ve no need to worry. No sign was ever found of them this side of the border and in Sweden they would be cared for. All that was received was an account of your part in getting them away and how you kept a cool head under interrogation. That’s the second reason why I’m able to confide in you. You’re in the Milorg’s good books.”

  She seized the opportunity that had presented itself. “Then surely I qualify to be one of your secret agents!”

  He regarded her steadily before giving his reply. “I’m recruiting men.”

  Her swift retort was full of anger. “Aren’t women involved in this war, then? Aren’t we being bombed and starved or imprisoned in every war zone?”

  “It’s not that. You don’t understand what’s required. The role for the agents that I’ll be recruiting would be beyond your physical strength. These men may have to live for months in the mountains, surviving on whatever natural resources are available. They’ll be saboteurs and arms experts and leaders of clandestine fighting groups, trained in psychological warfare, able to kill an enemy with bare hands should the need arise. This is Milorg work. There are plenty of other roles that a brave and intelligent woman can play. I know you would be invaluable to me in this area.”

  “How? Tell me?” She leaned towards him in her eagerness.

  “By giving Astrid all the support you can. She’s elderly and this will be a great strain on her.”

  She drew back and her anger flared white-hot. “How dare you delegate such a nonsensical task to me! Astrid wouldn’t want me fussing over her as if she were half-way to senility. Leif didn’t put my name forward for you to turn me into a nursemaid!”

  Her temper had ignited his and he hauled her to her feet with him. “Damn it! You’re in danger enough just by knowing I’m here! Do you think I’m going to throw you into greater risks?”

  With a sharp thrust she pulled away to face him challengingly. “Have you learned nothing about me? Maybe making love when we did was a mistake. Too much happened too soon and we’re still strangers to each other.”

  His eyes glittered. “Is
that what you believe?”

  “I’ve no choice. If you really knew me you’d accept that I want only to have a part in the struggle for freedom, whatever the cost. You have no more understanding of me than the Sturmbannführer who interrogated me!”

  He went pale with anger and seized her by the shoulders, the shaking of his temper passing through his hands into her body. “All right! You’ll get an assignment. I promise you it will be a tough one whenever it comes and you’ll stand or fall by it.”

  She thought he would thrust her from him. Instead he jerked her back against the rock wall and crushed his mouth down on hers, hurting her with the violence of his kiss and covering her whole body with his. She was pinioned and helpless and as highly aroused as he, clinging to him with a wild elation that seemed to come from beyond herself, the excitement she always felt in his presence sweeping her away. When they broke apart breathlessly, it was as though they had abruptly become antagonists despite the magnetism between them, while their strained faces acknowledged that each had created pain and turmoil for the other. He swallowed and ran the fingers of one hand through his hair.

  “That’s settled then.” His voice was hard and his attitude cold. “You’ll have to be patient. It may be weeks before you hear from me again, but don’t think I’ve forgotten my promise to you. The whole resistance movement is in the throes of forming into a full communicating network and there’s still a lot of organisation to be done that’s quite apart from my particular sphere. The Milorg wants every undertaking to be carefully planned to the last detail. Reprisals against innocent people must not be risked.” He glanced at his watch and made a restless gesture of dismissal towards her. “Go back to the house again. I have to leave now. I’ll wait to switch off the lamp until you’re safely up those steps.”

  As she remounted the steps she saw they were hewn out of the rock, worn smooth in centuries gone by, and there was no handrail to give support. Emotionally, she felt torn apart. Had any woman in the distant past ever left this place in such a mood of wrath and triumph and heated desire? As she slid aside the panel that covered the aperture into the house she paused to look back over her shoulder, but she was too late. The lamp switched off at the same moment to leave total darkness, and she heard the faint thud of a secret door closing after him. In the house she dropped into a chair and held her head in her hands despairingly.

  “Whatever is the matter?” Astrid asked anxiously.

  Johanna’s voice was muffled. “We quarrelled. In the midst of a war when we don’t know when we’ll see each other again, we lost our tempers.”

  “Oh, is that all.” Astrid sighed with relief, sinking down languidly against cushions on the neighbouring sofa. “I daresay it was Steffen’s fault. Men always want their own way, even in a war. It does them good to be opposed.”

  Johanna raised her head, her expression remorseful. “For all I know the Germans could have him in their gun-sights at this very second, and five minutes ago I shouted at him.”

  “I think you can rest assured that he can look after himself as far as the Germans are concerned.” Astrid tilted her head wisely. “I’ve lived long enough to know that love is not perfection. It would be a dull affair if it were. No, it’s the flaws that give it meaning and make it worth the struggle. I wouldn’t say that you and Steffen are ideally matched. You’re both too strong-willed. Nevertheless, I’d like to see the two of you spending the rest of your lives together. I think you’d never lack interest in each other and that’s the lasting source of love.”

  It was logic that appealed to Johanna’s way of thinking. To have failed to fight for a principle she felt strongly about simply because of extenuating circumstances would have been to belittle what she and Steffen felt for each other. It was his love for her that had made him over-protective, the natural reaction of any caring man towards a woman dear to him. Now she could share danger with him and their relationship would be the stronger for it. If she should be killed through whatever resistance work came her way, it would still be proof that she had loved him to the ultimate depths of her being.

  Chapter 6

  Johanna did not intend to waste her time while waiting for her first assignment. Already fit, she kept trim with plenty of extra exercise which included hard physical work on the farm, climbing mountain paths and swimming in a shallow cove when the warm weather came. Summer was still a good time of year in spite of the Occupation, for this was when marvellously hot days compensated for the winter and the sun gave twenty-four hours of daylight, making it possible to read a newspaper at midnight. In her district the sun reappeared over the peaks at two in the morning. Farther north it merely brushed the horizon of the sea and rose again.

  She made a point of running regularly in the mountains, almost as if she were training for a sports event. It was in her mind that there might come a time when she would have to run for her life as once she had had to ski for it.

  In June Germany invaded Russia, crossing the frontier at three points and sweeping forward in a further stage of their blitzkrieg tactics that took no account of lives in their path. The occupation forces in Norway were jubilant. Locally they celebrated by marching up the valleys in turn, metal heels crunching the gravel of roads and lanes.

  School broke up in the same month for the summer vacation, giving Rolf the chance to take over full time the work on his father’s farm. As was customary, the sheep and cattle were moved to the lush and green high pastures to graze there freely until autumn. The summer byre belonging to Ryen Farm, as with others on the upper slopes, came into use again for the morning and evening milking, which Rolf and Johanna did together. It was a long climb up and down twice a day, but both of them took it in their stride.

  Sometimes when the milking was done Johanna would pull the protective kerchief from her head, shake her hair free and gaze down at the valley where the farmsteads were set in miniature. With the cowbells clanking and the towering peaks above her crowned with perpetual snows, she felt centuries away from the fur shop where once she had pivoted on high heels and tried on some of the most beautiful coats ever made. In a way she felt she was being given a second chance to appreciate to the full the environs from which she had come, and she was haunted by the unswerving conviction that this present phase of her life would soon be at an end and that these days of country living would never come again. Because she did not know what form the end of all this might take, she savoured every minute of every day as never before, loving all she saw in nature with a renewed intensity and observing everything, from the swallows nesting in the rafters of the barn to the increasing abundance of harebells and wild pansies that covered the banks of the lane like an azure mist. When it was hay-making time, the scene changed again, becoming sun-baked under a cloudless azure sky, the inlet glittering in the distance and the hay itself, strung out to dry on wires between poles, resembling hundreds of golden necklaces strung out across the valley. The very air was hazy with its flower-dried scent and the flicker of butterflies.

  If her father had been making progress she would have been comparatively at ease during this period of marking time, but he was getting weaker and spent more time in bed again, which was a bad sign. The doctor who attended him was past retirement age, but stayed on to help the community in the absence of a successor, who would necessarily have had to submit to the new German regulations regarding the medical profession, an action the doctors were resisting.

  Her father’s cousin Tom Ryen kept his word about coming to visit Edvard. He arrived by car on a Sunday when Johanna was walking with Rolf and Karen in the mountains, and he had left again by the time they returned. Gina had helped him load a fresh supply of logs from the wood-shed to get him back to Ålesund and she reported the car had puffed smoke like a chimney. Edvard would have enjoyed the visit more if he had not had doubts about Tom’s loyalties. There had been nothing pro-Nazi in his cousin’s conversation, but Tom had admitted being in charge of recruiting workers for various projects planned
by the Germans and had quoted possible new roads.

  “He was cagey when I asked what other projects were in hand.” Edvard shook his head uncertainly.

  Tom had left a message for Johanna, inviting her to call at his office whenever she was in Ålesund. She knew now where his office was as she passed it on her way to Astrid’s house. It was in a block where the Germans had a minor branch of their headquarters, and even if she had wished to see him she would have been deterred by the sight of the guards at the door and the number of military going in and out. She thought it was as well that her father did not know how deeply his cousin was embedded in the Nazi regime.

  Local friends visited Edvard regularly, fellow farmers who had been born in the valley as he had been, and their talk of crops and cattle and old times was a great pleasure to him, but the visits he appreciated most were those his younger son made briefly and without announcement. The days when Erik was granted regular leave from the coastal steamer service had ended when the Germans took control, and he never received more than a couple of days ashore on the rare occasions when he could get home.

  It was now a long while since he had had the chance. Johanna had yet to see him again, and recently there had been two days of terrible anxiety when it was broadcast that a coastal steamer had been torpedoed by the British Navy, who had mistaken it for a troop carrier. A large number of soldiers had been on board, but there were civilian passengers as well. After Erik had telephoned to let everyone know he was safe, the sadness for the other families remained. Johanna wondered how Karen would feel towards him when he came home again. Her reaction to the torpedoing and the resulting period of suspense had been anything but indifferent.