This Shining Land

by Rosalind Laker

  “We had a report.”

  “Then you know the villagers’ fate. I’m not a butcher, Major Ryen.”

  “Indeed not.”

  “Only the menfolk of the house that harboured the secret agent will be put to the firing squad tomorrow morning. It means I’ll have to return to duty early, cutting my weekend short. A nuisance, but there it is.”

  “How many are to be shot?” Tom’s tone was hollow.

  “The husband, three sons between the ages of eighteen and twenty-two, and an uncle who lived with the family. An unpleasant business, but an example has to be made as a deterrent to others.”

  “Isn’t the razing of the village enough?”

  Axel gave him a hard look. “There were three fatal casualties among my forces tonight and two wounded. I could have had every person in that village shot. It has happened in other annexed territories where there has been flagrant defiance of the Third Reich. I’ve been lenient. Don’t you agree?”

  “Yes, you have,” Tom agreed hastily, perjuring himself.

  “We also captured a seaman from the fishing vessel involved in tonight’s incident.”

  “Is he from these parts?”

  “His papers gave a name and a home address near Bergen, but the information is probably false. These fellows try to protect their families and friends by assuming other identities. We’ll learn more from him when he has been persuaded to talk. The Gestapo are taking him to Oslo.”

  “What about the fishing boat?”

  “Sunk. No survivors. It failed to heed a shot across the bows from a patrol boat.”

  Tom was relieved Johanna was not within earshot. She was not as tough as he had believed when she had first come to work for him. Had she not been a relative and more efficient than any secretary he had ever had before, he would have had to think twice about keeping her in his employ. He had his own future to consider. “The crew brought it on themselves,” he commented crisply.

  “How right you are.” Axel unbuttoned his uniform jacket and eased his tie free. “Yet I’m an optimist, you know. With time, your countrymen will come to see the error of their ways. As I’ve always said, it’s only a question of eradicating the wrong ideals and beliefs.”

  “My view entirely. Now what about a cognac before you retire?”

  Axel grunted acceptance. In any case it was his cognac. He had presented his host with a bottle upon his arrival for the weekend. “Perhaps Johanna or Frøken What’s-her-name could make me a sandwich?”

  “That shall be done. I’ll pour you the drink first.”

  Massaging a tired shoulder, Axel followed his host into the rose-ceilinged room where earlier a game of bridge had been played. He flung himself down in a chair and stretched his long legs towards the embers on the stone hearth. Setting his elbows on the wooden arms, he pressed the forefinger of each hand against the bridge of his nose. Tension frequently brought on a headache for him. He was churning with sullen anger that one of his quarries had slipped the noose. His only hope was that the wound inflicted had been a bad one and the body would be found before the night was over. As the glass was handed to him, he looked up as he took it. “The garages and boathouse and the grounds around your house will be searched at some time during the night. There’s no need to go outside yourself. No damage will be done.” He raised his glass in salute. “Prosit.”

  “Skål.”

  In the kitchen Johanna had washed up everything from the party and Gunnar had dried it for her. Her aim was to cover Karen’s absence for as long as possible, her hope being that the girl had been nowhere near the village when the fire started. The spare crockery was kept in the storeroom when not in use and Gunnar had just carried a stack of plates into the room and onto a shelf there when she heard chair legs scrape in the hall. She had placed a chair awkwardly in front of the door into the kitchen to give warning of anyone’s approach. To have locked the door would have invoked questions of one kind or another.

  “Someone’s coming,” she whispered to Gunnar. “Switch off the storeroom light.”

  Tom entered, grumbling about the chair left in the way, just as the storeroom door closed. Johanna set down the stack of plates she had been about to hand through to Gunnar and looked inquiringly at Tom.

  “Is there something you want?”

  “Axel Werner is back. He’d like a sandwich.” He saw her expression change and held up a placating hand. “I’m not asking you. Karen can do it.”

  She swallowed hard. “She’s finished with chores here this evening. Leave it to me.”

  He could see what it cost her to oblige him and took it as a sign that, in spite of her emotional traits, she was basically realistic after all. Axel Werner and his ilk were a part of life and would remain so, perhaps for centuries to come. Making him a sandwich was tantamount to acceptance of that fact, all the tragedy of the village put aside as it had to be. Genuinely fond of her, Tom noted the shadows under her eyes. She looked exhausted, almost brittle with stress. The village fire had been as hard on her in its own way as it had been on Axel Werner in another.

  “I’ll give you some help since Karen has gone to bed. You make the sandwiches and I’ll put that heavy crockery away for you.”

  “No!” She spoke with unusual sharpness, surprising him. Then she smiled, making an apologetic gesture to amend her retort. “I mean, there’s no need. It can wait until the morning, for that matter.”

  “Karen needs the space to prepare breakfast. I know you. You’ll do it anyway to get the place tidy for her.” He picked up the stack of plates she had put down.

  She moved swiftly in front of him, blocking the storeroom door. “Go back to Axel. He’s your guest and you’re leaving him on his own.”

  “He’ll be all right. It’s you I’m worried about.” He reached her with the plates. “Step aside now. Nothing is going to make me leave this kitchen until I’ve put every piece of crockery away.”

  “Tom!” It was a desperate cry of appeal. “Please do as I say.”

  “My dear girl. What is it? What’s the matter?”

  While standing in front of the storeroom door, she had inadvertently touched it with her heel. Not completely closed, it began to swing open slowly behind her until stopped by Gunnar in the triangular space behind it where he had taken up a precautionary position, gun in hand. Steffen might still have remained undiscovered if at that moment he had not begun to regain consciousness, emitting a groan. Further concealment of him was impossible. Tom, his whole face a mask of apprehension, thrust the plates he was holding into Johanna’s arms and shoved her aside to stare in appalled disbelief at the wounded man rolling his head from one side to the other on the pillow of the makeshift bed.

  “Who is he?” In panic Tom seized Johanna by the shoulders and shook her, his voice frenzied. “Who have you brought into my house?”

  She was struggling to keep the plates from sliding out of her grasp. “You must let him stay! I love him, Tom. He was wounded this evening and there was nowhere else for him to go.”

  “Do you realise what you’ve done to me?” He shook a fist under her nose as if he could have battered her to pulp, his colour purple, sweat starting in beads from his forehead and upper lip. “Werner has troops combing the district for him and you dare to ask me to let him stay! You might as well ask me to cut my own throat! I’m denouncing him now!”

  She swung herself in front of him as he would have made for the hall, defying him with vehemence, she as forgetful as he of the plates that were causing her to bend over them as they slid about in her arms. “I’ll swear you were in it as much as I! I’ll tell the Nazi that this house is a Resistance hide-out during the week when there’s nobody here, and your hospitality to the Wehrmacht is a cover-up. I’ll boast that you’re related as I am to the Ryen brothers fighting for freedom. I’ll say that my lover isn’t the first secret agent we’ve sheltered together. Some of the lies I’ll tell them will stick sufficiently to ruin all those hopes you have of any political fut
ure. There is even a chance that you’ll end up in a concentration camp with me!”

  The plates finally defeated her, slithering down out of her arms to smash onto the floor and bounce in pieces about their feet, the noise as terrifying to their taut nerves as if a bomb had exploded between them, no less to Gunnar out of sight and geared to equal pitch. Axel, who had been on his way to the kitchen, opened the door at that moment and grimaced at the pain that the noise shot through his aching temples.

  “What’s going on here? I came to tell you that the soldiers are around the house now, Major Ryen. As they’re here already I’m going outside to hear if there’s any fresh news. Perhaps you would like to come with me.” He went straight past the open storeroom door without a glance and reached the back door, which he swung open, and paused to glance back over his shoulder at Tom. “Well?” Then his head snapped back with impatience. “What the hell is the matter with you? It was only a load of plates. You look as if you’ve just faced the end of the world.”

  Tom, feeling himself to be in that very position, opened his mouth and closed it again. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Johanna move swiftly to reach into the storeroom and bring the door shut with a click, hiding the secret within.

  “I’ll join you,” he said woodenly to Axel, following after him. His thoughts began to twist and turn. Maybe there was still a means by which he could bring the soldiers into the house and hand the wounded man over to them. Unfortunately for him, no loophole came to mind.

  Gunnar raised both hands expressively when Johanna re-entered the storeroom. “Well done! You were fantastic.”

  “Don’t praise me. I worked out long ago that I should have to put pressure on Tom in that manner if he ever caught me taking information from the files. I never thought it would be used in circumstances like this. Luckily he doesn’t suspect that you’re here, too.” She knelt down beside Steffen, taking the hand he held out to her and leaning forward to kiss him lovingly.

  “You are here then.” His voice was blurred with weakness, a smile catching up one corner of his mouth. “I thought I’d been dreaming.”

  “I’m here and it’s no dream. You just have to be as quiet as you can.”

  “Where are we? Is it Tom Ryen’s place?”

  She nodded. “It’s safe as long as nobody hears us talking. Gunnar will tell you everything later. Drink some water for me now and then sleep. We want you to rest and get your strength back.”

  The effort of being slightly raised to drink from the cup made his head swim. He slept as soon as he was returned to the pillow. She slid her arm away from under his neck and stood up, gazing down at him. Gunnar took the cup from her and set it on a shelf. “So far, so good,” he remarked.

  “I feel as if I’m surrounded by live grenades that might go off at any minute,” she confessed. “We can’t trust Tom yet. Karen hasn’t returned. Upstairs there are three sleeping Nazis with a fourth prowling around outside the house like a stalking leopard.” She turned to leave the storeroom.

  Gunnar chuckled. “At least we’re not lacking excitement.”

  His cheerful attitude helped to raise her spirits. In the kitchen she made a plate of food for him, cleared up the broken china and prepared sandwiches for Axel. These she carried through to the rose-ceilinged room to await his return. Switching off the light, she held back the black-out curtain to look out, but it was impossible to see anything.

  As she had hoped, Tom brought Axel back into the house by the front door. She felt enervated by relief. It meant that Tom had been unable to devise any ruse by which to wriggle off the hook, something that had kept fear high in her. He gave her a murderous look as he came into the room behind Axel. Like most even-tempered people, when he did get in a rage the aftermath made him physically ill and completely upset his metabolism.

  “Have the soldiers gone?” she asked Axel.

  “Yes. There should be no more disturbances tonight unless a capture is made and that possibility seems to be diminishing with every minute.” He flung himself down in a chair and took a sandwich from the tray put beside him. Seeing she was about to leave, he beckoned her back and indicated with a wagging finger that she should sit down in a chair set almost at right angles to him. “There’s something I want to ask you.”

  Her fear increased again. Was he going to play some trick? She saw that Tom, who had sunk down on a wooden-backed sofa on the other side of the room, appeared to have the same misgivings. His drawn face looked old and scared, the jowls hanging, and even his shoulders had taken on a rounded look.

  “What did you want to know?” She sat on the edge of the chair, hands linked tightly together.

  “It was the colder temperature outside that reminded me. Several times when I’ve been with you it has slipped my mind. I need some advice about furs and I know you worked in the fur trade.”

  It was such a totally unexpected topic that she could only look at him speechlessly. Tom, still wary, not entirely sure that he and Johanna and the wounded man were out of the woods yet, made some kind of endorsement. “You couldn’t ask anyone better. Johanna knows a lot about furs.”

  Axel ignored him. “Some silver fox skins came into my possession a few weeks ago. They look good to me and I thought how much my wife would like a new fur coat. It’s not altogether easy for those at home in Germany these days, and I think she would appreciate something warm to wear in the winter ahead.”

  At any other time she might have smiled at his unimaginative attitude. Few women wore a beautiful fur coat for its warmth. As for its not being easy in Germany, several officers had talked to her about conditions at home, either quoting from family letters or describing an uncomfortable leave there. The hardships of war had begun to creep up on their fatherland, much of it due to Allied air raids.

  “What did you want to know?” Her question was abrupt.

  “If there are enough skins for a coat and whether they’re of good enough quality to be made up.”

  “I’m not an expert, but I could tell you that.”

  “Then I’ll bring them along next time I’m here.” He stretched his neck forward to glance across at Tom. “Would you fix that? I wouldn’t want to find Johanna had gone home that particular weekend.”

  Twice Tom struggled to choke up his voice. “Johanna will be here.” His gaze switched to meet hers, his murderous look for her unabated. “We can arrange that, can’t we?”

  “Easily.” She felt almost sorry for him.

  She sat by Steffen and kept watch most of the night. It was her choice. Then Gunnar woke from among the extra blankets she had supplied him with and took over from her. Steffen was restless and in a lot of pain, but took the fluids they kept pouring into him. In the morning she was up early and her anxiety increased because Karen had not returned. She and Gunnar discussed the possibility, which was becoming more probable with every minute, that she had returned to the village and been transported away from it with her sister and brother-in-law.

  Axel was up by seven o’clock and away from the house half an hour later. By midafternoon the other three house guests had departed. Johanna went into the rose-ceilinged room where she knew Tom would be awaiting her. He sat with his head in his hands, elbows on his knees. His wrath of the previous night had gone, but together with the dreadful suspense in which he had been kept for a night and best part of the next day, a toll had been taken on him. He was as lacking in energy as if he had come through a serious illness. If he had looked in the mirror that morning and seen that his hair had turned completely white, he would not have been in the least surprised. As her step sounded across the pinewood floor he spoke without looking up.

  “You said something last night about being in love with the fellow in the storeroom.”

  She went to the window and looked out. The autumnal sun made a pattern through the filmy curtains and veiled her face. “I do love him. All I want is that we should be able to spend the rest of our lives together.”

  “Didn’t you think
of the risk you were putting on me by taking him in?”

  She turned slowly and rested her hands behind her on the sill, leaning against them. “I thought only of him.”

  “Have you known him long?”

  “Since the day of the invasion. We met at the Alsteens’. He used to stay there whenever he was in Oslo.”

  “Are you involved in his work?” It was the big question and he dreaded her honest answer.

  “I can swear to you that I don’t know anything about his life away from me.”

  “How is he today?”

  “Very weak and in a lot of pain. He shouldn’t be moved yet.”

  “Does Karen know he’s hidden there? And can she be trusted to keep silent? That’s another anxiety that kept me awake in the night.”

  “Karen isn’t here. I let her go home to her sister yesterday evening and she hasn’t returned.”

  He lowered his big hands and let them droop over his knees as he lifted his tired-looking face to her. “Then she’ll have been taken away with the rest.”

  Her eyes darkened on the final painful acceptance of the fact. “I’ve been hoping in vain that she would have stayed free.”

  Wearily his head dipped again, jowls hanging. “This is a bad time.”

  “Would you let me remain here for the rest of the week, Tom?”

  He understood her. “He would have to be gone before next Friday.”

  “He will.”

  “Could we get him up to one of the beds, do you think?”

  A catch came in her throat. “Oh, Tom.”

  “It can’t help for him to be lying in his present uncomfortable quarters. Since he means so much to you, the sooner he recovers the better. I also want him well and on his way.”

  “It would be best if I made up a bed for him on the divan in the small sitting-room. He’s sleeping now. When he wakes we can move him.”

  When Tom bore the brunt of Steffen’s weight in helping him from the storeroom and onto the divan, Gunnar remained in concealment. Tom departed later in his car without the least idea that a second agent was sheltering in his house. The sight of the burnt-out village deepened his gloom when he drove past. There was also the prospect of finding a new housekeeper. This time he would not leave the choice to Johanna. He would appoint a fellow collaborator’s wife of such dedicated Nazi principles that Johanna would never again dare to bring her Resistance lover under his roof.