by Susan Wiggs
“There are many ways to escape. I had a girl after me—or rather, her father and brothers. I had to get away fast.”
“What do you mean, after you? If a girl was after me, I would hardly run. I would welcome her.”
“Not this girl. She was looking for a husband. She told her father some things—lies. She said I...compromised her, you know?”
“I think I do.” He thought about girls almost all the time, but he was too bashful to actually do anything about it.
“I would never,” Ramon said, balling his hands into fists. “But she was very convincing.”
“And so you ran.”
“To San Francisco. A big port city.”
“I have heard of this place.”
“I joined the merchant marine. Do you know it?”
“Yes, of course.”
“They don’t ask a lot of questions. If you look as if you have a strong back and know how to follow orders, you’re in.”
“And this is how you came to be in Copenhagen?”
“The skipper’s brother is the vessel owner. Both are Danes. The Gundersen brothers.”
“Ah, I know of them.” Magnus braced himself as the truck bounced over an increasingly rutted road. The Gundersens were a local shipping family. From the very start, they had openly opposed the occupation. The family patriarch had appeared before King Christian’s counsel to argue against surrender.
“How did you learn to speak Danish?”
“I’m not very good at it, but I have a knack for picking up languages. I already had Spanish, English and German, and so I get by.”
“Are you still with the merchant marine?”
“No. I jumped ship here in Copenhagen. Now I’m working for an agency called the Red Cross. Do you know it?”
“Sure, everybody knows the Red Cross.”
“I am better suited for this type of work, you understand?” Ramon regarded him pointedly.
Magnus realized that was just a cover for what he was really doing. The Red Cross was supposed to be entirely neutral, but when an agent in service of the Allied forces appeared, they tended to look the other way. People affiliated with the Red Cross were less likely to fall under scrutiny. They crossed borders at will, and they were granted access to prisoner of war camps for inspections.
As the international community grasped the real purpose of the Germans’ work camps, the rescue efforts gathered force. Red Cross workers were often bound by red tape and regulations, but a number of workers went underground in the war effort.
Magnus regarded Ramon with new respect. “What is it that you do?” he asked.
“I’ve been involved in transport. Grew up running farm equipment so I can drive anything. Nobody pays much attention to me. It’s an advantage.”
The truck drew to a halt. “Coast is clear,” Magnus said. He could tell because the driver climbed down—the all clear signal. He and Ramon jumped down and looked around. The truck was parked precariously close to a stone bulkhead on a deserted section of the harbor. A rotten smell filled the air.
“I thought we were taking these parcels to a warehouse somewhere,” he said to the driver.
“We were,” said the driver.
Magnus recognized Annelise Winther’s voice. “Then what the hell are you doing here?” He hadn’t seen her in a number of months, maybe more than a year. In the half light, he could see the strain on her face. She looked...old.
“Same thing you are.”
“You nearly drove the thing into the harbor.”
“I stopped in time, didn’t I?” She jerked her head at Ramon. “Who’s he?”
“A comrade. He’s okay,” said Magnus. He checked out the area, and realized she’d brought them to a dumping station where household garbage was barged to the mainland for burning. “We’re supposed to be at the fish warehouse. Why did you bring us here?”
“Because I have a better idea,” she said. “Let’s row the crates out to the barge like the garbage they are.”
“I still think we should dump them in the harbor,” said Ramon.
“When the tide goes out, they could be spotted,” Magnus explained. “That’s why the barge is moored so far out.”
“Good point. Is there a boat?”
“We’ll take that fishing dory.” Magnus gestured at a small wooden boat tied to a mooring cleat.
“It’s pretty small. Can you take them all in one go?” asked Annelise.
“We can try. You go keep watch.”
“I always have to keep watch,” she said. “It’s dull. Nothing ever happens.”
“And you’d better hope it stays that way,” he said. “Go on with you.”
With a huff of resentment, she returned to the truck and stationed herself on the driver’s side, facing the incoming alleyway. The night was eerie, lightless due to blackout restrictions. Sounds came from some of the taverns in nearby Harbor Street—raucous voices arguing, singing or laughing. The occasional rumble of an engine intruded, though vehicles were prohibited from using their headlamps.
Magnus began to unload the crates, one by one, carrying them from the truck to the dory. Ramon was in charge of loading them into the wooden boat, making use of the expertise he’d gained in the merchant marine.
“We might have to make more than one trip,” Magnus said, eyeing the dory. The wind had picked up, wafting the scent of rotting garbage across the water.
“We’ll be fine. Just a few more crates,” Ramon muttered.
The engine sounds grew louder, followed by a gnashing of brakes. “That’s likely a Nazi patrol,” Magnus said. “Let’s hurry it up.”
Annelise helped them carry the last of the crates to the dory. Ramon got into the boat and used a line to secure the load.
“Get in,” Magnus told her, picking up the oars. “I don’t want you waiting here by yourself.”
“There’s no room,” she said, whipping a glance over her shoulder. “I’ll wait here. If you’re spotted, I can create a diversion.”
“Out of the question. Quit being so stubborn, and get in.” He heard something else, somewhere in the night shadows. Footsteps. Boots on cobblestones. “Get—”
“Hurry back,” she said, and with that, she loosed the mooring line and gave the boat a shove. Within seconds, it was out in the tidal stream.
“Start rowing,” said Ramon. “No point in arguing with a stubborn girl.”
“I don’t like leaving her there.” Nonetheless, Magnus rowed swiftly toward the barge, about a hundred meters off shore. Craning his neck to look past the precarious load, he tried to keep an eye on Annelise, but the darkness swallowed her. He didn’t know why he felt so protective of her. She was contrary and feisty and bossy. Deep down, he admired her for it.
He didn’t like tonight’s setup, though. The tavern sounds, the rumbling engines, the unknown threat of darkness.
He rowed as fast has he could, ignoring the blisters forming on the palms of his hands and in the crease between his thumb and index finger. The sweetish reek of garbage intensified as they approached the barge. As quickly as possible, they hoisted the crate aboard and used an iron shovel and rake to bury the cargo amid the mounds of smelly household trash. Ramon choked and gagged, but Magnus gritted his teeth, working fast to get the job done.
“There, finally,” he said, replacing the rake on the side of the barge. “Let’s get moving. I don’t like this.”
“I’ll take a turn at the oars,” said Ramon.
“Thanks. I’ve got blisters.” He settled in the stern and wiped his face with his sleeve. “It’ll take ten bars of soap to get the stink off.”
Ramon rowed swiftly toward the shore. “In California, we have an outdoor shower that uses water from a hot spring.”
“Sure,” said Ma
gnus. “You’re making that up.”
“Not even. My father rigged a cord you can pull to drench yourself in warm water, as much as you could ever want. Damn. I miss the sunshine.”
Magnus pictured showering outdoors in the California sun, and the image brought a smile to his face.
Just then, a light flickered over the surface of the water. Seconds later came the sound of a gunning engine. Magnus swung around to look at the shore. “She’s in trouble,” he said, feeling an instant freezing sensation in his gut. “She wouldn’t run the truck unless something was up.” A sense of urgency pounded in his chest.
“Row faster.”
“I am. Take it easy, it’s probably—”
There was a popping sound. “I hope to God that’s the truck backfiring,” said Magnus. He knew better, though. By now, his senses were finely attuned to the sound of gunfire. He leaped to the bow of the dory and knocked Ramon out of the way.
“Hey—”
“I’m faster.” He felt the blisters on his hands rip open, but he ignored the pain. “She turned on the lights to create a diversion,” he said. “Stupid girl. Stupid, stupid....”
There was more gunfire and a metallic crash. The lights sank, and Magnus gasped in horror. “She drove the damned thing into the water.”
Chapter Fourteen
“Magnus is correct,” Annelise said, her gaze focused on the day’s last sunlight falling across the floor. “I did drive into the water. It was a foolish mistake made in terror, because the night watch had arrived. As it happens, I ended up creating a diversion, and Magnus and Ramon were not caught.”
“But you were,” Tess said softly.
Annelise nodded. “That was the night I was captured and taken to the birthing house on the island. I was detained there for nearly a year before I escaped.”
They all sat in silence for long, uncounted minutes. Isabel thought about that young girl and what had gone on in the house where she was imprisoned. A vein in Annelise’s temple gently throbbed, but otherwise she sat motionless, her graceful hands calmly folded in her lap.
Finally, Magnus cleared his throat. “I wish I’d saved you that night,” he said, his voice low and broken. “I’m sorry I failed you.”
“Regrets won’t change a thing, and we all survived,” Annelise said.
His hands trembled, and he pressed them hard against his knees. “When we met again, you should have said something, if not to me, then to someone who could help you.”
“I told no one.” Then she looked around the room, her gaze steady, her eyes surprisingly calm. “Until now.”
Isabel couldn’t believe she’d kept such a secret inside her for so long. She found herself looking at Mac, who had not moved a muscle while the old woman spoke. His eyes were damp, though, and easy to read.
“When I escaped, I said nothing, because I was afraid not just for myself, but for the child. I feared what would happen to a baby with such a strange heritage. And of course, in one so young, the shame and confusion were a constant torment.”
Magnus took her hand in both of his, and pressed a kiss on it, his shoulders trembling. “Please,” he said to her in Danish. “Please tell me you found a way to...”
Isabel didn’t recognize the next word.
Annelise gently removed her hand from his and continued in English. “It was so very long ago, yet the occurrence is knit into my very soul. I can no more rid myself of it than I can rid myself of my eye color or memories of my mother.” Her movements were efficient and decisive as she helped herself to more sherry. “Perhaps I should have unburdened myself sooner. Even the deepest secrets always seem to find their way to the surface,” she said. “They slip out in sneaky ways. I believe now that what happened to me colored every choice I’ve made in my life. Perhaps that is why I became a children’s art teacher—so I could see beauty once more, and to love again. Later I became a dance teacher so I could learn to touch people again without fear. Other decisions as well sprang from the secret I carried inside.”
Isabel’s chest ached in sympathy. She wondered if Annelise was referring to her choice to stay single, to have a baby with Magnus, to give the child to Eva to raise.
“I’m grateful that you told us,” said Tess. “You’re not alone, and you don’t have to bear the burden of the past by yourself.”
“It is a relief to speak up at last. Everything feels...lighter, somehow. You are all the family I have, you girls and Magnus. It seems appropriate that you would be the first to hear the truth.”
The word family brought a lump to Isabel’s throat. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “I hate that it happened to you, and to girls like you.”
“We’re very grateful that you survived,” Tess said. “Did you ever find out anything at all about the baby that was taken from you?”
A smile flickered in her eyes. “The ‘baby’ would be in his seventies, wouldn’t he? Sadly, the only thing I know is that it was a boy, and I can’t even be completely certain of that. I was quite groggy, and he was red and screaming the only time I got a glimpse of him, just before the nurses swaddled him up and took him away. I was told nothing of the family that took him. At the end of the war, records were hidden or destroyed. My real name could not have been put on the birth record, because when I was arrested on the night we destroyed the badges, I never disclosed my real name. Like most of us in the underground, I had already created a fictional story about myself, just in case I was caught.” She glanced over at Magnus. “I went by the name Greta Herman.”
Everyone sat quietly for a while, watching the evening gather in the big picture window at the front of the shop. The occasional farm truck rolled past, laden with crates full of early harvest plums or berries. In the grassy meadows that flanked the road, swallows swooped and dove, black arrows darting against the crimson sky.
After a while, Mac asked, “What became of the badges?”
“They were hauled away on the barge with the rest of the garbage,” Magnus said, “and I assume they were burned and forever lost. No Jew in Denmark was ever forced to wear one.”
“It was quite a coup,” Annelise said. “Elsewhere throughout Europe, the Jews had to display the badge every time they went out.”
“A small victory, but good for morale,” Magnus said. “There’s an apocryphal story that many Danes and even King Christian displayed the badge in order to confuse the Nazis and to show support for the Jews, but it’s only a story.”
“Because there were no badges to distribute,” said Mac.
“Few people know how the Star of David badges in Denmark disappeared,” said Annelise.
“They will know once my friend Cormac writes the story,” said Magnus. “But had I known then what the maneuver would cost, I never would have done it.” Devastation shone on his face, deepening the lines and brightening his eyes with tears.
“I would not change a thing,” she said very quietly. “Who can say why life plays out the way it does? Had I not endured what I did, then later, saving Ramon and rescuing Eva would have been impossible.”
“This is true,” Magnus said.
Isabel was desperate to hear how her grandmother had been rescued from a concentration camp and why Ramon had needed saving. She wanted to know how they had all ended up on a Norwegian ship bound for America. She was filled with more questions, but she could tell Annelise was emotionally drained; it showed in the downward slope of her shoulders. “Let’s stop, okay?” she gently suggested. “The rest of the story can be told another time.”
There was gratitude in Annelise’s tremulous smile. “I agree. The important thing is that we all made our way in the world. We carried on. What else is there to do?” Annelise got up from her chair and put out her hand to Magnus. “Walk with me,” she said.
Mac, Tess and Isabel all stood as they left the shop.
The elderly couple took the gravel road toward the house, arm in arm, their heads bowed together as they talked. Surrounded by the blooms and new leaves of springtime, they moved with dignity, their bond a tangible force that could be sensed even from a distance.
“Excuse me,” Tess said quietly. “I need to go find Dominic. I need to collapse and make him hold me and drink wine with me for the next couple of hours.”
Isabel gave her a brief hug. “I don’t blame you. That was very intense.”
“Do me a favor and set the alarm when you leave,” Tess said. “You know the code. The door will lock behind you.”
When Isabel and Mac were alone, she said, “I guess we didn’t see that coming.”
“Nope.”
“It’s fascinating and horrible all at once. Mostly, I just feel sad for her, to have her innocence taken at such a young age.”
“Yes. But be glad she survived, came to the States, became a teacher,” he said. “She taught art and dance classes.”
“That’s how I like to picture her, surrounded by kids or teaching a couple the tango. But like she told us, that insane ordeal will always be a part of her.” She noticed that Mac had not made a single note while Magnus and Annelise had been talking. He probably didn’t need to. Like her, the situation would be etched deeply in his mind. “You must hear a lot of grim things in your line of work. How do you stand it?”
“I remind myself that their stories are important, and they deserve the best work I can produce. But yeah, some of the stories are hard to hear.”
She nodded and went to the window, gazing out as she tried to picture young Annelise, alone in the world and on the run, still bleeding from giving birth. “The sheer courage it must have taken to simply survive is staggering to me,” she said. “And the fact that she went right back to helping the war effort is remarkable, too.”
“I’ve read studies of trauma survivors. Some fall apart later, and others move on with their lives. One key element for the ones who make it seems to come up again and again—they take action for a cause bigger than themselves. The work helps pull them through.”
