Steve joined Rafe and Jennie. “What will the camp be like, where we’re going?”
“Oh, it’s actually not a camp. You’ll stay in resort hotels or spas or guest houses, maybe even private homes. You’ll have Swedish supervision, but the camps, for lack of a better word, are handled by airmen appointed by the air attaché in Stockholm, my dad’s boss. You’ll have a roll call and calisthenics every morning, but then you’re free within a twelve-mile radius. And you get a three-day pass each month if you want to visit Stockholm or some other place.”
After boarding the tram, Cal asked, “What do we do all day?”
“Lots of sports. We’re forming teams for soccer, basketball, tennis, and baseball. Lots of bicycling. During the winter, many of the men learned to ski or skate, but now you can sail, and we’re discussing regattas. American magazines are brought in. Conversational Swedish classes are available in most camps, and other classes are in the works.” They didn’t brighten at the news of the classes she’d helped organize. Of course not. They weren’t bored yet. They had to decompress from combat first.
“Those with mechanical skills will be sent to the airfields to restore and maintain your planes, and you pilots get to test fly them.” She laughed when Cal scowled. “Don’t worry. I haven’t heard of any of those test flights ending in disaster.”
As the tram trundled through town to the train station, the men watched the passing scenery. Except for Rafe, who sat with eyes closed, they looked apprehensive. Jennie might have felt the same way if she’d suddenly been plunked down in, say, Spain. She smiled. Her ideas for activities for the men were being acted on. Her work with the OSS was minor, her art exhibit nonessential, but she could help the airmen cope with their strange new lives.
Rättvik, Sweden
Wednesday, May 31, 1944
Rafe peered around the corner. That obnoxious girl wasn’t in sight. A sigh escaped him. No sooner had he relaxed than a hand clamped down on his shoulder. He started, and spun around.
“Who are you spying on?” Cal leaned around him to look down the street.
“Just making sure Maj-Britt isn’t anywhere around.”
“Your Britt? What happened to your Jennie?”
“Not my Britt,” Rafe snapped. “Her name is pronounced My-Britt, and she’s trying to sink her talons in me.”
The Coolidge crew had been separated the day after leaving Malmö. The enlisted men were quartered in Falun, while the officers continued nearly thirty miles further north to Rättvik. The small resort town perched on the eastern edge of Lake Siljan would allow Rafe to could get in some sailing.
The officers had moved into a large two-story lodge. They were told to double up and choose rooms. He and Alan barely took time to drop their belongings in a room with its own balcony before they set out to explore. A nearby hill begged to be hiked, and the Americans didn’t hesitate to oblige. From its summit, a vast panorama delighted their eyes. The quiet blue lake extended for miles, far beyond their view. The region also offered plenty of opportunities for bicycling.
Birds twittered overhead in the pine trees, and a light wind sighed in the boughs. The fragrance of evergreen perfumed the air. A weight Rafe hadn’t been consciously aware of slipped from his shoulders. The war was over for him. Here in this restful community, he could forget about bombing Germany into oblivion. Here he was safe from possible capture by the Germans. Here he could ponder his feelings toward his father.
Jennie had promised to visit at her first opportunity. They would have no trouble filling their days as they became better acquainted.
Rättvik was paradise. But paradise had a serpent. Maj-Britt.
When the men had hiked back down into town, they were greeted by a group of young ladies. One took Rafe’s arm. Her demeanor shouted her desperation for a man. Wherever he went now, she popped up. He treated her with disinterest, but she failed to take the hint. Her attitude was mystifying. Where was her self-respect?
Other internees had watched in amusement. An airman who’d been there since February offered insight. “She wants a husband. Word is she got dumped by a Swede. With all the Americans coming to town, she’s aiming to snag a man who will take her to America where the streets are paved with gold and everyone has a maid.”
The men quartered at the guesthouse had chuckled. “She checks out each new arrival and goes to work. The last guy got desperate.”
Rafe leaned forward. “How’d he get rid of her?”
“He got transferred to another camp. Just wait until the next group comes. She’ll latch on to someone more willing.”
Today, the men planned to go sailing. Rafe had selected a boat barely big enough for the four of them. No possibility existed for Maj-Britt to finagle her way onboard. With a last furtive look around, Rafe and his friends headed for the water’s edge.
“Annika’s a nice girl.” Cal put on his American Optical sunglasses. Rafe’s sunglasses must have been left aboard Sweet Patootie. “She’s not proprietary with me. It’d be fun to take her along.”
“Rent a canoe with her.” There was another possibility for when Jennie came. “If she goes sailing with us, Maj-Britt will insist on going. I refuse to be trapped on a boat with her.”
“And if Rafe bails out at the last second, we’ll be up a creek, because Rafe’s the sailor.” Alan stuffed his hands in his back pockets, his cardigan sleeves tied loosely around his neck. “Boy, I sure do wish Ruby was here. This would be like a long honeymoon for us.”
They rounded the corner to the pier, and Rafe stopped dead. “Somebody told.”
“Oh, there you are.” Maj-Britt’s shrill call grated on Rafe like fingernails on a blackboard. He didn’t blame the Swede who dumped her.
Cal cleared his throat. “I guess I did tell Annika we were going sailing. I didn’t know she’d tell everyone else.”
Rafe clenched his fists as Maj-Britt bore down on him. “I am not spending the day with her. I refuse.”
Steve pushed Cal forward with one hand and prodded Rafe to move with the other. “Cal, you’re on point. Alan and I have Rafe’s flanks. If being polite doesn’t work, we’ll be rude.”
Maj-Britt’s chatter oozed with hyperbole. “I can’t wait to go sailing. We haven’t been out on the lake at all this year. I’m so glad you thought of this.” She tried to weasel her way between Alan and Rafe, but Alan held his position. She looked at him askance. “Excuse me, please.”
“You’re excused.”
Rafe nearly cracked a smile at Alan’s rejoinder, but kept his lips firmly pressed. His mother often admonished, “If you had nothing nice to say, keep your mouth shut.” Did that ever apply now.
After a slight hesitation, Maj-Britt circled behind and grabbed at his right arm. Steve edged closer so she couldn’t squeeze in. Soon they’d be tangling feet and sprawling on the ground.
The yellow sailboat waited at the end of the pier. Everything was in place and ready to go. Except for getting rid of unwanted company.
“We’ll certainly be cozy.” Maj-Britt remained oblivious.
Ahead of them, Cal and Annika whispered with their heads together. Annika stepped away, looking back at Maj-Britt with wrinkled brow. She squared her shoulders, marched over, and linked an arm with her friend. “We’ll see you men for lunch.”
Maj-Britt whipped her head around. “What do you mean? We’re going sailing with them. You said so.”
“I said the men were going sailing.”
“Rafe, tell them we’re sailing together.”
Busy hoisting the sail and directing his crewmates in loosing lines and lowering the centerboard, Rafe barely looked up. “It was nice of you to see us off.”
“Rafe.”
Rafe let out the line on the sail. It caught the breeze and filled with a snap. The sailboat scooted away from the pier.
“Rafe!”
Three minutes passed before Alan ventured a comment. “Are we in a race with somebody, or just in a rush to gain a little distance?”<
br />
Rafe’s shoulders slumped. For a few hours, anyway, he was free of Maj-Britt. He adjusted the sail for a slower pace, and offered Alan the tiller. “I do everything to discourage her. What else can I do? Seeing as how we’re uninvited guests of Sweden, I don’t feel free to flat out tell her to get lost.”
His crewmates stared at him. “You kept your cool during a dozen missions flying over hostile territory and now you’re coming undone by an obnoxious female.” Cal tilted his face into the sun and the breeze. “When you need to be devious, ask a woman for help. In your case, ask Jennie.”
#
It would have been too much to hope that Maj-Britt wouldn’t be waiting for him to return to the pier, along with her friends Annika and Karin. “Doesn’t she have a job she should be attending to?”
“Here’s how we’ll handle it.” Steve rubbed his hands together. “Cal and I will lead the ladies away while you and Alan load your arms with sailing gear to stow. She’ll think you’ll be joining us, but you disappear.”
Steve’s plan might have worked flawlessly, but Rafe and Alan were hungry. As they hurried for their guesthouse, they stopped in at Klingberg’s Konditori. The coffee shop and bakery had become a home away from home for the internees. Rafe had just sunk his teeth into his applesauce muffin when Alan hissed, “Here they come. Hide!”
Rafe jumped up from their table, headed for the counter, backtracked to grab his muffin, then ducked under the counter extension and pressed up against the counter, surprising the proprietress.
“Shh. I’m not here.”
Mrs. Klingberg sized up the situation in a thrice when Maj-Britt waltzed inside and stopped short. With a lowered hand, Mrs. Klingberg made a flicking motion. Scoot further down. He was visible through the display case glass.
“Where’s Rafe?” Maj-Britt’s voice advanced into the room.
Alan sounded muffled as though patting his lips with his napkin. “Didn’t you see him?”
“We decided to stop in here.” Uncertainty colored Cal’s voice.
Did anyone notice Alan had two cups of coffee?
Footsteps approached the counter. Rafe scrambled further to the right, and dislodged a mop. The handle clattered against the cash register. Not commenting, Mrs. Klingberg removed the mop to the back door leading into the family’s private quarters. The family’s miniature poodle took advantage of the open door to slip inside and pounce on Rafe. He shoved the rest of his muffin into its mouth to prevent it from barking. His mouth twisted as he watched the dog enjoy his treat. That did it. He’d contact Jennie and ask about a transfer.
Rättvik, Sweden
Tuesday, June 6, 1944
Jennie stepped down from the train. Three long weeks had passed since Rafe and his crewmates had arrived in Sweden. Plenty of time to settle in and establish some sort of routine. Her plans to visit earlier had been sidetracked with a high volume of messages to encrypt and cable to London.
Blue flags with yellow crosses fluttered from poles and window sills in every direction. Today was Sweden’s Flag Day. Jennie looked around. She blended in with her blue dress trimmed in jumbo gold ric-rac. The festive air was reminiscent of Fourth of July celebrations back home.
The beachfront appeared to be a likely spot for a gathering and she headed toward it. Lots of young men milled around speaking English, evidence of an internment town. Rafe should be among them. One man tipped his hat to her.
“Hello. Do you know Rafe Martell?”
His eyes widened. “You’re an American.”
Not the answer she had asked for. Ordinarily the observation might be amusing, but not today. “Yes, I know.” She modified her tart response with raised brows and a hopeful smile. “Do you know Rafe?”
“Sure, the sailor with the millstone around his neck. He’s usually with his crewmates and, of course, that girl.”
Sailor? Millstone? That girl? What girl? Jennie nodded her thanks and moved on.
Merchants had set up booths like a sidewalk sale. Blue buntings striped in yellow hung from the booths. Stockholm hadn’t been decked out like this for Flag Day. Maybe things were different in small towns or maybe this was for the internees’ benefit.
Looping her tote bag handles over her arm, she unboxed her camera. Flags would frame her shots on either side. She’d aim for a nice Norman Rockwell-like scene. She focused on a central booth. Ooh, Dala Horses.
Like the Swedish tall case clocks, the Dala Horse originated near Mora, on the other end of Lake Siljan. The village men carved the horses in the long winter evenings. Most were painted with a red paint-pigment from the Falun copper mine, but blue, white, black and natural horses were also produced. Flower-patterned saddles were then added. She should buy a red horse. Maybe a black one too, or a natural, in a different size. As authentic Swedish handicrafts, they would be great for her exhibit.
She photographed a variety of sights, minding the sun angle and people’s expressions. One last close-up of the Dala Horse booth to go with her horses and…
Rafe! That man now at the booth was Rafe. A woman hugged his arm like her life depended on it. He stepped closer to the display and she moved with him, the two as one. So that’s what the internee meant by “that girl.” She adjusted her focus. A frown marred Rafe’s brow, directed at the femme fatale. He jerked his arm free. The woman didn’t back off. Brazen little vamp. Jennie lowered her camera, ready to make her presence known.
“Miss Lindquist?” The ranking airman in Rättvik appeared at her side.
“Hi, Captain.” She glanced back at Rafe. He’d have to wait. “My father sent a batch of the forms you requested.” They were in her tote bag somewhere. She pressed her camera into his hands. “Hold this, please? Ah, here they are. And this is a new schedule for test flights by the pilots here.”
Seated on a bench, they went over Dad’s list of housekeeping details. About to rise, the captain paused. “The piano lessons are a big hit. The retired teacher here is working full time and loving it. One of the men acquired a guitar and is teaching several others.”
“That’s great.” Her idea worked! Rafe must have musical ability. Something else to ask him about.
“Well, yes and no.” The captain grimaced. “Some fellas have natural talent, but others send us running with our hands over our ears.” With a wave, he disappeared into the crowd.
Laughing, she shoved her notes into her tote bag. What was this? A letter addressed to her, from Rättvik. From Rafe. Oh, goodness. Last night, Mom hadn’t asked her to post the mail. She must have said she’d put Jennie’s mail with her papers.
Jennie fingered the envelope. Rafe had neat penmanship. She glanced over at the Dala Horse booth before sliding her finger under the flap and withdrew a single sheet of paper.
Dear Jennie,
Could your father use some help in Stockholm, or at least transfer us to another internment center? Rättvik’s a great town, but this girl just will not leave me alone. I’ll consider any job ― peel potatoes, scrub toilets. Just get me out of here. Please.
Yours sincerely,
Rafe
A stick figure drawing decorated the note. A woman with, she peered closer, yep, two little devil horns spouting from her hair clutched an outraged man.
#
Rafe spotted the Dala Horses. He ought to get a horse for Jennie. She’d enjoy having one for her exhibit. He examined the selection. A red one, of course. That seemed to be symbolic of Sweden. He should get one for his mother, too, and maybe one for Rita. And Oma. Who else? Certainly not the parasite clamped to his arm. He tried to break free.
“Let go of me, Maj-Britt.” No more asking politely. “I need my hand.” He shook her off and picked up a large red horse, the better to be seen in Jennie’s exhibit.
Maj-Britt picked up a blue horse. “I like this one.”
Mother would like that smaller natural horse. Maybe a white one in the same size for Oma. Rita was into miniatures. He’d get her the tiny black horse.
“I lik
e this one.”
“So you said.” He was definitely not buying a blue horse.
“Going into the equestrian business?” Alan materialized at his side.
Rafe held up the black. “For my sister.” He indicated the others. “And for my mother and grandmother. And Jennie.”
“Who’s Jennie?” Maj-Britt looked like she’d bitten into a sour grape.
Cal and Annika came up behind her. Cal nudged Annika.
“Jennie’s his American girlfriend. Didn’t I tell you about her? I wondered why you were going after someone else’s man.”
Rafe kept his back to Maj-Britt as she sputtered. Annika laid it on a bit thick―he couldn’t really claim Jennie as his girlfriend. Not that he wouldn’t like to.
Steve and Karin joined them.
“Say, Rafe, look who’s here.”
He turned to gaze into dancing blue eyes. “Jennie!”
He dumped his horses in Alan’s arms and reached for her.
#
He bought her a Dala Horse. Jennie caressed the carving as they walked along the lakeshore, away from the crowd. “Thank you, Rafe. I’ve wanted to get one. This is perfect.”
“I thought you might already have one, but it could always use a friend.”
She tucked the horse into her tote. “Your tormentor likely won’t bother you anymore.” Not after the way she’d stomped off when Rafe embraced Jennie at the sales booth. “Do you still want to leave Rättvik?”
He stopped and looked at her. “Is there a job for me in Stockholm?”
“I think there might be.” A smile lit her face. “I’ve been thinking about that. Maybe you can read newspapers.”
“Read newspapers?” She must be joking. “With my feet up by a fire, and coffee and cake at my side?”
“No, no, no.” Jennie’s laugh rang out. “I’m quite serious. So is the job. The British have quite an extensive reading bureau, and we’ve followed their lead. Newspapers in all the European languages are read for anything of general intelligence or propaganda value. You look for anything of military interest, or political or economic conditions in both Germany and the occupied countries. You, of course, could read German papers.”
No Neutral Ground: A World War II Romance (Promise for Tomorrow Book 2) Page 20
