“Who’s Mr. Wright?” Roy studied the Danish stamp.
“We don’t know a Mr. Wright, so it must mean something important.” Valerie frowned. “Paul will know.”
“What will I know?” Paul boomed from behind them.
Valerie jumped. Her stepfather’s silent tread had managed to startle her on more than one occasion. “Axel and Annelise want us to pray for a Mr. Wright. He’s seeing a doctor tomorrow.” Valerie handed the letter to him.
“I’ll go see him day after tomorrow.”
“I’m coming with you,” Valerie and Roy insisted in unison.
“Roy will come, but you need to go to work.” Paul took Valerie’s elbow and guided her away from the glass-paned door.
“If there’s no other way … but I’ll be jittery as a June bug until I know what’s going on.”
Roy understood exactly what she meant. If the operation was in serious jeopardy, not only would they be unable to send any more dolls, but her cousins’ very lives would be in danger.
“Good morning, Mr. Wright.”
Roy noted that the mailbox designated the home as the Larson residence but kept that observation to himself as Paul introduced them.
“We’re told you are in poor health.”
“Come in, come in.” Mr. “Wright” ushered them inside and locked the door.
“Annelise and Axel asked me to tell you that a secretarial associate with their import office has passed away, and they must find a replacement immediately. They specifically request someone who types well and knows German.”
“Thank you very much, Mr. Wright.” Paul shook the man’s hand.
“I hope it helps.”
“Your many contributions to our country will not be forgotten.” Roy saluted the officer before they left and got back in the car. He waited until they were well on the road before speaking. “They can’t provide the necessary documentation. That’s what the message meant, right?”
“Yes,” Paul affirmed grimly. “Finding a replacement will be tricky. It could undermine the secrecy of the entire operation, and with the Nazi presence so firmly established now in Denmark, they can’t search on their own. Remember how last night we heard that Jews in the Netherlands are being forced to wear the star of David? Axel and Annelise’s position is becoming more precarious.” Paul stopped at a light and rubbed his temples. “We’ll lose a lot of time while I find a permanent replacement.”
“You already know someone who can fill in during the meantime, Paul. I read, write, and speak fluent German and am more than familiar with official documents. I assume they have all the supplies I’ll need?”
“Yes,” Paul agreed slowly. “And you get around just fine now….”
“But not enough to fight. I’ll need to get back to the OP-20-G in about a month, but for now this is something I can do. Send me.”
“Well, what happened?” Valerie demanded as she bounded into the living room without so much as a friendly hello.
Rosemary called Rebekkah into the kitchen, and the little girl scampered off.
Lord, Roy prayed fervently, please give me the words to help her understand why I have to leave, and grant me the grace to return to her.
“Calm down, Val. Have a seat.” Paul pointed to the couch.
“I’ve had a horrible feeling all day.” She sank onto the sofa beside Roy. “Just tell me.”
“The forger died, and they have no one to create the necessary documents.” Paul brought her up to speed. He smiled. “Consider yourself debriefed.”
“They can’t find another one over there—things are getting worse every day.” Valerie jumped to her feet. “If they try, they’ll be discovered and executed.”
“We know. That’s why I’m going to track down a permanent replacement.” Paul shot Roy a sideways look. “We’re concerned about the time lost while we find one.”
Valerie chewed her lip. “How long do you think it’ll take?”
“A few weeks, at least. Discretion is key.”
“Every moment is precious.” Valerie paced behind the couch. “If only there was something we could do….”
“There is. I’ve located a party willing to fill in until the permanent worker arrives.”
“That’s wonderful!”
“I’m glad you think so.” Roy stepped in front of her and put both hands on her shoulders. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Paul surreptitiously leave the room to give them privacy. “I leave as soon as they draw up my passport.”
He watched the smile melt from her face.
“You?” Her whisper was barely audible.
“Yes, me.” He held on as she tried to pull away, tears sparkling in her eyes.
He pulled her closer to wrap her into a hug. She sagged against him with a shuddering sigh, then pounded his chest with her fist.
“No. You’re. Not. Going.” She punctuated each word with another thump.
He captured her hands and kissed them. “It’s the only way, darling.”
“Don’t you try to ‘darling’ me, Roy Benson.” She glowered up at him. “You’re not going to get me to say it’s a good idea to send you halfway around the world to perform illegal rescue operations right in front of countless Nazis.” Her face crumpled as the tears trickled down her cheeks. “We don’t even know how the last guy died.”
“Remember how the letter said everyone else was fine? They haven’t been found out, Valerie.”
He nestled her close as she thought for a moment, then looked up pleadingly. “Don’t go, Roy. I don’t want to lose you.”
“If I don’t go, I’ve lost myself.” The words sounded gruff to his own ears as he brushed his cheek against her soft hair.
“Why?”
“Do you remember what you said about me helping instead of sitting around complaining about my leg? I sewed all those dolls because it gave me a purpose. I even came to think that a lifelong limp was a small price to pay if my work saved even one child like Rebekkah.”
“You’ve got a lot of nerve,” she grumbled, “being so wonderful when you’re telling me you’re gallivanting off to risk your neck.”
Encouraged, he continued. “I’ll never be able to go off and fight with the other men, Valerie, but I’ll always do what I can to serve God and country. It’s who I am.”
She gave a shuddering sigh and nodded. “I know.”
He grabbed his handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped her face tenderly before pulling her into a deep kiss. “I’ll come back to you.”
“You’d better.”
Chapter 8
Valerie stared at the blank page in her diary. May 5, 1942, she scribbled at the top.
I’m writing by lamplight with the windows shaded as nightly dim-outs along the East Coast continue. Last night my shade tore, so Mom and I hung up an old blanket to serve in the meantime. Today official sugar rationing was announced, and gas rationing is expected to begin any day now.
I can’t get my mind off of yesterday’s news that German troops have taken more than four hundred prominent Dutch citizens as hostages. Each day things become more dangerous in Scandinavia.
Has Roy really only been gone four days? I miss him so. He still won’t be back for at least another three weeks. I can’t call him, can’t write him, can’t stop thinking about him. I have no way of knowing he is well.
She shut her diary, turned off the lamp, and knelt by her bed to pray. Lord, will You bring him back to me? Wherever he is, please keep him safe. Help me to concentrate on the good You’ve sent him to do, Lord, rather than be consumed by my worries. Hard as it was to work through the grief of losing Frank, I know losing Roy would be unbearable. Please, Lord, watch over him. Amen.
Roy slung his duffel bag into the dinghy, then braced himself as the tiny craft was lowered into the water. The small splash sounded as loud as a tidal wave in the stillness of the dark night. They sculled toward the shoreline.
After five days at sea in the cramped cargo hold, he looked forward
to being on dry land. He’d never managed to find his sea legs while compensating for his left knee. That, more than any other single thing, sunk home the fact he’d never serve on a naval vessel again. The dinghy hit a small, choppy wave, drenching his legs with icy salt water. The dull ache in his knee became a constant throb as he scanned the shoreline for SS officers.
They slid into a shallow bay beyond the docks, partially obscured by large rocks. With a dull scrape, the small wooden vessel met the beach. Roy shrugged his duffel bag onto his shoulder and picked his way across the sand.
By the time he reached the meeting point, his leg burned. Gritting his teeth against the pain and cold, he feigned nonchalance as he surveyed the dark streets.
A low voice from the shadows spoke in German. “Careful, stranger. Denmark no longer welcomes visitors. You must be Albrecht.”
Roy shook his head and replied easily in the same language. “Jonas. Jonas Schwartz. Perhaps you know my uncle, Piet Schwartz.”
His contact stepped into the light and matched the picture Paul had shown him back in the States.
“Axel Christiansen.” He shook Roy’s hand. “Let me show you where you can get a good night’s sleep.”
After a block or so, Axel casually slung Roy’s duffel bag over his shoulder. As they maneuvered through dark, narrow streets, Axel changed directions frequently enough to assure Roy they weren’t being followed. They continued to weave through the streets for a solid forty minutes before approaching a two-story home.
Silently thanking the good Lord that his leg hadn’t buckled, Roy limped behind Axel into a blessedly warm kitchen.
“Jonas, this is my sister, Annelise, and Grams, our grandmother.” As Axel introduced them, Roy noted the fact that both siblings called him Jonas from the outset.
The clever tactic reduced the likelihood of either of them being overheard or slipping up within earshot of any enemies. It also underscored the grave truth that these people depended on secrecy for survival.
He gratefully took a seat and accepted Axel’s help pulling off his soaked boots while Annelise set a bowl of stew in front of him.
“This is wonderful,” he praised as he swallowed the first bite, the warmth of the stew quite welcome.
“We can take your things upstairs, where you can lodge with our other guests,” Annelise spoke in hushed tones, “or, if you’d prefer, downstairs.”
Roy swiftly assessed the options. Paul had briefed him about certain necessary details. The attic held two small hidden rooms where Jewish children and American servicemen waited to be smuggled out. The basement held another secret room where they could develop the requisite photographs.
With the work he intended to do, Roy would need to be in the basement, and going up and down stairs every day wouldn’t work well with his leg. Furthermore, one of his footsteps sounded far more loudly than the other and would be difficult to mask if he stayed upstairs.
“Downstairs will serve well,” he decided aloud.
As Axel grabbed his bag, Roy stopped him. “But first, a few things from your cousins.” He tugged the drawstring to the duffel and pulled out the precious items.
Annelise smiled as he brought out powdered milk and a few chocolate bars, while Axel grinned to see the coffee and peanut butter. Many simple, everyday items had become scarce in Denmark.
“I’ve also brought typewriter ribbons, ink, and a few rolls of film.” As they’d be placed in the basement, Roy left those in the bag.
“Good. I’ll show you to your room.” Axel stood up when Roy finished his soup. As he crossed the kitchen toward the basement door, a row of photographs in the hall brought Roy to a dead stop.
In a picture with her mother, Valerie smiled angelically, sending a pang through his heart. He’d asked for a portrait of Valerie to bring along, but Paul shot that idea down. Apparently Paul had shown Captain von Rundstedt a photograph of Rosemary and Valerie, and the SS officer commented on their Aryan features. If Roy underwent a search, such an item would immediately tie him to Paul and Axel, placing the entire operation in jeopardy.
“May I borrow this during my stay?” He pointed to the photograph.
“So that’s the way things stand, eh?” Grams shook her head and bustled upstairs, returning with a photograph of only Valerie. “The captain could notice that one missing, so this should do.” She pressed it into his hands and nudged him back toward the basement door.
Roy’s socks squished on the steep steps and cold cement floor until they came to the back wall. Axel pulled aside an empty trunk and a few sacks of potatoes before sliding back what seemed to be a solid wall.
A narrow room lay beyond, hardly four feet wide. Axel folded down a wooden plank topped with a thin cushion before folding it back against the wall. Similarly, another fold-down piece of wood on the perpendicular wall served as a desk.
A lumpy pillow took up residence atop a pile of blankets in the corner. An old typewriter sat next to a chair buried beneath a stack of old magazines. Roy immediately made plans to place the magazines beneath the machine while he typed. They’d absorb some of the noise.
Against the opposite wall lay two tubs of fluid and a small clothesline and clothespins for developing film. A single bare light bulb hung in the middle of the room with a pull chain.
“Perfect.” Roy turned to Axel. “I think it would be best if I remain down here for the duration of my stay. It will be easier.”
“Agreed. Annelise will bring you food and whatever else you will need, though you’ve brought your own supplies. I’ll bring home more paper tomorrow, and I’ll bring you the photograph film.”
“One more thing.” Roy caught Axel’s elbow before he shut the sliding wall and pressed a bundle into his hand. “Just in case.”
Axel unwound the fabric to uncover a small pistol and box of bullets. He gave a somber nod, rewrapped the weapon, and tucked it deep inside his coat before leaving Roy. Roy propped up Valerie’s photo on the desk and peeled off his sopping socks before sinking onto the bed. Lord, please help us to be successful.
The weeks passed with agonizing slowness. Roy often slid open the secret door just to feel less shut in. Sure, the cellar didn’t offer a fantastic view, but at least it eased the feeling of cramped confinement.
Each day bled into the next as he rolled off the wooden pallet and took up his station in front of the typewriter and forged official-looking documents again and again.
The only bright spots of his days were Annelise’s fine cooking and Valerie’s photograph. Her smile beamed upon him as a ray of hope, urging him to press on. The thought of holding her in his arms once more strengthened his resolve.
As he slid another sheet of paper into the typewriter, Roy heard Axel’s booming warning from upstairs: “Grams, Annelise! Captain von Rundstedt is here!”
Roy sprang into action, pulling the wall shut and jerking the chain to plunge his small chamber into darkness. Lord, shield us with Your presence and power.
He stood stock-still, straining to hear the muffled voices coming from above him in the kitchen.
“Captain, to what do we owe this unexpected visit?” Annelise’s voice remained steady, giving away nothing.
“It’s been too long since you’ve visited your brother’s work, Annelise. I haven’t seen you in weeks.”
Roy frowned into the darkness as thoughts whirled through his head. If the captain’s interest in Annelise brought him to the house, there was precious little they could do about it. Annelise would have to visit the office more often in order to protect the children and airmen concealed in the attic, but at what cost? Encouraging the affections of an SS officer was risky, but rejecting him outright rated equally as dangerous.
“Besides,” the captain continued, “I was going to give this Cinderella doll to my niece this week, but when I took her from my bag, I noticed she is coming undone.”
That sealed it. Roy had sewn that doll specially just to keep the captain off their trail. There was no chance anyt
hing had begun to unravel—sewing might not be his favorite occupation, but no Benson could ever be accused of shoddy workmanship!
The captain obviously had sabotaged the doll as a pretext to visit Annelise.
Chapter 9
Oh, I can fix that in just a minute. Let me grab my sewing kit.” Roy listened to Annelise’s footsteps fade as she moved toward the living room, then become louder as she returned.
“Something smells wonderful.”
“Here you are. Just like new.” Good. Annelise had finished repairing the doll. Now, if they could just get their unwelcome visitor out the door….
Roy grimaced as he heard the captain’s heavy boots thump toward the center of the kitchen, away from the door.
“It’s been so long since I’ve seen anything this fresh. Home-cooked meals are hard to come by. I’ll bet these are every bit as good as my mother’s.” Roy bit back a groan. The man was laying it on thicker than a jar of Rosemary’s preserves.
“Looks as though you made enough to feed half a contingent.”
“Have you seen how much Axel eats?” Grams’s laugh hardly seemed forced at all.
“Yes, well, a hearty appetite keeps a man strong.”
Roy’s stomach rumbled at the captain’s words. After all, he’d requested tonight’s dinner, a favorite dish from his childhood in the boarding school. Obviously the captain wouldn’t be leaving anytime soon.
“Well, I can’t guarantee it’s as good as your mother’s, but you’re welcome to stay for dinner, if you’d like.” Annelise’s begrudging tone was lost on her would-be beau.
“Wonderful!” A chair scraped across the floor.
Roy sank onto his makeshift bed and waited for the meal to end. In the dark, windowless cell, he couldn’t judge the passing of time nor look at his pocket watch. It seemed like hours before the captain finally took his leave and longer still before Axel judged it safe to come down to the cellar.
A Sentimental Journey Romance Collection Page 31
