A Sentimental Journey Romance Collection

by Dianna Crawford

  Erik glanced down. “Oh. Right.” She must consider him a numbskull. He cleared his throat. “Your brother sent me to get you.”

  “Axel?” She frowned. “Where is my brother? Why didn’t he come in?”

  “He’s outside, miss. Someone driving past stopped to talk. He should be along any second. He said you were late, that I should hurry you up.”

  “I’m late?” Her rosy lips tightened with a huff. “Well, wait here. I’ll be back.”

  Gaining control of his faculties, Erik tipped his head politely and feasted his eyes on her willowy grace as she hurried away. Her light steps made whispery sounds, like the rustle of her skirt.

  She returned shortly with her coat and handbag. “Might I ask your name? I don’t believe we’ve met.”

  “Oh. Forgive me. Erik Nielsen, at your service.” After wiping his fingers on his grimy trousers, he extended his hand.

  Her nostrils flared slightly before she clasped it.

  The bell announced another arrival, and easygoing Axel strode in, doffing the hat atop his fair head.

  Behind him came … a Nazi.

  Eric quickly surveyed the import shop for the nearest exit. Surely Axel hadn’t ratted on him. He mentally calculated the distance to the door in case he had to make a dash for it.

  “Captain von Rundstedt has honored us with a visit on his way to this evening’s party,” Axel announced nonchalantly, his voice and expression typically calm and collected. “He wondered why I was still in street clothes. I explained that the boat bringing my sister’s fiancé was late coming in, and I had strict orders to bring him straight to her.” A jaunty grin crested his callow face. “And so I have. You’ve kept poor Annelise waiting nearly a year, haven’t you, old man?” His blue eyes twinkled with mischief.

  Somewhat relieved, Erik played along, praying that the officer hadn’t sensed his fear. He glanced back at the woman whose hand he still possessed. Annelise. No one could have chosen a more perfect name for such a beauty. “Right. Almost a year. But so far my Annelise has been keeping me at arm’s length.” He tugged her closer, cringing as she stiffened. “You’ve yet to give me my welcome kiss, love.”

  Impeccable in his gray uniform and spit-shined jackboots, dark-haired Rundstedt observed the exchange, his expressionless demeanor exuding the typical measure of Aryan superiority displayed by the military force occupying this small country. “How curious, Miss Christiansen. You never mentioned your engagement. Curious indeed.” The crisp words, in German-accented Danish, were controlled and authoritative as his close-set, hooded eyes assessed Erik. Cold and gray they were. Like death. “So many times you conversed with me, danced with me.”

  Erik felt her ease slightly away. “Would that be polite, Captain? Discussing my fiancé while dancing with another gentleman? Expressing my fear for his life while he’s at sea? I think not.” She smiled warmly up at her intended.

  Some tense seconds passed as the long-nosed Nazi continued his scrutiny. “Where, exactly, have you been fishing to be gone so long, seaman?”

  Erik wondered if the man was jealous, suspicious—or both. “Mostly between Faroe Island and Norway. But this is my last trip. Our boat was boarded at gunpoint on three occasions. Once by the English and twice by you Germans.” Hoping his answer implied that his papers were in order, he drew Annelise closer and gazed down at her, drinking in her beauty again. “I know I promised to stay at sea until we had enough money for that house you set your heart on, sweetheart, but—”

  Annelise touched her fingertips to his lips. “I wouldn’t hear of it, love. Not with the war raging at sea these days. You’ve taken too many chances as it is. No amount of money is worth your life. We’ll find somewhere else to live.”

  “If you’re sure. Your brother has offered me a job here as long as I need it.”

  Her expression brightened. “Here with us? Wonderful.” Rising to tiptoe, she kissed Erik’s stubbled cheek. “Welcome home, darling. I’ve so much to tell you, I hardly know where to begin.”

  Though it was all for show, the tenderness of her soft lips touched Erik deep inside. He wondered if he could trust his voice to speak.

  Captain von Rundstedt inserted himself into Erik’s brief interlude. “Does this mean you will not attend Foreign Minister Scavenius’s party?”

  Axel gestured toward the door and ushered him toward it. “I doubt my sister would enjoy partying this evening on her fiancé’s first night home. I’ll be along myself, though, once I change into appropriate attire. I understand there’ll be an assortment of lovely, unattached young women there, as always.”

  The captain halted at the entrance and raised his chin a notch as he turned to glance at Annelise. “None as lovely as your sister, to be sure.”

  Erik felt Annelise grow rigid.

  “Until we meet again, Miss Christiansen.” With a click of his heels, the officer raised his arm. “Heil Hitler.”

  Positively seething, Annelise moved out of Erik Nielsen’s grasp and glared in wordless fury at her too-handsome brother. What kind of mess had he gotten them into this time? Really. Having to take part in the pretense that this … this smelly sailor was her betrothed!

  She glanced up at the man, gratified he had the grace to look as uncomfortable at this turn of events as she. Refusing to favor either of the males in the shop with another word, she huffed out to their car. At least their enterprise was valuable enough to the Nazis that they were still permitted a personal vehicle, she conceded with a twinge of guilt, since few Danes still enjoyed that privilege.

  On the homeward drive, Annelise debated whether her emotions were ruled by anger or embarrassment. She’d already endured one disastrous engagement—a humiliation she never intended to repeat. The pain caused by that debacle helped her decide to leave her familiar world behind and follow Axel to Denmark.

  Axel. Hmph. Once more he’d proven that no man—not even a brother—could be trusted. Compressing her lips into a determined line, she let her gaze settle on the broad shoulders of the seaman up front. Neither the stubble on his square jaw nor those fishy clothes could detract from such heart-stealing features. He had the most compelling eyes—light brown, with tiny gold flecks. And when he’d gazed down at her with them, her knees—

  “By the way, sis …” Axel interrupted her wandering thoughts. “Erik was sent here by our American contacts to forge documents for the Allied pilots shot down over enemy territory. Originally I’d planned to set him up in the attic so he could keep out of sight. But now that the Nazis are aware of his presence, that won’t be possible.”

  “Surprise, surprise,” she groused. “So I assume this … forger will be working right out in the open with us. As my fiancé.”

  “Well,” he teased, “you always claimed you didn’t like being pawed by the members of Hitler’s elite. Now there’s someone who’ll spare you that indignity.”

  She grimaced, though she knew they couldn’t see her face. And lucky for them, she couldn’t begin to put her indignation into words.

  “At least spare her until Herr Captain figures out how to get me out of the picture for good,” Erik added. “From the look on his face when you introduced me, I’d say the man is on the make and wants your beautiful sister all to himself.”

  Beautiful? Annelise allowed herself no more than a second to dwell on the compliment. “The captain has tried to get me alone lately. He’s been quite persistent.” And Erik Nielsen thinks I’m beautiful, too….

  “But I’m proud of the way you’ve handled things,” Axel commented. “You did inform me he’s the most loose-lipped of all those strutting Nazi peacocks.” He switched his attention to his new friend. “By the way, Erik, what qualifies a person to become a forger for the U.S. government, if you don’t mind my asking?”

  Nielsen shrugged a shoulder. “My former occupation wasn’t nearly so notorious as this one sounds. Before the war, I had a normal, run-of-the-mill job, teaching art at a college in New England. Turns out I’m particularly
adept at calligraphy.”

  The news roused Annelise’s curiosity. “How is it you speak Danish so fluently and without any hint of an accent?”

  He chuckled. “It’s my first language, actually. My family emigrated from Sjaellands Point, on Ise Fjord.”

  “Really. Where did you live in America?” Axel asked.

  “The northern coast of Maine. I’m the first in my family not to make a living off the sea. I worked my way through university fishing during the summer months, though, so I know my way around a boat.”

  “So the smell of herring is not foreign to you,” Annelise couldn’t help adding.

  A chuckle rumbled from deep in his chest. “You would bring that up.”

  “My sister and I were raised in America, too,” Axel explained, seemingly unaware of the thread of tension between his passengers. “I returned in ’37. Annelise came over in ’39, just before the Nazis invaded Poland. I tried to convince her to go back home where it was safe, but she’d have nothing to do with that.”

  “My life is no more valuable than yours, brother dear. I just try to take better care of it.” After a pause, she spoke to their soon-to-be guest. “No doubt Axel has informed you we do more than help downed Allied pilots. Hundreds of Jews have escaped out of Germany. Often, though, parents manage only to get their children to safety. We have a young boy and girl hidden in our basement right now. All they lack are some authentic-looking exit visas. Perhaps you’ve come in answer to our prayers.”

  “I’ll do what I can. Which reminds me …” He slipped into English. “Before I completed my training in Virginia, your aunt Rosemary’s new husband gave me some rag dolls to bring to you. They’re in my duffel bag. He told me to guard them with my life.”

  “I must caution you never to speak English, my friend,” Axel urged. “Not even when we’re alone. You’re not an American, remember. You’re Erik Nielsen from Sjaellands Point. I don’t even want to know your real name.”

  “That is my real name,” he returned, reverting to Danish. “My relatives here have already been informed about this. They’re all sympathetic to our cause. I am now the son of my uncle, and I’ve got the documents to prove it … even if they are my own handiwork.”

  Annelise smiled, despite herself. “You’re also my fiancé. But … may I ask what a young woman of class, like myself, would be doing engaged to a lowly fisherman?” Suddenly aware he might construe her statement as flirting, Annelise felt her cheeks redden. Don’t forget how badly you were burned, she lectured herself.

  Nielsen didn’t appear to notice her discomfort. “You know what the Bible says. Love is blind and all that.”

  “I’ve never come across that particular statement in any Bible I’ve read,” she returned. “Sounds more like a myth to me.”

  He chuckled softly. “Maybe it just said hopeful.”

  Annelise filled her lungs. This one is too much of a charmer. Almost as charming as Tony was—before he dumped me for the next pretty face. So like Father. I’d better take care. There’s far more danger here than merely being caught by the Nazis.

  Chapter 2

  The city streets lay dark and still, and as the chatter inside the car petered out, Erik felt weariness envelop him. He remained alert by making mental notes of the route Axel took home, the landmarks illuminated faintly by the downward-slanted headlamps. At last they pulled into a narrow street and stopped before a substantial two-story house, which, in the dim glow, appeared similar to that of its neighbors. He only hoped that somewhere inside it had a bed made up and ready for him to collapse onto. He hadn’t eaten since early that morning, but exhaustion prevailed over all desire for food.

  “This is it,” his new friend announced, dousing the lights and turning off the engine. “We live with our grandmother. I’ll open the boot so you can grab your bag, and Sis will introduce you while I dash upstairs and throw on some glad rags. I should’ve been at that party ages ago.”

  Erik opened his door and climbed out, unable to discern any unique features in the dwelling since blackout shades shrouded every window along the street. He stepped to the rear of the vehicle and retrieved his duffel bag, then followed Annelise up the front steps. “You’re sure I won’t be imposing?”

  “Not at all,” she said, turning the knob, her tone indicating she’d resigned herself to his presence. “Come on in. Grams is used to our showing up at odd hours with strangers.”

  “At least she won’t have to hide you,” Axel said, bringing up the rear.

  Hooking her coat onto the hall tree, Annelise shot him a stern look. “I do wish you’d stop plunging us headlong into your schemes. We can’t afford to draw such constant attention.”

  “Point taken, sister dear.” He rolled his eyes and started down the entry hall for the staircase.

  Annelise straightened her shoulders. “This way.” She moved toward the squared archway leading into the front room.

  From a step behind, Erik assessed the well-appointed parlor with its fine upholstered furnishings and dark, gleaming woodwork. An assortment of framed watercolor seascapes adorned the walls. The plump sofa looked especially inviting to his travel-weary bones.

  Then he noticed an older woman in black, seated in a padded rocking chair, peering up from a child’s sock she’d been darning. She had a pleasant enough face, and silvery hair drawn into a French roll gave a frail quality to her that reminded Erik of his favorite aunt. Her small blue eyes gazed over rimless reading glasses perched on her nose.

  Annelise bent to kiss her parchmentlike cheek. “We have a guest, Grams. This is Erik Nielsen. The American military sent him to provide the exit visas we need so desperately. Erik, I’d like you to meet my grandmother, Margarethe Holberg.”

  The woman set her work aside and began to rise.

  “Please, don’t get up, Madam Holberg.” He touched her surprisingly firm shoulder. “I’m afraid I reek of the sea. But I’m most honored to make your acquaintance.”

  “Thank you, young man.” Her speculative gaze took swift measure of him.

  “We don’t even have to hide him,” Annelise added. “He can use the guest room. There’s one other thing I need to tell you, though.” She colored delicately. “We’re supposed to pretend Erik is my fiancé come to live with us.”

  The woman’s shrewd eyes gravitated between her granddaughter and him, and her pursed lips flattened. “This, of course, would be Axel’s doing.”

  Annelise nodded.

  Her bosom rose and fell as she studied Erik. Then her nose crinkled. “Well, take the man upstairs and draw him a hot bath. He needn’t take his luggage along. It probably smells as bad as he does. We’ll wash everything up in the morning, make it all fresh.”

  “Thank you kindly, madam.” Erik gave an appreciative tip of his head. His original impression of her had been way off the mark. For all her fragile appearance, she was deceptively strong. Even persuasive. “But I shouldn’t let my bag out of my sight. It contains my forging supplies and some rather … important … rag dolls.”

  Nothing fazed the old gal. “Don’t worry. You’re perfectly safe here, and so are your belongings. But this is my house, and I won’t tolerate the whole place stinking like the docks.”

  He acquiesced. “As you wish.” His glance at Annelise caught the amusement on her face.

  “And to pay for your lodging, you will make exit visas for our other guests.” Mrs. Holberg’s expression made it a statement of fact.

  “Certainly. Once I finish those needed for a downed bomber crew, I’ll do the others. I believe your granddaughter mentioned there were two children here.”

  “That is correct. How long do you expect it will take you to get to their papers?”

  Her unwavering stare nettled him. “A week maybe. Two at the most. Then I’ll get right on them.”

  “You’ll do them first,” she countered, arching her eyebrows. “Planes are being shot out of the sky every day, and adults can fend for themselves. At least temporarily. But we
cannot keep youngsters hidden indefinitely. They’ve already been shuffled around too much, been exposed to atrocities no human, let alone a child, should witness. Their trust has been shattered. They live in constant fear of never seeing their parents alive again, and the poor dears think somehow they’re to blame. You’ll do their papers first, so at least a fraction of their childhood might be salvaged. Otherwise, you can find someplace else to stay.” She reached for her sewing supplies and resumed her chore.

  Stunned by the woman’s declaration, Erik recognized dismissal when he saw it, and her threat was more than a little discomfiting. He looked to Annelise.

  “Come on, Grams. We can’t put Erik out on the street after the Allies sent him to us. I’m sure he’ll do his very best for us and the cause.”

  “Nevertheless,” she insisted, “I’ll do what I must. Army people think this war business is more important than anything else—this shooting at each other and anyone else who happens to get in the way. Well, these children are getting out of the way. This I say, and this I mean.” Setting down her work once again, she crossed her arms.

  “Put like that, I can understand your feelings,” Erik admitted. “I’ll start on those visas first thing tomorrow morning. I’ll need to have their new names. Pictures, too, if you have any. You can fill me in on their ages and so forth.”

  Annelise shook her head. “The underground hasn’t found anyone to take them to Sweden yet, so we don’t have names for them. Sorry.”

  Perhaps it was the unwelcome news or the close confines. Maybe even a few too many hours without sleep. Erik’s head began to swim. He raked his hand through his hair and gave himself a mental shake, grasping at the first idea that came to mind. “What if one of the pilots pretends to be their father? A couple of kids would make good cover….”

  “What?” The old woman poked her needle into the sock and dropped the darning egg. “I never heard of anything so daft! You’ll not risk those dear little children to rough soldiers who can’t even speak their language. Just get to work on those visas. I’ll find someone myself.” Muttering under her breath, she continued her work.