Svend waited at the top, a huge smile on his face. “Welcome aboard. First Mate Henrik, here, will show you to your stateroom while I ease the Baltic Princess out of the slip.”
Annelise recognized the crewman in sailor attire as Charles Bridgeport.
“Wait!” came a shout from the dock.
Annelise’s heart thudded to a stop. She and Erik whirled around.
Captain von Rundstedt and two uniformed soldiers started up the gangplank.
Only Erik’s arm around her kept her knees from buckling as he took a protective stance between her and the three Germans. It’s over. All our machinations, all for naught. Someone must have informed on us. She pressed her face against Erik’s back, hoping to draw strength from him.
“I forgot to give you my wedding gift,” Rundstedt announced. “Extra petrol for your trip.” His men held out two gasoline cans.
“Why, thank you so much,” Annelise croaked, surprised she had a voice at all as she moved to Erik’s side again, a smile pasted on her lips.
“You couldn’t have brought anything more timely,” Erik added. “We appreciate it.”
The Nazi bowed politely, his gaze never leaving Annelise’s face, as if the two of them shared some secret. “Think of me when you use them.”
Svend moved forward, his bearing confident in his ship’s captain’s outfit and cap. “We all thank you, Captain, but I’m afraid it’s past time for us to be off. Henrik, Jakob, take the petrol these good soldiers have brought us down to the engine room. And, Captain, would you be so kind as to release our mooring rope when you go back down the gangplank?”
Annelise and Erik moved to the railing and waved to their guests as the large craft chugged slowly out of the slip and into the calm waters of the harbor to join the patrol boat. She didn’t realize how tense she was until she noticed she had positively mangled Erik’s jacket sleeve. She blushed and smoothed out the material.
He merely chuckled as he caught her hand and brought it to his lips for a kiss.
She swallowed. “Let’s go below before we reach that German boat. I’ve used up all my pleasant smiles.”
Erik’s expression flattened, and he released her hand.
Had he taken her remark personally? “I really doubt I can bear the sight of one more arrogant German,” she elaborated.
His face remained unreadable as he turned to Charles Bridgeport and spoke in English. “Annelise is tired. Would you show us to our stateroom now?”
Bridgeport gave a man-to-man wink. “You bet.” He led the way into an elegant spacious lounge and down a steep flight of stairs to a hall that bisected the lower level. “This way.” He headed toward the bow, hemming Annelise in between himself and Erik.
Bridgeport stopped at a door. “We’ve put the children in here with you, as requested. I know it’s crowded with so many of us on board, but it’d be no trouble at all to make a pallet for the little ones on the floor of the crew’s cabin.”
It was a ploy to accommodate the newlyweds, Annelise knew. “I’d feel better if they were with me. I guess it’s just that maternal instinct we women have.”
Erik frowned at Charles. “So many of us. Are there more people than we expected?”
He nodded. “Three. And Axel also brought some ID cards for you to doctor … when you have time.” His knowing grin evaporated when his gaze switched to Annelise. He opened the door to the stateroom so they could pass. “Herr und Frau Nielsen,” he announced in fractured German and closed himself outside.
Annelise barely had time to admire the rich furnishings. The children charged out of the bathroom in street clothes, having switched outfits with other children who’d attended the wedding. Even Rachel’s rag doll sported her original calico, none the worse for wear. The money inside would reimburse the new family that provided care for the children.
“You are here! You are here!” Moshe jumped up and down, his huge brown eyes as bright as his sister’s. “And the big boat—it is moving!” He dashed to the nearest porthole.
Annelise bolted madly after him and whisked him away from it. “No. You mustn’t look out the window. Not until the German boat is gone. Someone might see you.”
“But I want to see,” he whined, trying to squirm free.
“You said we’d be safe on this boat,” Rachel complained.
Erik took Moshe from Annelise, then reached for Rachel’s hand and walked them to the bed, where he sat on the satin coverlet, a child on each knee. “I know it’s been hard on you hiding out all the time. But we need you to be patient a little while longer. By tomorrow morning the German patrol boat should be gone, and then you can play on deck as much as you want. How’s that?”
But instead of the smiles Annelise expected to see on their impish faces, Rachel’s expression contorted into rage as she clutched her dolly tightly to herself. “That is what everyone says. Tomorrow you will be safe. Tomorrow you won’t have to hide. Always tomorrow.” She shoved at Erik’s chest. “Those mean old Nazis always try to catch us and hurt us. I hate them. If I had a gun, I would shoot every single one.” Her lower lip pushed out as she buried her nose in her doll’s yarn hair.
“Me, too.” Scowling, Moshe pointed his fingers like a make-believe gun and squinted. “Pow! Pow! Pow! They are all dead.”
Knowing just how the youngsters felt, Annelise began removing pins from her veil.
“Oh, now, none of that,” Erik soothed, gathering the pair into his arms again. “It would be easy to hate the Nazis, I know. They’ve done a lot of cruel things to a lot of innocent people. But God tells us in the Bible that if we love Him, we must forgive our enemies. If we don’t, He won’t forgive us for the bad things we do.”
Rachel peered up at him, only slightly placated. “But they are bad all the time. They never stop.”
He nodded. “And one day, if they don’t quit doing those hateful things, God will punish them worse than they hurt other people. We need to ask God to help us not to hate them and help us to forgive them. And we can pray they’ll stop hurting people before it’s too late, because God doesn’t want anyone to harm His children.” Erik kissed her cheek. “Especially His pretty little flower girls.”
“And ring bearers,” Moshe added importantly.
“And His big handsome ring bearers.” Laughing, Erik gave him a hug and kiss, too.
Giggles erupted as Erik started tickling them.
Removing her veil and jewelry, Annelise wished she could join in on the happy moment. But Erik’s words about forgiveness were deeply convicting. She had never forgiven her father. Not once had she been as concerned about his soul as she’d been about her own hurt feelings. Then, even worse, she had transferred her distrust of her father onto Erik. Yet from the very first, he’d thought of her well-being before his own, always shielding her from harm as he’d done earlier today when it appeared they’d been caught. She didn’t deserve to be in the same room with a man of his caliber.
Tears stung her eyes. “If you’ll excuse me,” she murmured, picking up her suitcase, “I’d better change out of this lovely gown before I muss it.”
In the bathroom, Annelise undressed, then took a warm shower to muffle her wrenching sobs. She had been so stupid. So heartless. Going to church every Sunday, vowing to God to forgo the love of men for the more holy calling of serving others. Having morning and evening devotions in the privacy of her room. Now she could see how pointless that was without God’s love in her heart.
What had her mother cautioned her about before she left America? Never hold on to bitterness, my child. In the end, it hurts no one more than yourself. She was right. Annelise understood that now. Her mother had been crushed, but she’d never given up on the Lord. She’d trusted God to see her through, to give her the strength to forgive the husband who had betrayed her in the worst possible way. Give God your pain, she had said. He loves us so much, He wants to take it upon Himself. Trust Him to do this for you.
Annelise closed her eyes, letting the warm wate
r pour over her, cleansing her body. Dear Lord, for too long I have held on to the bitterness I feel against my father, and it has paralyzed me. Forgive me for sinning against You and causing You pain. Please give me strength to forgive him for his … weaknesses. Fill me with Your love instead. As she prayed, Annelise felt her unforgiveness spilling from her, flowing down the drain with the water from the shower. For the first time in ages she felt free … almost weightless as she turned off the faucets and stepped from the enclosure.
Drying off with a fluffy towel, she gradually became aware of the silence in the next room. Erik and the children must have gone to get a bite to eat. It was dark outside the porthole. They had to be hungry.
She reached for the change of clothes she’d brought in with her and dressed quickly so she could join them. As she brushed her hair, the mirror revealed eyes puffy and red. Not wanting to be the cause of questions or concern, she splashed cold water on them. It helped but didn’t completely banish the telltale signs caused by crying. Eventually she gave up and stepped out of the bathroom.
To her surprise, Erik and the children lay in a jumble of legs and arms on the bed, fast asleep. A tenderness enveloped Annelise as she drank in the loving, peaceful picture they made. Not wanting to disturb them, she slipped silently from the stateroom and returned above deck.
No one was in the lounge, so she walked out the door opposite the side where the German patrol boat cruised. Anything to prevent the odious reminder of the war from ruining her view or her mood.
The sun was sinking into the western horizon, its bright rays turning the sea into a blaze of glory. As the glowing orb disappeared, she closed her eyes and turned her face into the brisk salty wind, letting the breeze cool the fire in her own face. She breathed deeply … the pure freshness was just what she needed.
“You’ve been crying.”
Annelise swung toward Erik’s voice. Her fingers rose in reflex to her still puffy face. “Just being a silly girl, I suppose.”
“No,” he gently disagreed. “It’s probably a little more than that, if I’m any judge. Like finding yourself suddenly married—and to such an ordinary guy as me, to boot.”
She could tell he was deadly serious. She answered in the same vein. “Oh, Erik, don’t you know you are anything but ordinary? You’re the kind of man any woman would give her eyeteeth to find. You’re everything wonderful that exists in this world.”
From the doubtful look on his face, he wasn’t buying it. “If I’m all that terrific, why is it you don’t want me?”
Annelise had to look away. “I have nothing against you personally. It’s—”
“Your father?”
She swung back. “How did you know about him?” As soon as the words left her lips, she rolled her eyes. “Axel, no doubt.”
He only smiled. “He does keep himself busy.”
Annelise gave a caustic laugh. “Himself and everyone else.”
“Getting back to us …” Erik collected her hands and searched her face. “Dare I believe you’ve decided I can be trusted after all?”
She gazed into his eyes, nearly drowning in all they left unsaid. Hoping she wasn’t seeing something that wasn’t there, she took a breath and risked everything. “I trust you with my life, Erik Nielsen. From now until forever … if you’re so inclined.”
Now it was his turn to search her eyes. “Inclined? I’ve loved you from the first moment I saw you. I know it sounds crazy. You have no idea how many talks I’ve had with God about it.”
“And what did He say?” She couldn’t help smiling.
“Oh, seems it was His plan all the time.” Erik’s own growing smile rivaled the sunset.
He wanted her. He’d even talked to the Lord about her. How unutterably sweet. “I … love you, too, Erik … but I don’t deserve you.”
His eyes darkened with pleasure. “That’s okay. I’ll take you anyway.” He drew her into his arms. “From what I hear, I’m perfect enough for both of us.”
He thought that, did he? The man’s head was getting much too big.
But before she could tell him so, he bent closer. “Welcome aboard my humble abode, Mrs. Nielsen.” Then, lowering his head, he covered her mouth with his … and showed her just how perfect he truly was.
SALLY LAITY
Sally Laity has written both contemporary and historical novels, many of which have appeared on ECPA bestseller lists. She is a 1996 Romance Writers of America RITA finalist, a member of American Christian Fiction Writers, and has placed in the Inspirational Readers’ Choice contest. Along with numerous romances and novellas for Barbour Publishing, she also coauthored with Dianna Crawford a three-book historical series for Barbour and a six-book series on the Revolutionary War for Tyndale House. She considers it a joy that the Lord can touch hearts through her stories. Her favorite pastimes include oil painting, quilting for her church’s Prayer Quilt Ministry, and scrapbooking. She makes her home in beautiful central California with her husband of over fifty years, and loves that their four married children have made her a grandma and great-grandma.
A Stitch of Faith
by Dianna Crawford
Chapter 1
Copenhagen, Denmark—October 2, 1943
It had been a hard day at the bicycle factory. And eerily unnerving. Sorena Bruhn expelled a weary breath as she unlocked the door to her cramped, one-room apartment. As she stepped inside, the air seemed even damper and colder than it had been on the walk home. Winter was descending faster than usual this year. She carefully removed her hat, trying not to dislodge any of the pins holding up her workday knot of hair.
Turning the light knob on, she pulled her brown tweed coat closer to her throat and quickly moved to the radiator under one of her two stingy windows. She swung the lever that would allow heat to come up from the basement, hoping to feel more comfortable once some warmth filled the plainly furnished room. Afterward she’d be able to shake the uneasiness she’d felt at work all day … the whispering among the women that would come to an abrupt stop whenever she stepped anywhere near the assembly line. Even though Sorena told herself they couldn’t be talking about her, obviously her coworkers hadn’t wanted her to hear what they were saying. Trust was a rare commodity these days.
She’d come to the city only a short time ago, and talking about herself was something she no longer did lightly. She’d divulged only that she’d come from the Isle of Fyn seeking work to help her family. She’d told no one that in the same year she’d become a bride, she’d then become a widow and fatherless. Even seventeen months after the murder of her husband and her father, she couldn’t talk about the terrible loss without blurting out her hatred for the Nazis—hatred for the cruel way they’d left her loved ones to drown. Now the despised Germans overran Copenhagen, and even more despicable informers reported every suspicious word or action to the Gestapo. She couldn’t risk exposing her own animosity to her fellow workers for fear of getting arrested. And without the money she sent home, her mother and sisters would go hungry.
Still, the women on the assembly line had an important secret they weren’t sharing with her. But what?
Unable to shake the feeling that something was dreadfully wrong, she leaned to the side of the radiator and peeked past the blackout curtain to the dark street two floors below. All was quiet. Nothing moved. No trucks, no taxis, no pedestrians. Too quiet for six thirty in the evening. Curfew wouldn’t be enforced for more than an hour.
A shiver coursed through her body. She ran her hand over the metal coils of the radiator but felt only the beginnings of warmth—still too cold to remove her overcoat. Perhaps something hot in her stomach would help take away this strange foreboding.
A mere step from the window, her sink counter, stove, and icebox ran along one wall of her narrow room. She reached into a curtained cupboard below to retrieve a pan for yet another lonely meal.
She’d thought leaving the Isle of Fyn would help her forget, but the nightmares had simply followed her … Papa
and her beloved Curt crying out to her, begging her to save them from the sea they’d been tossed into when they’d refused to hand over their cargo ship. Every day, every time she saw a Nazi strutting up the street in his black uniform and shiny boots, her only desire was to do to him what his comrades had done to her and her family—these killers who pretended friendship as they stripped Denmark of its food and coal while waiting for the moment when Hitler would unleash his full force on their supposed allies.
Pain.
Her hands.
She opened her clenched fists and saw nail indents. Rubbing fingers across her palms, she drew comfort from the fact that not all Danes were being submissive. Every night or so, she was awakened by an explosion somewhere in the city. The underground was resisting the tyranny as best it could until the forces gathering in England came to liberate her small nation. If they ever did. The Germans had been occupying Denmark since 1940.
Perhaps the whispering at the factory today was about the Allied Forces coming. At the mere thought they might invade soon, a thrill spiraled through Sorena. She pushed aside the black cloth again, but this time to search the skies for warplanes.
A sudden pounding on the door shot through her like bullets. No one ever came to her flat.
She whirled around, her heart throbbing as she stared at the flimsy, paneled barrier.
Nazis? The Gestapo? What did they want with her?
“Open up! Please!” a woman’s voice cried.
Sorena nearly sank to the floor with relief. Straightening her shoulders, she started for the entrance.
“Hurry!” came the insistent plea from the other side.
Swinging open the door, Sorena found her neighbor Mrs. Levin standing in the hall. The woman’s dark eyes looked as wild as her unkempt hair. Her eight-year-old son was beside her, straining against the two-handed grasp his mother had on his arm.
The woman shoved the boy at Sorena. “Take Shimon. Keep him in there with you. Promise me. Keep him quiet, and no matter what you hear, don’t let him out.”
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