A Sentimental Journey Romance Collection

by Dianna Crawford

  “You weren’t exactly whispering,” she defended, bristling. “Besides, the window is shot out. Which reminds me, is it okay if we join you in the front? It’s cold, and we’re sitting on a pile of glass.” Without waiting for his response, she grabbed Shimon’s hand and tugged him outside with her, where she shook loose chunks of safety glass from their clothing before moving to the passenger seat.

  The driver, too, got in and slammed his door. Once again they were cast into darkness. Just as well. He’d been wearing quite the scowl.

  “As I was saying,” she resumed as he shifted into first, “you mentioned your involvement with the Resistance. If you’ll drop us within a few blocks of where they’re hiding the Jews, I’m sure we can make it the rest of the way on foot without being seen.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of divulging where they are. I’ve seen how well you two manage on your own. No, I think we’ll wind our way out of the city on the back streets until we reach the road to Ballerup, if I can find it. Just before we get to the town, we can cut across the farmland to the north.”

  “Why? Do you know someone who can help us up there?”

  “No.”

  “You don’t? That doesn’t sound like much of a plan, if you ask me.”

  “Plan? A plan? Oh, yes, that must be what I left at home in my other coat. So I guess we’ll just have to wing it.” The man was getting testy. “Keep your eyes peeled for street signs while I try to figure out which way is west.”

  Either the man really didn’t know the direction, or he took great care to elude the Nazis, because he zigzagged through the narrow darkened streets of the old city until Sorena had no idea where they were. Thrice they spotted headlights on a road, and he immediately turned and went in another direction. Because he was forced to drive slowly in the pitch blackness of the overcast night, minutes seemed like hours while he strained to keep the sedan in the center of the winding streets.

  At long last, he turned a corner and released a breath. “The paving on this road is different. I’m almost positive it’s the one to Ballerup.”

  “If you’ll stop, I can go to the nearest house and ask someone.” Pulling her coat tighter around her, she reached for the door handle.

  “It’s the right road,” he declared and gave the car more gas.

  Shooting him a disparaging look, she pressed her lips together to hold back her retort. There was no way he could be positive, but obviously he was too full of himself ever to take advice from a mere woman.

  For someone he’d just saved from the Gestapo, the redhead certainly was ungrateful. But Axel knew he couldn’t let her rude behavior bother him. Getting young Shimon to safety had to be his primary concern.

  It appeared that the Lord was with them. The full moon peeked through the clouds, providing much-needed light. To one side of the road, he spied the rubble of the munitions factory the Resistance supporters had blown up the previous month, which meant this truly was the correct road.

  His first instinct was to inform the woman. To gloat. But no, it would be more gratifying to leave her and her doubts dangling for a while. Resting back against his seat, he increased the speed, putting as much distance as possible between him and Copenhagen while the moon illuminated the way.

  They’d gone less than five miles when bright points of light, headlamps, reflected in his eyes from the rearview mirror. Others crested a hill about a mile behind him. A convoy of at least three vehicles. Coming fast! With curfew in force by now, the vehicles wouldn’t be civilian.

  The woman turned and glanced behind her. “Do something! Quick!”

  Axel noticed a country lane that crossed the road and headed into the farm fields edging either side. Much too open, but he had no choice.

  “Turn right,” she ordered. “Looks like the road dips down out of sight.”

  He took the corner, then upon reaching the slope, let the car coast into the depression. He couldn’t afford to use the brakes and have his taillights announce their presence to the approaching vehicles.

  As the Cadillac eased to a stop, Axel rolled down his window to better listen for motors in the stillness of the country night.

  The redhead did the same, stretching up.

  Suddenly she dropped back down. “Go! They’re coming this way!”

  “Go! Go!” the boy hollered, bouncing forward.

  Judging the distance from the main road, Axel figured he couldn’t gain enough speed before the vehicles overtook them. He shifted into low and made a sharp turn, driving into what appeared to be the remains of a cabbage patch.

  The ground felt mushy and slick. The back tires began to slide.

  He pressed harder on the gas.

  The car lurched ahead, then fishtailed to one side and slugged to a stop. With the engine whirring to a high whine, the tires started spinning in place.

  “Now what have you done?” the woman accused. “We’re caught for sure.”

  Chapter 3

  Axel lifted his foot from the gas pedal. He was only digging the tires more deeply into the mire. The three of them would be trapped, left at the mercy of the pursuers.

  An instant later, one of the vehicles he’d spied in the distance—a smaller military truck—barreled past on the road. He exhaled a ragged breath.

  Grabbing the woman’s hand, Axel placed it over the interior light fixture. “Keep this covered while I open the door. I’ll go see if they continue on or turn around. I really don’t think they saw us.”

  He climbed out, closing the door behind him. His shoes squished into the mushy ground as he slogged out onto the road, and bits of mud flew from his feet when he ran up the small rise. At the top, he could make out the truck’s lights where it turned off the road a mere few hundred yards ahead.

  Pulse racing, Axel was just about to return to the car when the lorry’s searchlight came on.

  He dropped to the ground and lay motionless while he observed their actions.

  The bright beam zeroed in on what turned out to be a farmhouse as the truck slowly pulled into the property. The glaring light swung back and forth, exposing a barn, then moved on to smaller outbuildings before the vehicle finally turned around and headed toward the road.

  Axel released a tense breath. Maybe the soldiers were satisfied his Cadillac wasn’t at the farm, but he knew better than to let down his guard yet. “Send them north, Lord. Don’t let them come back this way.”

  When the truck complied, he grinned with relief. “Thank You, Jesus.”

  Picking his way carefully back to the car, he knew the next chore facing him would be to get the sedan out of the mud and onto the road again … hopefully without too much criticism from the outspoken woman he’d rescued.

  He scoured the deeply shadowed field for something he could place under the rear tires for traction but saw nothing. His nose detected only the rotting remnants of decaying cabbage plants. As he neared his charges, he braced himself for the shrew’s remarks.

  Then he stopped short. The dolls! With the cash hidden inside them, they’d been providing assistance for Jewish children for years. Now they’d furnish a different kind of help.

  “The truck drove on,” he told his companion, opening the driver’s door and reaching in for the keys. “I’ll get us unstuck; then we can hide out at the farm up the road. We should be okay there—they’ve already searched it.”

  The dim glow of the interior light revealed the redhead’s wide-set green eyes. She didn’t exactly look convinced. She wasted no time opening her mouth.

  He shut the door before she had a chance to utter a censure.

  Trudging around to the rear, he opened the trunk. In the pitch blackness, he felt around beside the four crates of dolls, trying to find his crowbar.

  The passenger door opened.

  He groaned. She couldn’t be getting out.

  She was. He heard the sucking sound made when her foot sank into the oozy gunk, and he smirked. Even someone as stubborn as she would realize she’d have to get b
ack into the car.

  Only she didn’t. Just as his fingers closed around the tool, she reached him. “Do you have a shovel in there?”

  “No.” Does she think I find myself in this kind of predicament every day?

  “Then how do you expect to get us out? This stuff is … awful.” She raised a foot and banged it against the bumper. Gobs of muck spattered the mushy ground.

  Axel was in no mood to enlighten the ingrate—not when he could demonstrate instead. “Can you drive?”

  “Yes. But mostly boats.”

  “Get behind the wheel. Be ready to back up when I tell you.” He braced himself for a snide remark, but amazingly, after a slight hesitation, she complied.

  “I can help, too,” the boy hollered.

  “No,” Axel countered. “No sense in all of us ruining our shoes.” He couldn’t squelch a wry grin as the woman slushed around to the driver’s side.

  After prying the heavy wooden tops off the doll crates, he jammed one lid beneath each rear tire and another right behind it. “Start the motor,” he called through the gaping back window. “Put it into reverse, and back up very slowly until I tell you to stop.”

  The ignition caught, and the engine roared to life. That sound—along with a terrible grinding of gears when the woman shifted into reverse—echoed through the still, dark night.

  Axel knew he’d made a big mistake, letting her behind the wheel. Boats didn’t have clutches. “Cut the engine!”

  His order came too late. The Cadillac jerked and lurched backward, spewing crate lids in all directions. One missed clouting him by a hair. The tires gained the mud again, splattering Axel with rotting cabbage and sludge.

  “Stop! Turn it off!”

  Shimon echoed the command, as if to make sure she heard it over the engine.

  Axel didn’t even want to think about the damage to his tuxedo. Seething, he gathered the crate lids and placed them back under the wheels with deliberation. After ordering the culprit to move over, he got into the driver’s side. Slowly he eased the car back a couple of feet, then got out and moved the wooden tops under the wheels again, repeating the process over and over until they finally regained the road. All the while, he debated whether or not the woman had deliberately set out to sabotage him. Grudgingly, however, he conceded that it must have been an accident. After all, from the moment she’d proved her inability to assist him, she hadn’t offered a single piece of advice. In fact, she’d remained blissfully silent.

  Axel guided the car cautiously in the direction of the farm buildings. The clouds were playing peekaboo with the moon, sending the dimly lit road into inky blackness every few seconds. Considering the muddy trail they were leaving in their wake, he regarded the darkness a blessing. “Keep an eye peeled for the lane to the farm,” he instructed his companion. “It’s no more than half a kilometer ahead.”

  “Are we gonna stay there?” the boy asked. “I’m tired.”

  Axel glanced over at Shimon, who was now between them again, snuggled within the woman’s arm. Tuckered out, he didn’t even resemble the fiercely determined kid of a few hours past. “I’ll bet you are.”

  “There!” the redhead announced. “There’s the lane. Turn. Turn!”

  Figuring it would be prudent not to further alarm the farm’s residents, Axel killed the engine and coasted past the house to the farmyard, bringing the Cadillac to a stop in front of the barn. With any luck, the three of them could sleep the rest of the night undisturbed in the sedan.

  A light came on, its glow reaching them from the back porch.

  The door swung open, and an older man emerged in rumpled pajamas, one hand shielding his eyes from the glare above, the other grabbing a shovel propped against the wall. “Who’s out there?” Coming in floppy slippers toward the car, he raised the shovel and held it poised for attack.

  “Go. Go,” the redhead pleaded.

  “Not yet. Let’s give him an opportunity to help us first.” Axel rolled down his window. “Hello, my good man.”

  The thin, sinewy farmer leaned down to look in, the shovel still elevated in readiness. “You the ones those Nazis were looking for?”

  Axel decided to risk the truth. He’d found that most Danes hated the occupation as much as he did. “Yes, actually. We figured since they’ve already searched your place, this would be a good spot to spend the night. If you don’t mind our imposing on you, that is.”

  He peered at Axel, then at his passengers. “Why’re they after you?”

  “They’re rounding up all the Jews tonight. We’re trying to save this little boy.”

  The man finally lowered his weapon and rubbed at a couple days’ growth of whiskers. “You’ll find no Nazi lovers here. We’d better get you and your car outta sight. I’ll open the doors to the milk barn, and you can drive on in. I’ll close up behind you.” He motioned toward the structure, where a small truck with slatted sides sat parked alongside the entrance, beside a low platform holding milk canisters.

  “We appreciate it, sir. Thank you.” Axel gave a grateful nod.

  The woman leaned past Shimon to speak. “Yes. Thank you. Thank you.” Her voice sang with emotion.

  The gray-haired farmer tipped his head. “We have more than enough room in the house to put you up for the night.”

  Axel quickly squelched the offer, not wanting to implicate the kind soul. “We couldn’t do that. We’ll be fine out here. Really.”

  “Whatever you say. Don’t you folks worry about a thing. I’ll fetch you some blankets, and you can bed down in the hayloft.”

  The sigh that issued from the depths of his passenger’s being expressed beyond words all she’d suffered this night.

  As Axel drove them into the wide center aisle of a barn stabling milk cows, he felt a twinge of remorse for his part in her angst. But when the farmer turned on a naked light attached to a center post, Axel got a good look at what once had been his custom-tailored tuxedo. He glared at the woman. And to think he’d felt sorry for her.

  “Looks like you’ve been out making mud pies.” The farmer chuckled as Axel stepped out of his sludge-coated Cadillac.

  Axel shot a glance at his mouthy passenger. “Yeah, something like that.”

  “Mama!”

  The scream yanked Sorena out of a sound sleep. She bolted upright and searched wildly about in the thin light of morning. Her gaze landed on Shimon, bracketed between her and their rescuer on the hay, his dark eyes wide, his arms and legs flailing against the layers of blankets.

  The man pulled the frantic boy into his arms. “It’s all right, son. You’re safe. Everything’s fine.” His voice was low and soothing as he held the child close and spoke against his shaggy curls.

  A cow mooed and shuffled below, and Sorena relaxed. The three of them had spent the night up in a hayloft pungent with the particular odor of a dairy. Yet despite the harried events of the previous evening, she’d slept amazingly well. She’d actually felt safe … even though a man she barely knew slept a mere few feet away.

  “No,” Shimon moaned. “Mama’s not fine. Neither is Papa. He’s sick, and they took them away. I need to find them. I have to be there to help, or Papa will die.”

  Sorena’s heart ached at the sadness of his words. Even if by some miracle Shimon managed to see his family again, she suspected his world would never be the same.

  “If you had gone with your parents,” Axel assured him, “the Nazis wouldn’t have let the three of you stay together. Your father will probably be sent to a hospital, your mother to a women’s work camp, and you’d go to a different camp with men and boys. You’ll be more help to them if you stick with me.” He lifted Shimon’s chin and looked him in the eye. “I promise you, just as soon as the American and British forces land, we’ll join them and go get your parents back, along with all the other people the Nazis stole.”

  Shimon choked back a sob. “Promise?”

  The man, who in the growing light looked more like a clodbuster than a playboy, gave the ch
ild a sincere nod. “You bet.”

  Sorena watched him comfort Shimon. Perhaps she’d misjudged him. The tuxedo and fancy car could be a ruse to fool the Germans, and he truly might be just an ordinary person. Maybe even a seaman like her husband and father had been. One thing was for sure, though—even with his blond hair going every which way, he was still one good-looking bloke. She blushed at the ridiculous sentiment that had come from out of nowhere.

  His gaze drifted her way, his expression unreadable.

  Suddenly conscious of her own sorry state, Sorena rose from the hay to make a quick exit. Smoothing down her dress and tweed coat, she glanced around for the shoes she’d removed last night. She spotted what must be her everyday walking shoes, though they were so caked with mud they were unrecognizable.

  Would they even be salvageable?

  As she slipped her feet into them, the previous evening’s fiasco flashed in her memory, renewing her irritation. If her hero had driven ahead as she’d suggested, her shoes wouldn’t be ruined. But no, he had to do things his way, even if it meant getting them all stuck in that marshy mess.

  Then another certainty dawned on her. He’d paid a high price for his choice. The man himself had ended up covered with mud from head to toe. A grin slipped into place as she glanced back to view the evidence in the rays of sunshine slanting through the barn windows.

  Alas, his back was now turned away, and he had the blankets pulled up over his shoulders.

  But that was all right. His Royal Highness would have to come out into the light of day sometime this morning, and when he did, she’d be right there to revel in the sight.

  Chapter 4

  Axel stirred in his sleep, and a sharp piece of straw poked through the blanket he lay upon, awakening him. He yawned and glanced around the loft, careful not to disturb the still slumbering Shimon. The high angle of the sun’s rays streaming through cracks in the barn, indicated they must have dozed off again after the redhead took her leave earlier this morning. But extra rest was little more than they deserved, considering the harried experiences of the previous night.