A Sentimental Journey Romance Collection

by Dianna Crawford

  “But we’ll manage to find places for them and for you, too,” his friend added as Sorena hurried to catch up to them, the doll in her hand. “We always do.”

  The men carried Axel to one of a cluster of small homes set back from a boatyard and marina cluttered with nets and buoys.

  When Sorena opened the door to make way for the group, a blast of heated air hit her face like a thousand needles. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been this cold.

  But no colder than Axel, she surmised as his limp body was carried past her.

  Or Shimon. She caught the skinny boy’s hand and hurried him inside, monumentally grateful that one of their rescuers, the man called Olaf, had loaned the child his coat.

  “Sven,” he directed, “we’ll put him in the front bedroom.”

  Watching after the pair attired in the sturdy rubberized boots and knit caps of fishermen, Sorena concluded the home must belong to Olaf since he knew its layout.

  A petite blond woman with a pleasant face stood in an archway leading from the tidy front parlor to the low-ceilinged kitchen. Drying her hands on her apron, she motioned to Sorena. “I am Greta Lagerlof. Come. Bring the boy in here. It’s warmer by the cookstove.”

  “Thank you, Greta. I’m Sorena, and this is Shimon.”

  Shimon balked, planting his feet. “What about Axel?” he asked, oblivious to his own chattering teeth. “I need to stay with him. He’s hurt bad.”

  With her thumb, Sorena smoothed the worry lines pinching his brow and attempted a confident smile. “We wouldn’t want to be in the way just now, sweetheart. And you’re very cold. As soon as you’re warm again, we’ll see if it’s okay for you to go sit with him. In the meantime, we’ll both pray very hard that God will make him better. Is that a deal?”

  “I guess,” he said grudgingly. “He has to stay alive, you know. Me and him have important things to do.”

  “I know. So you have to be well and strong, too, not sick in bed.”

  He nodded and went with her to the kitchen, where their hostess was pouring a kettle of hot water into a large pan.

  “Greta,” Sorena began, “I’d really appreciate it if you would help Shimon out of his wet clothes and into something dry.”

  “Of course. And you, too.” A kind smile deepened the fine lines on the woman’s attractive face as she nodded toward the stove. “I’ve also made some cocoa.”

  “That sounds wonderful. But I need to check on Axel first.” She gave Shimon a nudge toward Greta. “I’ll only be a little while, I promise.”

  As she started through the homey confines of the house for the door to the bedroom, Sven came out, his sharp blue eyes halting her in her tracks. “I am going for the doctor. I’ll have him here in a few minutes.” Adjusting the knit cap he’d pushed back on his head, he left.

  Sorena’s heart contracted in alarm. Hurrying to Axel, she joined Olaf, who was bent over the bed. The man had unconscious Axel lying on his side while he worked off the soggy wool coat.

  Still holding the equally limp rag doll, Sorena dropped it on a nightstand. “I’ll help you,” she told the brawny Swede, and together they eased the jacket off, then Axel’s shoes and socks.

  His feet, she noted, were even colder than her hands. She began rubbing them brusquely to create some warmth.

  “That’ll help, madam,” Olaf said, “but I think we can do better. Go ask my wife to fill a hot water bottle for his feet. And have her put some flannel sheets in the oven to warm.”

  When she returned a short time later with the rubber bottle, she noticed Axel’s clothing on the floor. The blankets had been pulled up to his neck. She moved to the foot of the bed and lifted the covers just enough to place the hot water container at his feet. “How does Axel’s leg look?” she asked Olaf. “Is it very bad? When you took off the belt, was it still bleeding a lot?”

  “Ah, so Axel’s his name. Good to know. As for the bleeding, with him being so cold, that probably helped keep it to a minimum. And your name is?”

  “Sorena Bruhn. The boy in the kitchen is Shimon.” She noticed a bloody white cloth beneath the scarf at Axel’s head, and all effort at making polite conversation fled.

  Olaf saved her the trouble. “Yes, the head wound is still seeping a bit. That’s natural. Those are always the worst for bleeding. But his breathing is steady, and your man looks to be in good shape.”

  Sorena was more than ready to latch on to any scrap of hope. “Do you really think so? Oh, yes, Greta said it’ll be a few minutes more for the flannel sheets.”

  “Fine. Now how about going and getting out of your own wet clothes while I wait for Dr. Heidenstam to get here?”

  “I’d rather not leave Axel in case he wakes.”

  “And I’d just as soon not have two invalids on my hands. Go on, now, before you come down with pneumonia.” He gestured toward the door with a nod of his head.

  The man spoke logically. After all, she’d said nearly the same thing to Shimon moments ago. But …

  Her gaze was drawn to Axel again. He looked so pale, so …

  The sturdy fisherman took her by the arm. “Go. Now.”

  Momentarily, Sorena found herself seated next to Shimon in front of the open oven door, both of them wrapped in blankets, with their feet soaking in pans of heated water. Mrs. Lagerlof had been a godsend, and Sorena had never felt more coddled in her life—especially when the lady handed them cups of hot cocoa. She was beginning to believe that becoming warm again was possible. She sipped the sweetened drink and let it trickle down to the cold reaches of her insides. “You have no idea how wonderful this is,” she said, hoping to express her thankfulness.

  Greta smiled. “This is hardly the first time someone’s come in freezing. My Olaf’s gotten drenched a time or two himself.”

  “I know what you mean.” Sorena chuckled at her own memories. “I come from a seafaring family, too. Our home port is on the Isle of Fyn.” The smile faded. “Or was before the war.”

  The blond woman placed a hand on her shoulder. “And it will be again. Soon. Our government wouldn’t have had the nerve to stop the Nazis from using our railroads to cart their troops across to Norway if they thought Germany was still capable of doing something about it.”

  “That’s encouraging. But the Nazis still rule the Baltic Sea. I can attest to that.”

  “Not for long. I truly believe God is on our side.”

  “Yes. He has to be.” Sorena glanced at Shimon, a child of God’s covenant with Abraham. His eyelids had drooped along with his curly top. Poor little tyke. He’d been through so much in the last few days and hadn’t slept much, yet he’d been amazing throughout the whole ordeal. She reached over and deftly lifted the cocoa from his hands.

  Greta came forward and took the cup from her. After placing it on the table, she stooped and removed the sleeping child’s feet from the pan, then dried them. “I’ll take him into Hildy’s room. It’s time for her to get up for school anyway.”

  School? It was hard for Sorena to digest such an everyday happening. “You have a daughter?”

  “Yes. Hildy’s seven,” she whispered, reaching down for Shimon. “This is her first year, and she’s very excited about going.”

  As the hostess carried Shimon through a door adjoining the kitchen, Sorena wondered how long it would be before he, too, would be returning to a classroom. At least that could now be a reality for him.

  But had it cost Axel his life?

  Urgency overtook her again. She lifted her feet out of the water. Bending to dry them with the provided towel, she heard a quick knock at the door and turned toward the entrance.

  The man called Sven burst in, his cheeks flushed.

  Right behind him came a distinguished older man in faded black, carrying a worn leather satchel.

  “This way,” Sven directed.

  Before Sorena could get up and secure the blanket around herself properly, the two men had disappeared into the front bedroom.

  Hiking the edg
e of the blanket off the floor, she flew after them. She had to be there when the doctor examined Axel. Had to know if he would live.

  He has to.

  For Shimon’s sake … and for hers. There was so much she needed to say to Axel, so much to take the blame for. She was the very reason he lay at death’s door. She and her stubborn determination.

  Chapter 8

  Good evening, Sorena.” Still wearing fishy work clothes, Olaf Lagerlof strode into Axel’s antiseptic hospital room. “Thought I’d stop by on my way home and see how you’re doing. Maybe talk you into coming along for supper.”

  Sorena appreciated the many kindnesses the Lagerlofs had extended to her and Shimon over the past week while she’d waited, hoped, and prayed for Axel to awaken. She rose from the bedside chair. “Thank you. But he’s had some eye movement recently. I don’t want to leave him yet.”

  “He’s come to?” Olaf glanced at Axel, who lay as still as the day they’d brought him to Helsingborg’s only hospital.

  “No, his eyes were closed. But the nurse said the movement was a good sign.”

  “I see.” Though he appeared unconvinced, Olaf’s demeanor brightened. “I do have some good news for you. I received a radio message from the Herring Hound a few hours ago. Your mother got the money you sent. Captain Perrson said they were faring well.”

  “Oh, thank you. That is such a relief.”

  “I’ll tell you who else would be relieved. Shimon—if you’d come to the house with me. You didn’t leave here at all yesterday. Greta enrolled the boy in school with Hildy this morning, hoping to get his mind on something besides you and …” He nodded toward Axel.

  Sorena gave a defeated sigh. “I suppose that’s best. Dr. Heidenstam isn’t handing out any promises. But Axel must wake up. He has to. There’s so much I need to say to him.”

  “Maybe. But what you need is to get out of this room. Breathe some fresh air. Have a good, home-cooked meal. Even if he should come around while you’re gone, he’ll still be here when you get back. Think of your own health. If he wakes up—”

  “You mean when …”

  “When he wakes up, you don’t want to be sick in bed yourself.” The big man grasped her shoulders. “Take a look at those dark circles under your eyes. If it was me lying there and you were my wife, I’d want you to get your rest.”

  Her face warmed at the intimate reference, and she smiled. “I will, Olaf. I promise. Tell Shimon I’ll be there before bedtime to say good night.”

  “We’ll hold you to that,” he said with a mock frown. “Greta will keep a plate of food in the oven for you.”

  Greta. Olaf. Axel couldn’t wrap his mind around those names. If only he could get his eyes to open.

  “An hour more. Two at the most,” came the familiar voice. “Tell Shimon I’ll be home soon.”

  “Will do. See you then.”

  Footsteps faded away. The man Olaf had left. But the woman was still here. He could hear her moving closer, hear her breathing.

  She’d mentioned another name. Shimon … a Jewish name.

  Shimon! Clarity returned. Axel’s lashes sprang open, and he lurched up. “Shimon!” Pain exploded in his head. He fell back to his pillow and closed his eyes.

  “Axel?”

  Slowly raising his eyelids, he focused on the flame-haired woman leaning over him.

  “You’re awake! Thank God.” Tears flooded her wide-set green eyes. She took his hand. “You’re awake.”

  He recognized her. Sorena. She didn’t appear to be injured, but what about Shimon? “Is the boy all right?” The words came out hoarse.

  Tears rolled unchecked down her pale cheeks as she nodded. “Yes. Shimon is fine. Terribly worried about you, but otherwise …” She took a shuddering breath. “Just fine.”

  Axel raised his free hand to check the source of his head pain. “How long have I been out?”

  “Eight days. You were shot. One bullet grazed your skull; another went through your leg.” She swiped at her flooded eyes. “I’m so relieved. We didn’t know if you’d ever … I’ll get the nurse.” She squeezed his hand and gifted him with a heart-stealing smile. “I’ll only be a moment.”

  Pausing at the door, she looked back. Fresh tears streamed past the radiance of her smile. “You’re with us again.” Filling her lungs, she disappeared into the corridor.

  Axel gazed after the redhead. She sure was emotional about his regaining consciousness. Had she somehow come to care for him while he was asleep and unable to talk back? He marveled as he explored the thick bandage along the left side of his head. Sorena.

  He preferred to think she’d started to care before he’d been shot. He’d sensed her softening during that long night in the raft. Even before that, he’d begun to see her with—he hated to admit it—a tenderness. But then after sharing a life-threatening experience, being thrown together night and day, all pretense had been stripped away. They’d come to know each other in a short span of time.

  Now that he thought back, there wasn’t anything about her he hadn’t grown to love. Not even her mouth. She’d seen right through his most devastating smile, just like Grams always had … and he dearly loved that old gal for it. Grams knew him for the spoiled, reckless guy he was and loved him anyway. From the look on Sorena’s face, she did, too. Possibly.

  As his head cleared more fully, other disturbing memories surfaced. Grams. Erik and Annelise. He had to get to a telephone. Find out if they’d made it safely across the sound.

  A large-boned woman in crisp white marched in ahead of Sorena. “Splendid, Mr. Bruhn. You’ve decided to rejoin the world of the living.” She came brusquely to his bedside and shoved a thermometer into his mouth, then caught his wrist to take his pulse.

  Mr. Bruhn? Puzzled at the address, Axel refrained from speaking around the glass tube. Sorena must have had a good reason for giving the attendant that name.

  “Good. Good.” The nurse released his wrist. After checking his bandage and fussing with his blanket, she removed the thermometer and read it. “Better. It’s coming down. I’ll fetch your doctor. He’ll want to examine you now.” With an efficient smile, she left, leaving him alone with Sorena.

  For the first time, he noticed the dark circles beneath her eyes. She couldn’t have slept much in days. She had to care!

  She pulled a chair close and sat. “You’re probably wondering why Nurse Almquist called you by my last name, Bruhn. I don’t know yours. Everything happened so fast,” she said with a slight smile, “we never really introduced ourselves.”

  “Ah.” Axel’s mouth began to curl. “I’m Axel Christiansen, at your service, milady.”

  “Another thing,” she added, pinkening, her lashes lowering. “I’ve let them think I’m your wife. Otherwise, they wouldn’t have allowed me to stay here through the night.”

  Axel blinked in surprise. “You’ve been here day and night for over a week?”

  She shrugged. “I did go to check on Shimon every day to bolster his spirits. He’s been so worried about you. The doctor wouldn’t let him visit while you were unconscious. But now that you’re awake, there shouldn’t be a problem.”

  “Yeah, I’d like to see the little guy myself. He really grows on you, doesn’t he?”

  Sorena met his gaze again. “He does. The people we’re staying with, the Lagerlofs, have offered to keep him till the end of the war. They’re nice people with a daughter a year younger than he is. But I’m not ready to let him go.” Her exquisite features softened. “And he keeps reminding me you two have plans.”

  “I did promise we’d go after his parents once the Allies march into Germany. I know it’s far-fetched, but I’d like to keep my word if there’s any way possible.”

  “Then you agree,” she breathed on a sigh. “We won’t leave Shimon with the Lagerlofs.”

  She was discussing the boy’s fate as if he were their child. Fascinating! Axel decided to test the waters even further. “Then for the time being, we’ll just keep him with u
s at my great-aunt’s manor house in Lund. It’s big enough to billet a regiment.”

  “We’ll live with you? At a manor house?” Her sea-green eyes reflected a mixture of emotions.

  He knew if he wasn’t careful, he’d scare her off. “Don’t worry. It’s old and drafty with separate wings. We might not see each other for days on end. And since the economy was so bad before the war, it’s desperately short of servants. You won’t be living in any more luxury than before.”

  “I didn’t say—”

  “You didn’t have to. Those beautiful, expressive eyes said it for you.”

  Her cheeks grew rosy, and she turned away.

  This woman would never be able to lie to him.

  “What’s keeping the doctor?” She checked the wall clock. “He said he wouldn’t leave for home until six.”

  As if by command, a dignified, gray-haired gentleman appeared at the door, a stethoscope draped about his neck.

  Axel watched Sorena quietly withdraw and turn her back to them while the physician poked and probed him for what seemed a quarter hour.

  “No signs of paralysis or loss of eyesight or hearing,” the man commented as he worked. After he recorded his findings on the chart at the foot of Axel’s bed, he turned to Sorena. “Mrs. Bruhn?”

  She turned back to face them. “Yes?”

  “I’ll release your husband to your care in a day or two, once the swelling on the brain is gone and he no longer has a headache. Of course, he’ll be on crutches for a few weeks, but his leg is healing nicely. There seems to be no permanent damage.”

  “Oh, thank you. That’s great news.” The sincerity of her words warmed her expressive eyes … and his heart.

  “I would imagine. Just one more thing, madam. I suggest you have a serious talk with your man about taking such risks. You could’ve both been killed—and the boy as well.” Finishing in a stern tone, he started for the door.

  “But it wasn’t …” Sorena gave up as he hurried away. She turned to Axel. “I don’t know what to say. Dr. Heidenstam shouldn’t blame you. It was me. Me. You almost died because I forced you to go.”