by Kris Tualla
“Of course you’re aware that Minister-President Quisling will begin drafting Norwegians for service in the German army,” Dahl began. “We’re hoping that you’ll see the value in how we currently serve the Reich and exempt our actors from that draft.”
“Hm.” Terboven stroked his lower lip. “Do you feel the two forms of service are equal?”
“All forms of service vary,” Selby risked. “Don’t their values vary as well, based on the recipient?”
One side of Terboven’s mouth lifted. “That’s a pretty sentiment, Miss Sunde. But it’s no more than a sentiment, I’m afraid.”
Damn.
“In any case, we hope to see you tonight. We do believe you’ll enjoy the play.” Dahl dipped his chin. “Thank you for your time, Reichskommissar.”
As Selby and Dahl turned to leave, Terboven stood up. He clicked his heels together and stuck out a rigid arm. “Heil Hitler!”
Dahl met Selby’s eye. She nodded so slightly she wasn’t sure he’d notice. But he did.
Dahl faced Terboven and lifted a hand. “Heil. Hitler.”
*****
“That was horrible,” he grumbled once they were clear of the office.
“You had to do it,” Selby assured him. “Otherwise there was no chance at all.”
Dahl shook his head. “There still isn’t. Not with that bastard.”
“We still have Quisling himself. Don’t give up hope.”
Selby and Dahl didn’t speak again until they reached the Minister-President’s offices. Dahl was waiting outside for this meeting, just in case the traitor decided to start his draft immediately once the well-known actor was standing in front of him.
“Good luck, Sel,” Dahl murmured.
Selby was quickly ushered into Vidkun Quisling’s smarmy presence, the envelope of six tickets for tonight in her hand. The hope was that if the Germans came in force, Quisling might be cowed by the Nazi’s apparent interest in the traveling troupe and exempt the actors from his draft.
There was no reason not to appeal to both sides on this one.
“My dear Selby Sunde,” Quisling cooed. “What a lovely gift.”
Selby gave him the sincere-looking smile. “We realized that we haven’t seen you at any of our performances Minister-President, and we wanted to make that right.”
He tipped his head. “Well, your unexpected generosity is greatly appreciated.”
“Of course, we’re also hoping that you’ll see the value in how we currently serve the Reich,” Selby said sweetly. “And that you’ll consider exempting our actors from additional service to the Germans.”
Quisling’s smile dimmed. “I see. You mean the draft.”
“Until tonight, then.” Selby held out a gloved hand and flashed a conspiratorial grin, hoping to distract the man from thinking too hard about her last statement. “I’m really looking forward to hearing how you and your wife like the play.”
Vidkun took her hand and kissed her glove, but his expression had hardened. “Until tonight.”
Chapter
Thirty Eight
The Royal Shakespearean Acting Troupe closed the curtain for the last time on the final performance of their career at half past nine.
When Dahl heard how Quisling reacted to Selby’s request earlier, he went straight to the Oslo harbor and found a fishing boat that would sail the troupe away from the city that same night. Though curfew in the city was ten o’clock, the troupe was always given an extra hour to remove the accoutrements of the stage before walking back to their hotel.
That dispensation was crucial tonight.
In order to keep their exit a secret, a car driven by a Milorg member from Oslo was hired to meet them at the hotel at six. Once there, a bellman loaded the troupe’s luggage into the vehicle—a normal activity for any hotel. The Milorg officer then drove the loaded car to the pier and waited for the troupe’s arrival after the play.
Troupe members had to leave everything related to the stage productions behind and could only pack their personal possessions—much to Ben’s disappointment.
“Can’t I cut the canvas out of one of the painted flats?” he begged Teigen. “I can fold it and fit it in my suitcase. I promise.”
Teigen relented because he knew how much the paintings meant to the youth. Besides, he might actually be able to use it later when he applied to art school.
“Only one,” Teigen said sternly. “And it can’t be one that we’re using tonight because we need to leave right after Selby gets changed.”
“Thank you!” Ben spun around and headed for the flats.
“Make sure you hide the empty frame in the middle of the stack,” Teigen called after him. “It can’t look like we’re not coming back.”
The plan of intimidating Quisling might have worked if more than a handful of Nazis showed up that night. The empty chairs surrounding the few brown-clad SS officers clearly showed that the troupe members were not getting Terboven’s protection.
The Minister-President did bring his wife backstage after the play, however. While she gushed over each actor’s performance, Quisling handed every one of the men—including Ben—his card.
“Come see me tomorrow, would you?” His grin did not even begin to look sincere. “I have a proposal for you.”
Like hell I will.
“Yes, sir.” Teigen stuffed the card in his back pocket.
Once Quisling left, troupe members vacated the building in four pairs plus the trio of Teigen, Selby, and Ben. The exits were staggered so that they didn’t all walk to the pier en masse. And each pair took a different route.
Teigen, his wife, and foster son were the next to last to leave the theater. Dahl and Gunter would follow in ten minutes.
“It’s a beautiful night,” Teigen observed aloud in case any brown bastards were nearby. “We have a little time. Let’s take the long way back and enjoy the weather.”
As the three of them strolled in a zig-zagged path to the pier, Teigen kept watch for any hint that they were being followed.
“So far, so good,” he whispered to Selby.
She answered by tucking her arm into his and keeping her eyes focused forward.
The car waited at the pier as planned.
“How has it gone?” Teigen asked the driver while the three of them collected their luggage.
“Fine. I had a couple curious dogs come sniffing around, but I told them I was delivering Terboven’s mistress’s bags and was told to wait here until she showed up.” The man chuckled deeply. “You should’ve seen their faces when I suggested they check the story with him.”
“Brilliant.” Teigen clasped the man’s shoulder and shook his hand. “Thanks for your help.”
Dahl and Gunter boarded the boat at half past eleven, having been stopped by a drunken SS officer.
“We showed him our curfew passes but he wasn’t having anything to do with them,” Gunter said as he hefted his trunk onto the deck of the fishing boat.
“Nope. In fact…” Dahl grunted as his suitcase also made it onto the deck. “He set them on fire.”
Teigen frowned. “Didn’t that draw some attention?”
“It would have, I guess.” Gunter held up a swelling hand with split knuckles. “If I hadn’t cold-cocked him and he smothered the flames with his chest.”
Teigen coughed a laugh. “Your farewell to Oslo. I approve.”
Dahl looked at the deck, empty but for the three of them and the captain. “Everyone here?”
“Yes, sir.” Teigen motioned a faint salute. “All below deck and accounted for.”
“Then let’s go.”
*****
Fredrikstad was about sixty-five miles southeast of Oslo on land, and would take just over four hours to reach sailing through Oslo Fjord. Even though the boat would dock before four o’clock in the morning, disembarking in what was essentially the middle of the night during curfew wouldn’t be wise. The troupe would need to wait until sunrise or later.
“
At least our absence isn’t going to be noticed as yet,” Teigen said as he helped Selby climb down a rope ladder to the Fredrikstad pier. “And there’s no reason for anyone to think we’ve come here.”
Dahl’s escape plan included not checking out of the hotel and not informing the theater owner or any of the employees that the troupe was leaving. That meant that they wouldn’t be missed for another ten or twelve hours.
No one in the group had managed to sleep during the night. Instead, they huddled together and talked about what they would do next. Dahl gave each member their salaries, plus a letter of introduction and recommendation which stated their rank in Milorg.
“In case you want to relocate and continue,” he explained. “Which I hope you all do. It’s been my honor to work with you.”
*****
As the night and their collective exhaustion wore on, tears were shed and promises made to stay in touch. Final goodbyes were said before they all left the little fishing ship and the group split up to find separate lodging on their own.
Dahl and Bennett, however, remained with Teigen and his little family.
“Bergen makes the most sense for me because Falko’s there,” Teigen said at some point during the night. He turned to Selby. “What’s your preference?”
She honestly didn’t have one, as long as they were far away from Oslo, Terboven, and Quisling. Selby rubbed her eyes, dry from lack of sleep. “I like Bergen. It’s not so cold there.”
She dropped her hands and looked at her husband. “And Rolf Schmidt is dead so no one there will harass me.”
“I like Bergen, too,” Ben chimed in. “In case anybody cares.”
Teigen ruffled the teen’s hair, leaving it sticking out at odd angles. “Of course we care, Ben. We’re family, remember?”
Ben’s expression shifted as though he heard—and believed—those words for the first time.
“You’re like a son to me,” Teigen admitted. “And I mean to treat you like one.”
Ben’s eyes brightened mischievously. “Does that mean you’re not going to teach me anymore?”
Teigen laughed. “No. It means I’ll take a fatherly interest in your marks.”
Selby watched the pair with warm affection suffusing her chest. Teigen’s care for Ben was obvious, and the youth practically worshipped her husband. The only flaw in their family was her reluctance to open herself fully to Teigen.
Patience.
Soon she would be able to risk it. Just not quite yet. Her happiness was still too new to risk.
“I was thinking of Bergen, too.” Dahl’s gaze moved between Teigen and Selby. “If you two don’t object, that is.”
“I don’t,” Selby answered a little too quickly. She turned and asked Teigen, “Do you?”
Teigen gave her an odd look. “Of course not. I’d be happy to continue working together. We make a great team.”
“Would you mind if I joined that team?” Bennett offered.
“That would be great!” Ben blurted. He and Bennett—the youngest member of the troupe at twenty-two—had become great friends working backstage together.
Dahl looked at Teigen, grinning. “The four Musketeers plus an impudent mascot?”
“Hey!” Ben barked.
“Totally impudent.” Teigen winked at Selby. “But I think we can work with him.”
“I do have one suggestion,” Selby said to Teigen. “Dahl and Bennett should head to Bergen as soon as possible and let Major Helgesen know we’re joining them. Maybe start looking for a place for us to live.”
Teigen looked confused. “What are we going to do in Fredrikstad in the meantime?”
Selby shook her head. “Not Fredrikstad.”
“Then where?”
She smiled. “Arendal. It’s time your parents met your wife, and your foster son. Don’t you agree?”
March 21, 1944
Arendal, Norway
Teigen did agree. The minute Selby suggested it he was embarrassed that he hadn’t thought of it himself.
In his defense, however, this was the first time in two full years that his time was truly his own. Grini prison, the Kirkenes labor camp, and the troupe’s unyielding schedule all held him captive during those many months without any respite.
As their ship navigated past the lighthouse and into Arendal’s inlet, Teigen caught his first glimpse of his ancestral hometown. Though a mile still distant, his emotions were pitching a battle with each other.
On the one hand, he couldn’t wait to see his mother and father again, and tell them that he had seen Tor in Bergen this time last year as his brother was headed to America to teach their soldiers to ski.
He wasn’t sure his parents were aware of the tension between their two sons—and he certainly wouldn’t mention it. But in case they were, he would be sure to tell them how happy the unexpected reunion was for both brothers, and how he and Tor parted with expressed affection for each other.
On the other hand, Teigen hadn’t seen his parents for three years. Because of his relationship with his spoiled fiancée Elsa, he hadn’t gone home for Christmas in December of nineteen forty-one. Once his world blew apart two months later he had deeply regretted that omission.
What would his parents look like now? Had the strictures of occupation aged them? Were they well, or had they succumbed to deprivation-induced illnesses?
If only I could have sent them money.
But he received no income for a year—and what was owed him during that time Elsa had stolen. His salary with the troupe had barely covered his own needs, especially after he took Ben under his protection.
Still. I could have managed some if I’d really tried.
“Guilt is a useless emotion,” Selby told him when he mentioned some of his thoughts. “It eats you up and accomplishes nothing.”
He wagged his head. “But—”
“Tell them how you feel, because you have the opportunity to. And then do what you can going forward,” she advised.
Teigen pulled her into his arms. “You’re a wise woman, Selby Hovland.”
“Selby Hovland Hansen,” she mumbled into his chest. “I need to make that official one of these days.”
“We will,” he assured her. “Once this mess is finished.”
When the bluff west of town came into sight around one of the many rock outcroppings in the inlet, Teigen nudged Selby. “The house is up there.”
Part Viking tower, part medieval fortress, and part eighteenth century addition, Hansen Hall had been inhabited by one of Teigen’s direct ancestors for over a thousand years. Only a mile from the center of Arendal, the town had grown up to meet the once-solitary structure.
“Do you see the church spire in the middle?” he asked Ben. “That used to be a stave church at one time. It burned down at some point, and in eighteen eighty-eight it was replaced with this. It’s the second tallest church in all of Norway.”
Ben, oblivious to the fact that Teigen expected him to be impressed, asked, “Where’s the tallest?”
“Trondheim,” Selby answered for him. “You’ve seen it. Nidaros Domkirke.”
Ben wrinkled his nose. “That big ugly mess of gray stone?” He shook his head and squinted toward the town. “I think I’ll like this one better.”
Teigen smiled at Selby, his pride in his home placated. “The boy really is an artist, isn’t he?”
*****
Teigen hailed a taxi and the trio took the short but steep ride up the hill to Hansen Hall. The front door banged open before he unloaded their suitcases from the trunk of the running car.
“Go,” Selby said. “I’ll pay him.”
Teigen turned to face his father. “Pappa!”
Nikolai Hansen was still tall and straight at fifty-eight. His full head of brown hair was gray at the edges and trimmed short to minimize the effect. “Teigen!”
Father and son embraced until they were pushed apart by Matilda. “Give his mother a turn, you selfish old man!”
Teigen
laughed and lifted his mother in a bear hug and spun in a circle. She was a tall woman—half a foot taller than Selby—but was much thinner than when he last saw her. The feel of her bones in his arms worried him.
He set her down and she gripped his arm for balance. “Is this my daughter?”
Selby tucked her remaining money into a small pouch as she approached. “Hello, Matilda. I’m Selby.”
“And I’m Mamma Matilda to you.” She let go of Teigen and held out her arms. “Or just Mamma if you prefer.”
Selby slipped into his mother’s embrace and remained for a long moment. “I’m glad to meet you, Mamma.”
“Who’s this young man?” Nikolai asked, his tone jovial. He walked toward Ben and the pile of luggage. “Let me help you with that.”
Teigen stepped forward. “Mamma, Pappa, this is Ben Thorkelsen Hansen.”
“Hansen?” his father asked, picking up two of the suitcases. “Are we related?”
Teigen decided the minute he saw his parents to tell them the same story he was telling the world. It was safer for Nikolai and Matilda that way. He just hoped Ben didn’t contradict what he was about to say.
“He’s some sort of cousin. Ben was orphaned when his parents were shipped to a German camp last year.” Teigen glanced at Ben. The boy’s expression remained thankfully impassive. “I found him alone in Oslo and took him in.”
If his parents doubted the story, they didn’t let on.
“Welcome to our side of the family, Ben,” his mother said sweetly.
His cheeks flushed and he looked like he might cry. “Thank you, ma’am.”
“We’re Bestefar and Bestemor to you now. Don’t forget it.” She looked up at Teigen. “Are you hungry?”
Chapter
Thirty Nine
March 31, 1944
Arendal, Norway
Teigen told Selby that they would stay in Arendal four or five days. They stayed ten.
Matilda’s health worried her son, who petted over her incessantly. He made trips to the market every day and brought back any food he could find that might put weight on her frame.
