Else sliced her caramelized potatoes—Fru Riber made excellentbrunede kartofler. “I find the correlation betweenmanueland Emmanuel fascinating. I know they have different etymologies—Emmanuel is Hebrew, meaning ‘God with us.’ But I think it’s appropriate. In his incarnation, Jesus could have come as a prince or a priest, but he came as a carpenter, a man who worked with his hands. Emmanuel the manuel arbejder.”
In the candlelight, something flickered in Hemming’s deep-set eyes, as if he understood and appreciated what she said.
Fru Riber clucked her tongue. “Such big words, Else. It’s why you don’t have a date.”
Else was perfectly aware of that.
Another tongue cluck. “Men don’t like women who are smarter than they are.”
“True.” Else gave her landlady a bemused look. “And they don’tlike women who are taller or who beat them in footraces.” She shot Hemming a smile. “No insult toward men intended. It’s just the way things are.”
Hemming tugged at the rolled-neck collar of his dark brown sweater.
“Yes, it’s the way things are.” Fru Riber poured extra gravy on her pork. “So don’t make it worse, or you’ll never get married.”
As a girl, Else had longed to be the next Marie Curie, a longing that included finding a Pierre Curie to share her life and her lab.
Once again, grief knocked on Else’s heart, but she refused to open the door.
Fru Riber waved a plump hand toward Hemming. “You agree, ja? She’s a pretty girl. If she watched how she talks, she’d be more appealing.”
Else couldn’t restrain her groan. The poor man.
Hemming’s lips disappeared behind the mass of reddish gold. Then he fixed his gaze on Else. “You are smart, ja?”
“Ja.” She’d never bothered trying to hide it, to Mary Sherwin’s dismay.
“Then use big words. It is good to be smart. I wish I were.” He gave a rueful smile.
Else’s heart melted like the sugar in Fru Riber’s caramel sauce. “It is better to be kind than smart. And you are very kind, Hemming. Tak.”
He broke his gaze and shrugged.
His words reminded Else of what Mama had said after Mary broke her prism.“God gave you a quick mind and an inquisitive spirit. That is the light he gave you. Never quench it.”
But Mama also taught her to filter that light through a screen of kindness and humility. Sometimes that meant choosing a small word so another human being didn’t feel uncomfortable.
She gazed at Hemming from under her eyelashes. Hunkered over his plate, the big man shoveled a forkful of red cabbage into his mouth. A rush of compassion went out to him. She’d choose her words more wisely with him from now on.
5
SØLLERØD
SATURDAY, FEBRUARY27, 1943
Henrik leaned his bike against the ancient stone wall and approached the church with its stepped-roof tower rising to the gray sky.
A gardener trimmed the hedges in the churchyard, and a young man straddled the roof of the vicarage, mending the thatched roof.
Neither looked out of place. Neither gave Henrik a second glance.
He released a pent-up breath and entered the sanctuary, where silence reigned as usual on Saturday afternoons.
Making sure he was alone, he took his customary seat near the back and set his satchel and cap on the floor. Under the kneeling bench he found the envelope. Papers rustled inside, any one of which could get him shot as a spy. He slipped the envelope into his satchel and pulled out his mother’s Bible.
Every Saturday after his half day at the shipyard, he collected papers at Søllerød Kirke. When weather permitted, he rowed to Sweden on Saturday nights, delivered the envelope to Svend, and picked up a packet to deliver to Denmark. Sunday mornings he arrived early to church and left the packet under the same bench.
Someone from a resistance group would pick it up. Henrik didn’t know who and didn’t want to know.
