“Anyone else we can trust—ask them to spread the word. I’ll have flyers.”
Wolff clapped a hand on her shoulder. “Go make copies. I’ll take care of things up here.”
“Thank you.” Else dashed down to the basement. Thank goodness, no one was at the mimeograph machine.
After she wound the waxy stencil around the drum, she filled the drum with ink and began cranking. Warnings shot out into the collecting tray in shocking black and white.
In about five minutes, Mrs. Iversen and Miss Bruun entered the room.
“Dr. Wolff told us what you’re doing,” Miss Bruun said. “We’re here to help.”
“Oh, thank you.”
Mrs. Iversen picked up a flyer. “I’ll type up more stencils.”
“Wonderful idea.” Else squinted at the print on the top copy. “I’m probably halfway through this stencil.”
Miss Bruun shooed Else away from the machine. “You and I will take turns printing. Let’s put them in stacks of ten.”
Else gathered papers from the collecting tray, and her jaw trembled. “This is so good of you.”
Mrs. Iversen hefted up her chin. “We can’t let the Germans arrest innocent Danes.”
“It’s an affront to decency.” Miss Bruun cranked the handle.
Else counted off ten copies and tapped them into a stack. She was one small individual in a sea of people. But if each person did just one thing to help, a lot of good could be done.
A plank of lumber swung around and clipped Henrik in the knee. He grunted and grabbed at the stricken joint.
Gunnar Skov stood holding that plank. “Watch where you’re walking—idiot.”
No, Skov should watch whom he goaded into a fight. Henrik had at least thirty pounds on the man.
Except he wouldn’t be goaded. He walked away, determined not to limp.
“Andersen?” A young man walked through the worksite, and he tapped a worker on the shoulder. “Where can I find Hemming Andersen?”
Henrik raised a hand. “I’m Andersen.”
The young man met him halfway. “Your sister Laila’s at the front gate.”
Sister? Laila? He knew only one Laila.
“It’s an emergency.” The messenger’s face stretched long. “I’m afraid your mother was hit by a car and is in the hospital.”
Henrik’s mother was dead. Was that some code? Oh no ... Else.
“No.” Henrik ran for the front gate, dodging workers and equipment. What had happened? Why use code? Laila could have said Else was in trouble.
At the main gate, Laila stood to the right, far from the sabotage guard and his machine pistol.
Henrik ground to a stop. “Else? What happened to her?”
“What?” Laila’s brown eyes rounded. “Oh no. Else’s fine. She told me to say that to get you to the front gate.”
“Thank goodness.” The steel in his shoulders melted. “But why are you here?”
Laila glanced at the guard and stepped closer to Henrik. “On Friday night, the Germans are going to arrest all the Jews in Denmark.”
