Henrik’s hands balled into fists. How dare they?
“Else’s printing flyers to warn people,” Laila said in a soft voice. “That’s why she sent me. We need hiding places. Else said to ask if we could use Lyd-af-Lys.”
His breath stalled at the sound of the villa’s name, never before spoken by Laila. But it made sense. The villa lay outside the city and was quiet and private and roomy.
And secret. Henrik scrunched his eyes shut.
“Hemming?” Laila said.
“Let me think.” Bringing dozens of people to the villa would compromise his alias. It could bring the Gestapo to the home and to the Thorups. Even his father would be in danger if the Germans learned his house was being used for illegal purposes.
But Henrik could protect dozens from arrest, deportation ... death. His decision would affect many. But wasn’t that what leaders did? Weighed the cost to all, the benefits to all, the rightness of it all?
“Yes.” Henrik pinned his gaze on Laila. “Anyone without a place to hide—send them to Lyd-af-Lys. Else knows the address.”
“How...?” Anger flashed in Laila’s eyes, then she firmed her chin. “Never mind. It’s none of my business.”
Henrik would try to remain Hemming Andersen, but he’d probably need to break his silence to manage terrified houseguests.
And Else and Laila’s friendship deserved restoration.
Henrik cleared his throat of his last reservations. “Tell Else she can tell you all.”
Laila raised one eyebrow, quite skeptical.
“Tell her Henrik said she could.”
“Henrik?”
“Sh. Use that name only in private and only once.”
Laila’s eyes grew wider and wider.
“Go tell Else,” he said. “I will go prepare.”
“Thank you.” One last confused look, and she left.
Henrik trudged back to his worksite as if his mother were truly dying again. He found Koppel checking off Beck’s work.
“Koppel?” Henrik took off his cap and let anxiety flood his face. “I need to leave. My mother’s in the hospital.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. Of course you can leave.”
“Can we speak?” Henrik gestured to the carpenter shop.
“Sure.” Koppel followed Henrik inside, then shut the door. “What’s up?”
“Tell Blom, any other workers who are Jewish—the Germans will arrest them on Friday night. They must go into hiding. If they have no place to go, I know of a place in Vedbæk.” He gave him the address.
“Ritzy area.”
“I know a man who works there.”
One side of Koppel’s mouth crept up. “You are a puzzle.”
A puzzle with so many pieces, Henrik himself could barely keep them straight.
38
