“Your job?”
It made perfect, awful sense. “After this is over, I can’t returnto being Hemming Andersen. Too many people have connected Hemming’s name to this villa. I’ll need a new identity, a new job, a new home.”
Else’s fingers knit together, round and round. “A new—is that necessary?”
Sadness flooded his chest. His new life couldn’t include Else. “I’m afraid so.”
Her chin wobbled, and her eyes glistened. “For the rest of the war?”
He reached for her hand and kissed it, not caring who saw or heard. “The war won’t last forever. But my love will.”
Her eyes fluttered shut, then opened, revealing grief and acceptance and endurance. Her love would last too.
40
SUNDAY, OCTOBER3, 1943
It was marvelous.” Else trotted up the stairs at Lyd-af-Lys with Laila after Sunday lunch. “The pastor read a decree protesting the arrests of the Jews. It came from Hans Fuglsang-Damgaard, the bishop of the diocese of Copenhagen. It was read out loud in every church in Denmark.”
“Every church?”
Else turned down the hallway. “He said persecution of the Jews is wrong because Jesus himself was Jewish.”
Laila huffed. “A truth conveniently forgotten by too many Christians.”
Else wanted to disagree, but how could she when history proved her friend correct? “The bishop said persecution violates Christian principles of valuing all lives and of loving our neighbors, as well as Danish ideals of religious freedom and justice.”
Laila stepped aside to allow an elderly couple to pass. “It certainly does.”
“He said the Danish Church would fight for our Jewish brothers and sisters. He said this is a case in which we must obey God rather than man.”
With her lips twisting, Laila stood still. Then she lifted a liquid gaze to Else. “You—you and your grandparents and Hemming and the Thorups—you’re doing that. Fighting for us.”
Else’s heart swelled with a rich sense of joy. “Everyone’s protesting to Werner Best and the German administration—labor groups, business leaders, every level of society. Only a tiny handful of Danes cooperated—Nazis and stikkers.”
“Fru Riber.” Laila spat out the name, then spun and opened the door to her family’s room, empty now with all the Berends downstairs in the common rooms.
Laila sat on the pile of blankets she used for a bed, her face dark. “Don’t let that woman find out you’re helping.”
“I’ll be careful.” Else opened her suitcase and made sure she’d packed everything. Until she could move, she’d keep her distance from the landlady, even if she had to eat at cafés every evening.
A knock on the door, and Else opened it.
Hemming stood there in a rolled-neck sweater—and he smiled. How handsome he was.
Her cheeks warmed. “Hi.”
“Hi. Would you and Laila please come to the kitchen?”
The ladies followed him downstairs, and Else admired the stretch of tan sweater across his broad back and the swing of his long, muscular arms.
How could she bear it when he went underground? They wouldn’t even be able to meet at Lyd-af-Lys. Even now, they couldn’t truly enjoy what little time they had together.
In the kitchen, Thorvald and Janne ate lunch now that the final shift of guests had eaten. By the sink, three women washed, dried, and put away dishes.
Else, Laila, and Hemming sat with the Thorups.
Hemming rested his forearms on the table. “After church, Thorup and I found two fishermen who are willing to help. For a price.”
