“It was.” One corner of her mouth twitched.
Hemming returned and set a plate before Laila.
“Oh!” Fru Riber cried from the living room. “Who did such a thing?”
Else glanced back. “Pardon?”
The landlady marched in, brandishing a newspaper. “Look what I found in the kindling box. It’s yours, isn’t it?” She scowled at Hemming.
Still standing, he squinted at it. “Land ... og ... Fo—folk. Not mine.”
Else’s chest collapsed. The poor man could barely read.
“No illegal papers in my house.” Fru Riber waved it at Hemming. “Worse—it’s communist. The Communist Party is banned. If I find out you’re a member—”
“I am not.” He lifted his chin, noble in his righteous indignation.
“Well, it doesn’t belong to the girls.”
Else tucked in her lips, aching for Hemming. What would Fru Riber say if she learned both “girls” were producing an illegal paper?
“May I see?” Laila sprang up and took the paper. “Oh dear. This rag. Yesterday I found it on my friend’s desk at work, and I took it so she wouldn’t get in trouble. I stuffed it in the kindling box so I could burn it in the woodstove last night, but I forgot.”
Fru Riber continued to glare at Hemming. “I will have no criminals in this house.”
Else shot to her feet. “Hemming Andersen is no criminal. He’s decent and thoughtful and hardworking, and he’s never given you a moment’s trouble. And Laila said the paper was hers.”
“Good night.” Hemming strode out of the room.
“Hemming...” She moved to go to him, but what could she say?
Laila pinned her gaze on the landlady. “You owe him an apology. The paper is mine, not his.”
Sadness flooded Else’s chest. “He could barely read the masthead. How could he read an article? And—and I’ve never seen him reading.”
Fru Riber’s gray eyebrows drew together, and her lips squirmed. “I—I suppose so. I—well, he’s a laborer, and laborers are often communists. I’ll apologize tomorrow.”
“Thank you.” Laila scurried to the living room with the paper. “I’ll burn this right now.”
“Good night, ladies,” Fru Riber said in a quivering voice. “I’m going upstairs.”
“Good night.” Else sank into her chair and picked at her dinner.
Laila rejoined her, and the smell of burning paper soured the air. “It was probably Ib Malmstrøm’s. The date was May, when the students were here. I saw him readingLand og Folk.”
“I shouldn’t encourage lying.” Else gave her friend a teasing smile. “But thank you for helping Hemming. Fru Riber was about to evict him.”
“She was.” Laila spread butter on a slice of rye bread. “Say, I’m sorry I interrupted your midsummer night’s dream.”
“Hmm?” Else took a bite of red cabbage.
“Your romantic dinner.”
“Romantic—” She almost spluttered out her red cabbage, and she swallowed and wiped her mouth. “Pardon?”
Laila held up her bread like a waitress with a platter. “I know you have a crush on him.”
“Sh.” Else glanced behind her, although Hemming was certainly up in his garret room. “I just think he’s sweet. He’s a good man.”
