“And the Germans trust him.”
They did, and Henrik couldn’t speak.
Svend met Henrik’s gaze. “He’s been one of our best sources of intelligence since the beginning.”
Henrik glared down at the man who’d been his best friend for decades. “You never saw fit to tell me?”
Svend’s light eyes glared right back. “You know how this works. Each person is told only what he absolutely needs to know.”
“I absolutely needed to know this.”
“And have you go marching in to confront him? I know how you hate him.”
Everything inside Henrik deflated, and his head drooped. “I don’t hate him anymore. I’m trying to forgive him.”
“You mustn’t go to him. Understand? You mustn’t.”
Henrik squeezed his eyes shut. “Does he know about me? Does he know his own son is his courier?”
“You’re a courier for many.”
“Does he know?” He ground out the words.
“No, and he must never know. Do you understand?”
Henrik nodded. Far wouldn’t believe it anyway.
He returned to the scull and wrestled out the box. After he passed Far’s papers to Svend, Svend passed him envelopes to take back to Denmark. Some possibly for Far.
When everything was secured, Henrik shoved the scull free and began to row, using the stroke Far had taught him.
His father wasn’t who Henrik had thought. This man more closely resembled the man Henrik had adored as a boy—a principled man, a patriotic Dane.
Yes, he was controlling and prone to anger, the man Henrik had hated for so many years.
But those virtues and those faults had always been present, coexisting.
Just as virtues and faults coexisted in Henrik.
The more Far had focused on Henrik’s faults, the more Henrik had focused on Far’s.
And they’d spiraled into the abyss.
He fell into the rhythm of his stroke as the lights on the Swedish shore grew fainter. The way out, the only way out, lay in understanding. In forgiveness.
28
SØLLERØD
SUNDAY, AUGUST15, 1943
Dread mired Else’s steps toward Søllerød Kirke.
Considering how Hemming had avoided her recently, he wouldn’t be at church. But seeing his spot empty would hurt. She’d driven him away. Well, he’d played a role too. The memory of their kiss blazed through her mind and her cheeks.
“Everything will be all right,min kære.”
Else blinked at her grandmother as they crossed the churchyard. Her grandparents thought she was sad because she was certain to lose her job at the institute. And she was. Bohr hadn’t said anything, but Mortensen’s smug smile spoke volumes. He was even treating Knudsen well, as if Else’s pending departure cast a favorable light on all.
