Farfar harrumphed. “They’d never fire my brilliant granddaughter.”
“Of course not.” Farmor’s smile added more crinkles to her cheeks. “But if they do, you can live with us for the duration. You can have a fresh start after the war.”
“And the war will be over soon.” Farfar’s blue eyes shone. “Next summer, if I were a betting man.”
Farmor clucked her tongue. “Talking about betting on the steps of church.”
Else managed a weak smile at the attempt at encouragement and humor.
In the hushed cool of the sanctuary, Else’s gaze disobeyed her and searched the pews.
And found Hemming.
Her chest caved in. How could she face him? She couldn’t. She had to leave. But how could she leave? She’d have to explain to her grandparents. And how could she explain?
With no good options, she gathered the tattered remnants of her dignity and walked down the aisle.
Past Hemming, who sat by the center aisle instead of his usual spot to the side, with his fair head bowed. The hair that had felt so smooth under her fingers.
She winced and passed him by.
Something fluttered by her legs, pricked at her calf. A notecard fell to the floor, and she stepped around it.
A pew creaked behind her, and steps shuffled. “Excuse me, Frue.” Hemming’s voice.
Else stiffened and stopped. Didn’t turn.
“You dropped this.” He tapped the card against her sleeve.
“It isn’t mine.” Her voice came out choppy.
“Your name’s on it.” His big hand held out a card with “Else” in script across it.
She’d never seen the card, but she needed to escape from the hand that had held her and the voice that had rejected her.
Careful not to touch his fingers, she took the card.
After Else sat beside Farmor, she placed her purse on the floor. While leaning over her knees, she flipped open the notecard to see words in English in elegant script.
Dearest Else,
I humbly request an audience with you at two o’clock this afternoon. If you will honor me with your presence, I will explain everything and answer your questions. If you choose not to accept my invitation, I will understand, since I have treated you abominably. However, I fervently hopeyou will come. I will be waiting inside the gate at the villa directly south of Vedbæk Beach.
Yours, H.A.
H.A.? Hemming Andersen? But the note was in English. Fluent English. It couldn’t be from Hemming.
And yet...
Her mind swirled with impossibilities, and her body slowly straightened up, her head turning to Hemming.
He met her gaze, direct and determined, and gave a slight nod. Then he made a looping gesture with one finger, urging her to face forward.
She did. She flattened the notecard to her Bible, and her thoughts spun. Hemming spoke English? He knew words likeabominably?
Nothing ... none of it made sense.
Round and round Else’s feet pumped the bicycle pedals, as if trying to pump out answers. But how could she find answers when she couldn’t even find the questions?
