“The death penalty! That’s been abolished in Denmark for ages.”
“The Germans are in charge now. They’ll clamp down on the freedom fighters, for sure.”
Henrik could feel Else’s gaze, and he turned to her devastated face. Yes, the Nazis were in full control.
“We need to pray for our country,” Herre Nielsen said.
“Yes,” the brunette said. “Dark times are coming.”
Henrik broke Else’s gaze. Dark times indeed.
The congregants trudged into the sanctuary, but Herre Jensen turned to Henrik with his silvery eyebrows drawn together. “I apologize, Herre Andersen.”
Henrik ducked his head. “No need.”
“I shouldn’t have dismissed you. It’s clear you have the interests of our Else in mind. Thank you for warning her. We’ll make sure she returns to the city early.”
Fru Jensen gave him a warm smile. “I’m glad Else has such good friends.”
He saw where Else had learned consideration and humility.
“I am too,” Else said. “Thank you, Hemming. I’ll catch a train from Holte around one o’clock.”
“Good.” He’d catch the same train.
He eased back to allow the Jensens to enter the church.
As Else passed, she sent him a rueful look. No, they wouldn’t have an afternoon together where he could explain what was on his mind.
Not that it mattered anymore. For some time, he’d expected to meet his end as the Havmand. Now that end seemed assured.
33
HOLTE
Else strolled onto the platform at the train station in Holte, carrying her suitcase and ticket.
There stood Hemming in his black jacket with a satchel across his chest. His gaze met hers then swept away as if he didn’t know her.
But he’d waited for her as she’d hoped. In retrospect, he should have taken the Kystbanen coastal line from Vedbæk rather than the S-train from Holte, but expecting Hemming’s presence gave her courage to pass the German soldiers now guarding the station entrance.
Else leaned against the ivy-draped brick wall about twenty feet from Hemming. On the far side of the tracks, a lake lay gray under the overcast sky.
Since the sun wouldn’t set until after eight, they could have spent the afternoon at the villa and still returned to the boardinghouse before curfew. Now she’d have to wait another week to find out what was bothering Hemming.
But he was wise to go home early. Who knew what awaited them in the city? What if the trains or trams were delayed or rerouted? What if there were riots? They couldn’t take chances. Now that strikes were outlawed—under penalty of death!—Hemming had to return to work in the morning.
The brick-red electric train pulled into the station. No one disembarked,and only Else and Hemming boarded. She stashed her suitcase in the overhead rack and settled onto a leather-upholstered seat. Hemming sat behind her and across the aisle, protective as always.
If only they could sit together. But Dr. Else Jensen didn’t belong cuddling in public with a laborer any more than she belonged cuddling with a baron. And yet, she’d kissed both.
A tiny smile cracked her rigid lips.
The train pulled away from the station and rolled faster and faster past white homes with red tile roofs and beeches in summer green. Yet everything seemed strangely still. So few bicycles and pedestrians on the roads, so few passengers on the train.
Most Danes would be huddled around their radios, wondering how the German takeover would affect their lives.
Else could think of little else. Did printing illegal papers qualify for the death penalty?
