A shudder ripped through her, from belly to shoulders and down to her fingers. She could still see that pudgy man following her on his bicycle. What if he’d caught her and had her arrested? She’d been carrying six hundred pages ofFrit Danmark.
A groan built in her throat. Six hundred pages hidden in her dresser, waiting to be delivered to a new drop site. Should she stop printing? Was it worth her life?
What about Hemming? Surely courier work fell under the death penalty. Would he stop?
Else leaned her temple against the cool window, and the vibration of the train rattled her head. He’d never stop. He was working for a just cause, and he was brave.
Once again, she had to follow her Havmand’s example and be braver than ever. Under martial law, accurate news would become even more vital.
In about half an hour, the train pulled into Nørreport station in Copenhagen, only a few blocks from the boardinghouse.
Else had never seen Nørreport so empty and tense. Clutching her suitcase, she made her way through the station, her steps shockingly loud.
At the exit, two German soldiers with rifles scowled at the passengers.
Else’s step hitched, but she couldn’t look guilty, so she smoothed her gait and ignored the soldiers.
Hemming strode between Else and the Germans, half a pace behind her, and his presence calmed her.
Outside, a flyer was pasted to the station wall, a notice from Gen. Hermann von Hanneken, the German military commander of Denmark. Else stopped to read it, and Hemming read over her shoulder.
The flyer stated, “The latest events have shown that the Danish government is no longer capable of maintaining law and order in Denmark. The disturbances provoked by foreign agents are aimed directly at the Wehrmacht. Therefore ... I declare a military state of emergency.”
The flyer listed regulations, including a curfew, bans on strikes and public meetings, and the institution of German special tribunals to prosecute violators.
“Oh, Hemming,” she whispered.
“I know.” His voice rumbled low in her ear.
Else whipped away from the hateful flyer and dragged her feet toward home. Those were the only words they could openly exchange for another week—if then.
It wasn’t fair. Was such caution necessary on deserted streets? Why couldn’t they talk?
An arched carriageway darkened a building ahead.
She ducked into the carriageway leading to the courtyard in the center of the block. Halfway through, she stopped in the dim light.
“Else?” Hemming followed her.
She reached for his hand and drew him near so they could speak low. “What’s wrong?”
“We shouldn’t be—”
“You haven’t been yourself since the strike started. You seem ... burdened.”
He glanced over his shoulder, and his fingers went stiff in hers.
“Hemming...” She stretched out his name in a soothing tone. “What’s wrong?”
He sniffed and turned back to her. “You shouldn’t be with me. I thought I’d become less harsh, but I was wrong. Wednesday proved it.”
“What happened?” She massaged his hand.
“One of the workers—Skov. When we left the shipyard, he accosted one of the armed sabotage guards. After we pulled him away, I—I was sharp with him. I insulted him. I can’t risk being that way with you. I refuse to treat you as my father treated my mother.”
Else could barely see his features, but she heard the quaver in his voice. She’d never seen meanness from him, only righteous anger well restrained and an apologetic nature for the slightest...
Her breath swished in. “That night you told me silence could be cowardly. Was that why you seemed upset? Because you thought you were harsh?”
