“My father scared him away.”
“Did he say when he would return?”
“No, but ... Max spoke with me.”
Hermann propped one of his boots on the blade of his shovel, waiting for her to continue.
“I know where he hides your things, Hermann.”
Hermann’s eyes flashed. Not an admission of guilt, but enough that she knew he understood. “What things?”
“The things you’re keeping from the Nazis.”
He glanced over at the chalet and then reached for the handle of his shovel before turning away from her. “I don’t know what you’re referring to—”
“He asked me to help you, Hermann.”
“He didn’t tell me.”
She lowered her voice to a whisper. “I want to help.”
He ground the metal tip of his shovel into the floor of dirt and hay, looking through the door again. “This isn’t child’s play, Annika.”
She straightened her back, her head held high. “I’m no longer a child.”
He studied her for a moment, and she wished that she’d worn a scarf over her hair instead of plaiting it into braids. “I suppose you aren’t.”
“What happens if the Nazis search your home? They will find these things, and your family—”
“I’ve already counted the cost,” he said, his voice sober. “There’salways a cost for standing up against evil, Annika. You have to do it for the right reasons.”
“Max asked me to do this.”
“You can’t help people because of Max.”
Annika considered his words. Was she helping hide the valuables because of Max or because she thought it was right?
The image of Sarah flashed in her mind. Her friend carrying the bag with treasures for Hermann. The items were probably somewhere on Hermann’s farm, waiting to be buried in the land behind Annika’s cottage. Max said that not even Hermann knew what he’d done with them.
She had to do something to help those who were being plundered by the evil in their country. It would be the greatest honor to care for Sarah’s heirlooms and to do the same for others in their community until they returned.
“Please, Hermann. These things—they will be safe on the estate.”
“Your father has become quite friendly with Hitler’s friends.”
“Then they will never suspect that we’re hiding things.”
He filled his shovel with the manure and piled it into the cart. “I’ll come to the boathouse tonight, while your father is gone.”
Hermann kept his promise, rowing his boat under the catkins and into the boathouse before her father returned. The sky was ablaze with yellow sparks of sun and red-ember clouds that coiled like flames above the lake before the cold blues of night soaked up the fire.
He handed Annika a seed bag, and she cradled it in her arms.
“I’ve listed the items and the initials of each owner inside the bag,” he said. “Burn my list when you’re done.”
She nodded.
“I’ll bring you more when I get them.”
