A Way Through the Sea (14 page)

“Amen,” said more than one voice.

When Peter opened his eyes, he saw most of the people were sniffling, or crying, or both. He looked over at Elise, who was standing by the kitchen door, dabbing at her eyes. His uncle’s prayer made him think about where all these people would go, and he wondered if they would really come back. He knew that pretty soon he would be crying too, so he slipped down the hall to the bathroom.

Convoy

12

Mr. Andersen was in charge of the land part of the escape, Uncle Morten the sea part. As Mrs. Andersen began to turn on dim lights around the house, he explained the plan one more time.

“Now, all of you listen, please,” said Mr. Andersen, almost like a first grade schoolteacher introducing the alphabet. “I’ve explained it to everyone several times, but I want to make completely sure everyone knows exactly what’s happening.” Peter looked around the room. Even though everyone had heard it all before, even two times, no one dared take their eyes away from his dad.

“Now, who’s riding in the first truck—the mail van?” The Christensens, the mailman, and the older Albeck relatives raised their hands. “The ambulance follows by fifteen minutes. Who is on that?” Mr. Andersen looked around the room, nodding intensely at the people as they raised their hands. That group included Henrik and his parents, plus Mr. Albeck, his wife and three daughters. Mrs. Clemmensen, too. She didn’t seem to hear very much and nodded at all the wrong times. Peter felt himself admiring his father again, in a strange, new way.
Maybe Dad should have been a teacher after all, the way he handles this group.

“And the last car we could scrape up—the old Mercedes—who is riding in that one?” Five people raised their hands. One of the little Christensen girls, who was about six, thought this part was pretty exciting. “I want to ride in the trunk!” she announced. Elise, who was holding her hand, smiled down at her. Any other time, everyone would have laughed. Now, there were only a few chuckles.

“That’s no joke,” said Mr. Andersen. “One of you
will
be riding first class, I mean in the trunk. We’ll load in the alley. I will be driving the first car, and it will be up to the driver of each vehicle to keep order. There will of course be no talking, no sounds, and no delays. None whatsoever. We will all load the boat in the same order. And remember...” His voice got a little more serious. “There will be no need for excuses if anyone is caught. The Germans will know exactly who you are and what you are trying to do.” He looked around the room at all the eyes—old eyes, scared eyes, and petrified little eyes. Everyone knew exactly what he was saying, except for the youngest ones.

“However, if they insist on knowing where you gathered and who helped you, it would be best if you all have the same story. My family and I want to continue living in Denmark, without major trouble from the Germans, if that is possible. So our story is this: You were all assisted by Joachim Etlar, and you gathered at his house. He is a good Jew. Do you understand?”

There were a lot of blank stares, until the baker squinted his eyes and looked at Uncle Morten, who was sitting next to his brother. “Pardon me,” said the pudgy little man, “but I’ve not seen Mr. Etlar for several days. He always used to come into my bakery for his morning bread, but not lately.”

Uncle Morten smiled slightly, almost nervously. “You are right, Mr. Christensen. Etlar will not be coming home for quite a while, either. Please believe me.”

“Does everyone understand that now?” asked Mr. Andersen. All the adults nodded. Peter hoped no one would ask any more questions. Peter didn’t want to know about Mr. Etlar, either—whether he had really been a good man and escaped somehow, or if he had gotten mixed up on the wrong side of the Danish Resistance movement. They had heard about what happened to the few people who decided to help the Germans.

“Good,” continued Mr. Andersen, waving his hand at his brother. “Please remember that my good brother Morten will bring the boat around to a quiet beach just up the coast. The drivers know the spot. We will wait there in the darkness, and there is a small boat available at a summer beach house there. Again, we will ferry out to the boat in the same order we got into the cars. Completely silent. Not a sneeze out of anyone, and that includes the children. Parents, please make sure of that. Now the boat, the
Anna Marie
, will be a bit cramped, but everyone should fit into the fishhold just fine.” Then he looked at Uncle Morten. “Right, Morten?”

“No problem,” said Uncle Morten. “The only thing is, I didn’t have time to clean it out very thoroughly after we got back. So I’m afraid that when you get to Sweden, you’ll be smelling like a fine catch of pickled herring.”

Everyone looked at one another, afraid to smile, afraid to move. Mr. Andersen looked around the room. Old Mrs. Clemmensen started knitting her fingers together nervously.

“Let’s take the last couple of hours getting all our things together,” he said. “If you have any questions about what is going to happen, please ask me or Morten.”

As late afternoon turned toward evening, Uncle Morten slipped out to get his boat ready. It was almost time for the caravan to leave. After a few phone calls, Mr. Andersen left to get the mail van.

Even though they had cleaned up from the last meal several hours before, Peter found his mother in the kitchen, still clanging pots. Elise had taken a break from her constant baby sitting and was helping her mother put things away.

“Mom?” said Elise, opening up a cupboard. Mrs. Andersen gave her daughter a smile.

“Are Dad and Uncle Morten going to be okay... I mean, what would happen to them if...” She lowered her voice, making sure no one in the next room could hear them.

“Don’t you worry about them for a minute, Elise,” said Mrs. Andersen, putting her arm around her daughter’s shoulder. She reached for Peter, also, who gladly accepted a hug from his mother. “Your praying uncle and your smart daddy are going to be just fine.”

Peter wanted to believe her, but he couldn’t stop worrying. What if? By the look on his sister’s face, she couldn’t either. No one wanted to think about it. Mother, daughter, and son didn’t say anything else but pretended to find something to do, scrubbing the stove, polishing the sink.

Ten minutes later, Ole the mailman came tiptoeing in from the bathroom, where he had been keeping watch out the small window.

“The mail van is here,” he croaked.

On the Run

13

Everyone looked at one another, and a few of them shook hands. There wasn’t time for much else. Then the first small group assembled by the door, silent now.

“Remember, through the courtyard and out the side alley entrance,” whispered Mrs. Andersen as she released the first load of Jews, one at a time, through the door. At the bottom of the stairs, a side door opened into the small, dark courtyard, closed in by buildings. Another door led out to the side alley, where the getaway cars would be parked, one at a time, in the shadows. It took almost twenty minutes to filter them through, a little longer than planned, so they were already behind schedule. Then they were gone, Mr. Andersen at the wheel of the mail truck. This was a special delivery.

Loading the next car—the ambulance—went more quickly, until Mrs. Clemmensen started crying. She was alone and she grabbed hold of Mrs. Andersen the way some little kids do the first morning of kindergarten. Peter, who was sitting in the living room, had seen that kind of panic before. She was not going to let go.

“We must load the ambulance quickly,” urged Mr. Melchior, who was now in charge of the second group. He was trying to get Mrs. Clemmensen to move into the hallway. That only made the old woman hold on even more tightly, which was kind of odd because they had never met before yesterday. People were starting to panic. “Come on!” whispered Mrs. Lumby from the stairs, a bit impatiently. The old woman was now sobbing, and Mrs. Andersen was trying to calm her. But she would not be comforted.

Mr. Melchior looked around nervously, then looked at Peter’s mother. “I hate to ask you,” he said, “but will you go with Mrs. Clemmensen in the ambulance? We need to go, and now.”

Mrs. Andersen only hesitated for a moment, then nodded. By now, almost everyone else had loaded into the ambulance, including Henrik’s mother. The only ones left were Mr. Melchior, who was going to drive, Henrik, and old Mrs. Clemmensen.

“Go with her, then, Mrs. Andersen,” said Mr. Melchior as he urged the panicked woman and Peter’s mother through the door. They almost looked like Siamese twins.

“But that was the last place,” said Mrs. Andersen, looking at Henrik. There wasn’t even time for her to tell Peter and Elise what to do. She looked over her shoulder with a worried expression on her face. Peter got up from the couch, and Elise came and stood next to him.

“You just lock the door and stay in the apartment after everyone is gone,” she commanded. “Don’t open up for anyone until your father and I get back, do you understand? And Elise, you take care of your brother. I’ll ride back with Dad. We’ll be back in no more than a couple of hours.”

They both nodded seriously as she left with the terrified Mrs. Clemmensen wrapped around her like a pretzel. Peter wondered how his mother would ever untangle herself.

Mrs. Clemmensen wasn’t the last crisis Henrik’s dad had to deal with, though. He bit his lip, then turned to his son with a worried expression. “That means you’ll have to go in the third car, Henrik.” He looked around for Mr. Lumby, who was in charge of the third group, but the storekeeper must have been outside, parking the last car. Henrik’s dad had to leave or the whole schedule would fall apart. He looked around, trying to decide.

“Okay,” he finally said to Henrik. “You go with the third car. But be sure to tell Lumby exactly what happened now, will you?” He waved his finger in Henrik’s face for effect. “Your mother will be furious that you don’t get in the second car with us. But now there is nothing to do about it. If we can, we’ll stop at the corner to make sure you get going all right.”

Henrik nodded seriously. “I’ll tell him, Father. There’s room in the trunk. Go ahead. We’ll be fine.”

Mr. Melchior started through the door, the last one out for that group. Peter and Elise stood there with Henrik. Mr. Melchior stopped for a moment, then turned around to look at his son. Henrik tried to make him feel better. “It’s no problem, Father. Really. I’m eleven, remember?”

Mr. Melchior nodded, though he didn’t look encouraged. With a pat on his son’s shoulder, he was gone.

In a few more minutes it was time to load the third car, and Mr. Lumby finally appeared. The first two had taken a little longer than anyone expected. It was getting dark by then, and German patrols of two or three soldiers were starting to come down the street often enough to be a threat. This had to happen fast.

Peter turned out all the lights in the apartment, and Elise kept watch from his bedroom window. Even though their mother had given them firm instructions to stay put until they got back, they could still help. So Peter went back and forth between the hallway and the living room, relaying information from Elise. Mr. Lumby, the leader of the third group, checked with Peter. He looked nervously out of each window, too, then waved the first people out.

Henrik’s turn was next. “We kind of already said goodbye in the pigeon coop,” he said to Peter as he stood near the doorway.

“Yeah, but I’m still going to miss you,” Peter added. His stomach felt like a knot.

“See you when we get back,” Henrik whispered. He gave Peter a quick hug, stopped at the bedroom door for a second to say goodbye to Elise, and then ran down the stairs to the side door.

“Go!” said Mr. Lumby. And Henrik was gone.

Next went Mr. and Mrs. Rasmussen, and Mr. Lumby was getting more and more nervous. He always had been a little edgy to begin with.

Suddenly Elise appeared in the doorway, waving frantically at Peter. “Nazi coming!”

Peter ran to the stairway just as Mr. Lumby was sending out the next couple. “No, wait!” Peter whispered as loud as he dared.

“What?” It took only a second for Mr. Lumby to realize what was going on. He yanked the frightened couple back into the courtyard. They had hardly put a foot out the door. Everyone held their breath as the soldier strolled by. All of them waited for what seemed like forever; it must have been three minutes.

“Okay, clear,” Elise called more softly when the soldier had strolled out of sight, and Mr. Lumby sent the Rasmussens out to hide in the car. The last car was parked far back in the alley, mostly out of sight behind a lineup of street poles and large garbage cans. Mr. Lumby, Peter, and Elise retreated for a minute up to the bedroom window to get a better view of what was going on.

Now there was someone else out on the street, wandering from the same direction the soldier had first come. He went up to a door, checked the address number, then went to the next one. The dark figure came up to the front entrance of the Andersens’ building, almost directly underneath Peter’s window. He stopped, then looked up at the dark window. Mr. Lumby sucked in his breath.

“That’s Abrahamsen,” he said, whistling under his breath. “What’s a Jew doing out on the street on a night like this?” Considering what they were doing, Peter thought that was an obvious question. Peter started down the hall, but Mr. Lumby ran past him and down the stairs. He had the front street door open almost before the first light knock. From the top of the stairs, Peter could hear the two men whispering fiercely.

“Yes, there’s probably room for one more,” came Mr. Lumby’s voice. “But...”

“Look, I can pay for passage on the boat, too.” The other man sounded desperate. “I know it’s expensive, but I heard the boat was leaving tonight, and...”