A Way Through the Sea (16 page)

“I hope he’s still here,” Elise said quietly.

The first thing they saw was the boathouse, and of course there was no light on inside. Below the shack the walkway sloped down to a floating dock, which by now—at low tide—was way down. This was the same spot where Henrik had broken his arm just a few days ago. Would the boat still be there? Elise was the first one there, but she just stopped at the top of the ramp, saying nothing.

“Well,” Henrik said finally, looking out at the empty dock where the boat should have been. “I guess we ran all the way over here for nothing.”

“Did you have any better ideas?” Peter thought he had asked that question already. But now they were really out of ideas. They stood there, and Peter wished there could have been some kind of mistake, and the boat would suddenly reappear.

It was Elise who finally broke the silence. “Let’s not stand out here,” she whispered. “Someone is going to come along.”

“Right,” Peter agreed. “Let’s go in the shed to think for a minute.”

Henrik startled the pigeons a little when he walked in; they had already roosted for the night. The faded light from the moon, a tiny little moon, slipped in behind Peter as he and Elise tripped in through the door. For a second, Peter saw Number One. The bird moved his head and stared at them, as if he was upset at the intrusion. But that was it. Once pigeons decide to go to bed, nothing gets them very excited.

Peter and Elise sat down on two dusty stools next to the coop, not daring to turn on the light. The pigeons didn’t move a feather. Henrik kicked something in the dark and grunted. Gradually, their eyes got used to the shadows inside. A little bit of light got in through the cracks in the siding, even through the single, dirty little window. On the other side of the small shed, several projects were piled high around the workbench. There were a couple of oars, half varnished, rolls of net and twine, stacks of boards, buckets of paint.

Peter couldn’t quite see it, but he knew that on the wooden floor there was still a big paint splotch, a reminder of the time Henrik had dumped paint on his head while they were painting the little—rowboat.
What an idea!

He tiptoed over to the pile of nets his uncle had thrown over the little yellow boat, and felt his way through the tangle.

Elise followed, pulling off nets from the other side of the pile. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” she asked.

Peter couldn’t tell her expression in the mostly dark shed, but he suspected she was frowning. “I think so,” said her brother.

They were two very different people, but there were those rare times when their minds seemed to work in exactly the same way. This was one of those times.

“Assuming we could get this thing out of here without being seen...”

“Which is highly unlikely,” she put in.

“And assuming then that we could just row right out of the harbor, right under the noses of the German guards,” he said.

“Which also is unlikely.”

“Then we’d have to row straight across the Sound,” continued Peter.

“Which is pretty far,” said his sister.

“Then keep heading for the lights...”

“Two miles away.”

“And keep this thing floating all the way over,” finished Peter.

Henrik had been listening, but now he spoke up. “It was leaking pretty bad the last time we had it out in the harbor,” he said, sounding very worried about the idea.

“But we might just make it,” said Peter. “Does anybody have any better ideas?”

“Well, yeah, wait a minute,” said Elise. “Remember the note we left for Mom and Dad only said we were going down to catch Uncle Morten. They’re going to flip when they read the note as it is.”

Peter knew. And his parents would know at the beach—right about then—that something had gone wrong.

“Well, what if we just try to get back to the apartment?” asked Henrik. “We could get caught, right?”

That was bad enough trouble for Peter and Elise, but unthinkable for Henrik. Now all three had seen Jews being caught and rounded up. It was getting more and more impossible to just walk around, especially at night.

“This is crazy,” Peter said for all of them. They stood still for a moment to think some more. Peter thought of the little boat he and Henrik had worked on and the “Dead Lily” paint.
It just might work.

“But I think we have a chance at making it over,” Peter said again after a minute.

“Yeah, if it were a calm, sunny day, and there were no German patrol boats out there ready to grab us,” grumbled Henrik, who had not warmed up to this idea yet.

Peter thought of his parents again. Then he saw the picture in his mind once more, replaying the terrible scene of the Jews in the car, being stopped, pulled out, lined up.

“But hey,” he added, “what else can we do?” Now that he had thought it through a little, he tried to sound like it was going to be no big deal.

“I don’t know, Peter,” Henrik said, his voice quivering. “My parents will think I was captured for sure in that car. Do you think they would have come back for me?”

“And just who do you think they would have explained it to, huh?” asked Peter. “They’re Jewish, remember?”

As soon as he said that, Peter bit his tongue. “I’m sorry, Henrik,” said Peter, feeling awful. “I didn’t mean for it to come out like that. I just meant that—"

“That’s okay,” said Henrik, sounding like he was trying hard not to cry. “It’s true.”

“Look,” said Elise. “Maybe they figured that the only thing they could do would be to escape the way they planned and hope that my dad or someone could do something to get you back. The only thing I know is that we can’t go back to the apartment now. We just need to get you out of here somehow.”

Peter thought hard.
Maybe she’s wrong for once.
But then he sighed.
Not likely. Not Elise.
“Or how about this?” he suggested. “If we hide here, my uncle could come back and take Henrik over with the next bunch of Jews.”

“Maybe,” said Henrik. “But I think the only thing for me to do now is row over alone. You guys shouldn’t get in trouble, too.”

They were quiet for a minute while Elise kept watch out the window.

“Henrik,” said Elise, glancing over in the darkness, “think about what you just said.”

“Huh? What do you mean?” he asked.

Peter reached over and knocked on his cast.

“Oh, yeah,” said Henrik.

Just then Elise tugged at her brother’s shoulder. Peter was about to protest, but Elise cut him short.

“Shhh! Look!” she whispered.

Peter crowded over to look out the little window with her, and Henrik looked over his shoulder. Across the shipyard, some big ships that were being fixed sat next to a couple of warehouses with cranes= . Here and there, fishing boats and workboats had been hauled out of the water and propped up. During the daytime, Peter loved this place. It smelled like workboats, salt water, and tarred rope. Now it was a shadowy forest of shapes—ship masts and big buildings kept dark because of the blackouts. And two buildings away, a dark figure was checking doors and windows.

He had a large flashlight and kept it off most of the time. Elise had silently pointed him out, though, as he flashed the light into windows and behind buildings. They all watched him enter a small work shed, shine the light around, and try the next one. The security guard.

“This is it,” Peter whispered. “We’ve got to get the boat in the water and get out of here before he sees us.”

“Right,” agreed Henrik. “If he catches us in here, it’s all over.” The decision was made for them. They would row. Or at least, Elise and Peter would row. Henrik, with his one arm, would ride.

They ripped the netting off the boat in an instant and threw it into a corner. Next Elise took the pointed front end, and Peter reached over for the back end. With Henrik in the middle, using one arm, they slid the little boat away from the wall, upside down, and Peter tried to lift it off the floor. The railing slipped through his fingers, and the edge of the boat crashed against his toes.

He screamed silently, and they all stood still, waiting for the security guard to come running through the door. Peter felt as if this were a replay of the scene back at the apartment, when the soldiers were walking past their door and they were making all kinds of noises. His toe throbbed.

Nothing happened, though, so they got another grip. This time, Elise and Peter both had a good handle on the boat, and they started for the door. They put the boat down for just a moment while Henrik peeked outside.

All clear.

As they started out the door, with Henrik and Elise in front, Peter remembered how low the tide had been, and how steep the ramp down to the deck was. Backing up, Elise didn’t. Just as she was about to go over backwards down the ramp, Peter yanked back hard on his end of the boat. Even in the dim light he could see her frightened expression as she almost fell forward.

“Watch where you’re going,” whispered Peter. The moon just barely shone on the water far below. Henrik was already down on the dock. Then Elise’s eyes got wide as she spotted something behind Peter.

“The guard,” Elise hissed. It was Peter’s turn to look over his shoulder, and he saw the faint glow of the man’s flashlight bobbing around the corner.
We have to go now, even if this ramp looks like Mt. Everest to me.
With a desperate push they both half slid, half tiptoed down the steep ramp. Peter held his breath and gritted his teeth, not sure if the guard had seen them duck down or if he had heard their racket.
After all this...

Somehow they reached the bottom and turned the corner. From there it was easier to flip the little boat over right side up and slide it quietly into the black water of the harbor, in between the bigger fishing boats rafted up on the pier. In their panic, they didn’t tie up their little boat but crouched in the darkness on the clammy dock, behind one of the bigger boats.

“Do you think we can slip out now?” whispered Peter.

“Sure, if you want to use your big hands to paddle us across to Sweden,” said Henrik.

Peter wanted to hit himself in the head.
I’m so stupid. I didn’t even think about the oars.
One of them would have to go back up to the shed for them.

“I’ll go,” said Henrik. “Back in a second. The guard is probably done checking the shed by now.”

Yes, he had, and he was stomping down the gangway to the docks where they were now hiding.

All Peter could think of was to crawl up on the deck of one of the larger fishing boats, and he signaled Elise to follow him. They rolled up in the same motion and crawled on their stomachs behind the wheelhouse, as far opposite from the security guard as they could get. Henrik ducked behind another boat, and Peter wondered how Henrik got around so well with only one good arm. They were holding their breath again, one more time in this cat and mouse routine.

The guard took his time coming down the steep ramp, but they were afraid to peek. Peter could just imagine him shining the light full on his face.
What would I say?
The guard shuffled over to where they had left the little rowboat, muttering something in Danish they could barely understand. At least it wasn’t in German, Peter thought gratefully, although it didn’t really seem to matter at that point.

“Lazy fishermen,” came the grumble. It sounded like an older man. There was a pause. “Don’t know... why I bother.” Now they could hear him better. “I should just leave these boats where they sit, let them bang up against all the other boats. Leave ‘em untied. Leave all the doors unlocked. They should deal with the mess.”

The old security guard mumbled some more to himself as he tied up the small boat to the pier. Then he shuffled back up the dock, flashing his light around the boats. “These people don’t know all the extra trouble I...” The man’s voice trailed off as he again climbed up the ramp and headed back across the boatyard.

Only when they hadn’t heard his voice for five minutes did anybody move, or look.

“Is he gone?” Peter asked Elise.

Henrik uncurled from his spot behind a packing crate. “Yeah, he won’t be back now,” he said.

“You sound sure of yourself,” said Peter. He looked around, too. Maybe Henrik was right, but it was too dark to tell. And he was feeling again like he really wanted to be back home, or at least anywhere other than here. He thought once more about getting the oars, but Henrik was already going up after them.

“Henrik!” whispered Elise. “Stay here. We’ll get the oars!”

But Henrik acted as if he couldn’t hear. From the top of the ramp, he looked around quickly. He must have been satisfied, because he gave a quick wave. All clear. Peter got down off the fishing boat and followed. Elise untied the boat and pulled it around to a safer spot. When Peter made it to the top, he could barely see Henrik at the door of the shack, standing there, kind of bent over. This was going too slowly; he wasn’t going in for the oars yet. Peter heard the door rattling.
No! The security guard couldn’t have locked the door!

Henrik turned around where he stood, looking in Peter’s direction. He shrugged, making a big wave with his arm. By the time Peter tiptoed up to the shed, Henrik had already slipped up to the little window, pushed it open, and flopped inside.

Good. At least the window was unlocked. Just get in and get out, Henrik, before the guard comes back.

“Come on, Henrik,” Peter whispered through a crack. He felt for the padlock on the door, the one his uncle never used. It was locked tightly. But this was taking too long. “Are you in there or what?”

“Yeah,” he whispered back. “Oars coming out.” Peter scampered up under the window and caught the two oars as Henrik pushed them out. In a second, Henrik was back out beside Peter, and he grabbed one of them under his good arm. Peter looked around carefully for the security guard again, then followed Henrik with his oar, down to the ramp.