Wildflowers of Terezin (13 page)

"But so many," he whispered, as if still considering the task."Five thousand? Six?"

"We're over seven thousand. But who's counting?"

"The Nazis, I expect. And I wonder what happens when they come knocking at your doors to find you not home?"

This time it was Hanne's turn to shrug. "I'm not sure of that, Pastor. I hope no one is punished or gets in trouble over this matter. But what would you do if they were coming after the Christians instead?"

She rather liked the way his eyes seemed to twinkle as he pondered her question. And Pastor Steffen seemed to do a lot of pondering, besides. Finally he allowed the hint of a smile to lift the corners of his mouth.

"Just the same as you're doing now." He nodded, the decision obviously made. "I just hope the church cellar won't be too damp and dreary for them."

Hanne smiled. "Better than the inside of a German prison camp, I imagine."

"I suppose you're right. So just tell your mother to knock on the back door of the church, on the side facing
Vedbækgade.
We should wait until after dark, should we not?"

Hanne wasn't sure about that, either, but it seemed like a good idea.

"I've never done this sort of thing, before," she told him as he made his way up the stairs again.

"Doesn't matter. Tell her to come after dark but before curfew. Eight o'clock? Two knocks on the back door like this . . ." He demonstrated on the inside of the door leading to the second floor hallway. "Then three more. Can she remember that?"

Hanne nodded.

"She'll remember."

SANKT STEFAN'S KIRKE, KØBENHAVN

WEDNESDAY EVENING, 29 SEPTEMBER 1943

May God keep you all. May God keep Danmark.

—KING CHRISTIAN X, 9 APRIL 1940

I
still can't believe you told them they could hide here," Henning told Steffen that evening as they rolled a couple of blankets out on the floor of a lower level storage room.

"We're going to make it
hyggeligt,
as cozy as we can. And if they're cold, they can keep their coats on. They'll be fine."

A lone bare lightbulb hanging from the ceiling would help just a bit, though it cast harsh shadows on boxes of assorted cleaning supplies lining the far wall. He just hoped no one minded a little dust.

Best of all, Steffen imagined they might not be found here, secluded under a stairway and with an entry door with no handle that seemed to very much blend into the shadows and cracks of a lower level wall. One would have to possess very sharp eyes or know the door was there to open it.

"Cozy? No, that's not quite what I meant." Henning waved his hand around the tiny room—barely large enough to turn around in. "I meant, I can't believe
you
agreed to all this. I'm surprised at
you."

"Oh, is that it? After all the times you've been lecturing me,
lillebror,
I thought you would be happy we were actually doing something constructive."

"You can call me little brother all you want. But this is impulsive. This is a little dangerous, compared to your normal, er, way of life. This is definitely not you."

"Well, perhaps I'm just doing my patriotic duty for our country?"

That, and a little more. But no one said Steffen had to tell his brother
everything.
Especially not if he—that is, Steffen— wasn't even sure of his own motivations. He couldn't escape the feeling that he himself was a bystander, looking on, while another personality had hijacked his own life. In that way, Henning was entirely correct. What was happening here was definitely out of character for Steffen.

"Hmm." Henning stroked his chin, obviously still trying to sort things out. "And just a few days ago, you were telling me how foolish the Underground movement was, how King Christian said not to resist, et cetera. Come on. What's different now?"

"You're so suspicious. The need presents itself. Things have changed." Which was mostly true.

"Then how much are they paying you?"

"Shame on you for even suggesting such a thing. I'm a pastor."

"I was joking, all right? But come on! I still don't believe you just woke up this morning and suddenly decided to open up your church storage room to hide Jewish refugees."

"Why not?"

"It's just not . . . I mean, it just doesn't make any sense.Unless it's all about the girl . . . that's it!"

"Would you stop?" Steffen clapped his hands of dust and reached into his jacket pocket for a letter, which he handed over to Henning. "Here, read this. It might help you understand."

"Oh?" Henning squinted as he held the letter up to the light. "On behalf of all Danish bishops, eh? Sounds auspicious.Or suspicious. Where did you get this?"

"The Bishop. It went to the Germans today. They want us to read it from the pulpit this Sunday."

Henning read a few lines to himself, then out loud.

"All Danish citizens enjoy equal rights and responsibilities before the law, and full religious freedom," he read, then paused. "Very nice. That sounds just like something you would have written, to be sure."

"I didn't, though." Steffen pointed at the bottom of the page. "See the signature?"

"Hmm, okay." Henning pulled the letter away and kept reading. "Perhaps I should visit the service to hear it for myself."

If Henning knew they'd broached a sensitive topic, he made no sign of it as he handed the letter back.

"Perhaps you should," Steffen answered, stooping to straighten up a blanket that did not need straightening. "It would be nice to see you more than once a year."

Yes, and it would certainly prove to be cold and hard in this cramped space beneath the staircase. He would not like to consider sleeping there, himself. But he could think of no better place for anyone to hide, if that is what they had to do.

"Did I make it last Christmas?" wondered Henning.

Steffen didn't answer this time. He and his brother had more than enough to argue about, already, without getting into his brother's indifference about faith, and church, and other things Steffen held most dearly. They'd covered that ground before. Now Henning looked as if he was about to say something when someone knocked on the storage room door.They both stiffened and looked at each other.

"I thought no one else was supposed to know about the room down here," whispered Henning.

"Ja," replied Steffen, "no one but—"

"Steffen?" A rusty hinge squealed as Pastor Viggo pulled open the small door and poked his head inside. "Ah, there you are. I thought I heard familiar voices down here. Wasn't sure what was going on."

"Didn't realize we were making so much noise," said Henning, bumping his head on the slanted ceiling as he straightened out. "Ow!"

"Henning. Good to see you again. Although I can't recall the last time I've seen you in this building. Perhaps when I confirmed you?"

Henning laughed at the joke. He'd certainly been here since he was twelve, once or twice. Hadn't he?

"Henning was just helping me, er, straighten things out."Steffen wasn't sure they needed to go into too many details, and now he wished they'd kept their voices down. Because now Pastor Viggo looked curiously at the blankets and hand towels they'd set up next to a couple of wash basins and a pitcher of water.

"I see. Well. Sort of like the Hunchback of Notre Dame, is it? Only in this case, I don't imagine you'll be ringing the bells."

He looked expectantly from Steffen to Henning, a hint of a smile playing at his lips. Perhaps he thought this was amusing.But what else could they say, now? Henning looked at his brother and shrugged.

"It's your call this time, big brother."

As a matter of fact, yes it was. Steffen drew the older man inside and the door creaked shut behind them.

"It's not what it looks like."

Two hours later Steffen did his best not to be startled by the next gentle knock at the door—this time the back service entrance of the church.

"Did you hear that?" he whispered to Henning, who had already snapped off the inside light.

"I heard it. They're late. Open the door."

"No, wait." For a moment Steffen considered blowing out the flickering flame at the end of the brass candlelighter rod he held in one hand. He sniffed and sneezed as it smoked in his face.

But there it was again, this time two knocks and then three, and Steffen swallowed hard despite his dry mouth. Keeping the back light turned off, they swung the door slowly open, and Steffen shivered at a draft of cool outside air. Before he could catch a glimpse of who had been knocking, the candlelighter flame immediately blew out.

"Anyone there?" His voice cracked and he strained to see anything in the darkness. Naturally the rest of København lay muted and dark behind blackout shades, as it did every night. Only a shuffling sound on the cobblestone pavement told him someone was there.

"Pastor Steffen?"

Steffen recognized the nurse's voice close by, almost next to him, and felt a hand on his arm. Steffen's or Hanne's, he wasn't sure.

"Let's not be chatting out here," snapped Henning, sparking his own lighter. A golden pool of light revealed four frightened faces huddled just outside.

"Please come inside," Steffen told them, keeping his voice steady. He set aside the candlelighter and helped an older woman over the single step, while others followed. Once they were all inside, Henning pushed the door shut, and they snapped on the hall light.

Steffen blinked his eyes to see five frightened people, not just the four he'd been expecting. Still lovely in a dark overcoat and scarf, Hanne Abrahamsen made brief introductions.

"This is my mother, Elsebeth." She pointed at an older woman, perhaps seventy, but wearing a wide-eyed expression of fear that added years and made her resemble a frightened animal. Even so, the stooped woman nodded politely even as she kept the scarf over her head in place. Next Hanne indicated a couple standing just inside the door, every bit as reluctant to remove their coats.

"Mr. and Mrs. Levin," said Hanne, "and their friend Elias."

Elias seemed to force a tiny smile.

"We're imposing on your kindness," said Mr. Levin, in thickly accented Danish. He could have been Austrian, perhaps German. His guttural accent reminded Steffen of the way German soldiers sometimes butchered their Danish, often mixing in foreign words or confusing matters by imposing that peculiar German word order. "But we have no relatives here, and no other place to go. Only Elsebeth was kind enough to tell us of her daughter, that's Hanne, and Hanne said—"

"Pardon me for interrupting." Henning cleared his throat."But we should probably show them to their room, shouldn't we, Steffen?"