by Anna Schmidt
Downstairs the chairs were arranged in a circle, and the french doors had been opened to allow the warm evening breeze in. Peter sat next to Daniel, but both of them jumped to their feet the minute Anja entered the room. Peter went to meet her and escorted her to a chair that placed her between Daniel and him. “Josef filled me in on the ceremony,” he whispered.
Gradually members of the office staff slipped into the room, now filled with silence, and took seats in the empty chairs. Dr. Alonzo was sitting with Lisbeth and Josef, across from her. She closed her eyes and tried to concentrate on what she was about to do—what she and Peter were about to do. And she prayed that God would raise the Light within her that would let her know what to say when the time came for her to stand with Peter and exchange promises. She was more aware of him now than ever before. This man who was seated next to her wanted to be her husband and a father to her son. This American with a past that was so very different from hers. Would they be able to make a life together—to be happy together?
She thought about the reasons for haste in arranging the ceremony, and she wondered if perhaps she had missed God’s plan for her. She wondered if indeed the whole point to all of this was simply to get her safely away from the danger of pursuit by the Gestapo. In the eyes of the legal system of any country, the marriage to Peter would not be a legitimate one. But in the eyes of God?
After a long moment, she felt something she had not felt in a very long time—she felt peace and joy filling her heart and mind. She opened her eyes and saw that the skies had cleared and the setting sun was casting a beautiful orange-and-purple glow over the gardens. She reached over and linked her fingers with Peter’s, and together they stood as if they were now of one mind, one heart, one destiny.
“In the presence of God and these our friends, I take thee, Peter Trent, to be my husband, promising with Divine assistance to be unto thee a loving and faithful wife so long as we both shall live.”
He was not a Quaker, so the prescribed words of promise did not come as easily to him, but as far as Anja was concerned, he said everything she needed to hear.
“And here in the presence of these friends and God, I take thee, Anja Jensen Steinberg, and thee, Daniel Steinberg, to be my wife and my son, and I promise that with God’s help I will be a loving and faithful husband and father.”
For several minutes, the silence inside the room was broken only by the call of birds settling in for the night outside the open french doors. Then Josef stood and shook Peter’s hand and Lisbeth hugged Anja, and suddenly the room was alive with hugs among strangers—now friends—and expressions of congratulations and all best wishes for a future filled with happiness. Then the young man from the office presented Peter and Anja with a certificate.
“What does it say, Mama?” Daniel asked as everyone gathered closer to read the document.
“It says, ‘Whereas Peter Trent of Saltville and Virginia and the United States of America, and Anja Jensen Steinberg of Gudhjem and Bornholm and the country of Denmark, having declared their intentions of marriage with each other to the Madison, Wisconsin, monthly meeting of the Religious Society of Friends, their proposed marriage was allowed by that meeting.’ ”
She was choking up as the full reality hit her, so Peter continued. “ ‘Now this is to certify to whom it may concern, that for the accomplishment of their intentions, this 9th day of April, in the year of our Lord 1944, they, Peter Trent and Anja Jensen Steinberg, appeared in a meeting for worship of the Religious Society of Friends, held at the British embassy in Madrid, Spain, did on this solemn occasion, and as further confirmation thereof, then and there, to this certificate set their hands.’ ”
Josef handed Peter a pen, and he scrawled his name on the document then gave the pen to Anja, who did the same. The clerk had left a place for two witnesses to sign, so Lisbeth and Josef added their names. “And that ought to be documentation enough for anyone,” Dr. Alonzo said, “but just as an extra security, I will ask the ambassador to add his name as well.”
A commotion sounded in the front hallway, and at first Anja feared that the Gestapo agent Schwarz had somehow managed to come and spoil this joyous moment of her life. She gripped Peter’s hand as everyone turned toward the door.
But instead of the sound of jackboots, when the doors opened all they heard were the oohs and aahs of those gathered as members of the embassy’s kitchen staff rolled a cart into the room festooned with flowers and a beautiful one-layer cake.
Tomorrow might bring them more stress and strife, but for tonight they were safe and happy, and Anja intended to enjoy every moment of it.
The following morning, the embassy staff arranged for an ambulance to take Lisbeth and the baby along with Josef and Daniel to Dr. Alonzo’s summer home. Within a week, they would be taken to a ship anchored in the Bay of Vigo and from there on to England. The doctor had arranged everything with the help of the embassy staff.
Peter stood with Anja as once again she said good-bye to her son—their son now. But when Daniel turned to him and offered him a manly handshake, Peter nearly lost it. Had it not been for the fact that Anja was biting her lip to keep from laughing, he would have. Instead, he substituted a sharp salute, and Daniel grinned and copied the move. Then Peter knelt down and held out his arms, and Daniel ran to him. Peter thought that he had never felt anything so perfect in his entire life as that little boy’s skinny arms locked around his neck.
An hour later, Peter and Anja were on their way to Seville—this time riding in the back of a car that carried diplomatic license plates and two small British flags that flapped gaily in the warm breeze as they sped along.
For once they had no problems. The car breezed through checkpoints staffed by the Spanish Civil Guard, and for much of the ride Anja slept, her head resting on Peter’s shoulder.
This woman is my wife.
The thought filled him with joy even as he wondered what their future might bring. With the help of the embassy staff, he had gotten word to his family that he was safe and that a letter was on the way. Anja had insisted on adding her own letter to his, introducing herself to his parents and saying how much she was looking forward to meeting them. For his part, there had not been enough paper available to describe this incredible woman who had agreed to be his wife.
They had also sent word to Anja’s grandparents that she and Daniel were safe, although that communication had to be more circumspect so that Schwarz or some other Gestapo agent would not know their plans. They still had to make it out of Spain. Late into the night following the ceremony and celebration that followed, they had sat with Josef while Lisbeth took the baby and Daniel up to bed, and made plans for reuniting once they all reached England. By the time they had climbed the stairs and entered the room that Peter had been sharing with Josef while Josef went into Lisbeth’s room, Anja was clearly exhausted.
It touched him that in spite of that she expected to consummate the marriage. They had stood just inside the darkened room kissing and holding each other for several long minutes. Peter had swayed back and forth with her in a kind of dance, but when he realized that she had fallen asleep in his arms, he carried her to the bed and laid her on it.
“I have to get out of this dress,” she murmured sleepily. “There are pins—a lot of them, and I …” She sat up and began feeling for the pins and dropping them one by one into a small glass dish on the nightstand.
“Let me,” Peter said. He traced his hands over her shoulders and back, the intent being to feel for the pins, but the reality being to memorize every inch of her. After a few moments, he opened the row of buttons that ran down the back of the dress from her neck to her waist. “Lie back,” he whispered, and she followed his bidding without protest. He shimmied the dress over her flat stomach and slim hips.
“Hang it up,” she said, her voice thick with sleep.
“Yes ma’am.” He did as she asked and took the opportunity to undress himself. When he came back to the bed, she was curled onto her
side and sleeping. He freed the covers from under her and covered her; then he got into the bed and pulled her into his arms. They fit as if God had meant for them to be together.
“Peter,” she whispered as she rested the palm of her hand on his chest. “I love you.”
“We’re going to have a good life,” he promised between light kisses on her temple and hair. “You, Daniel, and me. Once this war …”
“Shhh. There is no war tonight, my husband. There is only love.”
In the dark hours before dawn, Anja woke and sat up, clutching the covers. Her first reaction was panic—where were they? Where was Daniel? Who was keeping watch?
But then Peter had called her to come back to him, and the anxiety she felt surrendered to the wonder of her new circumstances. She was now Mrs. Peter Trent—Anja Trent. Her husband was an American airman whom she had set out months ago to rescue and lead to safety. Now she understood that somewhere in that journey their roles had been reversed and it was he who had rescued her. She lay back down, cradled in the curve of his arm, her head on his shoulder, her hand resting on his chest.
She could feel the steady, strong beat of his heart beneath her palm, and the warmth of his breath fanned her hair like a tropical breeze. This time tomorrow they would be in Seville. Two days after that they would be on the island of Gibraltar, and by this time next week …
Don’t jinx it, she warned herself, pushing away any idea of a timetable. This moment is all that matters. But as she lay awake, watching for the first hint of a new day, she could not help imagining what the future might hold.
She had fallen back asleep and had to be awakened by the time the sun rose. Peter did this by presenting her with a breakfast tray complete with a glass of fresh orange juice, real eggs whipped with cheese and mushrooms, and bread that practically melted in her mouth. On the tray was a slender vase with a single rose.
“Good morning, sleepyhead.” Peter was grinning down at her as he shook out a cloth napkin and tucked it under her chin. “We thought you might plan to spend the day in bed.”
He was fully dressed, and his hair was still a little damp from his bath. Her cheeks reddened as she realized that they had just spent their wedding night sleeping. What kind of wife was she?
“Oh Peter, I’m so sorry. I was just so very tired, and I thought—you should have …”
He laughed. “We were both tired, Anja, and you especially have a lot of lost sleep you need to catch up on. But first you need to eat. You are far too thin, and if you think that I am going to permit your grandmother to see you in this condition—and blame me for it—you are mistaken.”
“It may be months before I see my grandparents,” she reminded him, her good spirits dampened by the reality of that statement.
“Yes, that’s true. But it will give us the time we need to make sure that you are in the pink of health when that day comes. Now eat.” He scooped up a large bite of the omelet and stuffed it into her mouth as soon as she opened it to protest.
They were laughing when the door eased open a little. “Who is there?” Anja called out.
“It’s me,” Daniel replied. “Lisbeth says I am to—”
“Come in,” Peter called. “We’re holding a family meeting, and you are late.”
Daniel tiptoed into the room, his eyes on Peter. “I didn’t know about the meeting.”
“Peter is teasing you,” Anja assured him as she patted the place beside her on the bed and handed him a piece of the bread.
“Well, yes and no,” Peter said. “We are going to have to decide what this young man will call me.”
Daniel nodded and frowned. “You mean now that you are married?”
“Well,” Anja said, “you could continue to call him ‘Peter’ or …”
“What do boys like me call their fathers in America?” Daniel said, his eyes fixed on Peter. “What do you call your father, Peter?”
“I call him Dad.”
Daniel tried the word on for size. “Dad,” he murmured. “I like it. May I call you Dad then?”
Anja honestly thought that Peter just might burst into tears. He seemed completely at a loss for words. She suspected that he had thought this might be an ongoing discussion—one that they would make only small advances in solving. Here Daniel had put it to rest with one simple question.
“I would … I think that would be just … swell,” Peter finally managed to say.
Daniel turned his attention back to the food. “Is that really orange juice?”
“It really is,” Anja assured him as she handed him the glass.
Another tap at the partially open door, and this time Josef came in. “Dr. Alonzo says we need to get started,” he said apologetically, and Anja faced for the first time since her wedding the facts that nothing had changed really—they were still on the run. They were still in danger.
As she stood in the embassy courtyard an hour later and watched Lisbeth and the baby being taken onto the ambulance followed by Josef, she held out her arms to Daniel, and as always he came running to her embrace. As she held him, she prayed that this would be the very last time she would have to surrender him to the care of friends or strangers—that once they were reunited, it would be for good. The next time she wanted to have a scene like this was when Daniel was old enough to go away to university or to be married.
She held him away from her and combed through his thick hair with her fingers, then wet her thumb to wash away a smudge of the jam they had shared at their breakfast in bed earlier.
“We have to go,” Dr. Alonzo said. His voice was kind and filled with sympathy for what he was asking of her.
She hugged Daniel once more and watched as he offered Peter a manly handshake and instead Peter gave him a sharp salute. This made Daniel grin as he returned the salute, and Anja loved Peter a little more because, as her son ran to climb into the ambulance, he was waving and calling out to them. “Good-bye, Mama. Good-bye, Dad. We’ll see you in England.”
An hour later, the diplomatic car arrived to drive Vice Consul Formby, Peter, and Anja to Seville. Whether from the need to catch up or the fact that she was so weighed down by sadness, Anja had not been in the car for more than a quarter of an hour before she was fast asleep on Peter’s shoulder.
She woke as they were approaching the city with its tropical landscape and beautifully shaped buildings. The skies were clear, and it was hard to believe that only a few days earlier they had been crawling on hands and knees over the muck mixed with snow that had covered the goat paths on the mountains.
Anxious to get this part of their trip over with, she leaned forward, gazing out the window as she registered the sights of Seville—the cathedral, the town square, the river that their driver told them was deep enough to accommodate large merchant ships. When they reached the consulate, men in uniform opened the double gates so that the driver could park the car inside. He told them that they could now safely leave the vehicle. “You are on British soil,” he told them.
Inside the consulate, they were welcomed by members of the staff and shown to a room where they could rest and refresh themselves. Anja was grateful for the opportunity to soak in a tub filled with fragrant bath salts and as much hot water as she wanted.
“Anja?” Peter tapped at the door but did not come in.
Ever since the ceremony, she was aware of how very shy and uncertain they were with each other. “Come in,” she said as she wrapped herself in a large soft towel and pulled the plug to drain the tub. He pushed the door open, and she was surprised to see him dressed in a uniform—one she did not immediately recognize.
“What is this?”
“For the next few hours apparently, I am a member of the Norwegian merchant ship docked in the harbor and leaving at midnight for Gibraltar. There is to be a party to reward the crew for getting the ship loaded in record time.”
“And you are part of the crew?”
“I am, and you are one of the beautiful senoritas my captain has hired to
dance with us.” He took hold of her hand and led her into the bedroom. On the bed lay a beautiful silk dress the color of a sunset. On the floor nearby was a pair of sandals with high heels. And standing at the dressing table arranging various bottles of cosmetics and perfumes was … Gisele St. Germaine.
“Hello, Anja. I understand congratulations are in order. Of course I saw it coming—this union between you.”
“Hello. Thank you. What are you doing in Seville?” Anja could barely get the words out fast enough.
Gisele gave her trademark shrug. “In Paris things got a bit—shall we say—uncomfortable for me. Your friend Schwarz was most persistent in his interrogation.”
“Were you …”
Gisele waved the question away. “The promise of torture is in itself torture,” she said.
In spite of her flawless makeup, Gisele looked different—older, less sure of herself. Anja stepped closer and took her hand. “I am glad to see you. I am glad that you are … here.”
“I have—as you Americans say—landed on my feet. I am working with the vice consuls of England and Norway to stage these little diversions such as the one you will attend tonight. You will see that the party is no more than a smokescreen to fool the Spanish Guard. Oh, make no mistake, they will be watching, but practically the entire city turns out for these parties. People come and go onto the ship, off the ship, and who can keep count?”
She indicated that Anja should sit at the dressing table. “Peter, Vice Consul Formby is waiting to speak with you.” She literally shooed him from the room and closed the door behind him.
“At the party, Anja, you must be very gay—very open. Not your usual reserved self. At the same time, do not call attention to yourself. I will see that you are handed a wineglass when you arrive. It will appear to be champagne but in fact be only seltzer. You must sip on that for the entire evening until you receive the signal.”
As she gave out these instructions, Gisele worked on Anja’s hair, twisting it into a tight roll and then covering it with a black wig. Then she began applying makeup—powder, rouge, eyebrow pencil, eyeliner and shadow, false eyelashes, and lipstick that she applied with a brush as if she were painting a portrait. When she had finished, she stood back and studied her handiwork. Then she snapped her fingers. “Perfect.”