by Robert Elmer
“We always stay up on the longest day of the year!” protested Peter. “That’s what Saint Hans Night is all about. Family tradition!”
Peter smiled, thinking about the bay at Randers Fjord where they sat on the beach until almost eleven at night, singing by a roaring bonfire. And yesterday, Sunday morning, their little “church” service had been fun. They had heard church bells in a country village called Lime and just stopped their bikes by the side of the road under some beech trees. Henrik, of course, didn’t know the words to the two hymns they sang, but he didn’t seem to mind. They’d had to stop anyway to put another patch on Lisbeth’s tire. As long as they didn’t remind him about Palestine, or moving away, Henrik seemed happy.
And no Mr. Broken Nose to ruin the fun, thought Peter. At least, not yet. But what if he’s back there?
The thought of the man who had been spying on them wiped the smile from Peter’s face. He shivered, despite the sweat trickling down the back of his neck, and looked over his shoulder again.
“Why do you keep looking back, Peter?” his sister asked. “You’ve been doing that a lot the last couple of days.”
“Uh, just checking. It’s pretty around here.”
“See, Lisbeth?” Uncle Morten heard only the last part of the conversation and reassured his wife. “The kids are enjoying the scenery. They’ve been having a great time.”
Lisbeth smiled back weakly and wiped her brow in the late afternoon heat. “I’m glad they have. What are we doing today, forty miles from Voer to the Silkeborg Lakes?”
“Almost there,” he promised once again, and this time he was right.
“I saw it first!” yelled Henrik, pointing up ahead at a glimmering patch of blue through the trees. The lakeside city of Silkeborg stretched out ahead of them like a jewel in the Danish countryside.
“No fair,” countered Peter, pedaling faster. “You were already up ahead.”
Ten minutes later, they had all pulled into the Silkeborg Youth Hostel, where they would be staying for the next two days. Uncle Morten had promised Lisbeth a rest before they finished their trip, which was fine with everyone.
“Oh, Morten, isn’t this beautiful?” Lisbeth stopped her bike at the edge of a large lawn that sloped gently down to the shore of Silkeborg Lake. “I could stay here for a week!”
It was a nice spot, all right. The hostel, a cluster of modern‑looking buildings with plenty of windows, commanded the upper end of the lawn. Dozens of teenagers, as well as younger kids with their parents, relaxed in the shade of willow trees growing by the water.
“We can sit in the dining room up there in the hostel,” Lisbeth pointed at the main building, “and just watch the lake steamboats sail by.”
“We’re going to ride on one?” Peter asked hopefully. They watched as an old‑fashioned lake paddle‑wheeler full of tourists eased its way toward the dock on the other side. The water looked narrowest here, like a large river, but to their right it widened out into a huge lake.
Uncle Morten chuckled and looked at Lisbeth. “You’re thinking about relaxing, but when Peter sees a boat, he’s ready to go.”
Peter had seen something else besides. “Well, if we can’t ride the steamers, maybe we can rent a couple of those canoes in the morning, like those teenagers over there.”
“We can paddle to the other side of the lake,” Elise said.
“And then,” added Henrik, “hike up to Sky Mountain!”
11
Danger on the Lake
Peter squinted his eyes to see better through the dark but couldn’t find his way along the narrow road. Henrik and Elise were up ahead, but Peter couldn’t make them slow down.
“Elise!” Peter shouted until he was hoarse. They were bicycling through countryside that looked familiar, yet Peter had the panicked feeling of being lost.
“Henrik!” he shouted once more, but they were out of sight. A little car came up behind him and bumped into his fender once, twice. Peter was afraid to look over his shoulder, afraid that he would fall. He could hear laughing, and he knew Mr. Broken Nose was trying to run him down. But no one could hear him, and where was Uncle Morten?
“Uncle Morten!” Peter tried one more time with the last of his breath. He was just about to fall, and his bicycle seemed to shake from one more terrible bump.
“Peter, wake up!”
When Peter opened his eyes, he was staring into Henrik’s face.
“Wake up,” repeated Henrik, shaking his friend’s shoulders gently. “You’re having a bad dream.”
Peter shook his head and tried to sit up. The room was still dark, but the light from down the hall showed a couple of people were also sitting up in their cots to see what was going on. Peter felt silly and tried to catch his breath. It had seemed so real.
“Boy, was that ever a bad dream.” Peter’s throat felt hoarse, as if he really had been screaming.
“I thought you were going to wake up everyone in the room,” whispered Henrik, pointing across the dormitory. It was set up like a camp, with beds lined up along both walls of the big room. On the other side, the two older boys who had woken up groaned and flopped back down on their pillows.
“Sorry,” apologized Peter.
“I heard you yelling,” Henrik told him. “Sounded like you were about to die.”
“Felt like it,” admitted Peter. “Mr. Broken Nose was after us, and he was trying to run me down on my bike.”
As soon as he said it, Peter regretted telling Henrik his nightmare. There was a long silence, and Henrik slipped back into his bed next to Peter without a sound.
“Sorry,” Peter said once again.
“I’m glad it was only a bad dream,” Henrik said softly, so softly that Peter almost couldn’t hear his words above the gentle wash of waves outside.
Another wave hit them from the side, and Peter grinned. Out in the canoe and the sunshine, his bad dream from the night before was forgotten.
“Hey, this is more like it,” said Henrik, paddling from behind. Elise rode in the middle of the long, white canoe, while Peter stroked from the front.
“We need to keep up with Uncle Morten and Lisbeth,” said Elise, pointing up ahead.
Peter squinted across the water. “Which boat is theirs?”
“I’m not sure,” said Henrik after a minute. “There are so many boats out today. Let’s try to catch up with them.”
“It’s so pretty out here,” said Elise, leaning her head back to soak up the sunshine. She trailed her fingers in the cool, clear water while the boys started paddling faster. Peter’s paddle slipped out of the water, sending a shower onto his sister.
“Hey!” She splashed Peter back, but he kept paddling.
“I think that’s them up ahead,” said Henrik.
Peter was breathing hard, but he didn’t want to be the first to slow down. Their plan was to make it to the far end of the lake, where there was a place to tie up and a winding trail up to the top of a tall hill called “Sky Mountain.” But they had just left the dock at the youth hostel, and they had a long way to go.
“It’s not really a mountain,” said Elise, shading her eyes and looking at the green‑covered hills. In the distance, they knew there was a tower set up on top of the hill, but no one could see it yet. “Not like a mountain in Switzerland.”
“Well, it’s the best we could come up with here in flat Denmark,” grunted Peter, pulling hard.
“I wish I’d brought my sketchbook in the canoe today.” Elise tried to frame the view with her hands. “I’ll just have to take a picture with my mind and draw it when we get back to the hostel.”
Henrik imitated her with his hands. “Lake, mountain, boats, speedboat heading straight toward us. Perfect picture, Elise.”
Peter noticed the speedboat, too. It was coming straight at them from the shore, throwing spray in all directions and roaring like a bull.
“Watch out for that guy,” said Elise, sitting up straight.
Peter stiffened, trying
to figure out where the gleaming wooden speedboat was heading. The front of the boat was pointed so high that Peter wasn’t at all sure its driver could see straight ahead.
“Right.” Peter pointed with his paddle and tried to turn their boat to the right to get out of the way. “Turn right, Henrik!”
The speedboat grew louder and closer, and Peter pulled with all his strength.
“What?” yelled Henrik, sounding confused. While Peter turned the front of the boat to the right, Henrik was pulling the other direction.
“We’re just going in circles!” said Elise. She sat up and the boat began to tip. The roaring, cigar‑shaped speedboat looked as if it was going to cut them in two.
“The other way, Henrik,” Peter yelled. “Turn back!”
This time Henrik heard and understood, but it was too late. Elise grabbed for the side of the canoe as the boys only succeeded in turning their little boat back like a windmill. The speedboat passed by only a few feet to the right, pushing a wave big enough to surf on right into the side of their canoe.
“Hey, HEY!” yelled Henrik, but Peter was sure the people on the speedboat either didn’t hear or didn’t care as they blew by. As the wave tipped them over and filled their boat, Peter tried to pull one last time. But this time he missed the water entirely as they turned over sideways.
In the next instant, Peter felt the canoe rise way up and flip over the top of them, and he hit the water face first, just as a wave picked up the boat and slammed it down next to him. The water wasn’t terribly cold, only a bit of a shock. He struggled to the surface, coming up next to their picnic basket and a couple of cushions Elise had been sitting on. Henrik was sputtering and waving his arms a few feet way, and the canoe had turned turtle between them.
“You all right, Peter?” Henrik called. They met at the canoe and held on as best they could. The bottom of the boat was slippery with moss and it was hard to hang on, but Peter clutched the front edge as it bobbed on the waves. In the distance, they could see the speedboat taking a turn and heading back in their direction.
“They’re coming back to finish us off,” joked Henrik, looking at the speedboat. Then he pointed in the opposite direction. “And your uncle is coming back to rescue us.”
“Where’s Elise?” asked Peter, looking around to see what had happened to his sister.
There was no sound from inside the overturned canoe.
“Elise?” called Peter, reaching under the canoe to see if she was there.
The smile disappeared from Henrik’s face as the motorboat pulled up closer. A middle‑aged woman with a wide‑brimmed straw hat and sunglasses was leaning over the side.
“Do you need help?” the woman called at them. The man next to her, at the wheel of the shiny mahogany speedboat, took off his own sunglasses and stared at them with wide‑open eyes.
“Did we tip you kids over?” he asked, then turned to his partner. “Throw them something, Gerta. Get a boat hook. Do something!”
But Peter wasn’t paying attention. He ducked quickly under the boat to find his sister. Sunlight filtered up through the blue‑green water, giving the watery cave an eerie glow. But it only took a moment for Peter to realize that Elise wasn’t there. Panicking, he ducked back out.
“She’s not under there, Henrik!” Peter looked around desperately to see his uncle and Lisbeth paddling up to them.
“Uncle Morten!” Peter waved his hands furiously. “Elise isn’t here. She’s—”
He didn’t need to finish the sentence, but Peter and Henrik glanced at each other for a moment.
“I’m coming, boys,” replied Peter’s uncle, pulling off his shoes before he rolled over the side of his canoe.
Peter, Henrik, and Uncle Morten each bobbed down into the water below and around the swamped canoe. Each breath, each dive became a frantic prayer.
Lord, help us find her! Peter ducked down for the second time. He waved his hands around, trying desperately to see farther. His lungs began to burn as he pushed deeper and deeper into darker water, and he knew they would have to find his sister quickly, or else...
She has to be here! he thought.
Deep down, his fingers brushed against something that felt like a leg, but then he lost it. His head spinning, he kicked for the surface once more and gasped for air.
“I’ve got her,” sputtered Henrik, almost right next to him. “I’ve got her.”
Uncle Morten was there in a second, helping them pull Elise’s lifeless body to the side of the speedboat.
“Pull her up,” gasped Uncle Morten. The couple obeyed, tugging at Elise’s body like a sack of potatoes. Peter and Henrik pushed from behind. Lisbeth pulled her canoe up to the speedboat and climbed aboard as well, then turned to help the others over the edge and in.
“Oh dear,” the woman with the straw hat kept repeating. “Oh dear. Is the poor girl all right?”
“I told you to keep watch,” growled the man. His double chin quivered with anger, and his face had turned bright red. “I told you—”
“Let’s get to shore fast,” interrupted Uncle Morten. “We can come back for the canoes later.”
Elise was lying on the floor of the little boat, and they crouched around her as the man obeyed. Uncle Morten began pushing on her back with his big hands, then pulling her elbows back, while the boat’s engine roared to life, and they wheeled around in the direction of the town. It was only a few hundred yards away, but to Peter it seemed like miles.
“Oh dear,” whispered the woman. “Oh dear.”
Peter shivered and stared at his sister as his uncle continued to try to revive her. But her eyes were closed, her lips were blue, and her skin looked as pale as a corpse.
Don’t let her die, Lord, he prayed, but he wasn’t at all sure it wasn’t too late.
Henrik looked almost as pale. He clutched for a handhold as they flew to the shore.
“Where’s a hospital?” yelled Uncle Morten above the motor. Peter took a turn slapping his sister on the back while Lisbeth rubbed Elise’s hands between hers. Lisbeth’s thin lips moved as she looked into Elise’s face, and Peter knew Lisbeth was praying, too.
“I... I don’t know.” The man shrugged helplessly. “We only just rented this boat for a quick cruise. We’re from Copenhagen.”
“Fine,” snapped Uncle Morten. “Then let us off at the dock in front of the youth hostel.” He pointed just ahead and to the left at a cluster of one‑ and two‑story buildings. A small dock poked out into the lake at the edge of the property, under a grove of tall shade trees that hung over the water.
The man nodded nervously but didn’t slow the boat down. Instead, he waved his hands to warn off the people who were launching canoes from the lawn area. A couple of teenagers standing at the water’s edge with their pants rolled up to their knees dove for the safety of the lawn.
As they came within a few feet of the dock, their speedboat driver clenched his teeth and threw the boat into reverse, but of course it was too late. The boat’s engine churned the lake into foam behind them, but still they streaked ahead.
“Slow it down, man!” warned Uncle Morten seconds before they plowed into the dock. Peter winced and ducked down to keep Elise’s body from flying. He could only hold on to his sister with all his strength and try to cushion her as much as he could.
“Oh dear,” whimpered the woman.
Peter opened his eyes to see that they had ripped a piece of wooden trim off the side of the boat, but the dock was still in one piece. Fortunately, the engine had stalled. People from the youth hostel were running down the lawn to see what had happened.
“Oh dear,” the woman repeated again. “I think we should have slowed down a little more, Karl.”
Peter got to his knees and tried to pull Elise up by her shoulders. Suddenly her body jerked, and she coughed uncontrollably.
“Elise!” Peter knelt and put his arm around Elise’s shoulders as she coughed and gasped. Her eyes fluttered open as Lisbeth wrapped someone’
s towel around her shoulders.
“Peter?” groaned Elise, coughing and shivering.
“I’m right here, sis.”
With Henrik and Uncle Morten’s help, they managed to lift Elise out of the boat. A crowd quickly gathered around them on the grass.
“Let’s give her a little room to breathe here,” commanded Uncle Morten. Then he looked at a teenager. “You. Run up and get the manager. Tell him we need a doctor, quick.”
The boy nodded seriously and ran up to the buildings, while Elise held up her hand.
“I’m okay now,” she told them softly, then put her hand to her head and moaned.
“You are not,” Peter told her, feeling the top of her head. “You have a giant goose egg.”
“The last thing I remember is the canoe slamming down on top of my head,” she whispered. “It hurts.”
“Oh dear,” said the woman from the speedboat, who had crawled out of the boat and now crowded in to see.
Elise coughed again, and Peter patted her on the back.
“Of course it hurts.” Lisbeth, looking strained and red‑eyed with worry, put another towel around Elise’s shoulders.
“And then you nearly swallowed all of Silkeborg Lake,” said Peter.
Elise smiled weakly, choked, and coughed. “How long was I out?”
“Only a few minutes,” answered Lisbeth. “But it seemed like an eternity.” Lisbeth looked around at the crowd, then turned to Uncle Morten. “Let’s get her up to a bed and get her dried off.”
Peter tucked the towel around Elise’s shoulders. “Think you can walk up to the dormitory?”
Elise nodded, then gasped as she took Peter’s arm.
“Elise?” Peter looked at his sister, but she could only cough.
12
He Got My Attention
“Oh, there you are,” said Peter as he spotted Henrik sitting on the edge of the big lawn by the youth hostel. “I’ve been looking for you since dinner. You just disappeared for the last hour.”
Henrik didn’t turn around, only grunted as he heaved another rock into the water. The evening sun cast long shadows across the water, and swallows were patrolling the air for low‑flying bugs.