A Sentimental Journey Romance Collection

by Dianna Crawford

  Erik’s “father” placed an arm around his wife’s waist and drew her toward the newcomers. “My Gjerta and I are honored to meet you,” he said cordially, extending his hand. “Welcome to our fair town.”

  “Yes. Welcome to our home,” his wife added with a polite smile. “We’re so pleased to have the pleasure of your company for the noon meal.”

  Watching the exchange and noting the tiny lines of strain near their eyes and mouths, Erik sensed the huge effort it cost the older pair to feign friendliness toward the German intruder. He made a mental note to express his profound gratitude later.

  The group headed for the house, Annelise and Erik’s pretend sister chatting about baby Thor’s latest accomplishments. Erik hesitated, waiting for Axel and Rundstedt. The Nazi had gone to speak to the driver of the lead truck. Erik could not make out the conversation, but when the heavy vehicles started up and made a U-turn, he figured the troops were being dispatched to the docks to conduct searches on the various cargoes, warehouses, and ships. Meeting Axel’s cagey expression, Erik prayed they’d all survive this day.

  “I’m afraid the parlor isn’t large enough to accommodate all of us,” Mrs. Nielsen said as they crowded into the home’s appealing and homey confines. “Let’s gather around the dining table instead. It’s time to eat, and everything is ready.”

  Annelise felt Erik move up beside her and take her arm, leading her through the comfortably furnished front room and into the next as if he were familiar with the layout. She glanced around the charming dining room, where a lace tablecloth accented a long oval table already set with blue underglazed Royal Copenhagen china and his aunt’s best silverware. Trays of fancy Danish pastries awaited on the buffet along the wall.

  “Do I smell roast beef?” Erik’s dark brows arched high on his forehead.

  “That’s right,” his father affirmed. “Our neighbor butchered one of his cows a few days ago, and I talked him out of a sizable roast. He owed me a number of favors.”

  Erik chuckled. “That would be Lars, the persistent borrower of tools, no doubt.”

  “And before the meat dries out,” his mother added, “we must serve the klar suppe.”

  “Ah, yes.” Erik’s cheery tone indicated how much he anticipated the clear soup with carrot bits and thimble-sized dumplings and meatballs. Annelise, too, enjoyed many of the traditional Danish dishes she’d first tasted at her grandmother’s home.

  “I’ll help you, Mother,” Bergitte said, “once I put Thor down for his nap.”

  Annelise watched her hurry toward the stairs as speedily as Erik’s mother had left the room. Obviously the family was anxious to rid themselves of the great honor of wasting precious food on a Nazi officer. “I’d be glad to help, if I may,” she offered.

  At his place at the head of the table, Mr. Nielsen put his hand on her shoulder. “That’s not necessary, my dear. Perhaps next time Erik brings you home, we’ll impose on your good nature. Today you are our very special guest, and I’d like a chance to get to know my new daughter better.” He paused. “My son tells me your brother has a shipping business, and you handle all his correspondence. Will you and Erik stay in Copenhagen after the wedding, or will we enjoy the pleasure of having you here near us? This is a lovely little town, coastal climate, salty breezes …”

  It was a question neither of them had anticipated. Annelise could feel Rundstedt’s perceptive stare from across the table. She chanced a glance at Erik, devastatingly handsome today in a gray tweed sport jacket and charcoal trousers, his gold-striped tie accenting the gold flecks in his brown eyes.

  “With the war on,” he answered, “we feel we’d be of most use in the city. Axel is too busy to get by without us.”

  “Oh, yes,” Karl the baker chimed in, the overhead light shining off his balding pate. “Import-export. Any chance you might import some sugar our way?” He glanced at his plump wife sitting beside him. “We’ve exhausted our month’s ration already with all the baking for your visit. Even our flour is running low. We may have to lock the bakery doors.”

  Axel brushed crumbs from his silk tie and gave a thoughtful nod. “Flour I can get you easily. Sugar? I’ll do what I can. After all, we’re family … or will be soon enough.” His too-easy grin and twinkling blue eyes nettled Annelise. What new scheme was taking form in that handsome blond head?

  Mrs. Nielsen and Bergitte returned with trays of steaming soup bowls and took their places.

  Ignoring the presence of the austere German officer, Mr. Nielsen offered a brief prayer of thanks; then his wife met Annelise’s gaze. “Erik never told us the date you’ve chosen for the wedding. Will you marry here or in Copenhagen?”

  “We’d be happy to arrange for the local church,” Erik’s sister added. “It’s lovely, in a quaint sort of way. I’ve always preferred the traditional-style building, don’t you?”

  It took extra effort for Annelise to swallow the small meatball in her mouth. Surely these people knew she and Erik weren’t planning to go through with an actual wedding. Or had her fiancé conveniently forgotten to mention that little technicality? She smiled sweetly. “My grandmother’s already making the arrangements. It keeps her happy to feel … useful.”

  “But you’re all invited,” Erik assured them. “The Christiansens have a large house. There’s plenty of room for the family to come and stay for the festivities.” He set his spoon down and sat back.

  His mother, noticing that everyone had finished the first course, sent a pointed look at Bergitte, and the two cleared away the bowls in preparation for serving the main dish. The platter of beef they brought to the table moments later was richly decorated with gravy, bits of bacon, parsley, and pickled beet and garnished with green pepper and lemon slices. Potatoes browned in butter and sugar occupied one end of the large platter, and tossed red and green cabbage added a dash of color, enhancing the dish as a whole.

  “It’s truly beautiful,” Annelise murmured, as appreciative as everyone else seemed over this respite from endless meals centering around fish.

  Mr. Nielsen carved the roast and passed plates to everyone, then retook his seat. “I don’t believe I caught the wedding date you mentioned.” He directed his comment to Erik.

  Annelise noted Captain von Rundstedt’s heightened interest as he paused in eating.

  “Our other son, Mikkel, is stationed over on Jutland,” Erik’s father went on. “He’ll need to apply for a leave of duty to attend the ceremony.”

  “You sound like our grandmother,” Axel cut in. “I’ve been trying to arrange time off for Sis and Erik, but with so many wartime orders hanging over our heads, it’s almost impossible. Maybe by the end of May I’ll be able to spare them for a short time. That’s the best I can do.”

  Erik’s aunt Lisbet beamed as she rested her forearms on the table. “That would be perfect! The flowers will be in full bloom. And we’ll bake you the most beautiful cake”—she switched her attention to Axel—“if your brother manages to get us some sugar, that is.”

  “Then it’s settled,” Mrs. Nielsen declared. “The last Saturday in May it is. Of course you’ll wear my grandmother’s wedding gown. All the women in our family have worn it. The lace is most exquisite. I’ll send it back with you so you can have it altered to fit.”

  Of course! The reason for all the talk about the wedding dawned on Annelise. There must be something that needed to be smuggled along with the gown. How comical, she decided, sneaking contraband beneath the nose of an officer of the Third Reich. “I’d be honored to be part of that family tradition.”

  A span of silence followed while everyone ate with enthusiasm.

  At length, Axel turned to Mr. Nielsen. “The wedding brings up a much more pleasant subject—the honeymoon.”

  Svend Dinesen poked his wife in the ribs with his beefy arm and winked. “That’s the whole purpose, right, honey-girl?”

  Annelise watched Bergitte’s cheeks flush and felt her own blush climbing to her temples.

  Erik
grinned and took her hand with a not-so-subtle squeeze, adding to her distress.

  “Sis has been working pretty hard.” Axel’s mischievous smile matched her soon-to-be brother-in-law’s. “I’d like to gift the newlyweds with a honeymoon they’ll never forget. Annelise has always wanted to sail up the coast of Sweden, and late spring would be ideal for that kind of thing.” He looked to Svend. “I understand your father has a yacht for charter, right?”

  Flaxen-haired Dinesen flicked a stilted glance at the Nazi before answering. “It’s in dry dock, same as all the other leisure boats. There’s not much call for pleasure cruises with the war on.” His full lips tightened at the edges.

  “How about it, Captain?” Axel challenged. “Any chance of you persuading some of our naval friends to allow safe passage for a honeymoon ship? At least until she’s well north of Bornholmsgat Strait?”

  Annelise’s insides sank. Her brother’s big mouth was digging them into another hole. Honeymoon cruise. Right. No doubt he planned to help refugees escape to freedom on that yacht. Taking a sip of water from her crystal goblet, she directed a wistful look at the Nazi officer. “Oh, would something like that truly be possible? Could you actually arrange it?”

  He swallowed, then blotted his mouth on the linen napkin. “I do have a few friends in the naval office.” Never one to miss an opportunity to be the big man, he shifted in his chair and hiked his chin. “Perhaps I could manage something—particularly if we invite them to the wedding. If they know there will be more young ladies as lovely as the ones in this room, they might be agreeable.”

  Axel’s good-natured laugh broke forth. “No problem, Captain. Surely you’ve noticed the women of Denmark are every bit as lovely as our spring tulips.”

  Rundstedt’s cool glance slid from Annelise to Erik, and his polite smile vanished.

  For what purpose had the Nazi insisted on coming along today? Annelise wondered. This family gathering couldn’t be pleasant for him. It was hardly a secret that he’d love to rid himself of Erik in a way that might elevate him in her opinion. But as long as the man wore that hated uniform, nothing he could do or say would make him appealing—to her or any other patriotic Danish woman.

  “Coffee and pastry, anyone?” The lady of the house nodded to Bergitte, and the two rose to clear away plates and the remaining food. In moments, the younger woman returned and set the assortment of fancy treats on the table, while the hostess poured fresh coffee. Then the two retook their seats.

  Erik’s uncle Karl stood to his feet and lifted his goblet in a toast. “May the good Lord bless our nephew and his lovely betrothed. May they raise a houseful of healthy children in a world of peace and harmony.”

  Erik draped his arm affectionately around Annelise and hugged her.

  Mr. Nielsen also got up. “And may God bless this feast He provided for us on this most joyous of occasions.”

  Annelise heard the captain heave a weary sigh at what he undoubtedly considered an ignorant old man’s ravings. But she knew that he was the real fool for thinking the Nazis could snub their noses at the Creator of the universe and get away with it forever. Retribution would one day be upon them.

  Meanwhile, Axel was pulling her ever deeper into his whirl of intrigue—and Erik with her. Somehow, though, the American’s presence beside her instilled her with confidence. She truly enjoyed the feel of his arm about her. And as she grew to know him, she realized she was discovering more to appreciate and like about him. Despite everything, she felt safe and loved in the midst of his warm, generous family.

  Even with a Nazi staring straight at her.

  Chapter 5

  Emerging from the other secret room in the Christiansens’ basement, Erik stretched a kink out of his back and neck. To avoid chance discovery by the Nazis, his desk and forging supplies had been brought over from the warehouse, and now he shared the hideaway with newcomer Charles Bridgeport, a lone escapee of a downed American plane. Erik’s eyes burned from hours of the meticulous work, and his fingers ached when he slid the shelf-lined door partially closed behind him.

  A commotion echoed from the other end of the shadowy cellar as Axel’s voice impersonated a high-powered engine. “Varoom! Varoom!”

  Erik worked his way to the kids’ doorway and stopped at the entrance. He smiled at the sight of two grown men on the floor trying to keep pace with an energetic boy racing cars around a makeshift racetrack of boards and books.

  They all glanced up, then returned their concentration to the race.

  He shook his head and chuckled. “I’m going to the kitchen for a snack. Anybody else hungry?”

  “We could use some of those cookies Annie baked this morning,” Axel said, stopping his miniature car, “and milk. Racing’s a thirsty business, buddy.” After checking to see if the others agreed, they resumed the competition. “Varoom! Varoom! Varooom!”

  Erik smirked and started for the basement stairs. When he’d left America for this assignment, he envisioned himself hiding out in some cold, dismal cave, suffering the life of a mole. Instead, he lived openly in this snug house with warm, caring people. People he’d quickly grown fond of … one in particular.

  Thoughts of Annelise played through his mind in a collage of pictures, from his first glimpse of her exquisite beauty to her stunning appearance while visiting his relatives at Sjaellands Point. And her many moods—being flustered when she’d slept in on his first morning here; being annoyed when put in risky situations, yet willing to see them through; being patient and determined. And she cared for people: her aging grandmother, her foolhardy brother, children who’d been ripped away from their families, even total strangers imposing on their hospitality. Like me.

  What a pity the wedding they talked so much about was a sham. The more time Erik spent with Annelise and the better he got to know her, the more he realized she met every single qualification his father had rattled off. And he cared about her. Really cared. Problem was, she needed a man she could trust to be with her no matter what. With a war raging around them, Erik couldn’t promise to be that man.

  Yes, he was going upstairs to get a snack, all right. In truth, he was yearning for some time alone with his fiancée. Reaching the main-floor hallway, he heard feminine murmurings from the dining room, where the ladies were making a new dress for little Rachel. Annelise’s enchanting voice drew him down the gloomy hall toward the golden lamp glow spilling from the room.

  In the archway, he feasted his eyes on his betrothed as she concentrated on pinning puffy sleeves to a small floral and lace bodice. Grams Holberg sat at the treadle machine nearby, sewing what resembled a wide sash for a dress pretty enough to be worn by a flower girl in a wedding.

  His and Annelise’s wedding.

  No one among the family’s church friends knew anyone who could take the children to Sweden, so Erik and Axel concocted the daring plan to have Rachel and Moshe march down the aisle as flower girl and ring bearer, right under the noses of the Nazis. The little pair would then accompany the wedding party to the reception on the yacht and conveniently disappear below deck before time to sail. The newlyweds would personally transport them to safety. Annelise had scoffed at the insane idea at first, but now even she was caught up in the wedding plans. Maybe in time her new enthusiasm might extend to him, too.

  Erik’s gaze meandered to the curly-haired darling perched on her knees in a chair by Annelise, fussing with a doll’s dress made to match Rachel’s special one. The rag doll was from the batch he had brought from America stuffed with money for refugees, and Rachel had latched on to one whose yarn hair was as dark as her own. Absorbed in dressing the dolly, the slight child looked so small. So vulnerable. He prayed that God would see them all through this dangerous escapade.

  His attention gravitated to Annelise again, and his heart swelled with tenderness. Maybe after they’d accomplished their mission and were sailing the Gulf of Bothnia, they’d be free from the wartime tension for a while. He imagined them just being together, getting
to know each other. One day she might come to trust him. To love him … as he was growing to love her. There was no use denying his feelings.

  But who was he kidding? They’d be watched day and night by the Germans.

  “See how pretty Abigail looks?” Rachel’s eyes shone as she held out her stuffed doll for Annelise to see, dressed up in her fancy attire. “May I please hold my Abby under the canopy while you and Mr. Erik get married?”

  Annelise smiled, admiring the treasured doll. “We won’t be having a canopy, sweetie. Our wedding will be different from the ones you’ve seen. You’ll just walk down a long aisle to the front of the church and wait quietly. Mr. Erik will already be standing there, waiting for me.” A wistful smile—or wishful, Erik dared to hope—softened her expressive features. When she raised her lashes, her beautiful azure eyes locked on his.

  For a second, he thought he detected undeniable joy … until her cheeks pinkened and her expression settled into one of mere politeness.

  “I … uh … came up to get something to eat for me and the race-car drivers downstairs,” he stammered.

  Mrs. Holberg gave a wry grimace. “That’s just where Axel belongs. In the cellar playing with cars instead of out in the world concocting endless messes for the rest of us to clean up.”

  “Did Uncle Axel spill some milk?” Rachel asked in that cute but perilous Hamburg accent. Her brown eyes rounded with dread.

  “No, my dear. Nothing like that.” The older woman slanted a glance at her granddaughter. “Annelise, why don’t you go to the kitchen and help Erik fix a nice tray for the boys? Maybe one for us, too.” She surprised Erik with a sly wink as Annelise placed her work carefully on the table.