Chapter 7
Dear Anne,
It took us all day to get to the town of Hamar only to be told there was no room at the inn. My traveling companions proved their mettle throughout the ordeal. Mr. Whitney, despite his unpredictable temper, was more than capable of handling the Ford. I think he almost enjoyed the excitement of being back behind the wheel again, reliving his glory days of wartime service, though he’d never admit it. Poor Miss Kristiansen, on the other hand, discovered she’d left behind the suitcase containing most of her clothes. The typewriter that she remembered is small consolation...
T he town of Hamar curved against the long narrow banks of the Mj?sa. Normally, Daisy would have been peering out the window, taking in the architecture and landscape, asking about local industries, transportation infrastructure, taking notes to review ahead of meetings with her economic advisers. Today, she barely noticed more than a passing blur of gray water and icy froth, a teeth-achingly bright blue sky, the way her joints ached, and how a horrible crick in her neck made speaking painful. They’d stopped only once to allow her to phone the legation in Oslo. That was hours ago, and her bones were making sure she paid for it.
Mr. Whitney stepped forward to help her from the car, but, once again, she refused his hand, forcing herself to step lively toward the community hall where the Storting, Norway’s parliament, was in session.
“Mrs. Harriman!” Sir Cecil Dormer, the British ambassador to Norway, waved her down, his long, thin frame wrapped in a heavy coat and muffler, the tips of his elfin ears pink with cold. “Glad to see you made it unscathed.”
“By the skin of our teeth,” she said with a brave laugh. “Is anyone else here yet?”
“Who isn’t, is the better question.” He waved his arm to encompass the communication vans lined up outside a building housing journalists and broadcasters. A frantic-looking man in an overcoat and hat barked orders at a policeman, who in turn barked at the locals. A train whistle blew as passengers streamed out of the station. “I’d say most of Europe is represented in some capacity.” He leaned in with a gallows smile. “Everyone except the Germans, and they’re on their way, so a reliable source informs me.”
Miss Kristiansen caught up with Daisy as they crossed the street. “There are no available hotel rooms, ma’am,” she explained. “But the village of H?sbj?r is just a few miles farther along. Rumor is that’s where the royal family’s staying.”
“With rumors like that, who needs spies?” Sir Cecil winked and tapped his finger alongside his nose. “Go on, Mrs. Harriman. I imagine this caravan won’t be too far behind. Not with Jerry on the march.”
Daisy wished she could stay and witness the discussion going on a few feet away in the noisy hall. Roosevelt would need her information and her educated opinion. But her educated opinion in this instance was to carry on to H?sbj?r. If the royal family planned to pause there, she’d learn just as much without the crowds.
The hotel they came to stood on a high bluff overlooking a forested valley, a white building shining against the spring snowmelt. The lobby was quiet. Two Norwegian military officers stood on the drive. Another two stood by the concierge’s desk. One disappeared and reappeared behind a pair of doors, his gaze intent as if he was casing the layout in anticipation of a raid.
Daisy adjusted her hat in the mirror above a handsome mahogany sideboard. “See to our rooms, Petra. You look dead on your feet.”
“Where will you be, ma’am?”
“Untangling the first thread in this Gordian knot.”
“Would it have anything to do with that phone call you placed on the road?”
“You’ll find out soon enough.” She winked. “Go on. I’ll be along as soon as I can.”
The doors into the lounge were closed, the murmur of conversation audible in the quiet of the hotel’s nearly empty lobby. A young man in military braid answered her knock with a raised brow. “Ja?”
“Tell His Majesty that Mrs. Harriman would like a word at his convenience.”
He frowned as if to bar the door, but a voice called out from deeper inside, and the young man reluctantly stepped aside.
“I apologize, Madam Minister.” The president of the Norwegian parliament stood up from his place at a long table, his blunt features strained, his mouth a fold of displeasure. “Young Captain Bakke didn’t recognize you.”
“No need to explain, Mr. Hambro. In times like these, it pays to be careful.”
“You know Mr. Wedel and Mr. Lie.”
“Gentlemen, don’t get up,” she addressed the weary-looking lord chamberlain and minister of supplies as they heaved themselves to their feet before settling her gaze on the two men sitting at the head of the table. Crown Prince Olav, blond and handsome, his hand curved around a cup of black coffee, and His Majesty King Haakon, his face drawn and pale with eyes sunken from lack of sleep, though they remained razor sharp. “It is always a pleasure, Mrs. Harriman. But I assume you didn’t come to pay a social call.”
“I’ll come right to the point. Herr Brauer and I spoke just a few hours ago.”
A ripple of consternation passed over the room before the king settled it with a quiet look. “What does the German minister have to say to you that he has not already said so eloquently to my people?”
Wedel sat up while Lie’s hands fisted upon the table in front of him. Prince Olav remained silent, but his eyes moved between his father and Daisy, his finger nervously tapping the rim of his saucer.
“He wants to arrange a meeting, Your Majesty.”
“I’m sure he does.” Daisy gave His Majesty credit. Not even a flicker of surprise lit his gaze. He might have been having a chat with his tailor. “Meanwhile, Mr. Quisling anoints himself the head of a new government in Norway. He apparently has the Führer’s full confidence, if not the Norwegian people’s.”
“I heard about the announcement,” she answered, hoping not to be drawn off her task.
“Did you also hear the capital is in the hands of the Germans, with more of their troops arriving every minute?” His Majesty demanded. “Who was there to stop them? Cadets barely out of short pants. A few royal guards who found themselves outmanned and outgunned.” His voice was raspy with unspent anger. His eyes sparked as he surveyed his advisers, who paled but did not shrink under his fiery regard. Then as quickly as it came, the storm passed and he settled stiffly back, fingers clenched white around the chair’s arms. “You are a very long way from home, Mrs. Harriman.”
“We both are, Your Majesty.” She pretended she didn’t notice the strain in his voice as he tried to understand how events had spiraled so quickly out of his control. “It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve found myself caught up in the middle of a war.”
“No, of course. You were in Austria when the last war broke out, weren’t you? Should I be worried your ill luck is contagious?”
She could sense him testing her, not out of malice but out of necessity. A man losing friends needed to trust the ones he had left. She held her ground and his gaze.
Whatever he saw in her, he sighed and turned back to his papers. “I appreciate your desire to assist, Mrs. Harriman, but sometimes what serves us best in peace is not necessarily what serves us best in war. You understand.”
Completely. He had accepted her as minister so long as her job was lobbying, glad-handing, and hostessing. Skills she could handle with her eyes closed and standing on one foot. He wasn’t yet ready to trust her with more. Could she blame him when there were those among her own staff who remained skeptical? No. That would be a waste of her energy that was better spent changing his mind.
“And Herr Brauer?”
“We will meet him in due course, though I don’t suppose he’ll like what we have to say.” His grimness vanished in a charismatic smile, the man who could charm any reception hall or ballroom. “I would beg one favor, if I might...”
She made the obligatory noises, but who denied a king his favor? Certainly not her.
“Under the circumstances, the safest place for Her Royal Highness and the children would be in Sweden. She would have the comfort of her parents and the protection of her uncle the king to see her through this trying time.” He lifted a hand to his son at the far end of the table, his youthful features hollowed but still sharp with determination. “And Prince Olav would not have the distraction of family in harm’s way.”
That long-ago palace dinner. That quiet conversation.
His Majesty knew and was calling in his chits.
“I take it Her Royal Highness isn’t on board with this plan.”
“I’m sure she would listen to you, woman to woman.”
There it was again. As if females were beyond the ken of normal men and only someone of their sex could understand their fickle natures when in fact what it boiled down to was that she was being banished so the men could get on with their work. Already they looked anxious, shifting in their seats. Checking watches. She smiled until her teeth ached. “It’s my pleasure, Your Majesty, but I’m sure Crown Princess M?rtha is stronger than you think.” She paused before adding, “Most women are.”
As final words, they lacked pizzazz but were probably better than slamming the door in a huff, which is what had crossed her mind.
Miss Kristiansen met her back in the lobby. “There is a phone call for you, ma’am.”
Daisy took up the receiver. “Harriman here.”
“Lieutenant Bayard, ma’am.” The line crackled as he shouted over miles of telephone wire. “I’m ringing to let you know we’ve arrived safely in Sjusj?en. I’ll see that everyone is organized before joining you in the next day or two.”
“I hope Cleo didn’t give you any trouble.” There was a long silence at the other end. “Lieutenant? Are you there?”
Daisy could hear the blood rushing in her ears, the concierge speaking to the bellboy. The rattle of the elevator door. Her hand clutching the receiver went damp and clammy.
Bayard cleared his throat. “I thought Miss Jaffray was with you.”
S am pulled up at a fork in the road near the village of Minnesund, where a group of Norwegian militia had set up a roadblock. Einar jumped out as soon as the van slowed to a halt. In rapid-fire Norwegian, he chattered away at the older bearded man who looked to be in charge.
The man shook his head.
Einar pulled aside his coat to show his revolver. Even in a foreign language, his frustration was clear.
The man shook his head again.
Einar climbed back into the van as the soldiers let the van pass.
“What did he say?” Cleo asked.
“They do not want me. They tell me to go home.” He folded his arms across his chest like a truculent child denied a sweet. “I won’t. I will fight. Soldiers in Hamar, they will take me. I will guard the king himself.”
Leaving the makeshift checkpoint, they continued on, following a river that flashed in and out of sight through a scrub of pines and leafless, gray-trunked birch.
“You said you were looking for a friend of yours—a trumpeter,” Emmitt said with a rustle of his map. “Ever find him?”
Cleo hunched her shoulders deeper into her coat despite the heat. “Not yet.”
She thought back to the man she’d met at the German chancery. He’d said he’d served in Zakopane. She didn’t recognize him, but that didn’t mean much. There had been so many officers and staff passing through town it was impossible to recognize them all. Only the most influential stood out to her: Weissmann and his deputy, whose name she couldn’t remember. They’d been regulars at the café. Micky had pointed them both out to her one evening and warned her to steer clear. As if she needed the warning when every day was a minefield and safety was a mirage. A month later the café was a charred ruin and Micky was missing. Was there a connection? Had Micky followed his own rule, or had he slipped up and made enemies?
“Espa,” Einar said, indicating a village of low red roofs standing out amid the gray sky and the white snow.
“I’m starving,” Dud groused, shutting his book with a thud. “Has this backwater got a restaurant? Better yet, a bar?”
“Dud’s right. I need to stretch my legs before I become a permanent pretzel,” Norman piped up.
“I have to take a piss like you wouldn’t believe.” The chorus grew louder. The band was getting restless.
Cleo couldn’t blame them. Her left foot was asleep, and she’d had a cymbal sticking into her side for at least twenty miles.
Sam pulled over, and Einar hopped out to speak to a man on a tractor, loping back over the hard ground to deliver his news. “He’s heard from friends farther south and west that Germans are close.”
“Right,” Emmitt snapped. “I don’t know about the rest of you, but I don’t want to be here with my balls hanging out when the Germans roll in. We don’t stop again until Hamar.” He glanced sharpish at Cleo. “Then we eat and drink on the US minister’s dime.”
With much groaning, they clambered back into the van as Sam shoved it into gear. The engine sputtered and stalled. He turned the key, but the engine wouldn’t kick over. After a few minutes of high-pitched whirring, a thin stream of white smoke rose from under the hood. “Shit! Dud? Take a look, would you?”
“Athena’s your fucking van, as you’re always so quick to point out.”
“Fine, but I don’t know jack about engines. You spent six months working in a garage.”
“I washed ’em. I didn’t fix ’em.” But he did as he was told, pushing the hood up to peer inside.
Einar got out, and he and the man on the tractor exchanged a long conversation that involved a lot of pointing and head shaking before Einar returned with a smile of triumph. “He says he can fix.”
“I don’t want some local yokel fiddling around with Athena,” Sam grumbled. “What if he ruins her?”
“And Dud won’t?” Emmitt griped. “Besides, it’s that or walk.”
“Thank you for helping me. I go now.” Pulling up his coat collar, Einar started up the road.
“Where the hell is he going?” Paulie growled.
“I knew this was a bad idea,” Sam muttered.
Cleo jogged after Einar, pulling him to a halt. “You can’t just leave now. Not like this.”
“Germans come,” he stated simply, his round cheeks puffed with determination. “I join army and fight.”
He continued trudging up the road, his knapsack banging against his hip. His wool hat was pulled low over his head to keep out the damp cold. Cleo watched him go, expecting him to turn back before finally realizing that wasn’t going to happen.
“Hold on!” She hurried to catch up again. She heard Emmitt call out, but she ignored him. “We can’t just leave them stranded in the middle of nowhere.”
“They are safe here,” Einar said. “You stay. You will be safe too.”
She wished she was as confident of that as he was. “You saw those soldiers asking questions at the legation.”
He sized her up before shaking his head. “It is a long way to Hamar on foot. You are a girl.”
“What’s your point?”
He frowned, not understanding the words, but most definitely understanding her tone and body language if his sheepish blush was any indication.
“I’m tougher than I look,” Cleo added, “and if you’re going, I’m going with you.”
The boy grinned in easy surrender. “Together then. We both find army. We both fight Germans.”
Cleo didn’t want to fight Germans, but she felt herself grinning in response.
“Hey!” It was Emmitt jogging to catch up to them. “The old man says we’re stuck until tomorrow.” He eyed Cleo with a narrowed gaze. “You’re ditching us, aren’t you?”
“I have to get to my godmother. Besides, it’s safer for you if I’m not here when the Germans turn up.”
“And that payment you promised?”
“If I’ve left Hamar before you arrive, I’ll send it care of your next booking.”
“We’ve got work at a dance hall called Virveln in Stockholm, but I won’t be holding my breath.” He dug his hands into his coat and stamped his shoes on the packed snow to keep circulation in his toes. His cheeks glowed with cold and cynicism.
She threw her arms around him in a hug. “Be careful. You and all the boys.”
“You too, Park Avenue.” He shook Einar’s hand. “Take care of her, you hear? Or you’ll answer to me.”
Einar grinned and saluted as he’d seen Cleo do earlier. “As she says it, scout’s honor.”
Dear Anne,
I’m beginning to understand what poor Letitia’s been up against all these years. And here I thought she was exaggerating. But like father, like daughter...
T he lieutenant’s voice still buzzed at the other end, but Daisy wasn’t listening. Her hand trembled, and she stilled it before anyone assumed she was afraid for other reasons. An old woman, confused and anxious. It was the last thing she needed. She’d felt Mr. Whitney’s gaze more than once during the trip. She imagined him making notes of every crack and wobble, proof she wasn’t up to the task.
She shook off her suspicions. She was running on no sleep and little food while traveling hither and yon with an army nipping at her heels. Was it any wonder she began to look over her shoulder? Now Cleo was missing—again. The girl was worse than a magician’s assistant. Now she’s here. Now she’s gone. Was she still in Oslo? Or had she gone haring off on the ghost of a rumor about that man of hers? Stupid, feckless child.
Daisy sank into a nearby chair, her heart fluttering uncomfortably in her chest.
“Ma’am? What’s happened? Is it the lieutenant? Is he safe?”
Returning to Oslo was impossible, and there was no one to send back to look for her. “Petra, get me Mr. Cox on the phone.”
A few minutes later, Daisy was speaking to an earnest young clerk whose dread of being the bearer of bad news rang through the wires. “Miss Jaffray’s room hasn’t been touched, ma’am. All her clothes and shoes are still in the cupboard, but she’s not here. No one’s seen her since she went for a walk with Kim early this afternoon. The dog came back. Miss Jaffray didn’t.”
As Daisy set down the receiver, her exhaustion seemed to triple, her limbs heavy, and yet she burned with anger. “I could throttle that blasted girl,” she complained to Miss Kristiansen over dinner. “She’s not at the legation. She’s not with the lieutenant. Where could she be?”
“She had an appointment with Herr Brauer this morning, ma’am.” Her secretary’s tone never changed, but the inference was clear. “Perhaps someone at the German chancery might have an idea of where she went.”
Of all the days to be knocking on the Germans’ front door. Cleo’s timing was impeccably horrible. Daisy chose to remain stubbornly positive in the face of disaster. “I don’t see Herr Brauer having time to chat with my foolish goddaughter today of all days, do you?”
“No, but, if you’ll pardon me saying so, ma’am, she doesn’t seem like a young woman who lets a war stand in the way of what she wants.”
“A fair reading of her character.”
“A family trait, ma’am?” Miss Kristiansen suggested, her features thawing into a glimmer of a smile.
“Normally I’d be encouraged at this display of initiative. Today I just want to box her ears.” For the first time since Lieutenant Bayard’s explosive revelation, Daisy let herself take a deep breath that wasn’t weighted with lead. Until she knew differently, she would assume Cleo was alive and well. It was really all she could do. “It’s too late to learn anything more tonight. I’ll ring again in the morning. Maybe they’ll have news.”
She hunched back over her dinner, but her appetite was lost. She pushed her lamb around her plate before choking down a few roasted potatoes, distracted by a quiet conversation at a nearby table.
“Do you think the king will surrender to the Germans’ demands?” came the whispered words.
“As far as they’re concerned, it would do just as well for him to be dead” was the hushed response. “With him and the prince out of the way, all that’s left is a vulnerable widow and three small children. Easily manipulated. Easily used.”
A scenario already anticipated by the king, who was obviously under no illusion as to the veracity of German guarantees. What Hitler wanted, Hitler got. And if he wanted Norway under the nominal rule of a child king, he’d do what he could to make it happen.
The diners departed, leaving Daisy to finish her coffee in peace. When the French attaché entered the room, his whole body vibrated with news. “A company of German paratroopers are on the way here now. We can’t count on Norwegian defenses holding out for long. The royal family and parliament are being evacuated immediately to the town of Elverum.”
As one, the room abandoned their dinners, shouting for luggage to be organized, bills settled, cars to be brought around. No one panicked, but no one lingered either. Outside, Daisy searched for the Ford amid a strobing array of flashlights and handheld electric lanterns.
“Over here, Mrs. Harriman!” Mr. Whitney waved from the far side of the yard before hurrying to assist with her bags. “What do you think?” he said, pointing to the enormous American flag he’d tied to the roof with twine. “Should keep the Germans from taking potshots at us.”
“Let’s hope. Have you seen Miss Kristiansen?”
“Here I am.” Petra moved through a sea of cars, all rattling to life, Daisy’s overnight case clutched to her chest.
“Safe?” she asked softly so as not to draw Mr. Whitney’s attention.
Petra placed a hand tellingly over the case as if she protected a child and answered in a near-whisper. “I won’t let it out of my sight, ma’am.”
Daisy knew she was being absurd, but her gaffe over Cleo rankled. If she could misplace her goddaughter, who was to say she wouldn’t lose the codebook?
The road to Elverum was narrow and winding. Deep snow filled the ditches to either side and glowed blue under a bomber’s moon. A parade of headlights flashed over long stretches of forest broken by farm fields, meadows, and small family farms. Daisy imagined she could hear the sounds of an advancing army, but there was only the hum of tires against the macadam, the squeak of seat springs, and Mr. Whitney’s nervous tapping against the steering wheel as he drove. Petra was silent, her face flashing in and out of shadow.
As they rounded a corner, cars ahead of them slowed and braked. “Looks like another roadblock, ma’am. Elverum’s just a few miles farther on.”
They crept forward, a car at a time. Men were hewing logs, dragging branches across the road. Some in the uniform of the Norwegian Royal Guard. The rest in heavy coats and scarves, their faces muffled by caps and collars against the overnight cold. Now and then, she caught a glint of a rifle barrel, a grim face here and then gone. Daisy counted a few dozen men at most. Not nearly enough to stop a determined German advance.
Daisy rolled down her window. “Everything all right, Colonel?” she asked, drawing the attention of a red-cheeked man directing the placement of a machine gun.
Spying the American flag, he grimaced at her accent but inclined his head in a respectful nod. “You arrived just in time, ma’am. We’re closing this road to traffic—friend or foe—once His Majesty is through.”
“I wish you luck.”
“Not to boast, but one of mine is worth ten of theirs.”
“Your men are that skilled?”
“No, ma’am. My men are that angry.”