“GRETHE AND ISABEL came home from the hospital three days later. It was a joyous day. My mother had decorated the corner of Grethe’s room all in pink. Even the bassinet had pink frills. Looking back, I think that my father was the happiest of all. He had a brand-new baby granddaughter, and he couldn’t have been prouder. He must have used three rolls of film that morning. Still, there was an uneasiness, a pall that hung over the celebration; family photographs were unfinished without Lukas. It was all the more evident, because no one wanted to address the subject. We had all vowed to remain positive, and speaking of Lukas only opened the wound and made us mindful of the strong probability that he was dead. It became an unspoken rule in the house: don’t bring it up unless Grethe brings it up first.
“Knud had told me that the mission was very important to the underground, a major drop of weapons and materials, and for that reason, four clubs, over thirty boys, had been sent out. I didn’t know how many had failed to return, nor did I know how to find out. At school, I looked around trying to see who was missing, but there were absences all the time; kids who missed school because they were sick or truant or simply quit. Besides, it was a wet and stormy February, and I missed days myself. From time to time, we’d hear rumors, but that’s all they were: unsubstantiated rumors.
“So, with no news and no reasonable way to find out, the Morgenstern family adopted a tacit agreement; we would believe he survived unless we heard otherwise. No news would be considered good news. Besides, we had Isabel and she was the center of our attention. It’s amazing how such a little thing can exert such a powerful presence. Whatever tragedies may befall, babies are the embodiment of the phrase ‘life goes on.’ Isabel filled every room of the house with joy.”
Britta pauses her story and reaches out for her granddaughter’s hand. “She was like that every day of her life, Emma.” Emma nods, wipes away a tear and whispers, “I know. That was my mom.”
Britta takes a deep breath and continues. “My father was busy that winter. General elections for the Parliament, the Folketing, were scheduled for March, the first parliamentary elections since 1939, and my father was on the ballot seeking his fourth term. Although he had been elected by a comfortable margin in his three previous campaigns, the world had changed. Previous assumptions were no longer valid. German influence and its effect on the election could not be underestimated and he was deeply concerned about German interference. An election is an expression of freedom, and as such, inapposite to Nazi ideology. Initially, Dr. Best let it be known that he opposed parliamentary elections. ‘We are at peace with the status quo under our Cooperation Agreement,’ he declared. ‘There is no upside to an upheaval in your government.’ Best was confident that the German administrators had established workable channels with the Danish government through which he could keep Denmark in line and preserve the fiction of the protectorate.
“As much as SS-Obergruppenführer Werner Best, as he was known in Germany, lobbied against the elections, and for the maintenance of the status quo, his efforts were met with a universal and immediate backlash in Denmark. Danes were unified in their tradition of democracy, and the strong public sentiment insisted upon the elections proceeding as scheduled. It was one of those moments; either the Cooperation Agreement would give way to Nazi autocracy, or Germany would permit the elections to take place in the arrangement that Hitler described as the ‘model protectorate.’
“Though it cut against his grain, Best was forced to withdraw his opposition to the 1943 Folketing elections. It seemed as though Denmark’s sense of liberty had carried the day, but Best remained unfazed. He believed that the National Socialist Workers Party of Denmark, the DNSAP, could mount a strong campaign and gain a majority of the Folketing seats, especially with his help. The DNSAP put up a slate of candidates and campaigned hard. They were well-financed, and they plastered the city with banners and signs containing wild promises of wealth and fortune.”
Catherine raises her hand. “I thought you told us that Nazi membership was insignificant in Denmark.”
Britta shakes her head. “That was before the war, in the thirties. After the occupation, Nazi membership grew. There were many, sad to say, who were intoxicated by Germany’s military strength. Those who witnessed the German conquests of peaceful countries saw German dominance as inevitable. They sought to join the ranks. Best felt confident that the increase in DNSAP membership, along with Germany’s ostensible superiority on the battlefield, would sway the electorate. He boasted about Germany’s prominence in Europe and how that would benefit Denmark. He predicted that a majority of the seats would be filled with friendly legislators and Denmark would become a superpower in the European community.
“Best was able to funnel a lot of money and exert a lot of leverage into the campaign. Many shop owners were urged to place campaign signs in their windows. The consequences of refusal were unspoken but obvious. Germany was big business; not only in international trade, but in the local purchasing power of the thousands of soldiers who were stationed throughout the country. A boycott could be disastrous for a small business.
“In fact, the economy became the primary issue in the election. Supporters of the DNSAP boasted that the balance of trade had never been better. Danish factories were running at full capacity. Farm contracts were high. Farmers and ranchers were enjoying record high prices. Denmark was experiencing almost full employment, where a decade earlier it had suffered through the worldwide depression.
“The DNSAP was also peddling fear, a frequent Danish election tactic. After all, Prime Minister Stauning had previously won by running on the slogan ‘Stauning or Chaos.’ So voters were told that if they didn’t elect a DNSAP slate, Germany might pull the plug and Denmark’s economy and security would fail.
“Our prime minister was a Social Democrat, the same party as my father. It was a liberal party and it held the majority of seats in the Folketing. The conservatives were next in number. Communists had been banned since 1941. In the 1939 election, the DNSAP ran a slate but received less than two percent.
“As the election approached, my father campaigned day and night. My mother and I were also immersed in the campaign, passing out leaflets at Copenhagen’s busy intersections and hosting afternoon tea parties. A few days before the election, when I was standing on the sidewalk passing out flyers to shoppers in front of the Magasin Department Store, Knud Gunnison approached and pulled me aside. ‘I’m not supposed to talk to you, you know. My mother would disown me, but I got news about Lukas.’
“I was shocked. ‘Is he alive?’ Knud nodded. ‘Yeah, he’s alive, but he’s in bad shape. When we were running for our lives and he fell, I thought he might have been shot, and I was right.’ Knud looked around to see if anyone was in earshot. He leaned closer to me and whispered, ‘He’s in a hospital. The Nazis don’t know he’s alive or where he is, and I hear that they’re still searching for him. Don’t tell anyone you heard this from me. I could get in a lot of trouble.’
“I grabbed his wrist. ‘You have to tell me more. What hospital? Is he in Copenhagen?’
He shook his head and handed me a note. ‘This is the name of the hospital, that’s all I know.’ He was fidgety, and he nervously scanned the area. ‘The Holger Club is breaking up; there’s only a few of us left, anyway. Without Lukas … well, we have no one to lead us. I gotta go. Remember, you didn’t hear nuthin’ from me.’
“Knud’s note read ‘St. Vincent Hosp. Fredensborg.’ ‘Wait,’ I said, ‘what does that mean, he’s in bad shape? How is he? What’s wrong with him?’
“Knud shook his head. ‘Don’t know,’ he said, and he quickly walked away.
“I couldn’t wait to get home and give Grethe the news. She was sitting in the kitchen nursing Isabel when Mama and I walked into the house. ‘He’s alive,’ I said. ‘Lukas is alive!’ Grethe burst into tears. ‘Where is he?’ she said. ‘Why hasn’t he come home?’
“‘Knud said he was in a hospital, that he’d been shot. He said he was in bad shape, but he’s alive. That’s what’s important.’ Grethe jumped up. ‘I have to go to him. ‘What hospital?’
“‘He’s not in Copenhagen; he’s in some hospital in Fredensborg, wherever that is.’
“‘It doesn’t matter, Britta, I have to go. My place is with my husband. He would come to me if the situation was reversed. If he’s been lying in some hospital for five weeks, it has to be very serious. He needs me and I have to go to him.’
“My mother forcibly disagreed. ‘Fredensborg is up north, a couple hours on a train. Are you going to drag Isabel up there in March? A five-week-old baby? It’s bitter cold. What are you thinking?’ She put her hands defiantly on her hips. ‘Where would you stay in Fredensborg? Are you going to take Isabel into the hospital? You can’t go, it’s all a bad idea.’
“My sister stood firm. ‘I have to go, and that’s it. I can’t leave Isabel, I nurse her every few hours, so I have to take her.’ But my mother was not going to be any pushover in an argument about her grandbaby. She was not about to back down. ‘Well, you can’t take Isabel that far in the cold on a train with no place to stay when you get there. That’s insane. I’ll ask Papa if he can find out about Lukas.’
“Grethe started crying. ‘Mama, that’s not enough. Lukas is lying in a hospital because he was wounded protecting this country. And he’s all alone. Someone needs to go up there, and that someone is me.’
“My mother shook her head. ‘I thought you said the Gestapo was following you, Grethe. You were even afraid to go to the hospital when Isabel was born. Papa had to take you in a police car. Are you going to lead the Gestapo right to Lukas?’
“Grethe was defeated, she knew it, and she broke down. ‘I can’t bear not being with him, not comforting him. He’s all alone and I don’t even know how he is. He could be dying, Mama.’
“‘I’ll go,’ I said. ‘I don’t have a baby and I can take a train. I don’t care about the weather. Besides, the Gestapo is not watching me. I’ll visit Lukas in the hospital, I’ll find out how he is, and when he’s coming home. I’ll call you after I talk to him. I can handle this on my own.’
“Grethe shook her head. ‘You’re seventeen years old, Britta.’
“‘What’s that supposed to mean? I’m seventeen and you’re all of twenty?’ I gave her a dirty look. ‘Are you so much older and wiser than me? Are you saying I can’t manage a two-hour train ride all by my little self?’ Grethe hung her head. ‘No, I’m only saying…’
“‘Good,’ I said, ‘then I’ll leave in the morning.’”