Touch the Sky (Young Underground #8) (25 page)

             
“
So are we,
”
agreed Elise, picking up her bag. But Pastor Kai snatched it out of her grip.

             
“
No you don
’
t,
”
he told her.
“
Your parents called and told me everything about what happened. We
’
ve been praying for you at church, and you
’
re going to be resting here. No chores. No hard work. No carrying heavy bags. You can just sit around and draw our portraits.
”

             
Elise grinned shyly.
“
Well
...”

             
“
That
’
s the way it
’
s going to be,
”
insisted Pastor Kai with a smile and a bow.
“
You
’
re here to get better, and we
’
re going to make sure that
’
s what you do.
”
He turned to leave, taking another bag in his free hand.
“
Now, gentlemen, let
’
s see how much we can fit in our car. Follow me.
”

             
The car was a large gray boxy sedan with dented fenders. One of its outside door handles was missing.

             
“
It may not look like much,
”
said Pastor Kai as he opened the doors,
“
but the car runs just fine, and it gets around.
”

             
Peter and Henrik helped Elise and the others pack their things in the car; they even strapped one of the bikes to the back end, where the spare tire was hung.

             
“
This will do it for now,
”
said Pastor Kai, climbing into the driver
’
s seat.
“
I
’
ll be back for you three in forty
-
five minutes.
”

             
He looked at Henrik.
“
By the way, your mother arrived yesterday morning with Grandfather Andersen.
”

             
“
Grandfather
’
s here, too?
”
asked Peter as they pulled the rest of the bikes together on the sidewalk in front of the train station to wait.

             
“
He
’
s a bit tired, but he
’
s here. Told us he had to come see for himself if your sister was all right.
”
Pastor Kai
’
s car pulled away and turned down the street in the direction of his little village.

             
The town of Oksbøl looked like a hundred other little Danish country towns. A neat row of white stucco shops ran down the main cobblestone street, some outlined in heavy brown timbers. All had red tile roofs. At the edge of town, Peter could see a steeple from the local church, which was another whitewashed, heavy
-
walled stucco building.

             
A young girl skipping their direction stopped and stared at them curiously, then turned and ran, giggling. Without the chugging of the train, the only sounds were a few robins in a grove of beech trees on the far side of the railroad tracks. An old man sat dozing on another pile of luggage in the warm morning sun, and Peter thought back to what he and Henrik had been talking about on the train.

             
“
Ah, excuse me, sir.
”
Peter stepped up to the old man and cleared his throat. The old man
didn
’
t move, only snored.

             
“
Hello?
”
Peter looked around. His father and Henrik were sitting on the ground next to the bikes, looking almost as sleepy as the little town itself.

             
“
Excuse me?
”
Peter finally tapped the old man lightly on the shoulder, sending him into a snort and a jerk.

             
“
Yes, yes.
”
The man
’
s eyes fluttered, and he answered without looking.
“
Next train comes through tonight.
”

             
Peter waited for a minute, but the man went back to his snoring. By the length of his beard, it looked as if he could have been snoring there for quite a while. Peter tapped him on the shoulder once more.

             
“
I
’
m wondering if you
’
ve seen a car around here lately....
”

             
The old man gave a mighty snort and sat up straight. He adjusted his teeth and stared directly at Peter.

             
“
A little black car that might have been parked outside the station? Did you see
—”

             
“
Yes, yes,
”
interrupted the old man.
“
Fellow in a pastor
’
s collar. Drove off with a car full of folks.
”

             
“
No, I don
’
t mean him.
”
Peter tried to look at the old man who had already closed his eyes again and was breathing heavily.
“
I meant
...”

             
Peter sighed and gave up on his detective work. From his perch by the luggage, Henrik gave him a curious look.

             
“
Come on, Henrik.
”
Peter waved at his friend.
“
Let
’
s find out if there
’
s any place that sells ice cream in this town.
”

             
“
So does it look the same as when you visited two years ago?
”
asked Pastor Kai.

             
Peter hung on as they bounced over a gravel road on the way to the farming village called Ho. They had passed through a patch of thick woods and had emerged into an area of fields dotted with cotton
-
puff sheep. Ho Bay
—
long, wide, and sparkling in the sunshine
—
stretched out on their left as they neared the village.

             
“
It
’
s beautiful,
”
admitted Peter.
“
Pretty much the way I remember it.
”

             
“
Where
’
s the farm?
”
Henrik asked. He was perched on the backseat of the car with his backpack on his lap, looking nervous.

             
“
Past the little town coming up,
”
Peter replied.
“
Pastor Kai lives on the edge of town in the parsonage, and then you keep going for a few miles to the end of the road. That
’
s where Uncle Harald and Aunt Hanne live.
”

             
Henrik nodded while Peter enjoyed the now
-
familiar scenery. In between purple heather
-
carpeted rolling hills that spilled down toward the ocean, he could smell woods filled with pine and beech trees. Emerald green fields were divided into neat little pastures by miles of white rail fences.

             
“
Lots of sheep,
”
observed Henrik.

             
Peter rolled down the window to get a full breath of the salt
-
laced air, his favorite smell.
“
This is where my mom grew up.
”
He stuck his arm out the window and turned his hand to let the wind catch it like a bird
’
s wing.
“
Ocean out there on the right. Bay on the left. Ocean ahead of us, too. Almost like being on an island. This is where I
’
m going to live someday.
”

             
He pointed out places where he had been before, places where he and Elise had ridden bicycles with their cousins, Kurt and Marianne. But that had been during the war, and now Peter thought it seemed almost strange not to see German soldiers in the town, or German checkpoints on the country roads. Henrik crossed his arms and nodded stiffly as Peter talked.

             
“
Are you okay?
”
Peter finally asked.
“
You look like you did before final exams last May.
”

             
Henrik only nodded but kept his arms locked tightly in front of him.
“
I
’
m okay. I was just thinking. Where would a ship come through?
”

             
“
Oh.
”
Peter understood and pointed in the direction of Bluewater Hook, far out to the right.
“
The lighthouse is way out there. I guess Matthias
is
supposed to be here pretty soon, isn
’
t he?
”

             
Henrik just closed his eyes as they bounced over the gravel road on the way out to the farm.
“
Today. He
’
s supposed to get here today sometime.
”

             
Pastor Kai looked up through the rearview mirror.
“
I
’
m sure you
’
ll enjoy spending some time with Peter
’
s cousins, Henrik.
”

             
Henrik nodded and opened his eyes.
“
Peter
’
s told me all about them.
”

             
“
Kurt has grown another three or four inches, Peter,
”
the pastor continued,
“
if you can believe that. And he
’
s always going a mile a minute, into everything, as usual. Marianne is playing the piano. My wife is giving her lessons, along with our little Johanna.
”

             
“
Johanna.
”
Peter rolled up his window. He hadn
’
t thought about the little golden
-
haired German refugee girl they had discovered in Copenhagen the year before.
“
I almost forgot. How
’
s she doing?
”

             
Pastor Kai chuckled.
“
She talks like a regular Dane now. We
’
re in the process of legally adopting her. She and our Jakob get along like the best of friends.
”

             
“
That
’
s terrific,
”
replied Peter.

             
“
And you remember her older brother, Gustav, the fellow I met when he was trying to find his little sister here on the coast? He
’
s studying now at the university in Aarhus. Wants to be a doctor. Doing real well, too.
”

             
“
What about Mikkel?
”
Peter asked, remembering his oldest cousin. When they had visited before, Mikkel had always been off somewhere, busy in the Underground movement with things he wouldn
’
t talk about. But that had been during the war.

             
“
He
’
s in Aarhus, too, studying to be a veterinarian. Took Gustav under his wing. Funny how it turned out.
”

             
They chatted like that for several minutes, comparing notes on the people they knew. And from the front seat, Peter
’
s father also seemed to enjoy the drive. As they passed another patch of woods, though, an explosion outside jolted the car.