*
They outfitted him in boots, skis, and a hunter’s coat Einar found among some old things. Once warmed, Nordstrum left through the field at the back, and headed into the hills. Over the next few days he made his way to the Skinnarland family farm, where there was an unused meat-curing hut in the woods only the family knew about. Emma, Einar’s sister-in-law, brought him food and a blanket. The days were lonely and cold with only a woodstove there, but he filled his heart and warmed his bones with the belief that what he was doing was right and necessary. He slept with his gun on his pillow and kept his eye on the fields in case the Germans tracked him to the farm. After four days, when he was sure the coast was clear, he made his way back up onto the vidda.
In Uvdal he found a stone in Ox’s mailbox.
There were messages back and forth now between Ox and Sassy (Hella’s code name, a word Nordstrum had learned in England that well described her) and SOE in England. A cache of supplies was being dropped on the vidda, which he and Ox went out and retrieved, including a new radio. They reported the new troop intensification on the vidda and heard back that there might be a few more agents dropped in the area soon. The exchanges of information were working perfectly now; both Ox and Hella were well suited to the job. Though he had to admit he found his thoughts drifting far more to her than to the broad-shouldered slaughterhouse hand in his heavy oilskin coats.
SOE appeared to be pleased.
The best news he received was that Gunnerside had successfully made it to Sweden. All but one, they said. They had separated from the Yank. They feared him lost.
Gutterson. He was a good lad who had earned his place with them, and Nordstrum felt genuinely sorry to learn that.
“What’s Gunnerside?” Hella asked in her father’s cabin after handing him the decoded message.
Nordstrum shrugged. “Just some friends of mine.”
“Well, they must be good friends. I’ve never seen you smile so widely as a moment before. Or now so sad.”
“You know there are things I have to keep from you. And I do smile every now and then. I just haven’t had much to smile about in the past few years. So is there anything to drink in the house? We should have a toast.”
“My father kept something somewhere.” Hella found some whisky and an old bottle of aquavit in a cabinet and poured out two glasses and they toasted to his friends’ safe return, and to the Yank, whose fate was unknown.
“It would be good to go to Sweden.” Hella sat down at the table. “It would be good for one week to pretend this war wasn’t happening. I was in Stockholm a couple of times. With Anders.”
“Maybe one day I’ll take you,” Nordstrum said.
“You and me?” She tilted her glass toward him. “So you actually do have a heart in there. Anyway, I must be ten years older than you. I’m sure you can find some pretty young thing who doesn’t have two marks against her.”
“One thing I’ve learned: In war, there’s no such thing as age. Or one’s past. We’re all the same. Anyway, if your husband doesn’t return, consider it a date.”
“I’ll mark my calendar.” She laughed. “But I won’t buy an outfit just yet.”
“I’m a man of my word.” Nordstrum put down his glass. “Don’t be so sure we won’t.”
*
Einar knew of someone in Miland who might be interested in some work, so Nordstrum traveled there by ferry and bus with a bag of tools, posing as a carpenter. The man was a beer salesman, which was perfect, as he was always on the road, so he could transmit from anywhere. His name was Reinar.
If a man was smart and careful, he would always say no, of course, to Nordstrum’s initial entreaty for this kind of “work.” And with good reason to be wary of the Gestapo’s reach and infiltration into the general population.
Which Reinar did, of course. Even with Einar’s recommendation.
Nordstrum would then give them a small radio where they could pick up the BBC.
“That’s illegal, isn’t it?”
“Tell me your mother’s name,” Nordstrum said. “Then listen to the news Friday.”
“Her name?” Reinar said, cautious. “Her name’s Regina.”
“Remember.” Nordstrum got up. “Friday.”
Three days later, the lead-in: “A special greeting to Regina,” was played just before the News of the Night, convincing Reinar that Nordstrum indeed had a genuine connection to England.
“So what’s your favorite beer?” he asked Nordstrum on their second time together, showing him his catalogue, which these days included Lowenbrau and Hofbrau from Germany.
“Guinness, these days,” Nordstrum replied.
Reinar closed his catalogue. “Mine too.”
The deal was fixed.
“If they search your car, you’ll be shot,” Nordstrum instructed him.
“Then a lot of people will go thirsty.” The beer salesman smiled.
They needed a radio. Nordstrum placed a pebble in Hella’s mailbox and put his coded message in a bottle in a drainage culvert near her home. She picked it up on the way to work.
Two days later she shifted the OPEN sign on her storefront from the front door to the left window. Nordstrum bought a pack of cigarettes at the tobacconist across the street. He skied up to her cabin that afternoon.
“Give them a week, they say.” Hella handed him the message. He leaned his skis up and kicked the snow off his boots. “They’ll drop the radio near Mosvatn on Saturday. If you need help, I’ll go with you.”
“You?” Nordstrum smiled. “A nice thought. But I’m afraid not.”
“Why not? I can ski. Anders and I always vacationed in the mountains. I can handle a gun too. Look…” She had a Czech-made pistol in the drawer where the radio was.
Nordstrum smiled again. “I bet you can. But you never know what you might run into on the way. And anyway, you’ve become far too valuable where you are.”
“Well, I won’t let up. I can do more. Let me make you a tea.”
“A quick one.” Nordstrum took a glance out the window. “I don’t like the looks of it out there.” He looked over the message one more time and fed it into the fire. “I’ve got a long trek. I should be on my way.”
He watched her while she went to the wood-burning stove and put on some water. She looked pretty today. She always did. Today she wore a long white sweater and tight black wool stretch pants that accented her shape. Her hair, brown and thick with streaks of henna, fell below one shoulder in a loose braid.
“Milk?” She turned back and caught him watching her, as the water boiled.
“Black, please,” Nordstrum said.
They talked a bit, about rumors of the impending Allied invasion, which was said might take place in Norway. About her husband, a school principal before the war. And for the first time she told him she had a son. He allowed her to freshen his cup one more time. Finally Nordstrum went to the window. “It’s starting to snow.”