Mari's Hope: Odin's Promise Trilogy, #3

MARI’S

HOPE

Sandy Brehl

CRISPIN BOOKS

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Mari’s Hope

© 2017, Sandra Brehl

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without permission in writing from the publisher, except for brief quotation in an acknowledged review.

This is a work of fiction. Characters are drawn primarily from the imagination, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is coincidental.

ISBN-13: 978-1-883953-89-8 (softcover)

ISBN-13: 978-1-883953-98-0 (eBook)

Juvenile Fiction / Historical / World War II / Norway

Family & Friends / Action & Adventure / Middle Grade

First Crispin Books Edition

Cover illustration by Kathleen Spale

(www.KathleenSpale.com)

The books in the Odin’s Promise Trilogy include

Odin’s Promise

Bjorn’s Gift

Mari’s Hope

For more information, visit:

www.SandyBrehl.com

Contents

Out of the Darkness

So Many Secrets

A Fragile Promise

No Easy Cures

Catching Up

March Surprises, 1943

Something To Celebrate

Bestemor’s Surprise

Mystery Solved

Spring Notes, 1943

Bergen, A City Transformed

Hanna and Rolf

Summer Picnic

Life’s Hard Lessons

Suffering Consequences

Strong At Any Age

Heading Home

Leif ’s Offer

The Outbreak

Surprise Discoveries

A Mixed Blessing

Goatman at the Bridge

Hope Fades

Another New Year

Setting a Trap

Uninvited Guests

Restoring Order

Confusion and Contraband

Goatman Must Go

Bergen Disaster

Secrets Under Wraps

Another Goodbye

Painful, Hopeful News

Ytre Arna, 1945

A Breath of Fresh Air

Homecoming

Up From the Ashes

Packages and Plans

A Fresh Start

Author’s Note

Glossary of Norwegian & German Words

For Further Reading

Acknowledgements

Chapter One

Out of the Darkness

February 1943

Ytre Arna, Norway

The months following Christmas wrapped Mari in a shroud of gloom. That had always been true, even before the Germans invaded Norway three years earlier. In the deep of winter in Ytre Arna, even in normal times, villagers could expect little sunlight, only a few hours each day, and long, freezing nights. But this was not a normal time.

The annual season of darkness was intensified by the German occupiers’ ban on any lights visible outside the houses. Blackout curtains eliminated landmarks for potential Allied attacks. They also did away with the warm welcome of candles and lamps seen through windows that would have cheered Mari as she made her way through the blackness.

She appreciated nights filled with the luminous glow of the moon. Every day she crisscrossed the rugged paths of the countryside surrounding Ytre Area, working as Doctor Olsen’s assistant, visiting isolated homes that dotted the steep mountainsides rising from the village. Hour after sunless hour she hiked countless kilometers, often with views out to the fjord below sparkling in the starlight. Such enchanted times allowed her attention to wander while she crunched across mountain trails, dodging snow-laden evergreen boughs, heading from one small homestead to the next.

This particular night as she walked she counted the weeks until the spring equinox when Earth’s tilt would finally tip again toward more daylight than darkness. Her birthday at the end of March had always signaled her personal start to spring. The thought of turning fourteen was exciting, though she knew that her family lacked the means to celebrate.

These were lean times for all the families of western Norway. At least for those who hadn’t betrayed their country to support the Germans. Those turncoats had plenty of provisions. The occupiers made sure of that.

Since Mari began to train as Doctor Olsen’s assistant the previous year, her neighbors had come to welcome her visits. Everyone in Ytre Arna had been used to relying on the doctor, but times were hard, and the food rationing and crowded living conditions caused many health problems, making it impossible for him to meet all their needs on his own. Happily, they were beginning to trust Mari’s help as well. They knew the doctor was reviewing all her reports carefully.

When she wasn’t working or at school, the young girl studied constantly, feeling the heavy responsibility of her duties, but growing daily in confidence and skill. Her intelligence and maturity won people over as surely as Doctor Olsen’s endorsement. Months of home visits and careful treatments had earned her the respect of even the most cautious villagers. It didn’t hurt that although she was just thirteen she was tall for her age, and had a gentle smile. Still, she took care to dress plainly and wear her dark hair in the long braid of a younger girl. Patrolling German soldiers viewed her as a harmless child and rarely asked for her pass or challenged her about being out after curfew.

Mari’s home visits on that bright evening were uncomplicated, leaving her a bit of time before returning to her grandma’s cottage on the edge of town. She took a detour to spend a few minutes visiting Odin’s grave in a clearing on the mountain hillside.

By the time she arrived at the small glade, dense clouds masked the full moon, limiting her view of the landscape. Winter’s crusty snow disguised familiar knolls and shrubs, but her feet and heart didn’t hesitate. She hurried to the familiar resting place of her faithful Norwegian elkhound.

Kicking at the caked ice with the heel of her boot, she used one mittened hand to brush the remaining snow from his marker. Even in the dim light, the ebony granite stone gleamed like Odin’s black fur once did.

Mari removed both knit mittens and pressed her palms against his name etched into the marker, remembering happier times.

She welcomed the pause with Odin, a chance to rest before descending to the village again, a moment to catch her breath and be still. It was two years since a German soldier had shot her beloved dog. In that time her heartache had eased, but the pain of loss and the love she felt for him were as powerful as ever. Her visits provided a comfort of sorts, but always fueled her commitment to doing everything in her power to resist the occupation.

But it was far too cold to linger that evening.

The call of an owl nearby startled her from her thoughts. She glanced toward the tree line to locate it.

Staring back at her was a large rabbit.

Yes, you’re a very handsome fellow, long-ears. But when this cold spell breaks I’ll be out setting snares for you and your friends.

The rabbit’s ears twitched and he stared more intently, holding her gaze as if he were considering what she said. Mari laughed. I’d spare you if I could, but we need every one of you in our soups.

She turned away and headed down the mountain.

In veiled moonlight she followed the familiar path easily. Sometimes she’d pretend that the Germans had never come. She’d picture her large family home, the main house, snugged up against the steep mountainside, light spilling out over the fjord from every window. Mama would bustle about their large kitchen, preparing supper. Mari would often stop first at her grandma’s small stone cottage at the opposite end of their garden path. Odin would race ahead to the house while she and Bestemor followed, arm-inarm, to join the family for supper. They’d climb the steps together and spend an hour or more at the table with Mama, Papa, and her grown brother Bjorn.

For those few moments, trudging down the hillside lost in memory, Mari was able to relive the comforting memories of her secure, cozy childhood before the German invasion.

Now a squad of Germans lived in their house, and Mari’s family – Mama, Papa, Bestemor, and Mari – were crowded into the small cottage.

As she neared their property Mari refocused her attention. In mild weather the soldiers sat outside or roamed about the yard, smoking and chatting. Freezing temperatures made that less likely, but as she approached she strained to hear any German voices, and she sniffed the air for tobacco.

The clouds covered the moon entirely now. She ran her hand along the hedge, feeling for the gate latch. After slipping into the yard she clicked it shut behind her.

Suddenly the door to the main house flew open. Two soldiers burst out, tumbling off the steps and shouting at each other. She crouched beside the hedge, shivering as much from fear as from cold. A flash of moonlight pierced the night, revealing a drama playing out just a few meters away.

Where is it? What have you done with my watch? one demanded of the other. The accuser gripped the collar of the other soldier, shaking him like a dust rag. That was my father’s watch. I want it back!

Leave me alone! You have no proof ! The accused was the soldier she called Goatman, a sneaky character that no one liked much. He sounded like a whining child as he flopped about awkwardly in the grasp of the taller soldier, who continued his accusations.

You miserable thief, if I catch you with my things I’ll break your neck! With a shove he sent Goatman sprawling into the snow.

The squad leader appeared in the doorway and ordered them both inside. The tall soldier, whose name was apparently Schwartz, kicked at Goatman’s boot but then complied.

Goatman, however, stayed on his knees like a sulking child. The officer stomped to his side and yanked him to his feet. Klein, get inside! He shoved Goatman up the steps and through the door, slamming it behind them. Mari heard him shouting something but couldn’t be sure what he had said, despite her fluency with the German language. She stayed hidden from sight until she felt certain the door would remain shut.

By the time she unlocked Bestemor’s cottage she had figured out what the squad leader was shouting: Drunk, drunk, drunk Klein, you are always drunk!

Chapter Two

So Many Secrets

Mari wasn’t surprised to find the cottage empty. Papa rarely returned until long after his shift ended at the train station. Using the pretext of some errand, he’d stop on the way home to visit with trusted contacts in the resistance movement to exchange news. Likewise, Mama and Bestemor often lingered over their work in the main house, hoping to gather useful details from overheard conversations while they cooked and cleaned for the German soldiers living there.

This evening, Mari was left on her own in the quiet cottage. While she set the table and heated soup, she continued to puzzle over the confusing ruckus in the yard.

When it was time to listen to the nightly BBC broadcast from England, she made sure the cottage door was locked, then retrieved the radio hidden in Bestemor’s bedroom. When the program ended she stowed the radio back under the false bottom in Bestemor’s linen chest. Special touches to make the trunk appear undisturbed had become second nature and took only a few extra minutes.

Some evenings Mari would slip into Bestemor’s pantry and climb into the attic space. Despite constant worry that her notebooks would be discovered in a German search, she welcomed any chance to write. Recording her true feelings about what was going on in the village in notebooks for her brother, Bjorn, always strengthened her hope that he would survive his time with the mountain resistance troops and eventually return safely.

That evening, though, she tucked her long legs under her on the sofa and opened one of the many medical textbooks on loan from the doctor.

After a few minutes she was finding it hard to concentrate. She returned to the kitchen and filled the kettle, setting the flame high. While the water heated she replayed the confusing scene from earlier that evening in the yard. She felt a never-ending struggle to understand who could be trusted and what the Germans were up to.

In the first days of the invasion in 1940, Nazi propaganda declared that the invading troops, 70,000 strong, had come as Viking brothers. They claimed they had come to protect neutral Norway from the Allies. Few Norwegians believed that. Although she had only been eleven at the time, Mari had known that their claims of friendship were outright lies: Norway’s flag was replaced with one bearing a swastika. King Haakon VII and his Norwegian cabinet were forced to flee to govern in exile in England. Nazi-supporting officials outlawed Norwegian traditions and culture and imposed German language and practices. Norway’s food and resources were confiscated for the occupying soldiers or sent to Germany. Even the most essential foods were tightly rationed.

The Nazi claims of friendship and Viking brotherhood were just not born out by the facts.

Mari crumbled dried mint leaves into her favorite mug and breathed in the steam, trying to relax. Scenes from the past scrolled through her mind.

Mari’s resistance effort began that first year with small gestures like joining in what the resistance called the ice front, ignoring Germans and offering as little help as possible, without giving the Germans an obvious reason to crack down. Before long she assumed greater risks and responsibilities: guarding secrets, distributing underground newspapers, and passing coded messages from her family’s hidden radio. The more she risked, the more her trusting nature had been transformed to one of suspicion and fear.

She headed back to her pile of books, mug in hand. Instead of sitting, though, she paced back and forth in the tiny cottage parlor, unable to shake off her thoughts of past confrontations with Goatman and other soldiers.

As troops continued pouring into Norway, they moved into homes, especially those overlooking the coasts or fjords. Rather than live under the same roof with them, Mari’s family had chosen to share Bestemor’s tiny cottage, relinquishing the main house to the Germans.

When her brother Bjorn joined the mountain resistance fighters at the end of the first year, Mari understood that he wouldn’t return until the Germans were defeated. If by some miracle he came home early, she couldn’t imagine where they’d put him. There was barely space for her parents, her grandma, and Mari at Bestemor’s tiny kitchen table. When meals were meager, Bestemor joked that rationing was good because it gave them a bit more elbowroom.

At the sound of voices on the stoop and the click of the lock, Mari returned to the stove to prepare more tea, happy to have her family home at last.

* * *

During winter, soup consisted of a few chewy bits of turnip or carrot floating in thin broth. There were rabbits in the woods, as Mari had seen, but there was little time to set and check snare lines. Potatoes were reserved for Sundays and special occasions. To fill their stomachs they dunked chunks of gummy, tasteless bread in the broth. It was baked using substitute flour, which Bestemor dubbed stoneloaf.

That night, the meal was filled with long periods of silence as the soaking and chewing proceeded, leaving Mari to her thoughts.

Across the road, several German officers had moved into Mr. Meier’s property to join Leif ’s aunt and uncle. Leif ’s family were sympathizers. They had joined the NS party and openly supported the Nazi occupiers. Mari recalled how Jewish property-owners like poor Mr. Meier had been arrested and taken away, and villagers who helped NS were rewarded with their properties.

Mari thought of Mr. Meier often, especially after seeing him last fall in a convoy of open trucks crammed with other prisoners. They were in desperately poor condition, barely recognizable. When a ship full of Norwegian Jews were deported from Norway last November, everyone was told they were being taken to work camps in Germany. The entire country had been forced to join in official celebrations.

Work camps for women, children, and old men? Papa knew through his underground networks about many things, but his answers to Mari’s questions on this topic were always vague, leaving a familiar ache in the pit of her stomach.

An exhausting cycle of laundry duties, helping Doctor Olsen, and attending a few classes at school filled Mari’s days. As for the squad of German soldiers living in the main house, Mari