June 22, 1941
Take one step forward.
Smile.
And begin.
The dim lights in the restaurant cut off. The sudden flash of bright light makes my eyes water and skin tingle with intensity. I shrug my violin to fit underneath my chin. Curling my finger, I give my A string a silent pluck.
1, 2, 3
Drawing my bow slowly across the string, a sweet note vibrates across the muted restaurant. A piano begins to play behind me. The drums get in beat. The spotlight shifts to the curvy brunette standing in the front of the stage. Her hips swing as she places each hand on the stand of the microphone. She opens her mouth to release her honey-sweet voice:
Do I want you?
Oh my! Do I!
Honey, deed I do!
Do I need you?
Oh my! I do!
Honey, deed I do!
I'm so glad that I'm the one who found you,
That's why I'm always hangin' around you
I search around the candlelit room. Frances sits at a table on the left side of a restaurant, sharing a drink with an officer and batting her eyes at him.
Do I love you?
Oh my! Do I!
Honey, deed I do!
Eva sits in a stool with her back against the bar counter, her arms sprawled out beside her. She nurses a glass of water with a lime on its rim. Her legs are crossed.
Do I love you?
Oh, my, do I!
Honey, deed I do!
A gentleman enters the restaurant and sits at the table closest to the stage. He tosses an apple in his hand. The waiter sits down a drink in front of him. Bourbon. His eyes focus on me.
I send him a wink.
He takes a bite of the apple.
Ah, Deed I do!
The woman's full voice oscillates while the saxophone hangs on its last note. The lights turn off. The curtain draws. Applause. I draw my violin down and begin to loosen my bow.
This is what we did almost every weekend now. I played shows at The Rouge while Frances worked her charms against naive Germans just looking for a good time. On stage, I could scope out the restaurant and see who I wanted to talk to. It was a great way of hiding in plain sight.
Eva still didn't talk to German soldiers. Instead, she sat in the back and pretended to watch the shows. Whenever someone came to hit on her, she gave them her fake sob story: the love of her life had enlisted in the Luftwaffe and had been shot down over Britain a few months ago. She could never love again. Her only joy was to watch shows every weekend and pretend like he was still with her. She even saved a seat for him. Unsurprisingly, this was a big turn-off for most soldiers. She found great amusement in their dumbfounded faces.
It had taken us a while to perfect the art of spying. Our first attempt had been messy, and we left a lot of loose ends. We had almost gotten caught. We never went back to La Tosca. Instead, we bounced around restaurants and bars for a little while before stumbling on the Rouge. The Rouge hosted shows every weekend night and needed a violinist. They hired me right on the spot. Since then, it had become our niche. We would collect information when we could. Eva would type it up in a letter, and I would deliver it to the address that Mr. Jensen gave to me. That information would then be circulated.
Our lives had changed a lot since we began the White Daisies. We finished school about a month ago. Frances and Eva had plans to attend university in the fall, and I started teaching private lessons. Mrs. Peterson still wanted me to audition for the Royal Danish Academy of Music, but I decided to put it off until next year. Maybe by then, the tide of this war will have changed, and we won't have to worry about Nazis anymore. That's all we can hope for.
Of course, our families didn't know that we were hanging out in restaurants every weekend or participating in the underground resistance movement. Lying was now alarmingly easy for us. I didn't even have to think about it. Jacob would ask me what I was doing Saturday night, and an excuse would slip itself between my teeth: "I have a private lesson to teach!" or "I already made plans to spend time with Frances and Eva!" He would shrug it off and move on.
I tell myself it's for his own good.
With my violin in my hand, I enter the floor of the restaurant from backstage. I see the gentlemen from before glancing around the restaurant with a second glass of bourbon in his hand. His dirty blonde hair is slicked to one side. Although he wears a suit, I can tell that he's a German officer by the swastika proudly pinned on his lapel. I'm surprised when I look to his left and see Frances and the soldier she was talking to earlier sitting beside him.
With a small swing of my hips, I strut towards their table. I had his attention earlier, I bet I can get it again.
I know I'm right when I feel a hand wrap around my wrist after walking past their table. I turn around. Closer up, I notice that one eye is darker than the other. They both stare into mine.
"Fräulein," he greets in his thick accent. "You are a beautiful violinist. You have much to be proud of."
My hand goes over my heart. "That's so kind of you to say. Thank you very much."
He stands up and slightly bows. "Major Heinrich. But you can call me Klaus. Would you like to sit down?"
I smile. "I would love to."
He pulls out the chair beside him and motions for me to sit down.
"Cecilia Ottosen," I introduce myself to the table.
Frances sticks her hand forward. "Clara Winter."
I don't let my face change as I shake her hand. But inside, I smirk at our secret. We didn't associate with each other at The Rouge. Frances, Eva, and I thought that it would be best if we acted like we didn't know each other. It looked a lot less suspicious, and in the worst case scenario, all three of us wouldn't be caught if one were to be compromised.
The soldier sitting next to her is definitely closer to our age. His dark brown hair hangs in his face. His eyes, searching for one of the waiters that are roaming around the room, look almost black in the candlelight. His leg bounces restlessly under the table. He takes a big sip of his ale.
"Simon Klein," he nods towards me. "Major Heinrich is my superior officer." He looks back at Frances.
"Cecilia," Klaus starts, "would you like something to drink?"
I glance at Eva at the bar. She raises her glass of water to me.
"No, I'm fine, thank you," I decline.
Klaus insists. "Come on, just one drink."
I shift my legs. "Well, if you say so. I'll have some whiskey."
He grins and calls a waiter over. A few minutes later, a decorated glass of whiskey sat in front of me. I sipped on it gingerly between bits of conversation.
"I just finished gymnasium about a month ago," I supply when he asks me what I do for a living.
"You're going to be a violinist now, no?" He ponders.
I trace the rim of my glass. "Yeah, I think so. I have to get into the Royal Danish Academy of Music first."
He leans forward. "You don't sound thrilled about that."
I frown. "No, I am. I suppose so at least. I love playing the violin, I really do."
"What's wrong with the academy then?" He takes a sip of his drink. "You don't sound satisfied."
I shrug. "I should be satisfied."
"Yes, but you're not," he grins.
He's right. I'm not satisfied.
I sigh. "I just don't know what I really want yet. I feel like there are so many opportunities waiting for me out there. Some that aren't in Denmark." It's the first time I've said it out loud, and the words feel bitter in my mouth.
He arches an eyebrow. "For a beautiful and talented girl like you, you should reach for the stars. I'm sure you'll make it. "
It's the most profound conversation I've had in a while. I felt free of a burden, yet my mind burned with the information that I had finally accepted: what I want might not be here.
I'm about to genuinely thank him for his insight when the door of the restaurant opens with a bang. Chaos erupts as a string of German commands sound from the entrance and soldiers come in with their guns drawn. Forks clatter on plates. Women shriek. The crisp sound of jazz music still drifts from somewhere in the restaurant.
A group of soldiers walks up to a man sitting at the bar. Picking him up by his arm, they throw him down on the ground. A soldier digs his knees into his back and handcuffs him. Another man is tackled onto a table in the corner of the room, but not before he breaks the nose of one of the soldiers. Both of them are hauled up and carried out of the restaurant.
Some people still stare in disbelief after they leave, but everyone else returns to what they were previously doing. Soon enough, it's like nothing happened at all. A few waiters sweep up some broken glass.
Frances looks around. "What was that all about?"
Klaus waves his hand. "Ah, some of those damn communists. Orders finally came through to just round them up. They're not going to get all of them though."
"What do you mean?" I lean forward on my arms.
"We think that they found out," Klaus frowns. "Got a warning. We've had some issues with resistance groups."
That would be us, I quietly think.
He chuckles. "It's just a matter of time before it's the Jews' turn." Simon joins his laughter. At that moment, any gratitude I had for Klaus melted up like ice cream in the sun. I suddenly felt tired, and I wanted to go home.
I suppose Frances felt the same way because she stands up from the table and throws her napkin over her glass. "Well gentlemen, it's been a pleasure, but I'm afraid it's getting terribly late, and I must be getting home."
Simon pouts. "Well, it is dark. Maybe I should walk you home."
Frances pats his shoulder. "No, no. I assure you that I will be alright. You stay here."
He's not sober enough to argue with her.
I clap my hands together. "I'm afraid that I must agree with Clara. I need to get going as well."
Klein grabs my wrist. "Will I see you again?"
I don't want to, but I wink at him because I have to. "Maybe if you're lucky."
Frances leaves first, and I follow behind her shortly. I cut through a short alleyway, that way we don't take the same route. We end up meeting in Østre Anlæg park, close to the pond where Jacob and I had our first date. Eva shows up a few minutes later.
"What happened?" she exclaims.
"They started arresting the registered communists," Frances answers for me.
"Do you think they got Mr. Jensen?"
They both look at me. "I have no idea," I answer truthfully. I hadn't heard from him in a while. He went underground after I told him about the list. I think he's still in Copenhagen though. At least, I hope he is.
Eva begins to pace. "Should we write this up and drop it off at the address?"
I shake my head. "I don't think it's necessary. Everyone is going to find out anyway."
"Did you guys find out anything else?"
Frances presses her lips in a thin line. "No, not really."
We leave in different directions to go home. It takes me about fifteen minutes on foot. I wipe off my lipstick and take off my earrings before I enter the house in case anyone is up. I unlock the door and quietly stick my head around the corner of the entrance way. The living room sits empty. I sigh in relief. Gripping my violin case, I tiptoe up the stairs. I close my bedroom door behind me and lean my forehead against it.
"Where were you?"
"Oh, good God!" I cry out. I spin around to find Macy staring at me with her arms crossed. "Macy, what are you doing in my room!?"
"Where were you?" she repeats.
I hold my violin case up. "Teaching a private lesson, what do you think?" I walk past her.
"It's almost ten o'clock. Your dress smells like cigarette smoke, and your breath smells like alcohol. You were not teaching a private lesson. Unless it was a different type of private lesson...?"
"Macy!" I assert. "I don't have to tell you. I'm an adult."
"Tell me, or I'll tell mama and papa."
"That's not fair!"
"Fine." She turns on her foot and begins to walk towards the door.
"Wait!" I call out. Turning back around, she motions for my answer.
I sigh and close my eyes. "I'm a part of the Danish resistance against Nazis."
"Wait, really!?" she nearly shouts. My eyes shoot open.
"Shhhhh!!"
She runs and pulls me down to sit on my bed. "That's so neat! I thought you were having an affair. This is way better!"
"You thought that I was cheating?!" I cry.
She shrugs. "You were all secretive. Don't worry, mama and papa don't suspect anything. I just know you a lot better."
"Don't tell anyone. Do you understand?"
She shakes her head vigorously. "I want to know everything!"
I tell her most of what's happened, although I leave out some of the crude comments and the heavy drinking. Her eyes fill with wonder.
"Can I become a part of the resistance?" she implores.
I snort. "Absolutely not."
Her face turns into a pout. "Why not?"
"You're fifteen years old," I point out. "And my sister."
"You're no fun."
She lays down on my bed. I lay beside her.
"One day, I want to be like you," she says quietly.
I turn my head. "Really?"
"Yeah. Everyone loves you. You're pretty, and smart, and talented... I wish people looked at me that way," she frowns.
"They do." I take her hand.
A few moments pass. "Do you want some cake?"
"What kind of question is that? Of course, I do."
"Race you down to the kitchen!" She leaps from my bed and out of the room.
"No fair!" I run after her.