finger in his book and looked up.
“Peter, can I come in?” It was Elise.
“Sure.” He was still curious about her note but tried not to be.
Elise cracked open the door and leaned against the side of the doorway without coming in. “So did you get my note?” she asked.
“Yeah, I got it. You’re just like Henrik. Why can’t you two forget about the whole thing?”
“Forget about it?” she said, her voice going above a whisper. “Are you kidding? Don’t you want to know?”
“Not really,” he said, opening up his book to where he left off. “I just want to read my book and not get in trouble.”
“Oh, come on,” she pleaded. “Listen, there’s only one thing it could have been.”
“We’re still talking about Uncle Morten in the woods with the Swedish guy, right?”
“Of course, silly. Now look. Uncle M couldn’t have been doing anything wrong, not even gambling. It has to be the Underground.”
“Has to be?” Peter knew she was right, just like he knew Henrik had been right about this. Still, he had a hard time imagining his uncle sneaking around.
“Yes, has to be. The Swedish man was a contact, and Uncle Morten probably helps to ferry people and things back and forth. The money we saw was to help pay for gas and things.”
Peter thought it sounded right. But how could she be so sure? And even if their uncle was involved in it somehow, there was no way he would ever tell them. It would be too dangerous for anyone to know, especially his family.
“Okay,” he admitted. “Maybe you’re right. But so what? We better not say anything about it to anyone. And besides, we’ll probably never know for sure.”
“Maybe not,” she agreed, “but at least we have a good idea.”
Peter didn’t say anything for a while, and Elise fidgeted by the door. She kept glancing toward the living room, where their parents were still talking quietly.
“I don’t really like to think about it, Elise,” said Peter finally. “But I’m glad you figured it out.” He was—kind of.
“Yeah,” she sighed. “Well, good night.” She closed the door quietly and padded down the hall to her room.
“Good night, sis. Thanks.” Elise the detective, thought Peter. I wish she would figure out why Mom and Dad are so grouchy all the time.
Not all the time, but it was true that their parents didn’t smile or joke much anymore. Mr. Andersen worried a lot, and he yelled a lot more than he used to. Mrs. Andersen fussed about their food. It was like a dark cloud was hanging over their kitchen table much of the time. Peter put down his book and fell asleep, trying not to think about the war... again.
Tangled Up
6
With the fall came school, war or no war. For Peter, Elise, and Henrik that meant there were only the weekends for biking and hiking around, taking the pigeons out for trips, being kids. And even though they had their ideas, they still hadn’t figured out who the Swede in the woods was, or exactly why Uncle Morten was meeting him there. At least not for sure.
Peter didn’t think about that as he walked to the boathouse before school. It was his turn to feed the birds and check their water. Even though it was still only September, he could see his breath that morning, and he pretended he was a steam train as he walked down to the waterfront. As usual, his grandfather was puttering around in the shed.
“Morning, Grandpa,” he called as he pushed open the door. Peter’s grandfather looked up from his perch on a barrel. Like any good fisherman—even though he was mostly retired—he worked a lot on his nets and ropes, things like that. Peter measured out five handfuls of hard corn from the big sack on a shelf, then checked the water bowl. Grandfather had built a cover for the bowl so the birds wouldn’t mess it up or tip it over, and they could stick their little necks in to get a drink. Pigeons are one of the only birds that can drink out of their beaks like a straw,
“Peter, can I come in?” It was Elise.
“Sure.” He was still curious about her note but tried not to be.
Elise cracked open the door and leaned against the side of the doorway without coming in. “So did you get my note?” she asked.
“Yeah, I got it. You’re just like Henrik. Why can’t you two forget about the whole thing?”
“Forget about it?” she said, her voice going above a whisper. “Are you kidding? Don’t you want to know?”
“Not really,” he said, opening up his book to where he left off. “I just want to read my book and not get in trouble.”
“Oh, come on,” she pleaded. “Listen, there’s only one thing it could have been.”
“We’re still talking about Uncle Morten in the woods with the Swedish guy, right?”
“Of course, silly. Now look. Uncle M couldn’t have been doing anything wrong, not even gambling. It has to be the Underground.”
“Has to be?” Peter knew she was right, just like he knew Henrik had been right about this. Still, he had a hard time imagining his uncle sneaking around.
“Yes, has to be. The Swedish man was a contact, and Uncle Morten probably helps to ferry people and things back and forth. The money we saw was to help pay for gas and things.”
Peter thought it sounded right. But how could she be so sure? And even if their uncle was involved in it somehow, there was no way he would ever tell them. It would be too dangerous for anyone to know, especially his family.
“Okay,” he admitted. “Maybe you’re right. But so what? We better not say anything about it to anyone. And besides, we’ll probably never know for sure.”
“Maybe not,” she agreed, “but at least we have a good idea.”
Peter didn’t say anything for a while, and Elise fidgeted by the door. She kept glancing toward the living room, where their parents were still talking quietly.
“I don’t really like to think about it, Elise,” said Peter finally. “But I’m glad you figured it out.” He was—kind of.
“Yeah,” she sighed. “Well, good night.” She closed the door quietly and padded down the hall to her room.
“Good night, sis. Thanks.” Elise the detective, thought Peter. I wish she would figure out why Mom and Dad are so grouchy all the time.
Not all the time, but it was true that their parents didn’t smile or joke much anymore. Mr. Andersen worried a lot, and he yelled a lot more than he used to. Mrs. Andersen fussed about their food. It was like a dark cloud was hanging over their kitchen table much of the time. Peter put down his book and fell asleep, trying not to think about the war... again.
Tangled Up
6
With the fall came school, war or no war. For Peter, Elise, and Henrik that meant there were only the weekends for biking and hiking around, taking the pigeons out for trips, being kids. And even though they had their ideas, they still hadn’t figured out who the Swede in the woods was, or exactly why Uncle Morten was meeting him there. At least not for sure.
Peter didn’t think about that as he walked to the boathouse before school. It was his turn to feed the birds and check their water. Even though it was still only September, he could see his breath that morning, and he pretended he was a steam train as he walked down to the waterfront. As usual, his grandfather was puttering around in the shed.
“Morning, Grandpa,” he called as he pushed open the door. Peter’s grandfather looked up from his perch on a barrel. Like any good fisherman—even though he was mostly retired—he worked a lot on his nets and ropes, things like that. Peter measured out five handfuls of hard corn from the big sack on a shelf, then checked the water bowl. Grandfather had built a cover for the bowl so the birds wouldn’t mess it up or tip it over, and they could stick their little necks in to get a drink. Pigeons are one of the only birds that can drink out of their beaks like a straw,
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