unity.
When a German officer stopped by their school, they all pretended to have a scratchy throat and started coughing uncontrollably. Marit had heard that in à lesund, when a Nazi soldier sat down on a bus, nearby passengers would get up and move to other seats. Nearly everyone, except Bestefar, started sporting a comb sticking out of chest pockets on coats, which meant "we Norwegians can take care of ourselves."
At school, Marit kept an eye on Olaf. Once, she
watched him arrive at the church gate. He paused, pulled a red
nisselue
from under his jacket, and when he thought no one was looking, he donned it. Then he walked around, his stocking cap matching those of the others. It didn't matter. Everyone ignored him. Marit wondered how he could stand coming to school. Many times she wished she could talk with him, but "icing out" was not only a punishment, it was also a warningâa way to remind others to stay loyal. Fair or not, Marit determined she would not cross the invisible line dividing loyal Norwegians from traitors,
jøssings
from
quislings.
Yet Aunt Ingeborg still talked with Olaf. If he raised his hand, she allowed him to speak. In fact, all three of the schoolteachers spoke with him, one on one.
That evening at dinner, Marit blurted the question. "Aunt Ingeborg, if 'icing out' is a way of reminding everyone to stay loyal, then why do you and the other teachers talk with Olaf?"
Her aunt set down her fork. "Marit, I know it's difficult to understand. But you see, I'm a teacher first and foremost. My job is to teach, to help all students learn, no matter what their family background, their personality, or if they're eager or reluctant to learn. And to do that, I need to treat every student fairly. At school, I cannot 'ice out' Olaf."
"But it's not fair!" Marit said, pushing away from the table. "We were friends, and I
have
to turn my back on
him. If I don't, then the 'ice out' doesn't work. I
don't
have a choice."
Bestefar kept eating, but was clearly listening.
Aunt Ingeborg sighed. "But you
do
have a choice, Marit." She reached for Marit's elbow, eased her closer, and then, just as Mama used to do, rested her hand on the small of Marit's back. "There are no easy answers these days. All I know is that you must do what you believe is rightâand so must I."
***
Soon, warnings were posted all around the island, with notices such as "If you remove public notices, you will be severely punished." And the list of warnings grew longer every day:
⢠IF YOU RISE FROM A SEAT WHEN A GERMAN SITS DOWN, YOU SHALL BE SEVERELY PUNISHED.
⢠IF YOU WEAR SIGNS OF STANDING WITH THE ENEMY, INCLUDING WEARING PAPER CLIPS, RED HATS ... YOU SHALL BE SEVERELY PUNISHED.
⢠IF YOU CLEAR YOUR THROAT WHEN A GERMAN APPROACHES, YOU SHALL BE SEVERELY PUNISHED.
On one such list posted on a dock pier, someone had boldly added in pencil: "If you breathe, you shall be severely punished."
Chapter Eleven
Christmas Eve, 1941
One Year Later
It was Marit's second Christmas Eve on the island, and she felt like a prisoner in her own country. Not only was every window on the island darkened with black paper or fabric, but now anyone caught trying to
escape
Norway would be imprisoned or put to death. This night, more than ever, she missed the cheerful flicker of the season's lights when candles filled everyone's windows.
But not even Nazis had stopped Aunt Ingeborg from preparing for
Juletid.
Since soap was scarce, Marit had helped wash the floors with water and sand. They washed the cotton and lace curtains on the scrub board and hung them to dry. Then they starched, ironed, and put them back up again. Aunt Ingeborg set out bright
green, red, and blue table runners, while Lars and Marit polished a few pieces of silver and copper. Together they decorated a pine bush with paper-woven baskets, but this year they would have to skip the tree candles. Candles were too valuable. After the
requisition
âthe fancy word the
When a German officer stopped by their school, they all pretended to have a scratchy throat and started coughing uncontrollably. Marit had heard that in à lesund, when a Nazi soldier sat down on a bus, nearby passengers would get up and move to other seats. Nearly everyone, except Bestefar, started sporting a comb sticking out of chest pockets on coats, which meant "we Norwegians can take care of ourselves."
At school, Marit kept an eye on Olaf. Once, she
watched him arrive at the church gate. He paused, pulled a red
nisselue
from under his jacket, and when he thought no one was looking, he donned it. Then he walked around, his stocking cap matching those of the others. It didn't matter. Everyone ignored him. Marit wondered how he could stand coming to school. Many times she wished she could talk with him, but "icing out" was not only a punishment, it was also a warningâa way to remind others to stay loyal. Fair or not, Marit determined she would not cross the invisible line dividing loyal Norwegians from traitors,
jøssings
from
quislings.
Yet Aunt Ingeborg still talked with Olaf. If he raised his hand, she allowed him to speak. In fact, all three of the schoolteachers spoke with him, one on one.
That evening at dinner, Marit blurted the question. "Aunt Ingeborg, if 'icing out' is a way of reminding everyone to stay loyal, then why do you and the other teachers talk with Olaf?"
Her aunt set down her fork. "Marit, I know it's difficult to understand. But you see, I'm a teacher first and foremost. My job is to teach, to help all students learn, no matter what their family background, their personality, or if they're eager or reluctant to learn. And to do that, I need to treat every student fairly. At school, I cannot 'ice out' Olaf."
"But it's not fair!" Marit said, pushing away from the table. "We were friends, and I
have
to turn my back on
him. If I don't, then the 'ice out' doesn't work. I
don't
have a choice."
Bestefar kept eating, but was clearly listening.
Aunt Ingeborg sighed. "But you
do
have a choice, Marit." She reached for Marit's elbow, eased her closer, and then, just as Mama used to do, rested her hand on the small of Marit's back. "There are no easy answers these days. All I know is that you must do what you believe is rightâand so must I."
***
Soon, warnings were posted all around the island, with notices such as "If you remove public notices, you will be severely punished." And the list of warnings grew longer every day:
⢠IF YOU RISE FROM A SEAT WHEN A GERMAN SITS DOWN, YOU SHALL BE SEVERELY PUNISHED.
⢠IF YOU WEAR SIGNS OF STANDING WITH THE ENEMY, INCLUDING WEARING PAPER CLIPS, RED HATS ... YOU SHALL BE SEVERELY PUNISHED.
⢠IF YOU CLEAR YOUR THROAT WHEN A GERMAN APPROACHES, YOU SHALL BE SEVERELY PUNISHED.
On one such list posted on a dock pier, someone had boldly added in pencil: "If you breathe, you shall be severely punished."
Chapter Eleven
Christmas Eve, 1941
One Year Later
It was Marit's second Christmas Eve on the island, and she felt like a prisoner in her own country. Not only was every window on the island darkened with black paper or fabric, but now anyone caught trying to
escape
Norway would be imprisoned or put to death. This night, more than ever, she missed the cheerful flicker of the season's lights when candles filled everyone's windows.
But not even Nazis had stopped Aunt Ingeborg from preparing for
Juletid.
Since soap was scarce, Marit had helped wash the floors with water and sand. They washed the cotton and lace curtains on the scrub board and hung them to dry. Then they starched, ironed, and put them back up again. Aunt Ingeborg set out bright
green, red, and blue table runners, while Lars and Marit polished a few pieces of silver and copper. Together they decorated a pine bush with paper-woven baskets, but this year they would have to skip the tree candles. Candles were too valuable. After the
requisition
âthe fancy word the
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