While the World Is Still Asleep (The Century Trilogy Book 1) (38 page)

Darkness settled over them, and they had to light their gas lamps to be able to see the road ahead.

Thirty miles on, Jo’s legs began to feel heavy. She had eaten all her bread and drained five water bottles. All she could think about was some hot soup. After another twenty-five miles, Josephine rode down toward Køge Bay. It was eleven o’clock at night, and she desperately hoped that the catering station hadn’t packed everything away for the night. Her legs were heavy and stiff, and she knew she couldn’t ride another mile. If she didn’t get something to eat, she would probably have to give up . . .

When the church tower where the checkpoint was set up came into view, Josephine felt both relief and a sense of elation. This only increased when she saw Adrian standing beside the station.

“So? How do you feel? You’ve got more than a quarter of the course behind you. Isn’t that fantastic?” Without waiting for her answers, he went on to tell her which riders had arrived in Køge and when. Susanne Lindberg and her team had gotten there first, of course, followed by Isabelle and Leon. Leon was giving a journalist an interview even as Adrian spoke. All the other riders were grabbing a few hours of sleep.

Josephine’s legs were shaking so much that she could hardly hold herself upright. But Adrian’s enthusiastic descriptions gave her a little surge of strength. His cheeks glowed with excitement, and in his eyes Jo saw a dozen different emotions: respect for the racers, enthusiasm for the sport, the pleasure of being able to experience the comradeship of the riders, if only from the side of the road. And, of course, a little melancholy.

“We’ve already changed horses three times, but you’re still on the same bicycles, an amazing feat! And your time is great, Jo. If you keep on like this, you’ll be one of the first to cross the finish line,” he said with genuine pride.

“That’s going to change if I don’t get something to eat and soon. Because I’ll die on the spot like a flogged horse,” she replied with a laugh. Wobbling a bit, she joined the short line that had formed at the food table. The soup smelled enticingly of beef and potatoes, and Josephine’s stomach growled audibly as the servers filled her soup bowl to the brim. She grabbed a few rolls and added two sweet pastries to the top of the pile.

Adrian had spread a blanket on the grass in the shelter of the church wall. A flaming torch that was stuck in the ground beside the blanket gave off a warm light, and the church wall still radiated the warmth of the day’s sun. With a sigh, Jo lay back on the blanket, while Irene and Lilo took their food into a barn that Charles had rented for the riders a short distance away.

Never in Jo’s life had any soup tasted that good. Never had a roll been so delicious. Jo ate everything down to the last crumb. Full and content, she leaned against Adrian’s shoulder and was suddenly so tired that she dreaded the idea of getting back on the bicycle.

“Sleep a little,” said Adrian, spreading his arms out gently. “I’ll wake you up in four hours, I promise.”

After a long and deep farewell kiss, Jo pedaled on toward Copenhagen.

She didn’t mind riding alone. The taste of Adrian’s lips rode with her.

Copenhagen. The starting point was not the end of the race, not by a long shot. She wasn’t even halfway through the course! After their initial departure from Copenhagen, the riders then had to ride a northern loop of ninety miles that would bring them back to Copenhagen. That would mark the halfway point. Then they would ride the entire route a second time.

The halfway point . . . If only I were already there,
Jo thought, pedaling away, her legs still feeling stiff.

After half an hour, Jo found her rhythm again. Unlike most of the other women, Jo was used to riding in the dark. And though she had enjoyed riding with Lilo and Irene, it was equally pleasant to ride alone. The air was filled with the scent of the sea and the weeds with yellow flowers that sprouted along the side of the road in thick tussocks. It was a clear night, dry and not too cold—one could not ask for better conditions.

The sky began to grow light again shortly before six. As soon as she could more or less see again, Jo switched off her bicycle lamp to conserve gas—a mistake, as it turned out. It was difficult to detect variations in the road surface in the faint dawn light, and Jo hit a rock as big as her fist. The impact was so hard that she nearly lost her grip on the handlebars.
That was lucky,
she thought as she got over the shock.

A little farther on, the road curved sharply to the left. When Jo squeezed the brakes, nothing happened. The impact with the stone must have a knocked off a brake pad. In a panic, she took both feet off the pedals and tried to slow herself down by dragging them on the ground, which was only partly successful. She took the curve dangerously fast, but she made it through safely and then let the bicycle roll to a stop on the straight stretch that followed. She climbed off with a sigh and lit her lamp again—she would need every bit of light she could get for the repair.

The collision with the stone had, in fact, knocked one of rubber brake pads off the front brakes. She had thought of everything except replacement brake pads! First she forgot to drink, then to eat. And now this! How many more mistakes would she make? Jo set about removing the remaining rubber block from its holder. She was in the process of cutting it into two equal halves with the pocketknife when she heard voices behind her. But it was not the hoped-for carriage with Adrian and Gerd Melchior and his mobile workshop.

“Need any help?” asked Leon as he pulled up beside her.

“Thank you, but I’ll manage,” replied Jo, refitting one half of the brake pad into the holder on the left. The other half would go onto the right.

“Really? I’d be happy to give you a hand,” said Leon. He gestured placatingly toward Isabelle, who was waiting impatiently a short distance ahead.

Jo nodded. “I only lost one pad. But you know the old trick: make two out of one! I’ve already done it. Now I just have to tighten it against the stop, and off we go.” She looked around for a stone that she could use as a makeshift hammer to bend the brake holder so that she wouldn’t lose the rubber block a second time.

“Well, then . . . safe journey!” said Leon, obviously not entirely convinced that she really knew what she was doing.

“Help yourself,” Isabelle called back to Jo scornfully. “You’re good at that.”

Jo watched sadly as Isabelle rode off. A few minutes later she swung back onto her bicycle and continued on.

Chapter Thirty-Three

“Did you
have
to stop for that traitor?” Isabelle hissed as soon as Leon had caught up with her. “Helpful as ever, pah! She’ll thank you with a knife in your back, just wait.”

Leon looked at Isabelle with amusement. “I really don’t know why you’re getting so upset. Just because Josephine fell in love with one of your former beaus? What would you have done with a cripple anyway?”

Adrian a cripple. Deep in her heart, Isabelle felt a pang of sympathy, but she swatted it away like a fly. “Adrian used to be a first-class rider. It serves them both right that his career’s over.”

“Spite doesn’t suit you,
chérie
,” said Leon with a sigh. “Would it bother you if I rode ahead a bit? I won’t be able to live with myself if I don’t catch up with Susanne and her troop before Helsingør!”

“So you’re going to leave me in the lurch now, too? Then take off, go!” said Isabelle, flicking her hand at him uncharitably.

When Leon really did accelerate and ride away, she didn’t know whether to be happy or sad about it. She pedaled on, feeling hollow.

Why
was
she taking the news of Josephine and Adrian’s relationship so personally? She had embarrassed herself thoroughly with her performance on the eve of the race. And her behavior just now hadn’t been exactly sporting, either.

Why did she even care? Was it the feeling that she had been excluded? Betrayed? Was it the ignominy of knowing that Adrian couldn’t love her but could love Josephine? Or was it the intimacy, the deep, mutual understanding that the two of them radiated? They obviously just wanted to parade their great love in front of everyone. Well, to hell with that!

The road curved sharply to the left, and Isabelle only leaned into it at the last second. After several miles of straight road, she had not been prepared for a turn like that. Her heart pounding, she pedaled on.

She had to concentrate, damn it. She’d show Jo who the better rider was! Still jittery from the curve, she reached into her saddlebag for her water bottle. But the bottle had slipped all the way to the bottom. In her attempt to get it out, she came within a hair’s breadth of crashing, the second time in two minutes. Then she realized that she’d forgotten to fill it back at the checkpoint. Isabelle clapped the bulky saddlebag closed again and instead took a small medicine bottle from a pocket of her jacket. The kola syrup tasted disgustingly sweet, but it at least made her feel as if she’d drunk something. Then her heart started beating uncomfortably quickly. There was not a farm in sight where she might stop and get fresh water. She had to catch up with Leon! He’d surely let her drink some of his water. All she had to do was catch up . . . She pedaled even harder.

Leon . . . He took everything so casually. But she had been finding it harder and harder to do that lately. Too many thoughts were swirling in her head all the time. She couldn’t even switch them off at night. Instead of sleeping, she lay awake, her mind churning.

What would happen after the race? Would Leon simply leave again, never to return? What would become of her? Quite apart from the fact that it would break her heart, she would officially have been abandoned by a man for the second time. She could already imagine the gossip. Looks like no man could stand being around her for long!

Leon . . . She was crazy about him. When she was around him, she felt young and carefree. She found his charm more refreshing than any glass of bubbly! Leon . . . She would marry him on the spot.

Isabelle pedaled harder, though the muscles in her thighs already felt as hard as stone.

Did Leon ever think about marriage? They had hardly ever talked about the future.

But Josephine and Adrian—she could practically hear the wedding bells ringing for them already! Did Clara know about them? Had she also betrayed Isabelle?

The road ahead of her was straight as a die again. Had he caught up with Susanne yet? She had to ride faster! Isabelle opened her mouth to get more air. Almost immediately, a fly flew in. She coughed and spat. A moment later, she grew dizzy.
Ignore it.
It wasn’t like her to dawdle like this. It was all the fault of that stupid, never-ending whirl of thoughts in her head . . .

Leon.
He loves me. He loves me not. He loves me . . .
As children, she and Josephine and Clara had played that game with daisies. In more innocent times. Friends. She had none anymore. She was alone. But hadn’t she always been alone?

Isabelle tasted something salty on her lips. It wasn’t the damp sea air. Ride, spin, faster. Maybe the speed would help her escape the grinding in her mind. Faster, faster.

It seemed to work . . .

But then she experienced a flat, empty feeling somewhere down near her belly. Was it hunger? Thirst? She couldn’t tell. She didn’t want to eat another slice of stale bread.

Maybe Leon had managed to rustle up something better for her? One of those sweet pastries they had in the patisseries in Copenhagen and a cup of hot tea.

Isabelle turned her wrist to check the time on her watch. A surge of panic welled up in her as she stared at the hands on the watch face. What did the position of the hands mean? It was just before eight in the morning. They had started almost twenty-four hours earlier. She saw a sign that read “Slangerup” nailed to a large oak tree. The name sounded familiar. Had she passed this point before? No, that other village was called Jyderup. What strange names. She started to giggle uncontrollably. Did this mean she would be in Copenhagen soon? Copenhagen . . . turning point. A place to turn around. How idiotic of Charles Hansen not to just have the race finish there. Three hundred miles would not set any long-distance records for women, but it was still nothing to sneeze at, right?

Charles Hansen and Susanne Lindberg. Another one of those couples . . . Still no sign of Copenhagen. Was she making any progress at all? Or was she falling farther and farther behind?

Isabelle whimpered as she battled into the wind. She was so alone. And so tired. Where was Leon?

The sun climbed quickly into the sky and grew glaringly bright. Isabelle squinted against it. Her eyes teared up and she could not see clearly. It was all so stupid. The race, the route, the others. But was that any wonder in a women’s race? Her laughter sounded strange to her own ears and gave her an eerie feeling. What was wrong with her?

Then all she saw was darkness. Her bicycle began to swerve, then veered across the road and down an embankment. Isabelle tumbled headlong over the handlebars onto the grass. The sun was gone. She felt no thirst. No hunger. Finally.

Slangerup. Like so many Danish villages, this one had been founded by a Viking.
But where had all those wild seafarers come from?
Jo wondered as she rode past the sign. She’d do better to focus on the winding road instead of pestering herself with unnecessary questions.

It was only eight thirty in the morning, but the sun was already high above the horizon. It felt much brighter here in the north, so close to the sea. Visibility was difficult in the glaring light, and she longed for her peaked cap. As soon as she reached Copenhagen, she would stop and get the cap out of her bag.

Copenhagen . . . She would soon have half the route behind her. And she would see Adrian there. He and Gerd Melchior were somewhere behind her. If none of the riders had a serious breakdown that held them up, then the two men would arrive in Copenhagen shortly after her. She decided that she would wait half an hour for Adrian, and if he didn’t show up by then, she would ride on.

She was doing well, timewise. Almost three hundred miles in twenty-four hours—wasn’t that amazing? Of course, she knew she wouldn’t be able to keep up that pace. She would have to take another nap around midday. But she still felt good. Better than good, in fact. She felt fantastic!

Josephine’s smile vanished when she saw something glittering on the side of the road ahead. Was that broken glass? She squinted in an effort to see better. If it was glass, she’d have to be careful not to slice open a tire. She slowed a little. Then she saw that it was a bicycle lying in the high grass of the embankment. A bicycle she knew only too well.

Oh, no. Please no!
A shudder ran through her as she came to a stop. Instead of putting her bicycle down carefully, as she normally would, she let it drop in the middle of the road.

“Isabelle? Then she slapped her hand over her mouth in horror.

Isabelle lay fifteen feet below, her head tilted strangely backward, her arms thrown out from her body. Her skirt had blown up around her, half covering her face. Even from where Jo stood, she could see blood on Isabelle’s left temple. Her eyes were wide open and not moving.

Josephine looked around frantically. She needed help! Why wasn’t there anyone around?

She slid hastily down the steep embankment, grasping at the sharp-edged tufts of grass to avoid falling. Her hands burned as if on fire. When she finally reached Isabelle’s seemingly lifeless body, she put a trembling hand to Isabelle’s throat. She felt a weak pulse there, like the flapping of butterfly wings.
Thank you, dear God, thank you.

Her friend was only unconscious. But she might have suffered a concussion or broken something. Jo studied Isabelle’s inert body. What should she do? What
could
she do? She didn’t want to hurt her by moving her the wrong way. To do
something
, she straightened Isabelle’s skirt and put her legs together. Then she lifted her right arm and moved it back and forth very slowly. It didn’t appear to be broken. Carefully, she stepped over her friend and did the same with her left arm, which also seemed to be all right. When she had both arms in a more or less natural position, Jo scrabbled along the embankment until she was sitting behind her friend’s head. She took her handkerchief out of a pocket, moistened it on her tongue, and dabbed away the blood on Isabelle’s temple. Fortunately, it was just a minor cut. Then she stroked Isabelle’s mussed hair out of her chalky face and whispered her name softly. Isabelle didn’t move. What if she had broken her neck?

Josephine pushed both hands under Isabelle’s head.

“Isa . . . don’t be afraid . . .” Sweat dripped from Jo’s forehead—
she
was the one who was terribly afraid—as she ran her fingers over Isabelle’s head and neck. She felt the strong bones where the spine became the neck, the twin strands of muscle to the left and right, the small indentations behind the ears. Everything felt good. But she was no doctor.

She heard a low groan. Startled, Jo stopped her examination.

Isabelle blinked once, twice. “Josephine?”

“Yes, it’s me . . .” Jo stroked Isabelle’s cheek with relief. “Everything will be all right.”

Isabelle groaned again, then closed her eyes.

Jo looked down helplessly at her friend. What now? “Can you lift your head? I’ll help you . . . Does that hurt? No?” Inch by inch, she moved Isabelle’s head until it was finally resting in her lap.

“What . . . happened? Where am I?” She opened her eyes and looked around uneasily. She tried to get up, but like an injured animal caught in a snare, she only managed to turn left and right in vain.

Jo held her gently but firmly. “You’ve had an accident. I think you should just lie like this for a while.” She leaned forward to give Isabelle’s face a little shade. Isabelle’s body felt hot. Was it the relentless sun? Or did she have a fever? Jo had no idea.

What now? She would never be able to get Isabelle back up the slope on her own. In her mind, she ran through the positions of the other riders. Susanne and her group had ridden past this point much earlier, as had Leon, apparently. Irene was also ahead, no doubt. Lilo and Luise Karrer! Both of them had left Køge just after her—

“I . . . thirsty . . . water . . .”

“Water. Of course.” Jo reached into her jacket. Why hadn’t she thought of that? She lifted Isabelle’s head a little, then put the flask to her lips.

Isabelle greedily swallowed a few mouthfuls.

“Do you want to eat anything? I’ve still got an apple.” As she spoke, Jo took out the apple, the last of her provisions, and held it out to Isabelle, but Isabelle shook her head.

Jo hoped to bring a little color back to Isabelle’s deathly pale cheeks, but a moment later, Isabelle’s head sank back onto Josephine’s lap and she fell unconscious again.

Jo could have wailed. She adjusted her legs and leaned back against the sandy slope. An exposed root dug painfully into her right shoulder blade, but when she tried to move, Isabelle groaned loudly. With a sigh, Jo stayed where she was.

Dear God, please send help soon!
Exhausted in both mind and body, Josephine closed her eyes.

She could not have said how long she sat there like that. Although it felt like an eternity, it was only a little past ten when Adrian and Gerd Melchior found them.