White Daisies

Chapter 1

February 23, 1940

Take one step forward.

Smile.

And begin.

The words of my instructor ring through my head as I step into the spotlight and raise my violin to fit underneath my chin. My fingers find themselves in a familiar position. My bow comes to rest perfectly between the fingerboard and the bridge.

I almost hesitate as a new wave of butterflies flutters in my stomach.

I don't give myself the chance to look at the hundreds of people that sit in the audience. I inhale and begin to play the piece that I had been practicing for weeks. The familiar melody of "The Girl with the Flaxen Hair" fills my ears, and I find comfort in the song's rhythm, despite being the object of attention in a theatre full of people.

Trying not to feel so nervous, I let the notes of the accompanying piano wash over me as I picture a girl picking flowers from a field. Like me, the girl has golden colored hair that spills in waves over her shoulders. She shines as bright as the early morning sun and looks like a breath of fresh air. Full of grace and poise, she's stolen the composer's heart.

I do everything I can to distract myself from the eyes that watch my every move. The melody comes to an end when I run out of notes to play, and thunderous applause erupts.

Taking a step backward and bowing my head down, I breathe a sigh of relief. I finally let my eyes search the sea of unfamiliar people for my family. I feel the corners of my lips quirk up when I see my sister standing beside my parents, using both of her pinkies to whistle as loudly as she can. 

The skirt of my gown spins around me as I pivot on my foot and head backstage. I maneuver through the maze of hallways to find the room where my violin case is. After packing up my instrument and slipping on my coat, I exit the theatre on to a busy street in Copenhagen. I'm moving through clusters of people when a sturdy figure runs into me and almost knocks me off of my feet. 

"Hey!" I exclaim as the figure continues to sprint down the sidewalk. The figure quickly shouts out an apology and continues to hurry down the street, clearly disheveled and in a rush.

My thoughts are soon turned away from this encounter when I spot my sister and my parents in front of the theatre. 

"Did I remember to smile this time?" I ask as I draw Macy into a hug.

"Yes, but you still looked like you wanted to throw up."

"Well, at least I didn't this time."

She snickers at this comment, remembering the first time I ever performed on stage and couldn't quite handle the pressure. It's not hard to guess what happened.

"Oh my dear, you played beautifully!" my mother declares as she squeezes me in a tight embrace. Out of both of my parents, I suppose my appearance reflects hers the most. With similar height and facial characteristics, it's not difficult to tell that we're mother and daughter. However, her blonde hair hangs in pin curls, and her gray eyes are pronounced by the bags that hang under them.

My father pulls a bouquet of white and yellow daisies, my favorite flower and coincidentally the national flower of Denmark, from behind his back and hands it to me. He then proceeds to pick me up and spin me around as if I were still a child. With an extremely tall frame, bulky shoulders, and dark hair, my father can come off as being intimidating. His daunting appearance contrasts starkly against his sensitive and affectionate nature though. 

"We are so proud of you, Ana. Nice to know that all those years of lessons are finally paying off," he beams. 

I smile. "Thank you, papa."

He readjusts the lapels of my coat when he puts me back down. Running a hand through his thick brown hair and turning his dark eyes to the street sign, he proceeds to lead us towards our home.

Even at night, the streets of Copenhagen fill me with a sense of familiarity. I love how the light from the street-lamps reflects off the cobbled surface of the sidewalks and the old apartment buildings made of brick. The February air feels even colder from a slight wind that blows between the buildings, causing me to pull my coat tighter. The breeze carries the faint smell of woodsmoke from the chimneys that line the sky.  Old churches stand on the same corners that they did 500 years ago, making me remember how old this city truly is. Cars drive up and down the road, and bicyclists weave around us. Conversations reach my ears from people who bump into each other while walking in different directions on the crowded sidewalks. Although I've lived here my entire life, Copenhagen is never dull to me. It's always bustling and fast-paced, never stopping for anyone. 

My sister speeds up to match her pace with mine.

"So, I heard something pretty interesting in school today."

"That's surprising."

She rolls her eyes at my sarcastic tone and continues anyway.

"Elias Norgaard is obsessed with you."

"Take a whole vacation! Where did you hear that from?"

"From his sister, Karina. I have mathematics with her."

I try to digest that information. Elias Norgaard is one year ahead of me in gymnasium. With his sister being four years younger and the same age as Macy, I have known him for as long as I remember. 

"What did you hear from Karina in mathematics?"

I look up and realize that my mother had started listening to our conversation.

"Oh, Elias Norgaard has a big crush on Ana," Macy states.

"Ooh, he is a handsome young man! Smart and dedicated, you two would make such a fine pair! I wonder if you could get his mother's recipe for pepernoten."

I roll my eyes at where my mother's initial thoughts go. She isn't wrong; Elias Norgaard is handsome. With straight blonde hair swept to one side, thick eyebrows, piercing blue eyes, and a strong jawline, he's not bad to look at. But I scrunch my nose at how serious Elias is. Introverted and strictly dedicated to school, he doesn't strike me as the outgoing type.

Before I can formulate a response to my mother's comment, we step onto the street of Krusemyntegade. Tall and narrow, our house is one of many in a line that goes all the way down the road. Its white bricks and black trimming almost remind me of a domino. Flower boxes sit at the bottom of each window. My father climbs up the few steps in front of the house and opens the claret-colored door with his key. 

I'm about to step inside when I hear the faint drone of a plane flying overhead. I crane my head to look at it as it flies over our street.

A shiver goes down my spine, and my grip tightens on my violin case. As I look up at the sky, I wonder if the pilot has seen the war that is going on in Europe. The brutal, terrible war that has been present in the newspapers ever since it began. It's been about five months, and no one seems to know when it's going to end. People were outraged when it broke out, terrified of the Great War all over again. The world had just started recovering from the great economic downturn, and things were looking up.

But I try not to worry about it. Even though Denmark shares a border with Germany, Denmark declared itself neutral in the last war and managed to avoid most of the bloodshed. Shivering again, I push my thoughts aside and walk inside. I close the door to the outside world and pray that we will be okay.

Denmark will be okay.