The High Calling

by Gilbert, Morris

  Meredith lifted her head, her eyes sharp and alert. “I’m just not going to allow myself to get too close to anyone. It doesn’t pay. Especially not during a war.”

  Brodie continued to sip his tea, but he was aware of her charms. She was not tall but was shapely in a way that would appeal to any man. She even looked good in the simple cotton dress she wore. “Let’s you and me go see a movie or something tonight.”

  “I’m sorry. I have a previous engagement.”

  “Well, maybe I’ll go along with you.”

  A small dimple appeared at the corner of Meredith’s mouth, and a glimmer of light danced in her eyes. She lifted one shoulder and a hint of a smile touched her lips. “All right,” she said. “I’ll see how dependable you Americans are. You can come with me if you promise to stay with me. You won’t run out on me?”

  “Scout’s honor. Come on, lady, lead on.”

  ****

  “This is a pretty rough part of town,” Brodie noted as they passed a number of tough-looking men loitering about who gave them rather calculating looks. “You wouldn’t come down here by yourself, would you?”

  “Yes, I have,” Meredith said casually.

  Brodie was curious. “Where are you taking me?”

  “Right over there.”

  She pointed toward four men and two women standing on a street corner with musical instruments. “I don’t see anything but that Salvation Army bunch.”

  “That’s it.”

  He missed a step. “What do you mean, ‘That’s it’?” he demanded.

  “I sometimes come down and help the Salvation Army with their work.”

  Brodie Lee suddenly felt uncomfortable, but he had promised Meredith he would stay with her. When they were a few yards from the band, she looked at him oddly.

  “Aren’t you going to run away?”

  “Merry, I’ve never run away from anything in my life!”

  A light of approval swept across her face and she continued toward the band, where she greeted a tall, gangling man wearing a threadbare black uniform.

  “Good evening, Miss Meredith. It’s good to see you. Who’s this with you?”

  “This is a new addition to our band. May I introduce Brodie Lee. Brodie, this is Harry Jenkins.”

  “I’m pleased to meet you. What instrument do you play?”

  “I’m sorry,” Brodie said quickly. “I can’t play a thing.”

  “Yes you can. You can play the bass drum.” Meredith’s eyes were sparkling as she turned to a small man with a bass drum strapped to his chest. “Charlie, let Brodie have your drum. That’ll free you up to play the trombone.”

  “Right you are, miss.”

  “But I can’t play a drum,” Brodie protested.

  “All you have to do is pound out a rhythm with a big mallet,” Meredith said. “Here, let me help you put the drum on.”

  Brodie wanted to run, but Meredith had already taken the instrument from Charlie and was standing in front of Brodie with it. He suddenly laughed. “All right.” He slipped his arms into the straps and tried to get comfortable with the big drum sticking out in front of him. Meredith handed him the mallet and he tapped at the drum tentatively.

  She took her flute case out of the canvas bag she had been carrying. After taking a moment to tune up, she said, “We’re ready, Harry.”

  ****

  Meredith turned to Brodie outside her apartment building. She was still amused at his enthusiastic banging of the drum. He actually had a good sense of rhythm, and after a time, the leader had asked him not to hit it so loudly. Brodie had even stayed for the street-side sermon, where they had received the typical reaction from the passersby—some positive and some negative.

  “Well, I must admit,” she said, “I didn’t think you’d go through with it.”

  “It was fun. We’ll do it again sometime.” Before she could stop him, Lee reached for her shoulders and kissed her right on the lips. She pushed him away gently. “That’s enough of that, Brodie. I told you I have no interest in getting involved with anyone.”

  “I thought you mighta changed your mind by now.” He laughed and then shook his head. “I gotta go. Thanks for showin’ me around.”

  “Thank you for coming, Brodie. I’ll tell Kat what a good drummer you are.” She went inside and climbed the steps to the second floor. As she thought about Brodie, she found herself wondering what it would be like to date again, but she shook her thoughts off and unlocked the door.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  The Face of Death

  “One wouldn’t think that a couple of three-year-olds could bring such devastation!”

  Lady Grace Braden was smiling as she looked about the drawing room, which was in considerable disarray. The twins had torn into their gifts like hurricanes, including the picture books and stuffed animals Kat had brought, scattering paper and string all over the floor. The table that had held the cake and ice cream was also cluttered.

  Veronica Braden was trying to stop an argument between the birthday celebrants. “Turn loose of that, Paul. It belongs to Heather.”

  “No, mine!”

  Veronica slapped Paul’s hand. “Let go of it, I say!”

  Paul drew his hand back quickly and looked up reproachfully at his mother. “You’re mean! Don’t be mean, Mums!”

  Veronica shook her head impatiently and straightened up. “I’ll have the servants clean up this mess,” she said crossly.

  “Oh, I’ll help. I don’t mind,” Kat said quickly.

  “They’re paid to do such things—but as you please.” She stared at Kat for a moment, an unreadable expression in her eyes. “Thank you for coming,” she snapped before turning and abruptly leaving the room.

  “She always gets flustered at things like this,” Grace told Kat. “She’s much better with adults, I think.” She smiled then and added, “But you seem to have no problem handling three-year-olds.”

  “I practically raised triplets. My father married late in life, and he and my stepmother had triplets. I’ve had a lot of experience changing diapers, mixing formula, and separating the boys between battles.”

  She stooped down next to Paul, who was sitting on the floor looking hurt. “Look, Paul,” she said. “I’ll tell you what. You let Heather have this stuffed toy and I’ll read you a story when it’s naptime.”

  “I wike stories,” he said.

  “I want story too,” Heather piped up.

  “Then if you’re both good children, I will not only read a story, I’ll make up one just for you.”

  This fascinated the twins, and they at once announced that they were ready to take their nap.

  “Well! That’s never happened before,” Grace said, an astonished smile on her face.

  “You look rather tired, Lady Braden. Why don’t you go lie down for a while. Three-year-olds can put you in bed.”

  “Indeed they can, Katherine. But I think I’d rather stay up. It makes me sleep better at night. I’ll run along and see that the twins are properly dressed for their nap.”

  Kat almost smiled. She had never heard of dressing properly for a nap. When she used to put her little half brothers to bed, she’d simply tossed them in and warn them to go to sleep or she’d strangle them. “I’ll just clean up some of this mess, and then I’ll come and tell them some stories.”

  Grace left the room, and Katherine began cleaning up. It had been a strange birthday party. There had been no guests except for herself. Grace and Veronica and she had been the entire group. Grace had told her that her husband wasn’t feeling well enough to attend. Veronica had mentioned that they hadn’t invited any other children because it was hard enough to keep two children from tearing the house apart.

  Kat worked quickly and efficiently, picking up the papers and ribbons from the floor and stuffing them into a sack. When she had finished, she started for the kitchen to get a damp cloth to wipe the table. She stopped, however, when she heard voices in the kitchen. The young maid, Millie, was sayi
ng, “Well, I think it’s awful that Mr. Parker couldn’t come for his own children’s party.”

  “He can’t come and go as he pleases,” the housekeeper, Mrs. Henderson, said. “None of the pilots can.”

  “You can say what you like, but I think it’s disgraceful the way Mrs. Braden treats the children.”

  “Millie, I’ve told you a hundred times not to speak poorly of our employers.”

  “Well, I’m not the only one. Cook and I were talking about how the mister and the missus don’t get along. Why, they fight all the time.”

  “Millie, stop that!”

  “But they do! At least she does. Poor Mr. Parker doesn’t say a word. It would serve her right if he went and got himself a girlfriend.”

  “They have their troubles, but that’s ridiculous. Now, I don’t want to hear any more about this. If the master and the missus are having troubles, so are lots of other people.”

  Kat hesitated, then went back into the drawing room. She was disturbed by what she had overheard and felt guilty for having eavesdropped. But when servants talked openly about marital problems between their employers, things were serious indeed.

  Finally Millie came in and smiled brightly. “Oh, you’ve cleaned up all the paper. You didn’t have to do that, miss.”

  “I don’t mind. But now I promised the children I would read them a story.” She picked up one of the books and said, “Where’s their room?”

  “Right down the hall there. Second door on the left. Don’t worry. You’ll hear them screeching,” she said with a smile.

  Kat walked down the hall, impressed, as she always was, by the richness and opulence of the furnishings. Everything was tastefully done, and she knew it was the work of many years. She did indeed hear Paul’s voice demanding something when she reached the door. Opening it, she went inside and found the two children jumping up and down on the bed with their grandmother begging them to stop.

  “Here, you two, I thought you wanted to hear a story.”

  “Yes, a story!” Heather cried.

  “Well, lie down and you shall have one.”

  “I’ll leave you with them, but we’ll have a cup of tea before you leave, my dear.”

  “That would be wonderful.”

  Kat settled the children down on the large bed, noting that they were dressed in pajamas. She drew up a chair and said, “Now, if you’re very quiet, I will read you a story.”

  “We will be,” Paul insisted.

  “Very well. Here we go.” She began reading the story and was interrupted several times by both Paul and Heather. They were very bright and attractive children. Paul was going to be tall and looked quite similar to his adoptive father with his light brown hair and blue eyes. Heather, although she had the same coloring and the same facial characteristics, was small-boned and almost fragile.

  Finally, when Kat had finished the story, she saw that both of them were still wide awake. “All right,” she said. “You’ve been very good. Now I’ll tell you a story that’s not in any book.”

  “Not in a book?” Heather asked, her eyes large and inquisitive.

  “No. It’s one I made up myself. You close your eyes, and I’ll tell it to you.”

  It took three made-up stories to get the children to sleep. Kat pulled a light blanket over the children and then tiptoed out of the room. Why, they love attention! You’d think they didn’t get any, but that can’t be so. It seems all the adults in this home dote on them.

  She quietly closed the door and went back to the drawing room, where she found Lady Grace reading a book.

  “Did you finally get them to sleep?”

  “Oh yes. They were very good.”

  “Sit down. I’ll have Millie bring us some tea.”

  Ten minutes later the two women were sipping their tea and Grace was saying, “You’re perfectly marvelous with children, Miss Winslow.”

  “Oh, please, just call me Kat. That’s what everyone at home calls me.”

  “Yes, Parker told me—but he says he prefers Katherine.”

  “Well, it does sound a bit more dignified. My family has called me Kat since I was a little girl.”

  Kat enjoyed their conversation immensely. Grace was very curious about her American visitor, and Kat found herself telling about her background at great length. Finally she laughed and said, “Heavens, I’ve become an egotist and a bore.”

  “Not at all, my dear. It’s so refreshing to have you here. Parker told us a great deal about you, in letters, of course, when he visited your home.”

  Kat finished her tea and told her hostess that she had to leave. The two women arose, and Grace walked her visitor to the door. She had said very little about Parker and Veronica, which seemed strange to Kat, but it reinforced what she had overheard the maid saying about the couple.

  Grace opened the door and called out, “Joseph, I need you to take Miss Winslow home.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “I’m so grateful to you for coming, and I know Parker will be also,” Grace said.

  “It was such fun.”

  “You must come back soon. The children love it so much.”

  “I would like that very much.”

  Grace looked troubled for a moment and shook her head, grief coming to her eyes. “Parker’s all we have now.”

  “Shall we have a prayer for him before I leave?”

  Grace Braden was surprised at the suggestion, but she agreed. “Yes, if you please.”

  The two women bowed their heads, and when Kat had finished her brief prayer, Grace reached out and gave her a hug. “Thank you so much,” she whispered.

  As Kat walked to the car, she thought, It’s probably very unusual for this aristocratic woman to hug strangers, especially an American. The whole family seemed strange, and all the way back to town she wondered what really went on behind the doors of Benleigh Estate.

  Looking up once, she saw planes overhead going south. She could not tell what kind they were, but she wondered briefly if Parker might be in one of them. Their lives are so fragile, she thought. But then again, I guess life is fragile for all of us.

  ****

  The pilots of Parker’s squadron were a mixed bag indeed. David Deere, tough and husky with black eyes and black hair, was the leader of Yellow Flight. He had found their new recruit rather odd, and Deere was outspoken with his opinions.

  “Do all Americans dress like you?”

  “Only the wealthy ones can afford that.” Brodie was, of course, wearing his flying suit now, as they were expecting a scramble. But his high-heeled boots and Stetson had aroused Deere’s interest.

  Deere stared at Brodie curiously. “You think your country will come in and help us with this fight that’s coming?”

  “Well, I’m here, ain’t I?” Brodie grinned rashly.

  “Yes, but you’re only one.”

  “There’s only one war!” Brodie shrugged. He was lounging in a chair, looking absolutely relaxed, with his feet propped up and leafing through a magazine.

  Deere was about to say something else when Bernie Cox, leader of Blue Flight said, “You can’t carry that ruddy pistol. It’s not regulation.” Cox had learned to respect Brodie Lee’s flying ability and trusted him now to guard his flank, but like the other pilots, he was somewhat put off by Brodie’s eccentric mannerisms and dress.

  Brodie did not look up from the magazine but murmured, “Regulations say to carry a sidearm. That’s what I’m doing.”

  “But it’s not a regulation sidearm.”

  “Shoots straight, though.”

  Cox threw up his hands, and even as he did, the call came over the loudspeaker: “One-twenty Squadron, scramble!”

  Every pilot in the squadron came out of his chair, some of them pulling on their flight gear as they did.

  “All right,” Parker announced as he came into the room, “this is a big one. Reports say that over a hundred Jerries are headed our way.”

  “Is that all?” Brodie said. He had to
ssed the magazine down and was stretching lazily. “We’ll have to teach those morons a lesson.”

  “When we go after them,” Cox said abruptly, “you stay in formation.”

  “Yes,” Parker agreed. “That goes for all of you.”

  As they went out to their planes, Brodie nudged Sailor Darley. “When we go after a bunch that big,” he said under his breath, “formations go out the window.”

  “Better do what the skipper says, Brodie,” Sailor warned.

  “Why? You don’t.”

  “But I’ve got seniority. You have to play by the rules until you’ve been in service for a year. Then you can throw them out the window.”

  Parker stopped Brodie before he climbed into his plane. “I meant what I said, Brodie. You stay in formation.”

  “Right, Skipper,” Brodie said breezily. “Anything else?”

  “Watch yourself.”

  “You too. Say, after we shoot down these planes, what d’ya say we go out to a pub and throw some darts? That’s what you Brits do, ain’t it?”

  “If we shoot down a hundred of them, I’ll pay for the beer.”

  “You’re on.”

  Brodie climbed into his plane humming “Oh! Susanna” and checked his instruments. He knew some of the pilots were tense when going on a mission, but he had apparently been born without nerves. He could not understand other men’s fears, for when it came to flying, he had never had any, but he was not brash enough to say this publicly.

  ****

  Parker led the squadron and at once set out to gain height. The highest planes always had the advantage, so there was a constant struggle between the German and British fighters. Before long all twelve planes in the squadron had the height that Parker sought.

  His radio crackled: “Fifty plus bombers, one hundred plus fighters coming in over Portsmouth at fifteen thousand feet headed northeast. Your vector nine zero degrees.”

  Parker acknowledged and then surveyed his squadron. They were flying in four V formations of three. Red Flight, Parker’s own, was in the lead position. He noted with satisfaction that the wingtips of the different flights were almost touching. The roar of the twelve Merlin engines drowned out all other sound as they skimmed over the Kent countryside.