Katie was more than unhappy now. She wore a look of apprehension as if she were waiting for something. Waiting! That was it. The whole feeling at home now was that of waiting for something. But for what? It was as if a thunderstorm were brewing up, to release the tenseness of the atmosphere. And she herself? Wasn’t she different too? Whereas she and Anna had laughed at silly nothings, Anna was very silent nowadays, and she herself seemed always to be on the verge of tears.
Next morning she astounded them all at breakfast. Just as she was leaving the table she said casually: “I’m going to an engagement party tonight. It’s Rosa’s. Will you let me in if I’m late, Anna?”
Joseph had already left the house. Moe looked quizzically at Krista. “So we’re getting independent at last, are we?” she said. “About time, too. Go out and enjoy yourself while you can, girl. What’s happened to your boy friend?”
“It’s finished,” said Krista faintly.
“I thought so,” said Moe quietly. “You’re a silly child to let your father influence you. You’ve been looking peaked these last few days. Make it up with him. Kiss and be friends!” She laughed loudly and slapped Krista on the thigh as the girl came round the table to say good-bye.
“Life’s nothing without a boy friend,” she called after her. “But don’t be late home or Pa’ll throw a fit again.”
Paul answered the letter in person. When she and Rosa came out of the factory the next day he was there waiting for her. They stood looking at one another until Rosa greeted him with an invitation to accompany them to her party. Paul was taken aback. What had happened to Krista? Here she was actually going to an evening party. She always told him that such a thing was impossible. He felt aggrieved.
“I’m egging her on to revolt!” laughed Rosa. “Just wait until my mother gets on to the subject too!” She saw their discomfiture at this unexpected situation. “I’m not letting Krista off coming to the first party she’s ever been known to attend just because you’ve turned up like this!” she said to Paul. “Come along too. You can talk to her at home.”
“I’d hoped to see you,” began Paul awkwardly to Krista. “I got your letter, and asked for twenty-four hours’ leave.”
Krista couldn’t say anything. The letter lay between them. She longed to take it back. The sight of Paul had sent all her decisions to the winds.
“Well, make up your mind!” urged Rosa. “We’ve got to get a move on—it’s my party—it can’t begin without me!”
“I’ve got the car,” said Paul. “I’ll drive you.”
The evening opened a new world to Krista. For the first time she entered a home in which she could sense the unity and complete devotion of the family in it. Rosa, her mother, her young brother and her English fiancé John were in perfect harmony. The flat in which they lived was small, in an area which had been devastated and was being rapidly rebuilt; but it was full of books and flowers, and held an atmosphere of quiet happiness which was enchanting to the girl, accustomed as she was to the stormy one of her own home.
And Rosa’s guests, all young people who came in to congratulate her, were of a kind whom Krista had never met. They knew a freedom which was denied her. A freedom to go about where they wished and with whom they liked. They all went dancing and rambling, swimming and boating, yet none of them had much money, and all of them worked hard. Before the evening was over she realized that she, too, would not lack for invitations and partners for such recreations if she wished—and if Pa permitted it. At the thought of his insistence on her being home early every night a violent revolt began to take place in her mind. Why shouldn’t she go out too? Why shouldn’t she go dancing and walking and swimming? Why should she and Anna work hard all day and have no fun in the evenings? Was that what Katie, Hank and the twins did now? Did they slip out after Pa was in bed to avoid the fuss he invariably made when she wanted to go out?
When she got up to leave—and from sheer force of habit she couldn’t bring herself to stay late—Paul got up too. In silence they got into the car and drove back towards the river.
“I’m going to forget your letter,” he said as they approached the great bridge. “You didn’t mean what you wrote, did you?”
“But I did,” she answered wretchedly. “I promised Pa.”
“Oh, damn him!” exclaimed Paul angrily. “It’s too stupid. How is it you could go to a party tonight? You never have time for me.”
“I wanted to see what other people’s homes are like. The girls often invite me. This time I determined to go.”
“And how did you find it?”
“I loved it,” said Krista simply.
“That’s how a home should be,” said Paul. “If you’d have the courage to defy your foster-father we could have a home like that. But what’s the good of talking to you? You seem to think he’s God.”
They got out of the car and went down to their usual meeting-place, and he pulled her on to a seat under the lime trees. “So you don’t want to see me again?” he said. “You meant what you wrote?”
She began to cry. In a bewildering agony of torn emotions she tried to control herself. Through the curtain of tears she saw the barges passing, the patches of light and dark on the shining water, the moonlight catching the froth of foam from the paddle steamers; and in her heart revolved like a gramophone record Moe’s words: “You with your child’s body that’s changing . . . you’re the sort that men like all right.” Tonight she had seen its truth—and something seemed gone from her. For when those other men at Rosa’s had looked at her, had asked her to dance, had clamoured for her favours, she had seen Paul’s face, and the quiet amusement on Rosa’s. She knew that Moe was right. There would be others even if she gave up Paul. And she hated it—and hated herself because of it. Her feelings were so ravaged that she longed to flee from him and from herself. She turned to him and said violently that she could not see him again. She loved him too much. It was too painful.
He said quietly, “If you send me away there’ll be others. D’you think I didn’t notice those fellows tonight? Why don’t you face the fact that you love me?”
She looked away from him to the fast-flowing current, at its urgency, its very life, as it carried the country’s trade to other lands where they spoke other tongues. There was something frightening in the remorseless flow of this great river, this wide tradeway from the mountains in one country to the sea in another. In spring when the snows came down from those mountains it overflowed its banks, and this very place where they were now sitting had been deep under water only three months ago. The tow-path in the village had been submerged, and the tram could not run because its lines were under water.
It seemed to the girl now, awakened by this first urgent stirring of the heart and blood, that life was as relentless in its flow as was this river. With one blinding flash of perception she had recognized this piercingly sweet emotion aroused in her by Paul as the thing which they all talked and sniggered about at Moe’s table, and over the chain-belt table in the factory. Was it love or this other thing that she felt for him? She didn’t know. But whatever it was it was real. The most real thing she had known. “You can’t escape from life” was what Rosa’s mother had said to her. She had been saying that, even though she was sad that her daughter would have to live in England, her happiness with the man she loved was all that mattered to the mother.
“I do face it,” she said at last. “And I’m going to marry you, Paul. If only you’ll wait just a little longer. I can’t worry Pa just now. Things are all wrong at home. But I will.”
“You mean that?” Paul was overjoyed. “You do love me? You’re not kidding me?”
“No,” she said gravely. “No, I’m quite sure now. And if Pa won’t agree I can get Moe’s permission and ask the Court for theirs. Rosa’s mother told me so. You see, no one really knows how old I am or what my name it. It’s a special case. But maybe Pa’ll change his mind so that none of that’s necessary.”
Krista was alarmed at he
r sudden decision. But things had been stirring in her mind for some time. Rosa’s mother had been the turning-point. She had asked if Moe approved the marriage, and when told that she did, she had said, “It’s a mother who really knows. A father is always silly about daughters. I’ve had to be both to Rosa, so she’s lucky.”
“And when will you tell him?” asked Paul, kissing her.
“Soon. Perhaps tonight. I’ll see how it is when I get back. But I must go now, Paul. Please.”
“I’ll get you a ring—you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
“No. Not yet. We must wait.”
“I’ll run you home,” he said resignedly. “You’ll write to me?”
“After I’ve told Pa that I mean to marry you. I must tell him first.” Even as she said it so lightly her heart failed at the thought of his anger. But she would do it. When Paul dropped her, at her insistence, in the shadowed lane a few hundred yards from her home it was raining, and she ran quickly in the direction of the house. But she had said she would marry him. She had clung to him by the river and in the car, and as he drove back along the river he was wildly happy.
XXV
AT HOME Joseph was astonishing the family with a violent burst of energy and interest. He had come back and proceeded to start a tremendous clearing-up campaign, just as he used to do. The boys, surprised and annoyed at the renewal of this custom, obeyed his orders sullenly. He gave them pleasantly but firmly. There was a new ring of authority in his voice as he made Karl and the twins sweep up the falling leaves, the potato-peelings which Moe still flung on the ground, ordered Katie and Robert to wash down the concrete yard, and had the little ones picking up their toys and generally tidying up. The bicycles were all inspected. They were filthy. He had never seen such indolence and neglect. A bicycle was a valuable thing and must be cared for. He soon had them all at work, washing, polishing and oiling their machines.
The children looked at each other in amazement. What had come over Pa? Was it because the silly Elections were over and his beloved “Old’un” firmly in office again? He had been gloomy and concerned about his chances recently. Well, now he was Chancellor again; maybe that accounted for Pa’s milder moods and sudden bursts of interest in his family again.
When all this was done he suggested some music, some part-playing. For several evenings now they had sat as they used to do before the advent of Rudi, under the acacia tree practising hard. But some of their former interest had waned. Hank and Katie were now accustomed to the more exciting use of their leisure: so were the twins.
Anna and Krista enjoyed it but their minds were often on their absent boy friends. This evening the first thing Pa had asked when he had come in was the whereabouts of Krista.
There had been a silence; then Moe said that she had gone to an engagement party with a girl from the factory.
“What girl?” asked Joseph.
“Her name’s Rosa and she’s engaged to an Englishman,” Anna replied calmly. “She works next to Krista on the perfume-filling machine.”
“How’s she coming home?” growled Joseph.
“On her legs,” giggled Karl, “or perhaps she’ll swim down the river.”
His father reproved him sharply. The twins continued giggling happily.
“She won’t be late,” assured Moe, “she never is.”
“She’s not here to sing.” Joseph was upset. Krista had a sweet, pure voice and a perfect ear.
“I can sing her part,” said Robert eagerly. “I can sing just as high.”
“Let’s call it off then,” suggested Hank. He did not want to have to get involved in one of Joseph’s concerts this evening. He and Katie had other plans. It was damned awkward. But Pa was adamant. They were going to practise. Christmas carols were what he suggested.
“In summer weather?” said Moe. “No, Joseph, I draw the line at that. Choose something in keeping with summer. The neighbours will all think we’re mad if we sing ‘Stille Nacht’ or ‘Tannenbaum’ tonight.” For although early autumn, it was still very warm.
Katie loathed the whole business. She had no chance to slip over to the Frenchman’s now. Pa watched them like a cat. Why? This evening, for instance, she and Hank were due to meet Leo at an early rendezvous in the ruined shelter. How could they get away? They sat round the table under the acacia and were all relieved when it began to rain heavily.
“In we go,” cried Hank, picking up his accordion.
“We’ll continue in the summer-house.”
“There’s not room. Besides, Katie and I are going out.” Hank’s voice was aggressive.
“Where?” asked Joseph bluntly.
“In the town,” said Hank.
“I know that, but where in the town?” persisted Joseph.
“We’re going to visit a friend there,” put in Katie quickly.
“What friend?” asked Pa.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Pa, why this inquisition? You’ve never asked us before what we do or where we go—why now?”
“Because I’ve been hearing some strange things about the goings-on at night from this house.” He looked straight at Hank as he said this.
“We go to some friends in the town, and sometimes we’re late home. This blasted village knows everything we do. Why d’you listen to their tales? You know they hate us!”
“It wasn’t the villagers who told me,” said Joseph quietly.
“Then it was that damned Englishwoman next door,” cried Hank angrily. “They’re always up late at night and see everything we do.”
“It wasn’t the Englishwoman.”
“Oh, what the hell does it matter who it was?” shouted Hank. “I’m not going to be questioned like that. I pay my way here; I have the right to my own life.”
“Then go and live your own life.” Joseph’s voice was curt.
Hank was startled. Moe was looking at Joseph with a new respect. What was in his mind now? She didn’t know what to make of this new mood. She was grateful that he was gentler to her and the children, but on the whole she didn’t trust it. She had got accustomed to the sullen silences and the sudden outbursts of temper. Now she would have to fathom this new phase.
The rather tense silence which followed Joseph’s retort was broken by a squabble amongst the younger ones. Robert was hit on the head by Karl and retaliated, and in a moment Moe had got up, taken the heads of the two combatants and knocked them together. She always stopped a fight in that way. The uproar had only just died down when two men came in at the gate. One was the policeman who had brought the boys home on the night of the celebration of the international football victory; the other a tall man in plain clothes.
Joseph could not fail to notice Hank’s start or Katie’s sudden pallor. Nor could Moe. She was used to the policeman coming on the usual visits of complaint about bicycles or hens. But who was this stern-looking man with him?
“We’d better be going, Katie,” said Hank, who was already on his feet. But the policeman, after greeting them all, said pleasantly, “No, don’t go just yet. Sit down, will you? Are you all here?”
He pulled from his pocket a small narrow black belt. He held it up so that they could all see it.
“Are all your daughters here?” the man in plain clothes asked Joseph.
“My adopted daughter Krista is not here. She’ll be in soon,” said Joseph. He was bewildered. But he was always polite and careful with the police: he was used to the sharp biting voice of authority. Police were like the officers in the army. One had to obey instantly.
The policeman held up the belt and said carefully, “Have any of you ever seen this belt before?”
There was a silence broken only by the rain which now began to pour down. “We must go in,” cried Moe. “Come quick. We’ll go into the parlour.”
She led the way for the policeman. She noticed with growing fear that the man in plain clothes stayed behind and ushered every member of the family in before him. There were so many of them that there were not enough chair
s. This room was seldom used by them all. The photographs of Grandpa and Grandma stared down menacingly at them. Moe hated the stern old couple but was afraid to move them.
They formed a ring, the boys sitting on edges of small stiff, plush chairs, and jostling each other in excitement and fear. What was it all about?
“Have any of you ever seen this belt before?” repeated the policeman. No one answered. Then Robert said quickly: “Yes, it belongs to one of my sisters.”
Krista was surprised to find the whole family still up. It was only ten o’clock but they usually went to bed early except at weekends: their day started early. This evening two men were with them in the sitting-room. One was the policeman from the next village—there was none in theirs—whom they all knew. He was a fat, fatherly individual. The second man was in plain clothes. He was young and had keen grey-blue eyes which seemed to bore through you. Everyone was very still. The chairs in this stiff room were as little used as the room itself. Krista had been astonished when Pa had called to her to come in, and was amazed to find them all in here like this.
A House on the Rhine Page 24
