Till The Wind Blows Silent

by Bernice Bohnet

Margaret finished the last chorus of the birthday song and turned to regard her daughter. “My, you look pretty in that dress.” After a brief hesitation, Margaret continued, “I’ll put the kettle on. Thanks for queuing up so we can have a cuppa. Imagine, Earl Grey. You’re a fine daughter.”

  Margaret reached for the old kettle and Anna inhaled the delightful aroma of roast lamb permeating the air.

  She knew better than to ask if her mother needed any help. Margaret liked to work alone in her kitchen so instead Anna took a seat at the large, metal Morrison table that dominated the room.

  The Morrison table made her uneasy now. It had always been the centre of family meals but now it evoked thoughts of sheltering under it when the air raid siren sounded and they didn’t have time to take refuge in the Underground. When would this wretched war end? Apparently, D-Day had been a success yet still the war went on.

  Anna looked out the window, the heavy blackout curtains drawn back exposing the lush sunny beauty of the day.

  Sunlight reflected off the bright red kettle on the stove and highlighted the gold rug glowing warmly against the brown linoleum. Myriad African violets and a huge shamrock that came all the way from Ireland filled the corners of the homey, comfortable room. Here, with her mother, she could forget the war and arrogant Yanks.

  “There’s a bit of sadness to mar the day. I heard on the wireless east London had bombs dropped on them again last night. They still don’t have a death count.” Margaret’s voice was grave.

  Anna nodded. “I hate the war. I hate the noise. I hate the smells. I hate the pounding of my heart during the air raids. The siren gives me the willies.”

  Anna clamped down on her rising panic. “I’m sorry. Let’s be happy. It’s my birthday and I appreciate the party more than you imagine.”

  The kettle whistled shrilly and Margaret abandoned the lunch preparations to make the tea. She wrapped the pot in a tea cozy and set it on the table. “I know exactly how long this brew should be steeped. We Wellington women make excellent housewives and an excellent housewife makes incredible tea.”

  “I have your Wellington blood and I like to think I’d make a good wife and mother, but it doesn’t look like it’s going to happen. I guess it’s just not meant to be.” Anna sighed wistfully and silently damned Harold for raising her hopes.

  “You’re wrong.” Michael Marshall’s strong deep voice filled the kitchen.

  She turned to greet her father. The affection on his face warmed her heart. Michael Marshall, aged fifty-one, was tall and well-built with blond hair touched with gray, a longish nose, gray-blue eyes and high cheekbones, good looking in a hawkish, powerful way.

  He limped, his only physical flaw, because one leg had developed several inches shorter than the other, something Anna only rarely noticed. Today he wore his best blue dress trousers, a white shirt and blue suspenders.

  “Your twenty-fifth birthday is going to be even more memorable than we imagined. Only the end of the war would be better than this.” He grinned in happy expectation.

  “I see you’re wondering so I’ll come right out with it. Charles Harding has just asked me for your hand in marriage. Of course, I said yes. He wants to propose to you right now.”

  Michael reached out his arms and a confused, frightened Anna walked into them. Her father smelt of pipe smoke and shaving cream, comforting scents from her childhood. Anna trembled.

  Michael released her and held her at arm’s length, a huge smile creasing his face. “Go to your fiancé, daughter. He’s a good man.” He pointed to the door and then waved her through it.

  Anna clutched her hand to her heart. Her first marriage proposal, why oh why did it have to be Charles Harding? She could never love him even though her father adored the son of his business partner.

  Michael’s words at dinner last night played through her mind. “Our business at Marshall and Harding Limited is flourishing since Charles joined us. He has such capital ideas for displaying merchandise and understands hardware as well as his father. We’ll have to offer him a partnership soon.”

  Anna’s emotions beat inside her like moths battering against a glass jar. She allowed her father to push her out the door. Charles stood beside one of her mother’s rose bushes. She couldn’t bring herself to look at him and kept her head down.

  Anna’s stomach turned at the thought of kissing that mouth with its crooked teeth stained pink from his bleeding gums, and stench of his breath reached her even from two feet apart. The possibility of the more intimate acts of marriage made her want to bolt.

  Drawing near, his polished shoes came into her line of sight. She raised her head and was surprised to see him dressed in an unfamiliar grey suit. Did he buy it just for this occasion?

  A pang of guilt sliced through her. Was she putting too much emphasis on his appearance? The idea rankled as it was one of her pet peeves in others.

  Charles took her hands in his clammy ones. “My dear, it is time for both of us to be married. I’m ready to settle down, and so I imagine are you, pet. Not to mention our union will please our parents. I am well able to take care of you. I expect to be offered a partnership in the near future, so you have no worries in that area.

  Anna couldn’t have imagined a less romantic proposal. He seemed to take it for granted she’d say yes and fall into his arms. She studied their clasped hands and searched for something suitable to say.

  A tiny gasp escaped her when Charles pulled her into his arms and pressed his chapped lips to her cheek. She nearly gagged as his fetid breath seemed to steal the breath from her lungs. In spite of her best efforts she cringed away from him.

  Charles must have misunderstood her reluctance. “I hope you don’t consider me a coward. I didn’t enlist because the army rejected me. I have a heart arrhythmia.”

  “Of course, I don’t believe you’re a coward.” Anna regretted the words almost before they passed her lips. Perhaps Charles might have changed his mind if he found her to be overly critical of him.

  She disengaged herself from him and breathed more freely. Dear Lord, how was she supposed to get out of this ridiculous arrangement? She regarded him with a dubious expression.

  Charles seemed set on reassuring her the marriage would be a success. “I have it on good authority, dolly mops mostly and they should know; that I am an excellent lover.

  The words stunned her and left her speechless.

  A salacious smile twisted his face. “I assure you I can satisfy you. Of course, I like a woman with more than a handful in the bosom department. However, you’ll do nicely, and at least you’re a virgin. Not like your slut of a sister.”

  Anna almost screamed. Dear God, had he slept with Patsy? She wouldn’t put it past either of them. He had the gall to brag about his liaisons with prostitutes and only wanted to marry her because she was a virgin.

  She finally found her tongue. “I don’t want to marry someone who prizes my virginity over me.”

  Charles’ face darkened with anger and superiority. “What’s gotten into you, girl? You’ve always seemed so biddable. Where is all this nonsense coming from? He stiffened his spine and looked down his hooked nose at her.

  “Men and women are different and different rules apply. Of course you’ll marry me. You will be a suitable wife and I will be a suitable husband.”

  “Do you love me?” Her voice shook and she forced herself to look into his face.

  “If its love you want, of course I love you. You’ll make a good wife.”

  Anna backed away and folded her arms across her chest. She couldn’t stand the thought of being near him. Those prostitutes really had to work to earn their money. “Why do you love me?”

  Charles’ voice filled with exasperation. “You’re Michael Marshall’s daughter and he’s my father’s partner. It pleases them both. You’re an obedient daughter. You’ll make an obedient wife.” As he spoke, Charles smiled and lit another cigarette.

  Anna uncrossed her arms and clenched her fists. “Cha
rles, the man I marry has to want me for who I am. I can’t just be a convenience. You don’t know me, and even if we were married for eighty years, you never would.”

  Charles regarded her as if she had suddenly grown two heads. “You will marry me and you will be happy and you’ll have my children. There’s no sense fighting this, you know. You don’t want to be an old maid forever, do you?”

  Anna chewed her lip and considered his words. If she looked at it coldly and without emotion, there was much to be said for marrying Charles.

  She would have the status of being a married woman and she could have the family she always wanted. Perhaps, best of all, she could quit her job at the factory. Maybe Patsy was right and love wasn’t so important. Real love, not the physical kind.

  Even as she considered it, she couldn’t bring herself to agree. The man talked like she was a brood mare he’d negotiated to purchase at the horse fair.

  Anna looked down at her beautiful dress, the pleasure it brought earlier fled. Life with Charles would be cold and colourless and hateful.

  Life as a spinster wouldn’t be that bad. She could join the suffragettes and be her own woman. With no man in her life she could paint to her heart’s content and she’d already proved she could earn her own money. Nursing or teaching would be viable options, she supposed.

  She pleated a fold of skirt in her fingers and met Charles gaze. I won’t marry you and no one can make me. You just march inside and tell my father I said no.

  Her courage faltered for a moment. Her father would be furious with her, but it couldn’t be helped. She would not marry that repulsive man for all the tea in China.

  Chapter 2

  Anna cringed before her father’s rage. “How could you reject one of the best men in London? And don’t give me some silly twaddle about how he doesn’t understand you. What’s to understand? You’re not complicated.”

  Michael swayed; the result not only of his limp. “I’ll be ashamed to see Ronald, the best partner a man could ask for. We’ve always been proud of you. Now you’re acting like Patsy.”

  Anna lifted her head and stamped her foot. “You can’t dominate me like you do Mom. I have your genes and they tell me I need a spine. I will never marry Charles.”

  Margaret rushed to give Anna a hug. “You’re right. Your father dominates me and sometimes I resent it, yet I wanted a strong man so I must be happy.”

  Margaret’s pretty features twisted into a smile, a futile effort to hide unshed tears. Anna suppressed a pang of sympathy regretting the pain she’d caused her mother. However, she was too angry to take the words back and tried to ignore Michael’s retreating back. She winced at the slamming of the door.

  * * *

  Anna managed to revel in the company of family and friends at the party. Charles and Ronald Harding were conspicuous in their absence. The partiers played the phonograph, danced and laughed, the war many world’s away.

  At the height of the merriment, Michael abandoned his chair beside Margaret and ignoring his limp, danced with Anna.

  He whispered in her ear, “I love you daughter, no matter what.”

  Tears of gratitude filled her eyes.

  * * *

  Anna paused on the steps of the factory to inhale the pure, fresh air. She felt like an escaped prisoner leaving the noisy boring job behind her. The only good thing about the factory was the music they played to relieve some of the monotony. Anna thrilled to Mozart and Mantovani’s Orchestra. She also savoured the independence the two pounds a week gave her.

  Anna clutched three oranges. She’d stood in a long queue to retrieve them. They should placate her parents. Her mouth moistened in anticipation of the juicy taste.

  Anna rubbed her forehead where a headache plagued her and used the now soiled handkerchief to dab at her sore eyes. The shift at the factory always left her covered in dirt and grime and longing for a warm, sudsy, fragrant tub. With any luck today she wouldn’t have to settle for a sponge bath.

  Anna glanced around and sighed with pleasure. Thank God. There was no sign of Charles. He wouldn’t be attempting to “walk her home” in his usual fashion.

  The man was incorrigible, insisting on taking her hand in his large, sweaty paw and trying to kiss her despite the lack of privacy on the busy street. Anna always pulled out of his embrace but Charles insisted he would never give up until she consented to marry him.

  Michael radiated happiness whenever he saw Anna and Charles together. Her father couldn’t seem to give up the idea of their union. He already hinted for a grandson.

  Anna decided to enjoy her newfound freedom by taking the long way home, something she never did in Charles’ company.

  The day was perfect for walking, with sun-filled skies and everything lush and green. She thrilled to the singing of birds.

  Her euphoria withered when she paused to watch five children playing within the rubble of a building. Their tattered clothes hung on their dirty, poorly nourished, and pale bodies. She shook her head at the memory of the rosy cheeked children of pre-war London. Thank God we sent Robert to Wales.

  Nonetheless, the youngsters exuded happiness. Anna allowed herself a bittersweet smile. Children had the capacity to live in the moment, something she appreciated more and more in these war-torn times.

  Tears darkened Anna’s gritty eyes. Such a shame for innocents to have to play in an environment filled with such desolation. Anna rubbed her arms to dispel the sensation of ugliness and filth.

  The realization her feelings were derived from more than her surroundings was a small revelation. She hated the brown, loose-fitting trousers and olive green jumper that did nothing for her complexion. Her long hair was pulled into a snood, a bag made out of fishnet and elastic that prevented her hair from becoming entangled in the machines. For some reason her hair style was a final insult.

  Shaking her head, she pushed the feelings aside and continued on her way. She managed to enjoy the rest of her walk. The route took her past a movie theatre showing Gone With the Wind. If she and her parents ate spam for the next week, she could probably treat her mother to the movie while her father visited the local pub.

  * * *

  Anna clutched her heart. Air raid sirens wailed. Would she have time to get to the tube? A loud, terrifying buzz filled the air. Dear Lord, it must be one of the vicious German V1 bombs that were as frightening as they were deadly.

  She opened her mouth to scream, but the sound stuck in her throat. Anna scurried futilely in circles. Where to run? The tube was too far away. Finally, she stood still and prayed while she counted what she thought to be five seconds, the way to discern the bomb’s location.

  The five seconds stretched like five hours. Five, Four, Three…she could still hear buzzing, Two, One…Nothing. No sound meant the bomb hovered directly overhead.

  Anna dropped to the pavement on her stomach and clamped her hands over her ears. There was no time to get to the tube. She prayed silently for an eternity that was only a millisecond. “God, let me live. Please let me live.”

  The bomb impacted with a torrent of crumbled stone. Shards of glass rained down around her, one just missing her wrist by inches. The precious oranges rolled from the suddenly nerveless fingers of his left hand.

  Anna’s heart pounded in her ears. The odd taste of fear filled her mouth. She could barely move. She coughed in vain attempting to dislodge the soot, ashes and dust filling her mouth. Heat suffused her body; it felt like she was on fire. Dear God, was everything on fire around her?

  Surprisingly, she could see a little bit. Bodies and bits of bodies littered the street where blood flowed like water. Anna tried to call for help, but it turned into a cough.

  She struggled to move her arms and legs and realized with certainty her left arm must be broken, the pain sent spots dancing across her vision. Her right arm and legs didn’t particularly hurt, but she could move them only a little. Where were the fire fighters and rescue crews? If they couldn’t find her, she’d die in this s
tifling, confining pile of rubble.

  Time passed and she must have lost consciousness for a time. A certain sensation of resignation stole over her, somehow calming the terror gibbering in the back of her thoughts.

  In a curious detached way Anna wondered if she would gaze upon the gates of heaven or the infernos of hell. It was hot enough for hell. Did she even believe in heaven and hell?

  She closed her eyes and swallowed. At least, she was still alive, but for how long? The pain made her dizzy and she was parched for water. Every part of her body ached.

  * * *

  After what seemed like an eternity, hope arrived in a flurry of sirens and commotion with the arrival of fire engines, ambulances and sniffer dogs.

  Anna was reminded of their family dog, Brandy, when the two black Labrador Retrievers scrambled and sniffed in the rubble. Anna had loved Brandy and cried for a day when she died. In wartime, food was scarce for people, non-existent for pets.

  Anna gathered her strength, determined to scream loud enough to be heard. She strived hard to draw attention and each time ended up coughing. She refused to give up. Finally, success. She dislodged enough obstruction in her throat to make an audible sound.

  “Help.”

  Buoyed by her triumph, she tried again and joyously detected another voice. It was male and weak but she could make out his words. “Help, is someone there?”

  Thank God. She wasn’t alone. “Yes, I’m here, not too far from you as well as I can tell.”

  The voice grew louder. “Good, good. Let’s yell for help. Maybe someone will hear our two voices. I know they can’t see me because I can’t see a thing.”

  “I can see out. It’s a terrible sight but I like your idea. They’ll be more likely to hear two voices.”

  Anna and this Godsend yelled and yelled and finally Anna heard a rescuer. “I hear voices but can’t see you. Keep yelling and we’ll find you.”