Into the Storm

by Lisa Bingham

  Feeling much like a standin performer who hadn’t yet learned her lines, RueAnn said again, “Yes, ma’am.”

  “After the dusting, we’ll need to polish the silver. I think I’ll use the Sunday set, not my best. We’ll use the Royal Doulton teacups and snack plates. I’m sure I’ve got enough. They’ll all need to be washed and dried and set out for tomorrow. Can you cook?”

  Edna plunged up the staircase with such vigor that RueAnn was forced to keep up.

  “Enough to scare hungry from the door.”

  At that, Edna suddenly stopped and glared at RueAnn over her shoulder, nearly causing RueAnn to crash into her. Too late, RueAnn realized that her reply had a bit too much West Virginia vernacular for Edna to comprehend.

  “I can cook the basics,” she clarified.

  “Louise will be here soon enough. She’ll probably ask you to help in the garden or run to the grocers. We’ll be needing Vim soon enough.”

  Vim?

  RueAnn was saved from a reply as Edna continued her march to the top of the stairs.

  “We’ll continue this discussion in the kitchen in ten minutes,” Edna said as she strode into her bedroom and shut the door behind her with flourish.

  Leaving RueAnn staring at the painted panels with her mouth agape. What nerve! Edna was determined to slot her in the role of a newly-acquired scullery and treated her with about as much courtesy. RueAnn should leave the woman to her own devices.

  But even as she considered rebelling and returning to the States, RueAnn wilted in defeat. She couldn’t—wouldn’t—leave the country until she knew what had happened to Charlie. And as much as she might want to lash out at the woman for her rudeness, RueAnn couldn’t afford to lose her lodgings. She’d come here to confront Charlie about the letters he’d taken from her and she wouldn’t leave until she’d talked to him face to face.

  So, even though the words galled her, she clicked her heels together, snapped her hand to her forehead in a smart salute and muttered under her breath, “Yes, general!” Then, sighing, she went up to her garret room to change.

  • • •

  For the remainder of the day, RueAnn found herself thrown into wartime voluntary work much like a beginning swimmer being tossed off the end of a pier. For hours, she and Louise followed Edna’s bidding—cleaning, polishing, and dusting. Soon, the already immaculate house gleamed with a fresh coat of polish and bee’s wax. What few flowers remained in the garden were cut and carefully arranged.

  When Edna was satisfied with the result, her attentions settled on the menu. She and Louise poured over cookbooks and clippings from newspapers and magazines. Although the refreshments had been planned weeks ago, after RueAnn had gone with the women to the shops a few blocks over, shortages at the grocer’s had forced a few changes. Adding the restrictions caused by rationing further complicated matters.

  Soon RueAnn’s head was swimming with an overload of information about wartime rules and regulations as well as the bewildering layout of the London streets. The heat from the day filled the kitchen, causing her dress to cling to her skin. Needing a breath of air, she stepped outside, surreptitiously peering over the hedge, hoping for a glimpse of the twins she’d met earlier. There were children playing in the yard next door, but she saw no hint of the older sisters.

  Spying a hoe and a pail, she gathered the tools and made her way to the garden that butted up against the back fence.

  Back home in Defiance, they’d always had a large garden. For as long as RueAnn could remember, it had been her job to weed the long rows and haul buckets of water to nourish the fragile plants. She still remembered filling the metal bucket up at the pump, then dragging it to the far end of the property, the handle biting painfully into her palms, the rough lip scratching her shins and catching on the hem of her dress, water splashing against her legs with each bouncing step until the bucket was nearly half empty by the time she reached the tomatoes, peppers, onions, and potatoes. By mid-summer, the bottoms of her feet would be calloused and immune to the sharp bits of rock and debris that littered her path. She would have squelched her instinctive recoil to the bugs and spiders and worms. And she would have found a measure of peace.

  Away from the house.

  Away from her father.

  Now, years later, she was still searching for peace in the middle of the garden, digging her hands into the crumbling earth to wrench out the voracious weeds. Bending to her task, she ignored the sun that turned her skin an uncomfortable pink. The work helped to focus her thoughts and hone in on her most pressing needs.

  As much as she’d proved useful today, she had no illusions that Edna would find her indispensable. Nor did she want to become the newest addition to Edna’s “staff.” No. If she was going to stay in England she needed to find the means to support herself. That meant employment, no matter how humble. But being a foreigner might prove a bit of a stumbling block. She doubted that any of the war work would be open to her.

  “Miss RueAnn?”

  Louise’s soft voice interrupted her furious weeding.

  Looking up, she met the woman’s hesitant smile. “It’s time for tea, dear.”

  “Tea?”

  Louise folded her hands over her ample stomach. “Come along, dearie. You look in need of a bite to eat and something to drink. Then you can tell me what has you glaring so fiercely at the tomato vines.”

  RueAnn peered around her. “Mrs. Tolliver—”

  “Has gone to see the vicar, so it’s just you and me, luv. Come along. Master Charlie would skin me alive if I didn’t take care of you. And you look as if you need a proper sounding board. Master Charlie couldn’t keep his secrets from me and neither should you.”

  Smiling, RueAnn stood, brushing the dirt from her knees. Suddenly, England wasn’t quite as lonely as she’d thought it had been.

  For the next hour, she and Louise talked and laughed over cups of tea and tomato sandwiches. She confided in Louise about her need for employment, and Louise sagely agreed in the wisdom of such an idea. By the time Edna returned, RueAnn was feeling rejuvenated and better able to face the challenges that still remained. Nevertheless, when the air raid sirens sounded soon after dark, she still couldn’t bring herself to sleep in the cramped space under the stairs, so she made up a bed for herself under the kitchen table instead.

  Where are you, Charlie? She thought as her weariness overtook her and the faint scent of roses wafted in from the garden. And where the hell did you put my letters?

  • • •

  Susan sighed, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, then glanced surreptitiously at her watch. She’d been waiting in line at the chemist’s for nearly a half hour in order to collect a prescription for her mother. But the chemist, much like any other shop in the city, was suffering from a shortage of supplies and help, which meant an inevitable delay in being served.

  Tapping her toe, she debated whether she should leave and try again another time. Mr. Meade had given her an hour to run her errands and grab something to eat, but Susan didn’t want to take any longer than necessary. Requisitions were pouring into the factory faster than they could finish them, and it had fallen to Susan to fill out the proper paperwork and keep the work orders neat and tidy. If she spent too long away from the office, Mr. Meade had a tendency to dump important invoices willy-nilly on her desk to be sorted out later.

  “Susan?”

  She glanced up from her watch and smiled as she recognized Dr. Plymsome, their family physician.

  “Dr. Plymsome! How are you?”

  The Plymsomes had been close family friends for ages. When Susan had been a child, the doctor and his family lived in a house at the end of the block. But a few years ago, the doctor had moved into a newer, larger building which had allowed his clinic to be below stairs and the family living quarters to be above. With an invalid wife, the arrangement had proven more satisfactory to the aging doctor and his family.

  “As well as can be expected.”


  “And your wife?”

  “She’s gone to live with a friend in Scotland for the time being. The cooler weather up north has proved most agreeable to her health.”

  “I’m so pleased to hear it.”

  “And your own dear mother?” the doctor asked.

  Susan paused before answering honestly. “She looks tired. Pale. I worry that she’s overworking herself.”

  The doctor made a tsking sound with his tongue. “I thought I was quite clear with her about spending part of her day lying down. Has she had any more pains?”

  “Pains?” Susan echoed blankly.

  “Any shortness of breath? Swelling of the ankles? I warned her that if she didn’t begin to follow my instructions, her heart problems would compound.”

  “Heart problems?” A lump of dread gathered in the pit of Susan’s stomach. “My mother has heart problems?”

  Dr. Plymsome’s eyes grew sad and infinitely weary. “She didn’t tell your family, did she?”

  Susan shook her head, then glanced down at the sheaf of papers she held. “Then these medicines…”

  Plymsome breathed deeply. “Will help to some extent, but she really must slow down. These pains she’s having are simply a symptom of a more serious underlying condition. I’ve given her a strict diet to follow as well as a regimen of rest.” He squeezed her hand. “I certainly didn’t mean to blurt the news to you myself. But perhaps, now that you know the truth, you can urge your mother to use more caution in her activities. Will you do that for me?”

  Susan nodded, still stunned. Her mother had always been so invincible, so…immortal. Yet, in Susan’s hands was written proof that such was not the case.

  Dr. Plymsome squeezed her hand yet again. “You have my number. Call if you need me.”

  “Yes, sir. Thank you. For everything.”

  “Not at all.”

  The doctor settled his hat on his head and made his way out the door, leaving Susan numb.

  Her mother was ill. Needed rest.

  Why hadn’t Mummy said anything? Why had she kept her health such a secret? Had she refused to tell anyone? Even Susan’s father?

  Susan immediately pushed that thought aside. Surely her mother wasn’t keeping the knowledge from her father. Susan had never known them to keep secrets from one another. Yet, Susan couldn’t imagine her father willingly allowing Millicent Blunt to continue on with all of her duties if the doctor had explicitly ordered her to rest.

  That night, as soon as the factory was closed to all but a skeleton crew who would clean the building, replenish supplies, and ready the plant for the next day’s work, Susan gathered her things and rushed out into the gathering gloom. She wasn’t sure yet how to approach her mother, but Susan knew she had to say something—if only to remind her of Dr. Plymsome’s orders.

  But as she let herself into the house, it was to a foreign peace. There were no thundering footfalls from the younger children, no clamor for tea, no racing up and down the staircase. Instead, she peeked into the parlor to find her mother sitting in the over-stuffed armchair which had been her favorite perch for listening to the radio for as long as Susan could remember.

  “Mother?”

  Millicent had been resting with her cheek in her hand. In her lap lay a torn envelope and several folded sheets.

  At Susan’s call, Millicent started and made to rise. “Goodness me! Look at the time!”

  When she would have stood, Susan pushed her down and sat on the ottoman at her feet.

  “Are you all right?” Susan asked softly, noting the pallor that clung to her mother’s cheeks as well as the hollow set to her eyes. In the past, Susan had attributed her mother’s gauntness to Matthew’s absence, but now that she knew the truth, she could see that her worry was only part of the problem.

  “I’m fine, dear,” her mother said with forced brightness. “Sara and Bernard Biddiwell breezed through here about a half hour ago and told Phillip, Michael, and Margaret that they would take them to Grimshaw’s for tea if they’d hurry through their chores—which they immediately did, Lord bless them. The house was so suddenly quiet once they left that I decided to put my feet up for a few minutes. Your father’s working late again tonight. The children haven’t been gone for long. I’m sure you could join them if you’d like.”

  Susan shook her head. “Are you sure you’re feeling well?”

  “Of course, dear. What’s got into you?”

  “It’s only that…” Susan reached into her pocketbook and withdrew the sack she’d stowed there. “I brought your medicines from the chemist.” She hesitated before continuing. “I saw Dr. Plymsome while I was there.”

  Millicent stared at her daughter for several long moments before grumbling, “I’ll bet the meddling old fool spoke out of turn.”

  Susan smiled. “It wasn’t really his fault. He thought I already knew about your…heart troubles.”

  “Troubles,” Millicent grumbled. “There’s not a thing wrong with me that having Matthew home and a full larder for the rest of my children couldn’t cure.”

  “Be that as it may, Dr. Plymsome is concerned that you’re not following his instructions.”

  Millicent’s cheeks flamed. “I’ll have him know I’ve been eating his horrid diet and doing calisthenics just as he ordered.”

  “He’s also concerned that you’re over-exerting yourself.”

  “I can’t be playing lady of leisure when I’ve got a house full of children needing food and clean clothing.”

  “You need your rest. Susan and I can help with the children until you’re feeling stronger.”

  “Nonsense.”

  “Mother, please,” Susan urged.

  Millicent became positively rigid in her chair. Folding the papers that had been spread out in her lap, she jammed them into the envelope and said, “I don’t know why everyone thinks they have a better idea about what I should or should not be doing. Dr. Plymsome thinks I should spend my days in a chaise lounge. Your father wants me to take all of you to the country. Even your Uncle Joe orders me about, telling me to gather up the wee ones and come live with him in Canada until the war’s over.”

  She jumped to her feet, jamming the envelope into the pocket of her apron.

  “Frankly, I think the lot of you should mind your own p’s and q’s and leave my affairs well enough alone!”

  Millicent stormed from the room, and Susan sighed. Blast it all. She rubbed her face with her palms and made her way back into the hall where she unpinned her hat and looped her pocketbook over a brass hook on the hall tree. Turning, she rifled through the pile of mail left on the table. She’d sent for a new crochet pattern. With more women going to work, snoods had been making a roaring comeback and Susan had thought that they would make excellent gifts for Sara, her mother, and…

  Her fingers suddenly stilled. There in the stack of bills and correspondence were three…no, five letters with Paul’s firm hand scrawling out her sister’s name and address.

  I’ve been writing for weeks, did you know…But I never mailed them. We’ve known each other for such a short time. I didn’t want to presume…

  Of their own accord, her fingers reached out and snatched up the envelopes—even as she felt her cheeks flame. Shoving them into the pocket of her dress, she stood panting, wondering at her own brazen dishonesty. Yet, even as her conscience shouted at her to put the letters back—Now! Before she was discovered!—her fingers tightened around the envelopes in her pocket so fiercely that she could hear the paper crackle.

  All at once, the door burst open and the younger Blunts came tumbling in.

  “Susan!” Margaret called, rushing forward to wrap her arms around Susan’s knees. “We had tea at Grimshaw’s!”

  “So I heard.” Susan wriggled free from Margaret’s grip enough to kneel and pull her close for a hug.

  Of all the Blunts, little Margaret was the pet, and there was no denying it. Barely five, with brilliant blue eyes and ginger curls, she was so earnest, so angel
ic, so easily brought to a state of wonder that there was no way she could ever be lost amongst the shuffle of the other children.

  Margaret leaned close to whisper. “I brought Wuzzy to Grimshaw’s and no one knewed it.” She pointed to a bulge in her pinny where she’d stuffed her toy rabbit.

  Susan tried not to laugh. There wasn’t a member of the family who wouldn’t have known that Wuzzy had accompanied Margaret to tea. But since Margaret was trying so hard to be “grown up” and relinquish the toy which had been her constant companion for most of her babyhood, no one would have dared to say anything.

  “I’m so glad you kept him hidden. I don’t think the staff at Grimshaw’s allow animals on the premises.”

  “He was very quiet.”

  “All the best bunnies are, and Wuzzy is definitely cream of the crop.”

  Margaret bobbed her head in emphatic agreement.

  “Who has studies to do?” Susan said, standing.

  Phillip and Michael reluctantly raised their hands. “Off you go to the kitchen then, and get out your books.”

  She took Margaret’s hand. “And you, young lady, must help me with the blackout. Then it’s time for a hot bath, a story, and bed.”

  “Will you read Mary Poppins Comes Back?” Margaret asked excitedly.

  “Only if your nails and ears are exceptionally clean.”

  Margaret squealed, taking the stairs as quickly as her little legs could carry her, the blackout clearly forgotten in her haste to continue the further adventures of her favorite character.

  “Is Mum home?” Sara asked as Susan followed more slowly. “I need to see if I can borrow a pair of her gloves. Bernard is taking me dancing tonight.”

  “Yes, I believe she’s in the kitchen.” Fuming about Susan’s interference, no doubt. No matter. Susan would have a word with her father later, then see how best to proceed.

  “Any mail for me?”

  Susan nearly stumbled on one of the risers. If not for a quick grasp of the railing, she probably would have landed face first.