by Lisa Bingham
Even RueAnn was able to settle into a routine of sorts. When Louise was able to make her way through the damaged streets to work, RueAnn would make a round of the shops, standing in endless lines, carefully hoarding her ration coupons for that special something that might help Edna regain her strength—a marrow bone for broth, a precious bit of sugar, a pot of jam traded with a neighbor for the week’s ration of butter, and a basket of onions.
But weaving through her attempts to help her motherin-law was a grinding weariness from too little sleep, worry, and anger.
She wasn’t the only person stumbling through her days bleary-eyed and exhausted. When she made her way into town, RueAnn recognized that same expression on her fellow Londoners as well as a steely chord of determination. If Chancellor Hitler meant to pound them into submission, he was not succeeding, because as soon as the all-clear sounded again, the streets would grow crowded with shoppers and businessmen. The parks would bristle with mothers pushing prams and old folks sunning themselves.
Life would go on.
When Dr. Plymsome emerged from the kitchen into the sunshine of the back yard, RueAnn turned.
If she’d thought her weariness was profound, the doctor’s must be even more so. Deep lines etched the grooves on either side of his mouth and his skin hosted a gray pallor. RueAnn couldn’t imagine the demands placed on him since the raids had begun over London. There were few doctors left in the city. Most had been absorbed into the military.
Nevertheless, he managed to offer her a warm smile.
“You’ve taken very good care of her, RueAnn.”
“I’ve had help,” she replied.
“So I see.” He tugged the stethoscope from his neck and tucked it into his bag. “As feared, Edna has had a stroke, but the worst of it appears to have passed. I won’t sugarcoat things—” his eyes twinkled “—I couldn’t afford the rations even if I wanted to.”
She smiled at the weak attempt of humor.
“For now, give her lots of fluids, broths, sweet tea when you can manage it. Some of the loss she’s suffered is profound—speech, mobility—all of it primarily on her right side. I can’t give you a long-term prognosis, just yet. These things are tricky. By rights, she should be in a hospital, but with bed space at a premium and supplies scarce…” He shrugged, sighing. “She’s probably in better hands here than in an understaffed clinic.”
He patted her arm reassuringly. “I’ll return in a few days. In the meantime, I’ve left some medicines on the kitchen counter as well as a list of instructions. If you have any problems—or her condition takes a turn for the worse—don’t hesitate to send Phillip with a message.”
“Thank you.”
“No, dear. Thank you. It’s a remarkable thing you’re doing, keeping home and hearth going in Edna’s time of need. Not many women would have stayed by a new motherin-law’s side during such trying times.”
He patted her hand again, moving to say goodbye to the Blunts, leaving RueAnn rooted with guilt.
If only he knew. If Charlie had met her at the train. Or if RueAnn had followed through with her plans to search Charlie’s room that first night. If she’d managed to find the letters he’d stolen from her…
She might not have stayed long enough to see bombs fall on London, let alone come to the aid of Edna Tolliver.
• • •
“Millicent. Susan.”
Dr. Plymsome offered them both a warm smile.
“I have other patients waiting, but I believe I can safely say that I’m leaving Edna in good hands.”
Millicent tipped her chin in RueAnn’s direction. “She’s a good girl, that one. She has a level head on her shoulders. I think, if the Germans will cooperate, we can manage.”
“And you, Millicent. How are you feeling?”
She offered him the same disapproval that she shot Michael on those occasions when she’d caught him with his hand in the biscuit tin.
“You’ve been talking out of turn,” she accused the older man. “Thanks to you, my entire family thinks that I should be wrapped in cotton wool.”
He chuckled. “In my defense, I thought that you would have communicated your condition to your children.”
“I have no…condition that’s worth worrying about. As you may have noticed, there is a war on—a situation has resulted in a few more stresses in my life, which—”
“How about if we check the extent of these…stresses?” the doctor interrupted smoothly.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Since I am already here, I’d like to check you over. Briefly. To see the extent of your…willingness to cooperate with my instructions.”
Her cheeks flamed. “I don’t think it’s necessary to—”
“Perhaps. Perhaps not. But I’m not leaving until I’ve had a listen to your heart and checked your blood pressure.”
“But—”
“I’m a busy man, Millicent. Far too busy to argue.” He waved in the direction of the Blunt household.
“I don’t think—”
“Millicent, my dear, dear friend. I know you want to keep a brave front with your children nearby. But your son told me that your husband was one of those killed in the first wave. I just want to assure myself that the shock hasn’t been too much for you.”
Millicent’s face suddenly crumpled, her body sagging as if someone had cut the strings to a marionette. Wrapping his arm around her waist, Dr. Plymsome led her through the gap in the hedge.
For long moments Susan battled with her own emotions. The loss of their father had been devastating, leaving their family like a rudderless ship floundering in unfriendly seas. And with so many dead, dying, the funeral homes had been overwhelmed. Without service or ceremony, it was so easy to believe that her father wasn’t really gone. That he could burst through the door and demand his supper.
Rushing through the gap in the privet, she waited until Dr. Plymsome emerged.
“Will you walk with me?” he asked without preamble.
She fell into step as he strode back in the direction of his clinic.
“Do you have the means to evacuate the city?”
The question was so unexpected, she stumbled traversing a crack in the sidewalk.
“I-I…My uncle extended an invitation for the little ones to live with him in Canada.”
He nodded, then stopped, heaving a tired sigh. “With so little time at my disposal, I must be blunt, Susan.” His eyes were sad. “Your mother is unwell and the medicines are not having the anticipated effect. Moreover, after the past few days, I fear we’re in this war for the long haul.”
He glanced up at the barrage balloons wallowing in a cloudless sky as if he expected to see the shadow of bombers at any moment. “Whether the air raids continue or, God forbid, an invasion occurs, the stresses involved will be overwhelming. And your mother will not survive them. The medicines she takes will soon be in short supply. If, as you say, you have the opportunity to get her to safety, I would do so immediately.”
He held up a hand when Susan would have argued. “I have no illusions that your mother will go willingly. She’s a stubborn woman. Always has been.” He squeezed her arm, his smile sad. “If you can accept the advice of a meddling old fool, avoid telling her that we’ve had this little chat. Find a compelling reason for your mother to leave of her own volition. Something that will involve the wee ones, if need be. But please, get her to go.”
Even as Dr. Plymsome finished speaking, the low growl of the warning siren began, winding tighter and tighter until it reached its high-pitch scream.
With one last squeeze of her arm, the doctor hurried away while around her, shopkeepers and mothers, children and businessmen began shuffling wearily toward the nearest shelter.
Turning resolutely toward home, Susan damned the Germans yet again. They’d murdered her father.
And now, they were bent on killing her mother as well.
Sweetheart,
I miss you. I miss you so much that s
ometimes I don’t know how I can go another minute without seeing you. I still haven’t received any letters and after hearing about the raids on London, I can understand why.
I want you to know that I love you. Don’t be upset with me for making such a bold statement when we really don’t know each other very well. But in the last few weeks, I feel like I’ve lived a thousand lifetimes. I’ve learned that there may never be another chance to say what one feels, so say it now.
I love you. I love the way you made me feel when I was with you. I love the hope you give me when I think I can’t go on.
You are so beautiful. Your eyes, your lips. The way you tip your head to the side when you are considering something I’ve said. Dancing with you was like dancing with an angel.
Don’t give up, sweetheart. I know things are tough for you right now. I know that you must be frightened. If I could be there, I would. I would take you in my arms and hold you until the world melted away and there were only the two of us.
Please write as soon as you can so that I know you’re well and safe.
And send me a picture.
For luck.
P.
Chapter Eleven
As the raids continued with unrelenting force day after day, night after night, Susan stumbled through the hours, moving with a single goal: to get her mother, Michael, and Margaret to safety.
It took time to make the arrangements—telegrams to Uncle Joe, wrangling with ticket offices. And through it all, she balanced the preparations with the grim details surrounding her father’s funeral.
But as the Blunts huddled around his open grave, the reality of his death became so unbearable, Susan feared that her mother would fade completely into her grief and disappear. So Susan stepped up the timetable for departure, calling in favors from her father’s cronies, friends, fellow church members, until she managed to finagle three tickets on board a ship called the S.S. City of Benares which had already been slated to evacuate hundreds of children and their volunteer chaperones to Canada.
At first, it had been Susan’s plan to send Phillip to Canada as well. She’d been sure that her mother would consider him too young to stay behind. But since there were only three tickets and it had been imperative that Millicent make the trip, Susan and Sara had convinced their mother that Phillip would be fine with them. He could continue his schooling during the day and get a job during the afternoons. Then, by next summer, their finances would probably be sorted out enough that the rest of the Blunt children could follow.
As they waited at Victoria Station, it seemed all of London was determined to leave the city before the Germans arrived again. Although it was only a little after seven in the morning, the platform was packed with women, children, and the elderly intent on somewhere—anywhere—safer than Hitler’s prime target.
Susan wrapped her arms around her body, watching the little clumps of families saying their goodbyes. Despite the heat, most of the youngsters wore jackets, hats, and sturdy shoes and gripped the single suitcase they were allowed to bring. Tags with their names and destinations printed on them had been pinned to their chests as if they were bizarre parcels about to be mailed. Stern, middle aged women with clipboards made their way from group to group, ticking off new arrivals and encouraging parents to say their goodbyes and leave.
Only days ago, Millicent Blunt had abruptly changed her mind about splitting up the family, and Susan had worried that she wouldn’t be able to convince her mother to make the trip to Canada for any reason whatsoever. But when a downed German Dornier had crashed into an apartment house less than four blocks from their home, killing four children, Susan had seen the first chink in her mother’s armor.
“Mum, are you sure you wouldn’t like to find something to eat? There’s still time before they’ll begin boarding the train. You’re looking a little peaked.”
Millicent pasted a brilliant smile on her lips, but the forced nature of the grimace made her pallor all the more pronounced.
“Don’t fuss. I’m just a little tired. Once I’m on board, the sea air will do me good. I’ll have nothing to do for days but sit and stare at the waves. I’ll be such a lady of leisure, your Uncle Joe won’t even recognize me.” She took Susan’s hands, squeezing them. “I should take you and Sara with us. It’s not fair that you’ll be left behind.”
“You know you can’t do that, Mum.” Not only did she and Sara have responsibilities at work, but unspoken and large as an elephant between them was the issue of money. Until Walter Blunt’s pensions and insurances could be sorted out, it would take everything Sara, Susan, and Phillip could scrape together to keep the household afloat.
“I should stay,” Millicent insisted suddenly, standing as if she meant to march from the railway station.
Sara quickly tugged her back onto the bench. “No, Mum. We’ve been through all this. It’s imperative that we get the younger children to safety. You wouldn’t want them to make the trip alone.”
“And Uncle Joe is counting on your help once you get to Prince Edward Island.”
Millicent’s eyes filled with tears. “I don’t know what I would do without you girls.”
Susan fiercely fought the moisture that gathered in her own eyes. There was a tug at her skirts and she looked down at Margaret.
“Don’t cry, Susan,” her little sister whispered. “I know you’ll be lonely, but I left you a present. I put Wuzzy on your bed so he can kiss you goodnight instead of me doing it.”
The statement nearly brought Susan to her knees. Her little sister was sacrificing her most prized possession to comfort her.
Kneeling, Susan pulled her close for a tight hug. “Thank you, Magpie. That was so kind of you. But I think, after a week or two, that I’ll pop Wuzzy in the post. You’ll need him too, I think.”
Margaret sagged against Susan in relief. “Do you promise?”
“I promise.”
• • •
Days and nights blended together for RueAnn. Her world shrunk to the kitchen, her motherin-law’s health, and the nest of blankets and pillows beneath the table.
Hour after hour, day, night, the raids continued, intermittent with brief periods of calm when the beleaguered inhabitants would crawl from their hidey-holes and pray that this time the quiet would last for more than a few hours.
For RueAnn, the raids were all the more terrifying since she was essentially trapped at her motherin-law’s side. Edna remained weak, frightened, and often confused, a fractious child trapped in a defective aging body.
Knowing that lying on the floor beneath the table would do Edna no good in the long run, she enlisted the help of the Blunt sisters and their brother Phillip to move a good portion of the dining room furniture to the attic and replace it with the narrow cot from the garret room. The windows were boarded up to prevent flying glass. RueAnn brought down the bedside table from Edna’s quarters as well as a few personal items in an effort to make the space more cheery, then moved her own belongings into Charlie’s room.
Seeking any diversion possible during the bombardments, RueAnn pushed and tugged the cabinet radio from the parlor into the corner of Edna’s new room so that they could listen to music, news, and RueAnn’s favorite program, Edward R. Murrow’s London at Night. Searching the house, RueAnn had collected a stack of books, foregoing Edna’s history tomes for lighter novels such as her own favorite, Jane Eyre. She sang, played Benny Goodman on the Victrola, danced, anything to draw Edna’s mind away from the gloom of war.
But even as Edna grew a little calmer, RueAnn felt her desperation mount. Parts of London might have been leveled and many of the streets were impassible save for a swathe down the road where the bulldozers had come through to push away the rubble, but the mail arrived like clockwork. The gas bill had arrived yesterday morning, and she had no illusions that others would soon follow. Even without the household expenses to consider, the lines at the grocer’s were growing longer and prices rose as shortages increased. RueAnn had no money of her o
wn to draw from and no way of knowing how Edna had paid for such things as electricity and gas. At the moment, they were living off tins from the larder and the garden—which meant that RueAnn needed to find work. Immediately. But even that solution led to more obstacles. Who would care for Edna while she was out of the house?
One afternoon, the space between raids stretched to hours—hours—and RueAnn escaped the stuffiness of the house to sit on the front stoop where the sun could melt into her skin and ease away the stress that pulled the muscles of her face and shoulders into painful knots. As she watched, a lorry lumbered down the street and drew to a halt at the curb.
Pushing herself to her feet, she saw a burly driver emerge. Referring to a clipboard, he glanced at the numbers bolted above the door, then strode toward her.
“Mrs. Tolliver?”
“Yes.”
The name Thomas had been embroidered over the man’s left pocket and a peaked hat shielded his eyes.
“I’ve got a delivery.” He extended the clipboard. “Sign here.”
RueAnn quickly scrawled her name.
“Where would you like me to unload the Anderson?”
RueAnn shrugged, at a loss as to what an “Anderson” might be. But since it would be too difficult to explain that the delivery was meant for the elder Mrs. Tolliver, she waved a hand toward the house. “I-I don’t know. The front parlor, I suppose.”
The man blinked, clearly taken aback. “You’re joking, right?”
To her relief, RueAnn heard Louise approach from behind.
“What is it?” she asked, wiping her hands with a towel.
“He says he’s delivering an…Anderson?”
Louise’s face broke into a wide smile. “Wonderful! Take it to the back garden, please.” She pointed to the side of the house. “The gate is just through there.”
The man touched the bill of his hat. “Thank you, Mum,” he said with evident relief, casting a pitying glance at RueAnn before turning on his heel and walking briskly to the truck waiting at the curb.
