Into the Storm

by Lisa Bingham

  “I think she feels safer out here,” RueAnn murmured as she lit the lantern she’d brought with them, keeping the flame low—as much to save the precious fuel as to prevent any light from escaping the canvas flap that served as a door.

  “She must have been terrified,” Susan agreed. “It’s frightening enough to sit through the noise and turmoil…but to be completely incapacitated and unable to run away if something were to happen…”

  RueAnn looked down at her hands as the distant rumble of bombers soon competed with the staccato ack-ack-ack of the anti-aircraft guns.

  “She never really liked me, you know,” RueAnn admitted with great reluctance. “Not at first.”

  “I know.”

  Susan’s reply was so stunning in its bluntness—especially from a woman so concerned about ensuring that everyone around her was comfortable, that RueAnn’s chin dropped. Then, simultaneously, the two women burst into giggles.

  The air began to whistle. The ground shook beneath them.

  At the last minute, Sara scrambled into the shelter, Phillip hard on her heels.

  “What took the two of you so long?” RueAnn asked, still grinning.

  Phillip grimaced. “The Germans know the minute I step into the bathtub.” He shook his head and droplets of water scattered over the shelter.

  “Phillip!” Sara said, lifting her hands in defense, then pressing a hand to her mouth. “Oh, God.”

  She suddenly burst from the shelter. Even with the din of the bombardment, they were able to hear her plainly enough as she wretched into the bushes. Several minutes later, she staggered back inside.

  “If I were placed in front of a German at this moment, I would tear him apart with my bare hands,” Sara rasped.

  “Are you ill?”

  Sara shivered. “I don’t know. Mrs. Biddiwell had a cold last time I saw Bernard, but this feels more like the flu.”

  “Get into bed,” RueAnn said, gesturing to the nest of blankets and pillows above Edna’s spot. The other bunks had not yet received the same treatment.

  “No, really I couldn’t,” Sara demurred.

  “Go on, now. Up you go.”

  “But this is your first night in the shelter. I couldn’t possibly…”

  RueAnn hitched her chin toward the bunk. “Not another word. Get up there and go to bed.”

  Sara’s eyes sparkled with tears. “Thank you. I will.”

  The moment she’d huddled beneath the blankets, RueAnn bent toward the basket of supplies that she’d stowed in the corner. “Well now, I think the rest of us should entertain ourselves, at least for a few hours.”

  “What do you suggest?” Susan said, still eyeing her sister in concern.

  “I think it’s time to introduce the two of you to an American tradition. A forbidden art, in my family, but one which, much to my father’s horror, I learned to perform with amazing thoroughness.”

  She’d succeeded in capturing both Susan’s and Phillip’s full attention.

  “What on earth?” Phillip said with a grin.

  With a flourish, she produced a pack of cards.

  “Poker!”

  • • •

  RueAnn’s first boarders moved in early the next morning. The all-clear had barely sounded before Richard Carr and Gerald Rigdon thundered up the stairs, stowed their kit, then disappeared again, saying they had a pair of bombs in Piccadilly awaiting their attention.

  Close to noon, just as RueAnn had helped Edna to wash and comb her hair, then dress in a fresh gown and bed jacket, the doorbell rang.

  Leaving Edna in her chair by the large picture window facing the street, RueAnn made her way to the door.

  “Yes?” she asked, swinging it wide.

  A middle-aged gentleman waited on the stoop. He scooped the hat from a shock of curly hair and offered her a bob of his head.

  “Mr. Peabody?”

  He nodded. “Yes, I have an appointment to see a room.”

  “Of course. Come in, please.”

  She closed the door behind him.

  “I’m Mrs. Tolliver. RueAnn Tolliver. I spoke with you on the phone.” She gestured toward Edna in the mobile chair. “This is my motherin-law, the elder Mrs. Tolliver.”

  Mr. Peabody clutched his hat to his chest and offered another courtly bow in Edna’s direction.

  “If you’ll come this way, I’ll show you the room.”

  RueAnn led the way up the first flight of stairs. “The bathing facilities are through the center door, there. A towel and face cloth will be provided with the other linens in your room. Your toiletries will be your responsibility. Because we have other lodgers, we ask that you keep your bathroom visits as short as possible.” She pointed to the doors which remained tightly shut. “The other two rooms on this floor are, as yet, still used by the family.”

  He nodded, clearly embarrassed by her frank talk in regards to the loo.

  “Your room will be this way.”

  RueAnn led him up the next flight of stairs, ushering him into the bedroom next to the old nursery which was being used by the two Royal Engineers. Susan had helped her move Edna’s tester bed into the ground floor room the older woman used. Then, they’d brought the smaller cot up here. The sheets were crisp and drawn tautly around the mattress. A pillow had been fluffed and placed invitingly at the head, and a patterned woolen blanket had been freshly laundered and folded at the foot. Against the opposite wall was a narrow highboy borrowed from the Blunt household. The arrangement left very little walking space, but ample storage.

  “Your rent is expected weekly, in advance. If you’re willing to provide us with your ration card, we will supply a hot breakfast and evening meal. Should you require your laundry done as well, it will only be a few shillings more.”

  She stepped to the window overlooking the back garden. “As you can see, we have an Anderson, but we share it with the neighbors next door. In addition, my motherin-law is an invalid, as I’m sure you noticed, and she requires special care. However, there is a public shelter at the end of the block as well as a cabinet under the stairs that you may use if you wish.”

  As the man glanced out the window, RueAnn prayed that her demands for reimbursement weren’t too steep or that he wouldn’t be put off by being asked to reserve the shelter for family use only.

  The Royal Engineers hadn’t quibbled over her terms—indeed, they’d insisted that she reserve the Anderson primarily for the women’s use. They’d spent enough time at the house already so she supposed they already knew what to expect in regards to meals. Plus, she feared the close proximity to several pubs and the beautiful twins next door had proved an immediate plus in their estimation.

  “Do you have any questions, Mr. Peabody?”

  He shook his head. “If I could have a moment alone to consider the arrangement,” he said slowly.

  “Of course, of course!” she quickly stepped from the room. “I’ll meet you downstairs whenever you’re ready.”

  • • •

  RueAnn busied herself with dusting the parlor until Mr. Peabody finally appeared. He stood hesitantly in the hallway until she approached.

  “I believe that the arrangement should prove very agreeable, Mrs. Tolliver.”

  RueAnn smiled in delight. “Wonderful!”

  “If it wouldn’t be too much trouble, my work requires that I type reports each evening. It will cause some noise which could be a concern.”

  “Nonsense. You’ll find we interact like a family, Mr. Peabody. We’re a very tolerant bunch.”

  “I’ll also accept the offer of the meals and the…er…laundry services.” His cheeks flamed. “Would it be too much of an imposition to move in this evening?”

  “Not at all. We serve dinner at seven. If you’d like to bring your things before then, we’ll introduce you to everyone, air raids permitting.”

  He offered the slightest of smiles. “I would enjoy that. Good day to you, Mrs. Tolliver.”

  “RueAnn, please,” she said as she us
hered him toward the door. “It will save confusion.”

  “Very well, Miss RueAnn.” He nodded in Edna’s direction. “Good day to you as well, Mrs. Tolliver.”

  To RueAnn’s delight, Edna dipped her head in acknowledgement.

  As she closed the door on him, RueAnn said, “I think he’ll prove a good fit, don’t you Edna?”

  A noise escaped from the older woman’s lips. RueAnn wasn’t sure, but she thought that Edna was offering her approval.

  My Dear Wife,

  I’m not very good with words. I’ve never been able to express my feelings. For years, I’ve done my best to remain aloof and unaffected by emotion as much as possible, but it wasn’t always that way.

  Most of the people who know me, think that I’m an only child, but that isn’t the case. I had a baby sister once. Francine.

  I loved my baby sister so much. We were close in age, only two years apart. And since my father was killed in the Great War, there were only the three of us: my mother, my sister, and me.

  My earliest memory of Francine was the way she would slip out of bed and hurry down the stairs to my room whenever there was a storm. We would huddle under the covers together, and I would tell her outlandish stories until she forgot about the thunder and lightning and fell asleep.

  We were inseparable.

  Until Francine got sick.

  I know now, as an adult, that Francine had diabetes. But when we were little, I didn’t understand what had happened. I only knew that I had lost my playmate and a sickly, fractious girl had taken her place. Moreover, my mother seemed to change overnight. She became so vigilant, so critical of the slightest things. I mustn’t bump Francine. I mustn’t let her get too tired. More confusing still was that suddenly, food had become taboo. Francine couldn’t share my lollipops or take a bite of my sandwich. Burned starkly into my mind is the image of Francine, sneaking beneath the table and stealing a piece of bread from my plate. She would shove it into her mouth, chewing furiously as my mother caught her around the shoulders and held her down, trying to remove the bread before she could swallow.

  The disease ravaged my sister’s body. She became weak, her fingers and toes turning dark purple. One night, when there was a storm, I knew she wouldn’t have the strength to come down to my bedroom, so I went up to hers. I burrowed beneath all the girlish ruffles and held her close, whispering her favorite stories until we both fell asleep.

  The next morning, I was the only one who awakened.

  After that, I was broken somehow. I couldn’t, wouldn’t allow myself to love anyone. I swore to myself that nothing was worth that ache, that loneliness. That loss.

  Nothing at all.

  Until I met you.

  Charlie

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Phillip?”

  It was more than a week after Mr. Peabody had joined the household when RueAnn let herself in through the Blunt’s back door. She’d received a call from Susan only a few minutes earlier. Susan hadn’t been able to break away from work and Sara had been invited to spend the day with Bernard Biddiwell and his mother. Since Phillip was starting a new job helping to unload freight for a war supply warehouse that afternoon, Susan had asked RueAnn to drop by and check to make sure he left in plenty of time, had his hair combed, his face washed, and had donned the freshly laundered clothing she’d laid out for him.

  Amused at Susan’s motherly tone, RueAnn had assured her that she would check on Phillip immediately. In truth, after so many shared evenings in the Anderson, she was as concerned about Phillip’s putting his best foot forward for his employer as Susan. She knew how much the added income would mean to the Blunts and Phillip had a tendency to focus on fun rather than performance.

  But as Phillip thundered down the stairs and into the kitchen, RueAnn realized that neither she nor Susan had any cause to worry. He was dressed to the nines in his freshly pressed clothing. His hair had been combed neatly into place, the tines of his comb still leaving pinstripe-like furrows in his recently trimmed hair.

  “Your sister couldn’t make it home, so she rang up and asked me to see if there was anything you needed.”

  He shook his head, clearly nervous. “How do I look?”

  “Splendid.”

  He stood indecisively for a moment.

  “Do you have bus fare?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  “A bit of extra change for emergencies?”

  He patted his pocket. “Susan gave it to me before she left this morning.”

  “You’ve eaten something, haven’t you? It will be a long day.”

  “Yes. A bit.”

  RueAnn suspected that he’d probably been too nervous to eat very much.

  “I made you a lunch,” she said handing him the sandwiches and vegetable slices she’d carefully arranged in a shoebox. The offering had used up the last of their bread supply, but she wasn’t about to send him off without something to eat. She’d have time this afternoon to wait in line at the grocer’s for flour and perhaps a precious egg or two. With the extra ration cards from her boarders, she would be able to gather foodstuffs a little more efficiently.

  “Thanks, RueAnn.”

  “Is there anything else you need?”

  “I-I don’t think so.”

  She patted his arm. “Then impress them with your amazing skills.”

  He rolled his eyes. “I’m doing little more than hauling bags off delivery lorries and stowing them in the warehouse.”

  “Ah, yes. But you’ll be the best man they’ve ever hired for that job.”

  He grinned.

  “Off you go, then. You don’t want to be late for your first day.”

  “Thanks.”

  He took a couple of quick steps, stopped, then turned and impulsively hurried back to plant a quick kiss on her cheek.

  Then he was hurrying toward the front door.

  For several long minutes, RueAnn stood staring at that spot, feeling a strange sense of loss, like a housewife who had just sent her child off to school for the first time, and the thought gave her pause.

  Is this what it would feel like to be a mother? This sense of joy at his accomplishment mixed with worry—and yes, a nervousness that probably equaled Phillip’s?

  As she began to close the door, she saw a figure on a bicycle stop in front of the house and carefully set the kickstand. An icy chill began at the tips of RueAnn’s fingertips, spreading up, up, as the young woman checked the numbers on the adjoining houses. Then, settling on the Blunt’s path, she pushed her way through the garden gate. Nearing the stoop, she dug into the leather pouch slung over her shoulder and removed a small clipboard and an envelope.

  “Is this the Blunt residence?”

  RueAnn could only nod, her mouth had grown so dry.

  “Sign please.”

  She automatically signed the roster, then reached for the telegram, her stomach lurching, her body numb.

  “Good day, Miss,” the woman said, her eyes sad. Then she hurried back to her bicycle and rode away as if the hounds of hell were at her heels.

  RueAnn stood for long moments, staring down at the crumpled envelope.

  How much more could this family take? They’d lost their parents, siblings…would God demand yet one more?

  The state of the plants was forgotten as RueAnn closed the door, ensuring the lock had snapped into place. Then she made her way through the gap in the hedge—one that grew a little wider with each passing day. Stepping into her own home, she gathered her hat and pocketbook, then went to the kitchen.

  “Louise, could you see to Edna for a little while? I need to…find Susan.”

  The woman turned from the sink, curious at RueAnn’s sudden departure. But when her gaze fell on the little envelope that RueAnn still clutched in lifeless fingers, she pressed a fist to her lips.

  “Oh, my dear Lord, no,” she whispered.

  Turning, RueAnn made her way into Edna’s room where the older woman was propped up on a mound of pillo
ws so that she could see out the window.

  “Edna, I’m stepping out for a few minutes, but Louise will be here with you. I’ve got to find Susan.”

  Edna’s gaze slid to the envelope as well. An inarticulate sound burbled from her throat and tears welled in her eyes.

  “Yes, it appears the Blunts have suffered another blow,” RueAnn said, the words made husky by the tightness of her throat. “I’ll hurry back as quickly as I can.”

  • • •

  Susan arched her back, dragging the invoices from the typewriter, quickly separating the copies. Her carbon paper was getting fainter by the day, leaving some portions of the duplicates difficult to read. But with shortages, she had to make each waxy sheet stretch as far as she could.

  “You look in need of a cup of tea, Miss Blunt,” Mr. Meade said as he strode from the factory floor back into the suite of offices.

  “Perhaps in a minute.”

  “Make sure that you do. We’ve got a late night ahead of us, sorry to say, and you’ll be needing to keep your strength up.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He disappeared into his office, shutting the door behind him.

  Susan had meant to type one more invoice, but with weariness threatening to overtake her, she pushed back her chair and stood, rolling her cricked neck.

  Mr. Meade was right. They had a long night ahead of them, and she’d never make it at this rate. A fortifying beverage was just what she needed.

  A small table with a hot plate, kettle, and tea supplies had been placed beneath the window overlooking the machine floor. Filling the pot with fresh water from the cooler, she set it to boil while she readied the leaves.

  Idly, she looked out, watching the flash of the welders and the mini-firework display of sparks as the men huddled over their tasks.

  After the bombing of their factory near the docks, so many familiar faces were missing. Bit by bit, Mr. Meade had hired new workers, but with so few men available to fill the specialized requirements, the orders kept backing up. She’d heard rumors that Mr. Meade would go another week. Then, if he couldn’t find enough skilled workmen, he would open up the positions to women—even train them himself, if necessary.