Beyond the Shadow of War

by Diane Moody

  “I found it actually quite funny because they took the paintings but left all the empty frames in place here at the museum. Then Sir Kenneth Clark would select one work of art from the hidden collection and have it brought here to be shown as the ‘Picture of the Month.’ If you can believe it, long queues formed as people gathered, anxious to see what it might be.”

  “Strange, in the middle of a war,” Danny said.

  “But that was the point, don’t you see? An example of our tenacity to keep a stiff upper lip despite any enemy attacks. I visited the gallery several times during the war. You’d be surprised how inspirational it was to see a masterpiece, all by itself, lit up and framed in sheer isolation.”

  At Danny’s suggestion, they stopped for a light lunch at an outdoor café where they shared a plate of cheeses, hard-boiled eggs, and crusty bread.

  “We’d all hoped the end of the war would mean no more rationing and no more queuing at the markets, but if anything, it’s worse,” Sybil lamented. “I must say I feel a bit guilty, dining out twice in one day.”

  “Please don’t.” Danny sliced a piece of bread for her. “It’s the least we can do for taking your time.”

  “I must admit Jack spoiled me while he was here. He seemed to have wads of cash and happy to spend it. After living on rations for so long, it was lovely to have so many choices again.”

  “What will you do while waiting to join your husband in America?” Anya asked.

  “I suppose I’ll continue working at Rainbow Corner, though I don’t know how much longer they’ll stay open now that the war’s over.”

  “That’s one of the American Red Cross clubs, right?” Danny asked.

  “Yes, have you been there?”

  “Just once, on that same leave I mentioned earlier. Some of the guys had gone dancing there before and wanted to go. We didn’t stay long because it was so crowded.”

  “Fancy that, we might have danced if you had.”

  Anya’s eyes widened. “That’s what you do there? Dance?”

  “Yes! I love to dance, don’t you?”

  “No. I mean, I’ve never danced.”

  “You’ve never danced?”

  Danny reached for Anya’s hand. “You have to remember it was much different in Holland during the Occupation. Anya worked for the Resistance, primarily shuttling Jewish children to safe homes. There weren’t many opportunities for things like dancing.”

  “We heard of dances now and then,” Anya added. “Some were even held in bomb shelters. But there was never time for anything like that. If we weren’t watching over the children or transporting aircrews to safety, all we wanted to do was sleep.”

  “You must think me so frivolous,” Sybil said, her face filled with sympathy. “While you were saving lives, I was busy jitterbugging with Yanks. I don’t suppose I’d ever thought of it like that.”

  “Please don’t,” Anya said. “We all did what we had to do. I’m sure the Americans appreciated a chance to take their minds off the war, even for an hour or two.”

  “Absolutely,” Danny added. “And if the Rainbow is like some of the others I’ve heard about, there was more to it than just dancing.”

  Sybil’s eyes went wide. “I beg your pardon?”

  “No! No, not that‌—‌”

  “I should hope not!” Sybil joked.

  “No! I only meant the clubs offered a lot more than just dancing. No, wait. That didn’t sound right either. Oh, brother. I’m digging myself in deeper, aren’t I?”

  “Yes, so stop while you’re ahead,” Anya teased.

  “I’m sure what you meant,” Sybil said, “was that the Rainbow and other Red Cross Clubs offer other things like laundry services and first aid, and plenty of recreation like pool and pinball.”

  “What’s pinball?”

  Danny smiled as Sybil explained. “It’s just a silly game played on a machine, shooting all these little steel balls around, trying to hit little targets and rack up lots of points. I’ve never understood the passion for it, but the Americans are enraptured by it, playing for hours and hours.”

  “Danny, do you play?” Anya asked.

  “No, the two times I did, I was lousy at it. Never saw the point really.”

  “But the Yanks come to the club for all sorts of reasons,” Sybil added. “We help the boys write home, play cards with them, or just listen to music. We’ve had some of the best bands play at the Rainbow. My favorite was the American, Glenn Miller.”

  “Mine too,” Danny said. “I still can’t believe he’s gone.”

  “What happened to him?” Anya asked.

  “He joined the service so he could entertain the troops,” Danny said. “He and his Army Air Force Band played all over England until just before Christmas last year when his plane disappeared over the English Channel. It was never found.”

  “I was working at the Rainbow the night it was announced,” Sybil said. “We were all crying. You’d think we’d lost a family member, and I guess, in a way we did. It was such a shock.”

  “Was it ever,” Danny added.

  Sybil wiped her eyes again. “Don’t mind me; I seem to be a never-ending bucket of tears today.” She tucked the hankie back in her pocket. “There now. All better.”

  “Where to next?” Danny asked as they stood.

  “That’s any easy one. Follow me.”

  7

  Stepping off the double-decker bus, Danny and Anya followed Sybil as she turned the next corner. Here and there, skeletal brick walls outlined empty foundations like so many ghostly footprints; the damage indiscriminate. As they rounded another corner, before them stood a magnificent cathedral beneath an enormous dome.

  Sybil spoke quietly with reverence. “The Prime Minister said there was no greater symbol of British resilience during the war than St. Paul’s Cathedral. He said it had to be saved at all costs.”

  “How could it survive when so many buildings around it were decimated?” Danny asked.

  “To be honest, I know of no other explanation than divine intervention. The cathedral was damaged several times during the Blitz, and later as well. But thankfully, a group of men who called themselves the St. Paul’s Fire Watch stood guard around the clock, remaining on alert, particularly during the long months of the Blitz. They had installed tanks of water and kept pails at the ready near the more vulnerable parts of the domed roof you see up there. It’s quite extraordinary, how they protected the building and all its history.”

  “Still, if the Germans had targeted the cathedral for a direct hit,” Danny said, “surely it would have been flattened like all these other buildings. I’d say divine intervention played a bigger part than those volunteers carrying buckets of water.”

  “You’re right, of course. And that was true throughout the war, even after the Blitz.” Sybil shielded her eyes from the sun as she studied the dome again. “But you have to admit it looks like a beacon of hope against all the destruction around it. That’s why I wanted you both to see it.

  “And here’s the irony,” she continued. “Before the war, you could never get a full view of the entire cathedral because all the surrounding buildings blocked the view. Only glimpses. But with so many buildings leveled around it now, you can see it from all sorts of angles and locations around the city. I was quite astounded the first time I saw it like this. Of course, it’s bittersweet, I suppose, in light of all these other structures that were destroyed.”

  For the next half hour, they wandered down the wide aisles of the ornate cathedral, often gazing up at the colorful tiled mosaics on the ceiling. Sybil told them about the famous English architect Christopher Wren, who redesigned St. Paul’s after the Great Fire of London in 1666 leveled it, along with so many other churches and buildings. She pointed out some of the damaged areas and the elaborate tombs in the cathedral’s crypt, including that of Christopher Wren.

  “It’s very beautiful,” Anya said, as they made their way back outside. “I’ve never seen churches like
this one or Westminster Abbey. Are all the churches in London this big?”

  “No, they come in all shapes and sizes. I’m not Catholic, so I’ve never worshipped here, but I love to visit. Especially now. It helps remind me that no matter what happens, life will go on.”

  “It seems we’ve lost our sunshine,” Danny noted as they descended the steps outside. “Those clouds rolled in fast, didn’t they?”

  “Always, but just be glad you had a little sunshine. We’re cloudy and gray most of the time, as you probably know by now. If you’re up to it, there’s one more place I’d like to show you. It’s not far, but we’ll want to catch another bus.”

  A few minutes later, they exited their bus after it crossed the Thames on the famous Tower Bridge. Anya couldn’t take her eyes off the bridge. She’d seen a photograph of it in one of her school books, with its two towers connected by two parallel bridges. She realized it was the only structure she recognized from her school studies.

  “Ah, London Bridge, right? Another one of Hitler’s missed targets, I see,” Danny noted.

  “No, this is Tower Bridge. London Bridge is that one down there,” she said, pointing at a rather plain bridge not far from them. “Visitors always confuse the two. Tower Bridge is named because of its location here alongside the Tower of London. Which isn’t just a tower, as you can see, but rather a palace and all its buildings and grounds. It dates back to the year 1078, if you can believe it. Since then, it’s been used as a residence for the royal family, a prison, a fortress, and let’s see‌—‌what else … oh yes, the royal treasury. This is where they keep the crowned jewels, though they were sent elsewhere for safekeeping during the war.”

  Danny blew a whistle. “Quite a bit of damage, I see. Devastating to see on such a historic place like this. Any direct hits?”

  “Only one, and that was during the Blitz. You can see several of the buildings were either destroyed or severely damaged. But what I really wanted you to see is the moat. See that area outside the walls where you would normally find a moat filled with water?”

  Anya looked at rows upon rows of vegetation. “It’s all filled in. Are those gardens?”

  “Yes! Isn’t it brilliant? After the war started and food became so scarce, we were asked to plant gardens wherever we could. They were called Victory Gardens. You’ll see them all over the country, some on golf courses or tennis courts, parks, just about anywhere. But this is surely the most admired and well-tended. I love to come by here whenever I’m in this part of the city. There’s just something about it that cheers me so.”

  “Perhaps it’s the sight of so much growth amongst all the rubble?” Anya said.

  “I think you’re right. Growth amongst the rubble. That’s very astute, Anya.”

  They walked a little further as Sybil gave them a brief history of the events that had taken place here over the course of history. When a gentle rain began to fall, they took shelter under the eaves of a nearby bookstore.

  “I suppose we should probably head back to the hotel now,” Danny said. “Sybil, you’ve been such a fantastic tour guide. Thank you again for showing us the sights.”

  “Oh, but you’re most welcome. I’ve probably worn you out, but it’s I who should thank you. You’ve no idea how lovely it’s been, showing you my city instead of drowning myself in misery now that Jack’s gone.”

  “Would you consider giving us a telephone number or an address?” Danny asked. “I’m only asking because it might be good for Anya to be able to reach you, in case she … uh, well, what I mean is, if she has to‌—‌”

  “Absolutely. I would love to stay in touch. Here, let me write it down for you. We don’t have a telephone at home, but you can ring this number, and someone will get the message to me. It’s my aunt’s shop. We live just down the way from her.”

  Danny handed her his pen after she found something to write on in her handbag. When she finished, she handed the slip of paper to Anya.

  “Please, any time at all.” Sybil took a scarf from her bag and lifted it over her hair. “When you know more about your plans, feel free to let me know. And please stop by to see me at Rainbow Corner if you’re in that area before you leave town. It’s near Piccadilly Circus in the West End.”

  “We’d love to,” Danny said.

  “Well, then. Off we go. It’s been such a delight,” she said, giving Anya then Danny a hug. “And congratulations! Maybe Jack was right. Maybe someday we’ll meet for tea in America. You do have tea in America?”

  “Sure we do. It comes with lots of ice in a tall glass,” Danny teased.

  “You Yanks and your fondness for ice. Oh‌—‌I almost forgot. Will you be able to find your way back to your hotel?”

  “Come to think of it, no.”

  She gave them easy instructions, then said her goodbyes.

  The next morning, Anya awoke smiling at Danny’s quiet snores near her ear. She was amazed how quickly he could fall asleep and envied him for it. With her back pressed against his chest, his arm around her waist, she felt the easy rise and fall of his slumber. Until their first night together, she’d never given much thought to sleeping in the same bed with someone before. Yesterday, on their first morning as husband and wife, she’d been startled to wake up with no memory of how she’d fallen asleep. She couldn’t believe she’d stayed asleep all night, wrapped in Danny’s arms. It was all so new and so different, the emotions crisscrossing her heart even now.

  The sudden flutter of a snore tickled her ear. She smiled, careful not to stir, not wishing to wake him just yet. She still couldn’t fully comprehend that they were married. She’d fought her feelings for him from the start, from the first moment she laid eyes on him at the safe house. Already the war had hardened her; the carefully laid bricks walled around her heart with fierce determination. The last thing she wanted was to feel anything for anyone again. She’d actually wondered if she might be cursed with everyone she’d ever loved somehow marked for death. To lose anyone else would surely undo her, and she wasn’t about to let that happen. Never again.

  Until Danny.

  What a shock to see him there that first day; such a grown-up version of the American kid in the photograph he’d sent her brother. Tall and handsome; his close-cut hair and stubble a darker shade of brown than she would have expected. His strong jawline seemed to compliment his strength of character, even as his kind blue eyes pierced her soul that day. She remembered the deep dimples of his smile when he first realized it was her. That exact moment, it nearly broke her spirit. How desperately she’d wanted to rush into his strong arms and stay there until the nightmare of war was over.

  Instead, despite his constant efforts to break down her defenses, always asking her to trust him, to let him watch over and protect her, Anya had kept him at arm’s length for as long as she could. Until that day he came back to find her, and she could no longer resist the tug of her heart to trust his.

  Even now, she struggled to allow herself the simple pleasure of his company. As if she didn’t deserve such happiness. Her worlds had not yet blended. She wanted them to, needed them to. But a heavy blanket of sadness and despair seemed forever draped over her heart. And with it, a voice constantly taunting her, like a cruel and heartless version of herself who kept chiding her for daring to hope, then slapping her face if a single moment of goodness or happiness came along. As though she neither deserved it nor had any right to hold onto it, much less dream of a happily-ever-after life.

  Yet here she was, wrapped in the arms of a man who loved her enough to marry her and vow to spend the rest of his life with her.

  She pushed away the negative thoughts and tried to simply cherish the moment. She didn’t want to think about the past anymore with all its ugliness and heartache. She chose not to dwell on the future and how much it terrified her. Instead, she closed her eyes and remembered the long hours they’d talked here in bed. Their laughter, their longing … and the exquisite moments of intimacy they’d shared.


  Anya smiled, thinking how silly she’d been to be so nervous about it. “These things have a way of working out,” Sophie had told her. Oh Sophie, how right you were. She felt her face warm as the tenderness of their passion played through her mind. Never had she imagined such feelings, such complete oneness, such pleasure.

  But as beautiful and surprising as it had all been to her, what mattered most was how wonderfully loved and incredibly safe she’d felt in Danny’s arms.

  If only this moment could last forever.

  If only it would be enough.

  Anya felt him stir as he awakened and felt the expanse of his chest against her back as he stretched with a slow and lazy yawn. She smiled at the strength of his arms when he pulled her closer still, and shivered at the warmth of his breath on her neck as he kissed her.

  “Good morning,” he murmured as he kissed the soft spot below her ear.

  “Good morning,” she whispered.

  If only this moment could last forever.

  If only.

  8

  Danny and Anya spent that day and the next wandering around London at a far more leisurely pace. On Monday, after stopping for lunch at a pub in Westminster, Danny noticed a movie theater across the street as they exited.

  “Anya, look!”

  “What am I supposed to look at? The cinema?”

  “Look at the marquee! They’re showing Winged Victory! My flight school graduation ceremony was filmed for it. I’m in that movie! C’mon, let’s see if there’s a matinee.”

  Five minutes later, they were seated in the center of the small, partially-filled theater. On the way in, Danny insisted they splurge for a box of popcorn.

  “But we just ate. How can you possibly be hungry?”

  “I’m not. But you can’t watch movies without popcorn. Which is strange considering all those years I worked in Dad’s theater. After a while, even the slightest smell of the kernels popping at the concession stand got to me. I thought I’d never want another bite of the stuff for the rest of my life. Yet, here we are, in London, at the movies‌—‌and we have to have popcorn, don’t you see? And it’s not just any movie‌—‌I’m actually in this one!”