Dreams and Promises: Love, Loss and Redemption in a Land of Infinite Promise

by Anna Markland

  Her eyes closed when the air-raid warning screeched. “No. I’m not getting up. No way.” A blast shook the bedroom. Too close. With eyes wide open she listened to be sure it wasn’t a nightmare.

  Shit.

  As the air-raid sirens blared, she ran for shelter. In the underground, sitting in the same place where she and Alan had sat, memories of him taunted her. A smile, a wink, a chuckle, and the attentive way he listened to her, why hadn’t she understood he was too good to be true?

  ~~*~~

  After more than two weeks without a day off, Harriett walked home in the rain. Why bother to check the post? Another disappointment wasn’t needed. Still, she reached into the box and pulled out not one but three letters.

  At first, she considered it might be misplaced correspondence. Her name was emblazoned on the front of each envelope. Alan Barlow was written neatly in the corner. She screamed and held them to her heart.

  “Are you all right, Miss,” a passerby asked.

  “Fine.” She grinned. “Isn’t it a beautiful day?”

  “If you say so.” The elderly gentleman pulled up his collar against the drizzle and hurried away.

  To keep the paper dry, she rushed into the building and up the stairs before reading them.

  In the faded chair Alan had sat in, she opened the first letter.

  Dear Miss Davis,

  I hope this letter finds you well. I was pleased to make your acquaintance. Kind of you to make the effort to welcome a stranger into your city. As promised please find a couple of my drawings made from your considerate gift.

  Sincerely,

  Alan K. Barlow

  Two small drawings fell out of the envelope. The first of a sky with huge clouds as he’d described when he talked about Canada. Stunned, she viewed the second one. A portrait of her smiling, dressed in the outfit she’d worn the night they’d gone out together.

  The second letter was a short note. He flew more often as the number of sorties had increased and he included a sketch of his plane. He must have received her letters because this one was less formal. It started “Dear Harriet” and he signed it with his first name, no surname.

  The third and final message greeted her as Hattie and he signed off, “Hoping to see you again, most sincerely, Alan.”

  A tear slid down her cheek. Maybe he did care at least a small amount.

  ~~*~~

  On leave, Alan arrived in London. Hard for him to believe it had been six weeks since he’d seen Harriet, but he remembered every detail of their time together. Did she?

  In the early evening, he asked the taxi driver to wait while he visited the hospital to find out if she was working. Pleased to discover it was her day off, he gave the cabbie her address.

  Alan paid the fare, exited the car, and tipped his hat to the local air warden.

  As he walked toward the flat, the familiar drone of a Messerschmitt sent him staring skyward. The air-raid sirens squawked as a bomb hit. The concussion knocked him off his feet.

  “You all right, Sir?” The warden rushed to help him.

  “Yeah. Are you?”

  “I’ll do.”

  People cried as they ran from the building, some with cuts on their faces.

  “Hattie!” Dear God, I have to find her.

  The warden grabbed him. “Sir, you can’t go in. It is not safe.” He restrained Alan and another man came to help hold him back.

  A woman staggered out of the building.

  “Peggy! Where’s Harriet?”

  “Oh, Alan, thank goodness you’re here. I didn’t see. It all happened so fast,” she cried. “We were both in the lounge when she decided to grab a sweater from the bedroom. I didn’t see her again.” She wiped blood from her forehead.

  “Help her,” he shouted to the warden.

  “It’s fine, Sir, everything is in hand,” the middle-aged man said, but refused to release his grip.

  An ambulance drove up and parked. Soon, a young attendant helped Peggy to his vehicle. Just then the building shook. Stones shifted and a few fell to the ground, sending billows of dust to fill the air.

  “Let go of me.” He tried to shake free of the men holding him. “My girlfriend is in there. Don’t you understand?”

  “Sir, I don’t care if Mother Mary is in there. No one is entering until the engineers tell me it’s safe. Them is the rules.”

  “Damnit, man, don’t you love anyone enough to risk your life?”

  “I’m sorry, son.” The old man looked at his feet.

  The sound of fire engines blared. From a top window flames appeared.

  Alan fisted his hand, ready to strike. “Let me go.” The man released his grip a bit and Alan yanked out his hands and ran toward the flat.

  “You were warned,” the guy shouted “If you die…”

  He didn’t hear the rest of the sentence because he was in the structure and focused on finding Hattie. The stairs remained, but the center of the lobby had filled with debris and dust floated in the air. Light broke through a hole in the wall. A few people rushed to the front door. None of them had seen Harriet.

  Stepping over the rubble, he took the stairs. On the second floor, the air was filled with smoke, making it harder to see.

  A woman coughed.

  “Harriet?”

  “Help me,” she gasped.

  He pulled the wreckage off the young female trapped by a large chunk of damaged ceiling and fragments from the floor above her. Devastated it wasn’t Harriet, however, he carried the girl down the stairs to the front door.

  “Can you walk out of here?”

  “I’ll manage, thank you. God, protect you.” She hobbled out of the exit.

  He ran back up to the second floor and searched as the air quality worsened. On his way to the top floor, he tripped when the building shuddered. The front door to Harriet’s flat stood open and the windows were shattered, the drapes twisted in the breeze.

  “Harriet, sweetheart, where are you?” He waited for a reply. “Dear God, Harriet answer me.”

  Nothing.

  He moved farther into the lounge. Peggy said she left the room for a sweater, but maybe Harriet had gone out without telling her friend.

  “Answer me.”

  “Alan.” Her voice was so weak he almost didn’t hear her.

  Throwing broken furniture out of the way, he reached the bedroom. The room shook as if an earthquake hit the area. The warden had warned him the place might collapse.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Harriett groaned. The dresser, ceiling plaster and broken wooden studs almost hid her. Eyes open, she struggled to move.

  “Harriet, sweetheart.”

  Smoke filtered through the broken shards of the bedroom window and the building shuddered again.

  “Alan, go out before it’s too late,” she choked out the words. “I don’t want you to die too.”

  “Nobody is dying.”

  The debris-covered tallboy was surprisingly heavy. Falling on a petite girl, her arms looked pinned under the bureau. Adrenaline surged as he tossed everything away and helped her to a sitting position. “Anything broken?”

  “I—I don’t think so.” She coughed.

  “Thank God.” Fearing the place might collapse, in a swift movement, he picked her up in his arms. “I’ve got you and I’m never letting you go.”

  She smiled weakly and closed her eyes.

  He carried her out of the front lobby to the waiting ambulance. There were two other people in the vehicle.

  “Mister, you better sit on the curb,” the attendant said. “You’re shaking. Are you hurt?’

  “I’m fine. Take care of her.”

  “We’ll will. Go and sit.”

  At the curb, he stared at his hands. Harriet might have died. Gone before he could explain how much he cared. His heart thundered in his chest. He’d never considered she might die. He was the one with the dangerous profession. But he could fight back. She was, as the saying went, a sitting duck. Useless anger
raged in him.

  He saw her on the stretcher looking delicate and pale. For the first time in a very long time, he prayed.

  “You better move, Sir. That fire isn’t getting any smaller,” the warden said, pointing to dwelling he’d just exited. “I’m glad you found your lady friend.”

  Alan nodded to the man. The gentleman was only trying to do his job and Alan hadn’t made it any easier for him. He moved closer to the ambulance as the doors shut. “What the…”

  “It’s okay,” the warden said. “The driver tells me he is transporting both the women to the local hospital for observation. As they can’t come back here… Well, you best meet them. Do you need directions?”

  “No. Uh, thank you.’’ He set out at a run, dodging the hoses and wreckage that littered the street.

  He found Peggy in the emergency waiting room. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine. Sit with me, Alan. The doctors are looking her over, but she will be okay too.”

  “Thank God,” he whispered.

  An hour later, Harriet walked into the waiting room dressed in a nurse’s uniform, a bandage on her arm and a bruise forming on her right cheek. He rushed to her. “I thought I’d lost you. You’re okay?”

  “Yes.” She smiled. “I owe you my life.”

  “Hattie, you are my life.” He held her gently to him.

  “I love you, Alan.”

  ~~*~~

  Harriet didn’t know how he finagled the time off but, three weeks later, they married in her local church. She wore a white suit with a peplum and a sweet little hat with a short tulle veil. He looked smart in his dress uniform.

  One of his buddies played the wedding march on his harmonica.

  Her mother and father attended as did Peggy and several nurses. Alan’s best friend, now out of the sickbay, and a couple of flyers from his air base stood up for him.

  Peggy took photos. They held the reception in the hospital cafeteria. The kitchen staff surprised them with a small single layer cake made with donated flour and sugar rations. With red icing, they wrote “Congratulations Mr. and Mrs. Alan Barlow” on the top of the cake.

  They spent a glorious honeymoon weekend in Hastings by the Sea. Then he reported back to his airfield.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Halifax, Nova Scotia, Canada 1946

  Eleven days after Hattie left the United Kingdom, the ship docked at Pier 21 on schedule. She said goodbye to the many friends made on board and promised to keep in contact with them. Now, all she could think about was being with Alan.

  After disembarking, she stood in the annex near the pier, a temporary wooden shed built after a fire a year earlier. Impatient, she waited in the queue until, finally, her paperwork was processed.

  On the way out, she noticed a man tall enough to be Alan, right colour hair, similar carriage, but something felt wrong. He looked up and smiled. Not Alan.

  She stopped, blocking the doorway. Where was her husband?

  “Excuse me,” a woman said. “May I get by?”

  Trembling and holding her suitcase and tote bag with Alan’s precious drawings inside, she exited the annex.

  The man she’d seen held out his hand. “Hello, I’m Albert Barlow.”

  She stared blankly at him. “How did you know me?”

  “Alan sent a drawing of you. I’d know you anywhere.”

  “Where is he?”

  “He’s missing.” Stress pulled at the corners of his mouth and his eyes narrowed. “His plane went down in bad weather.”

  “No! The war’s over. It can’t be true.” She sagged and he put his arm around her.

  “Please, don’t cry. We have to believe they’ll find him. He told me how strong and brave you are. Harriet, be strong for him now.”

  Unable to speak, she nodded, stood away from him and gripped the tote bag as if it were a lifeline.

  He took her suitcase. “Let’s pick up the rest of your luggage. I’ve come to take you home.”

  “Home?” Without her husband, she didn’t have one.

  ~~*~~

  The Okanagan Valley, three months later

  In the aftermath of the war neither she nor the family heard from the Minister of National Defence or the Royal Canadian Air Force. Alan’s family worried, but managed a better outward face than she did. “No news is good news” was her mantra. But if he was alive, why didn’t he write?

  At night alone in his childhood bedroom, she dreamed of Alan and let her tears to flow. Still, she managed to keep crying to a minimum in the daylight. Remembering him saying, “You’re strong and brave,” gave her the desire to carry on, but for how long?

  The Barlows welcomed her into the family. A sign of it was the small wedding photo she gave them. It was now framed and placed on the mantel in the lounge next to other relatives’ pictures.

  She did her best to understand the family and to fit in to the culture, though she had the feeling she was a reminder of their loss. Why had she survived and not their son?

  Alan’s young sister was a joy and she spent time with the girl whenever possible. Nancy appeared to like her as well.

  In the rural area, it was difficult to go into town without a vehicle. She pined for London. Even though much of the city lay in ruins, she missed walking to visit her friends. She wrote to Mum, but didn’t tell her Alan was missing. Her family was so far away; no need to worry them.

  The hot and dry days of summer made a blue sky the color of Alan’s intense eyes. She wandered the acres that were a wedding gift to him from his parents. She wanted to keep the faith, but sometimes found it hard to believe he would return.

  His mother’s depression increased as time went by without word of her son. Alan had spoken vividly of the woman. Now, Mary seemed dull and more exhausted every day. She rarely left the couch and was bothered by headaches. At a loss, Hattie did what she could to help.

  “Harriet, do you mind going to the mailbox today? I’m not up to it.” Mary heaved a sigh.

  “I’d be happy to.” She slipped on loafers. It’d be a relief to leave the house. Though large, it was beginning to close in. The screen door snapped closed. She took a breath of clean air, no smell of bombs or smoke from the burning rubble. Perhaps, all this quiet and tranquility gave too much time to think. If she took a job, would that help her endure the long days without Alan?

  An eagle soared in the blue, wings flapping and then gliding on the air currents. Fascinated, she stared and wished she could share it with her husband.

  A decision must be made, leave Canada or stay. What would Alan want? Did it matter if he was gone? The United Kingdom was calling. With reluctance, she admitted it might be time to leave. She groaned.

  Continuing down the dirt road toward the post box, she kicked a stone out of the way. It somersaulted and tumbled to the shoulder of the dusty path.

  “Good kick. Have you thought of joining a soccer team?” A man chuckled.

  Still in uniform, hat pushed back on his head and eyes squinting in the bright sun, Alan stood a few feet away from her.

  “My God, Alan!”

  She ran to him and he dropped his duffle bag, pulled her into his arms and swung her around until she was dizzy. He kissed her until she was short of breath. “Did you miss me?” He grinned.

  Tears of joy streamed down her cheeks.

  He laughed and brushed them away. “The days of crying are over, Hattie.”

  “Alan, my love, welcome home.”

  ~~*~~

  Harriet and Alan Barlow were married for sixty-two years. They had four children, eight grandchildren and twenty great grand-children. He became a commercial pilot and they returned many times to visit her family in the UK. She had a long career as a nurse, rising to become head of nursing at a large metropolitan medical center and later taught at a nursing school. On their land in the Okanagan Valley, they cultivated Cabernet Sauvignon grapes and made award-winning wine.

  HISTORICAL NOTES

  According to research, after W
orld War II approximately 47,738 war brides and 21,950 children and babies came from the United Kingdom to live in Canada. The government set up the Canadian Wives’ Bureau to help them get settled.

  1.1 million Canadians served in WWII, 200,000 in the Royal Canadian Air Force.

  During World War II, the Okanagan Valley sent fresh apples to the school children of Britain.

  The title of this story comes from the Canadian National Anthem:

  “With glowing hearts we see thee rise, the True North strong and free.”

  MORE REGGI ALLDER

  Contemporary Romance

  Her Country Heart

  His Country Heart- coming soon.

  Romantic Suspense

  Money Power and Poison

  Shattered Rules

  Amazon Page https://www.amazon.com/Reggi-Allder/e/B00G05PJRS

  ONCE UPON AN ATTIC

  BY

  LIZANN CARSON

  CHAPTER ONE

  Kate rented a room in a ‘character home’, which meant—in Kate’s opinion—it officially qualified as antique, in keeping with others on the street in Victoria’s James Bay neighbourhood. Call it what you will, she thought as she mounted the narrow stairs from the second floor to the attic, old is old. Were it possible, she’d swear the dark, creepy space looming above her predated the house itself, which at least had the advantage of being clean.

  The situation didn’t call for such negativity. In fact, she had jumped at the offer of a month’s rent in exchange for clearing out the attic. But although she’d lived in this house since arriving in Victoria for autumn term at the University of Victoria, she’d put off the daunting task. Facing the dark, disorganized space in the overcast winter months was more than her spirits could bear.