“You could have lost your leg.” The doctor paused for a moment, heaving a deep breath as though he did so to emphasize the seriousness of his words.
Not that they weren’t serious.
They were.
And it was enough to shut me up.
However much I didn’t like to hear them, walking with a cane was better than not walking at all. Confined to a wheelchair was not my ideal way to live life.
“Fortunately for you, I didn’t have to amputate. Although, I have to tell you, it was a possibility. At least for a moment. Had you arrived later than you did, we would have had a much different result. I know it doesn’t feel like it, but you are a very lucky man, Mr. Barrow. Cane or not.”
Another ping of guilt stung my chest, and I gritted my teeth. “Thank you, doctor. I appreciate all that you did.”
“When can he leave?” Evelyn asked. She folded her arms across her chest.
“In a few days. We just want to keep him so we can change the bandages and keep the wound and stitches clean.”
“I’m not staying here for a few days.” I sat up straighter, resting my back against the headboard. As I reached for the blankets, Evelyn grabbed my hand and thwarted my plan to fling them off my body in protest.
“If the doctor says to stay, then you are staying.”
“But my grandfather. The store.”
“We can manage it all.”
“But—”
“But nothing, Henry. Your grandfather is not an invalid, and neither am I. We most certainly can get on for a few days without you. Besides, I could use the work. I could use the distraction.” Her voice was firm and the way her lips pursed, I could tell she meant it to be.
“And what about your own place? Your cows, your gardens?”
She stared at me for a moment. Her silence grated along my sudden regret for asking my question. Her ability to make one feel a fool for uttering the thoughts in their head was one I had known about, and yet, knowing hadn’t kept me safe from experiencing.
“We can manage it all,” she said again, one word at a time.
“I’ll give you one day.” I pointed toward the doctor. “One day and then you will have to release me.”
“One day, perhaps two if I think it necessary.”
I opened my mouth to argue but didn’t. Instead, I muttered a simple. “Fine.”
SEVEN
Evelyn - June 1940
Two days.
That’s all we had.
Just two days after the bombing. Before we cleaned up the rubble. Before we shored up buildings on the verge of collapse.
Before we even buried our dead.
Two days.
That’s all we had.
And then they arrived.
It started with the sounds of the planes thundering through the air. Fearing another raid, we all hid, waiting for the bombs to drop. None came. First it was one plane, then two, then three, then soon it was more than I cared to count as they all landed at the airstrip. After the sound of the planes stopped, it was the sound of the tanks and the Volkswagen Kübelwagens, rolling across the land as they cut through the tall grass of the meadows. The Germans cared nothing for following the lanes, or for destroying anything in their path. Then finally, it was the soldiers, marching through town with their legs in unison and their jackboots thumping against the streets.
CLUMP. CLUMP. CLUMP. CLUMP.
They walked with coldness to their bones, and far-off looks to their eyes, as though they were more machines than men. Trained to do only two things—take control and kill at any cost. They marched through town, only taking their eyes off what was in front of them to turn and look at posters of Hitler which they’d posted all over St. Peter’s Port, shouting “Heil, Hitler!”
It was a parade, and yet, no one was celebrating. Instead, the residents of Guernsey stood alongside the streets, watching in stunned silence as the Germans passed. I leaned up against a building tucked under one of Henry’s arms, partly due to me wishing to support him while he leaned on his cane, but also partly due to my fear.
Fear of the Germans.
Fear of the occupation.
Fear of the unknown.
“I can’t believe this.” Henry folded up the paper in his hand, squeezing it with anger.
“Can’t believe what?”
“These rules. It’s right here, in black and white.” He unfolded the paper and read aloud. “Orders of the Commandant of the German Forces in Occupation of the Island of Guernsey. All inhabitants must be indoors by eleven p.m. and must not leave their homes before five a.m. We will respect the population in Guernsey, but should anyone attempt to cause the least trouble, we will take serious measures. All orders given by . . .” His voice trailed off. “All spirits will be locked up immediately, and no spirits may be supplied, obtained, or consumed henceforth.”
I chuckled. “I can think of a few men who will not take that news well. Although, it might make their wives a little happier.”
“That’s not the point.” Henry continued reading. “All rifles, revolvers, sporting guns, and all other weapons whatsoever, except souvenirs, must, together with all ammunition, be delivered at the town arsenal by noon tomorrow.”
“Of course they would wish to disarm us. Then we can’t fight back.”
“It gets even better. No boat or vessel of any description, including any fishing boat, shall leave the harbors or any other place where the same is moored, without an order from the military authority, to be obtained at the Commandant’s Office, Town Hall.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means we can’t fish without permission.”
“And if they don’t give us permission?”
“Then we can’t fish.”
“But fishing helps with the rations. It keeps people from going hungry.”
“They don’t care.” He snorted a laugh through his nose. “The use of cars for private purposes is forbidden. Blackout regulations must be obeyed. All watches and clocks must be advanced one hour at eleven p.m. tonight.”
“Advanced an hour? What for?”
“So we are on German time instead of British time.”
A growl rumbled through his chest. “We are also supposed to turn in our radios. Having them will be a punishable crime.”
“But then we won’t get any news.”
“That’s what they want. To keep us trapped behind their lines with no communication outside what they want us to know.”
“What about Churchill? What about the King? Won’t they do anything?”
“They finished the nails in our coffins the day they withdrew the troops from Guernsey.”
“You don’t think they will come to our aid?”
“No, I don’t. We are on our own.” He waved a copy of the latest Evening Post. “We are under German rule now.”
“And what if we don’t?”
“Then they will arrest and deport you to a German or French camp. And we have to hang blackout curtains on all our windows from now on.” Henry studied the soldiers marching by, his eyes narrowed with hatred.
“What is going to happen to us?” I asked him, unsure if I desired the answer.
“I don’t know.”
I glanced from Henry to the soldiers still marching past us. Not wanting to think about what this occupation would mean, I closed my eyes for a moment, before opening them and heaving a deep sigh.
“We should get you home,” I finally said, turning away from the soldiers. “There is nothing to see here, anyway.”
Although Henry looked as though part of him wished to disagree, he didn’t. He simply nodded. “You’re right. There is nothing to see. Nothing, except the atrocities of a war the island now faces.” He shook his head, tightening his grip around my shoulders. “We should head to the store before we go home.”
“But the doctor said you should go straight home.”
“I know what he said. But we need to get all the supplies we can and hide them in the lorry befo
re we head to your house or my house.”
“Why?”
“So the Germans don’t get their hands on them.” With his words, he tugged on me to help him hobble away from the parade of soldiers. He leaned on my shoulders as he limped, and a slight growl inched across his lips. He didn’t look over his shoulder back at them.
Neither did I.
It was only when Henry entered the grocery store that his anger seemed to melt into something else—focus and a determination I hadn’t ever seen in him. It was as if he wasn’t in pain at all as he moved through the store, first instructing me to grab several of the wooden crates from the stockroom, then as he began marching—or as best he could—down each aisle, telling me to grab things from his left and his right. Bags of flour, dried beans, sugar, I grabbed most of what was on the shelves and placed it into the crates along with jars of pickled vegetables and fruit, several wrapped pounds of butter, jarred pints of cream, quarts of milk, and packages of bacon and ham.
Whether or not I agreed with him, I didn’t know. Perhaps he was wrong about the Germans and what they would take from us. Or perhaps he was right. I had kept up with the news from France about the travesties the French had faced the last several months—rations of food that dwindled down to hardly enough to keep a person fed, and the capture of the Jews, and how they were either sent off to what they called death camps or forced to live in parts of town without food, clothing, and shelter. If they were capable of such behavior toward the French, what would stop them from doing the same here?
“Do you think you can load everything into the lorry by yourself?” he asked.
“I don’t see why not.” I glanced from the crates to the shelves. “Do you think they will know what we did?”
He snorted a laugh as his head jerked. “I don’t know. But it’s a risk I’m willing to take.”
We continued packing away most of what we could. Although Henry tried to help me, I brushed him off, ignoring how much I struggled with the crates as I moved each one back to the stockroom and stacked them near the back door so I could load them easier.
“I’ll keep watch while you get them in the lorry.” Before I could argue, Henry inched out of the back door, checking around both corners of the store before waving me out while he stood near the street. His head craned from one side to the other, then back and forth several times.
Like a mouse, I scurried to and from the back of the store to the bed of the lorry, shoving the crates toward the cab before covering them with tarps haphazardly to make it look like nothing was underneath them. I winced with each sound of the wood on metal, but I knew speed was better than quiet. At least in this moment.
By the time I finished, sweat dripped down my neck and I wiped my forehead with the back of my sleeve.
“That’s the last one,” I said, my lungs heaved.
“Good.” Henry motioned me back inside. “Let’s lock up the front door and head home.”
As both of us made our way through the stockroom and back to the front of the store, a familiar noise pounded down the street.
CLUMP. CLUMP. CLUMP. CLUMP.
The boots moved in unison and echoed for a moment before the soldiers came into view from the windows, passing the store still formed in their lines with their rifles slung over one shoulder.
A few of the Germans broke off the group and meandered closer to the store, glancing up at the sign hanging along the top of the building. Two of them pointed, then said something to the third—words I couldn’t hear through the glass.
“Henry?” He ignored me. “Henry?”
“What?”
I pointed toward the window. “I think they want to come inside.”
He glanced from me to the window, meeting the gaze of one of the Germans through the glass. He jumped back, then flipped the lock back so the German could open the door.
“Good afternoon,” the soldier said. His broken English and German accent thumped on the letter ‘r’. Dressed differently from the other soldiers, his uniform was steel gray instead of green, and the tunic fit tight against his frame. The shoulders and collar were lined with patches, and he had a silver medallion in the shape of an odd cross hanging in place of a necktie. “Major Albrecht Lanz, with the Heer.”
Henry glanced at me, then back to him. “Henry Barrow.”
“Are you the owner of this store?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Good. Good. We require all the supplies you have left.” The major stepped around Henry, glancing around at the shelves. “You don’t seem to have much, do you?”
Henry closed his eyes for a moment and swallowed hard.
My heart thumped.
“After the bombing, people panicked, and they bought more than usual for the week. We’ve been waiting for some import shipments, but they haven’t come.”
“Well, we will take what you have.” The major glanced at me, his eyes traced from my feet up to my face. “And who are you? Are you his wife?”
I opened my mouth to say no, but Henry spun and faced him, wincing as though his leg hurt him. “Yes. Yes, she is.”
Major Lanz eyed Henry for a moment, then clicked his tongue as his eyes narrowed. “Your injury? Will it get better?”
“It should.”
Major Lanz inhaled a deep breath, then moved back toward the door. His voice stoic and sharp. “As the supply ships from France arrive, we will talk about what to do with your store.”
“What do you mean, what to do with my store?”
“You are the new Purchasing Officer, Mr. Barrow, and you will need training on how to file the paperwork for the rations.” With no other instructions or orders, the Major left the store, flanked by the two soldiers who remained close by his side as he resumed following behind all of his other men down the street.
Henry and I stood in silence, staring at the sea of Germans through the window.
“What do we do now?” I asked.
“The only thing we can—get the supplies back to the house so I can hide them.”
As the lorry turned around the corner of the lane, my parents’ house came into view. Over the last few days since the bombing, I had thought about how I’d feel the first time I saw it. Heartbroken beyond ruin, full of nothing but loathing for the dwelling I once called home, relieved that no matter what had happened I still had a roof over my head and a safe place to go—no matter the thoughts, however, or how I had tried to prepare myself, none of it mattered when I laid eyes upon it.
Bought right after my parents married, it was the only place I ever knew. The only house I’d ever lived in. Full of nothing but memories, I had loved living there, and had always hated the notion that one day I would marry and leave. Even if it meant moving into a house of my own where I would make even more memories with my own husband and children.
Henry continued to drive the lorry down the lane. He yawned twice and wiped at his eyes.
“I told you, you should have let me drive.”
“I wasn’t about to have you walk home. Not alone.”
“You realize that there will be times I have to walk somewhere by myself.” I shrugged. “I’m not scared to.”
“I know. Still. I wanted to give you some supplies to hide in your own cellar.” He pulled down into the drive and parked in front of the house. As the engine died, I noticed the front door was open and a German soldier stood in the doorframe. I sucked in a breath.
“What is a German doing here?” I glanced over at Henry. His brow furrowed, and he shook his head.
“I don’t know.”
We both climbed out of the lorry and I waited until Henry hobbled around the front, leading the way to the front door. As we made our way up the few steps, another soldier appeared from the door, then a third. We both stopped.
“May I help you?” Henry finally asked.
The three men stared at us for a moment before one of them went back inside and called out to someone in German. A few seconds later, a fourth emerged.
“It is her,” Henry pointed his thumb toward me, “parents’ house.”
The hauptmann glanced at me. “Your parents’ house?”
I nodded.
“And where are they?”
“They are dead. They died in the bombing a few days ago. It’s my place now.”
Two of the soldiers who stood to the side of us laughed and the hauptmann shot them a glare. “Das Schweigen!” With his shouted words, the two silenced and straightened their shoulders, squaring them and their heads to look off into the distance. He turned his attention back to me. “We see the house has three bedrooms. You may continue to live in one of them and you may have the use of the kitchen and sitting room when we will be here.”
“She may do what?” Henry asked, tilting his head.
Hauptmann Heinrich inhaled a deep breath and clenched his jaw. He wasn’t about to repeat himself—especially not to the likes of us.
“So, soldiers are going to move into my house . . . with me?”
He nodded.
“So, strange men are going to move into a house where a woman lives alone?”
He nodded again. “They are on strict orders to behave themselves around the women residents. You should not be in any danger.”
I spied the two still standing and watching. Although they didn’t make another sound, their eyes moved toward one another and they both smirked.
My stomach twisted into a knot. “I can’t. I can’t live with strange men in my house. I’m all alone.”
“It is not your choice.”
“You can have the whole house,” Henry said. “Take all three bedrooms. Give us a minute to pack her belongings, then you can have all three bedrooms, the kitchen, the sitting room, everything.”
“Henry, what are you talking about?” I asked, turning toward him.
“You can come and stay with Ian and I. We have a spare bedroom.” He faced the hauptmann. “Just one spare bedroom. We have no room for anyone else.”
Yours: An Emotional and Gripping WWII Family Saga (The Promises Between Us Trilogy Book 1) Page 7
