Yours: An Emotional and Gripping WWII Family Saga (The Promises Between Us Trilogy Book 1)

by Angela Christina Archer

“Billings.”

  “As in Marcus Billings? The newspaper editor?”

  The boy nodded. “He’s my father. My mum is Beatrice.”

  “Yes, I know both of them. Or at least, I’ve met them.”

  The boy stared at me for a moment. “Do you want to see something?”

  “Sure.”

  “My dad gave me this.” He dug into his pocket, yanking out a silver coin. “It’s from America. He told me he couldn’t tell me how he got it until I’m older, but he gave it to me for luck. See how heavy it is?” He stuck out his hand, dropping it into my palm as I reached out.

  “It is heavy.” I handed it back to him.

  “They told me whenever I felt lonely, I could take it to my heart and mind, like this,” he rubbed the coin on his chest and then his forehead, “and I would know they were with me.”

  As suddenly as the boy seemed to perk up with the mention of his parents and his coin, his smile faded and he dropped his gaze to the floor of the train, kicking his feet once more against the seat.

  “You miss them, don’t you?”

  He nodded and sniffed.

  “Don’t worry, I miss my family too. It’s all right to miss them. When we get to the Davenport’s we could write them letters. I can help you if you need.”

  “But we can’t mail the letters.”

  “No, we can’t. But we can save them for when we see them again, so they know we were thinking about them.”

  He shrugged. “All right, I guess.”

  With little else spoken between us, we continued our train ride in relative silence. Occasionally, he would stand and make his way to the window, leaning against the glass as he watched the English countryside pass. At times I envied him and his ability to dwell in the calm and excitement of the adventure. Seeing new things and taking in the experiences of train rides and seeing parts of a country he hadn’t yet.

  Mum always said those who are lucky are those who could travel. Having grown up in Guernsey, she had only ever been to London a handful of times. I remembered her stories as a young girl standing on the cliffs as she gazed out over the ocean, wondering about the world stretched out far in front of her. She dreamed of seeing America and visiting all the places she’d read or heard about as a child. Cities like New York or Atlantic City where women dressed in evening gowns and danced the nights away drinking champagne under blankets of lights. She also dreamed about seeing Ireland and Scotland, with bright green meadows and country pubs filled with old men who could tell you old Gaelic tales of war and brave men, or the sightings of monsters lurking deep within the depths of the Loch Ness, only seen by a handful of people and only ever caught on film once.

  Of course, my travels today were not that of a holiday or pleasure. Forced from my home, I traveled to live with strangers until who knows when, far away from a home I didn’t even know if it still stood.

  Would the Germans take it for their own, sleeping in our beds, eating at our table, harvesting food from our gardens and livestock? Or would they leave my family alone? I wanted to believe the latter. Wanted to believe that an occupation only meant that Germans were living on the island in makeshift camps, living off the supplies shipped in by the German government and nothing more. I also wanted to believe the residents of Guernsey would not know any suffering under German rule, but that life would continue on as though nothing had happened.

  Even if it was foolish to do so, I wanted to cling to all those thoughts.

  And yet, gut instinct told me not to.

  I read about the occupation of France. Read the horrors of what the French suffered and lived through, having to live off rations that left them starving, and living with Germans using rooms in their homes without permission. Their livestock seized and having to share a percentage of all food they harvest from their gardens. The actions they were capable of left a pit in my stomach.

  “I think we are slowing down,” Elijah said, sitting back in his seat. “And I can see more and more houses out the window.”

  “That’s a good sign. Perhaps that means we are almost there.”

  He nodded, dropping his gaze for a moment as he kicked his feet once again. He glanced up at me. “What . . . what do you think they will be like? The Davenports, I mean?”

  “I’m sure they are a lovely couple.”

  “But how can you know that?”

  “Well, it would take a lovely couple to care enough to welcome two strangers into their home and take care of them.”

  He furrowed his brow, lowering his voice. “I guess you’re right.”

  “I sense you have doubt. Why?”

  “Tommy said that we could end up with people who want to turn us into slaves, make us do all the housework for free. And he says we could end up with people who are mean, who beat us and will make us live in a barn with the animals.”

  “And what gave Tommy such ideas?”

  Elijah shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s just what he said could happen.”

  “Well, I doubt it.” Although I said the words, and smiled to hide any thoughts that said otherwise, a small part of me twisted with the notion I had yet to think of myself. Perhaps it was naïve for me to not think of it, however, I hadn’t. My assumptions of the people waiting at the station to meet us had always been that of a kind and loving couple—perhaps ones who could not have children of their own and had little luck with adoption. Although, why take in refugees who could leave and head back to their homes and families was beyond me.

  “I’m sure they are nice, Elijah, and do not have the mind to turn us into slaves. Don’t worry about it so much. Everything will be all right.”

  It wasn’t long before the train slowed and stopped, pulling into the depot as steam billowed from the stacks, wafting around the platform as Elijah and I stepped off the train. We both looked around, glancing from one end of the station to the other. While there were several people milling about, they were mostly train attendants, helping passengers disembark and collect their luggage.

  “Do you see them?” he asked.

  “I see a few people. However, I don’t know what they look like.”

  “Maybe we should wait over there?” He pointed toward a long bench near the depot and we both made our way over, sitting down as we tucked our tiny bags, with the only belongings we had, under our feet.

  The two of us waited as the rest of the passengers met with their families and friends and left the station. Their welcoming hugs tugged at the need for my own family and I soon rose to my feet, pacing in front of a board holding a large map of the English countryside.

  “Excuse me, are you Amelia Ashton and Elijah Billings?” a woman’s voice asked.

  I spun, meeting the gaze of a tall woman and an even taller man.

  “Yes, I’m Amelia.” I pointed toward the boy. “And he is Elijah.”

  The woman heaved a deep sigh as though relieved and brushed her hand against her chest. “We are Mr. and Mrs. Davenport.” She stuck out her hand to shake mine. “I’m Eleanor, and you can call me Eleanor. No sense for that formal Mrs. Davenport talk. And this is Robert.”

  I shook both of their hands. “It’s nice to meet you.”

  “We hope you haven’t been waiting long. I lost track of time feeding the chickens, and well, we rushed here as quick as could.”

  “We weren’t here but a few minutes.”

  “Shall we head back to the house then?”

  Elijah and I glanced at one another before looking back at the couple and nodding. As we reached for our bags, Mr. Davenport grabbed them first.

  “Don’t worry, I’ve got these.”

  “Are you sure?” I asked.

  “Of course. I’m sure it’s been quite a long trip for you two and you could use a break from carrying these around.”

  While I wanted to say he did not know, I didn’t. Instead, I smiled and reached for Elijah’s hand as we both followed the couple out to their motorcar.

  TEN

  Amelia - September 194
0

  When I was a little girl, I would dream of living in a house without farm chores. Feed the chickens, milk the cows, dump slop into the pigs’ feeders, muck out the stalls—nothing but hard work from dawn to dusk, and the only things to show for your hard work were sun-kissed arms, a dirt-stained face, and a full belly at night from your harvest.

  Which, of course, I understood as the important part.

  It takes food to live. But food doesn’t come for free.

  You have to work for it.

  Luckily, while Eleanor spoke of chickens when they arrived at the train station to fetch Elijah and me, it wasn’t her chickens she spoke of, but a neighbor’s flock. She’d only agreed to take care of the birds that afternoon while the neighbor saw to a few errands.

  Much to our surprise, Mr. and Mrs. Davenport lived in a small house on a little land, but in town. They shopped for food, had a meager garden that would hardly feed two people, let alone four, and was, according to Eleanor, only meant as something for her to do. They had little use for a tractor, or any other farm equipment I had been dreading to see.

  “Did you read the telegram from Mrs. Pembroke and Miss Beers this morning?” Eleanor asked her husband.

  In the middle of taking a bite of scrambled eggs, he shoved the fork into his mouth, chewed, and swallowed before he answered.

  “I did.”

  “And what do you think of it?”

  The two of them exchanged glances while Elijah and I sat at the other side of the table, watching one another with just our eyes and without moving our heads as the adults spoke of our teachers.

  “I don’t think we ought to agree.”

  Elijah and I both sat up a little straighter.

  “Um . . .” I said, unsure if I desired to finish the thought. “If you don’t mind my asking, what is it you don’t think you should agree to?”

  Eleanor gave me a smile as Robert winked.

  “I love that you are inquisitive,” she said.

  “And bold enough to ask,” Robert added. He cleared his throat, setting his fork down on his plate. “Your teachers sent a telegram yesterday to let us know of the school for the Guernsey children.”

  “It’s a school just for you two to attend,” Eleanor added.

  “And you don’t think we should go?” I looked from them to Elijah and then back to them.

  “It’s not that we don’t wish for you two to go to school,” Eleanor said.

  “Quite the contrary,” Robert grabbed his fork once more, scooping up another bite of eggs. “We just think it better for you to go to the school here in town.”

  “Can you do that? Just tell them no and we will go here instead?”

  Eleanor shrugged. “I suppose we will find out.”

  “Why do you think it’s best for us to stay here? We will know the other children and the teachers at the Guernsey school. Here, everyone, they are strangers.”

  “We realize that, and while it would make sense for you to join your familiar classmates, the travel involved would be rather inconvenient. Derbyshire has excellent schools. You will receive a top-notch education and you will be close to us should you need anything.”

  I bit my lip. Thoughts of returning to school with young adults I knew versus other young adults I didn’t, sounded like an obvious choice. They were my friends, my classmates. I had grown up knowing them and their families, whereas the youth of Derbyshire were strangers. However, a part of me didn’t wish to return at all. There were more important matters going on than the pressures of learning arithmetic and the studies of science and history.

  “Um, I was actually thinking of not going back to school.”

  Both Eleanor and Robert froze, gawking at me. Robert’s mouth hung open. His fork, inches from his lips, just sat there.

  “Why do you say that?” Eleanor asked.

  “Well, with me being seventeen, I will be eighteen soon. Surely, I can forgo the last year of my studies and find work as a seamstress or a secretary. Perhaps, I should do that instead, help with the expenses for Elijah and me.”

  The Davenports both shook their heads and Robert spoke. “No, it is important for you to finish your studies. Eleanor and I are far more than capable of paying your way and paying Elijah’s way. We do not need you to help.”

  “But—”

  “No buts,” Robert said, finishing his last bite. “There is a world outside and it will be waiting for you when this war ends—which believe me, it will end—and you both need to be prepared. I would much rather you have an education than not.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “And now that that is out of the way. How about you two come with me this afternoon so we can do a little shopping?”

  “Shopping? For what?” Elijah asked.

  “Some more school clothes. Perhaps even some clothes for when you are here at the house. I know you weren’t able to pack much, so I thought a few more outfits might help.”

  “You want to take us shopping?” I asked.

  “Yes.” Eleanor exchanged smiles with Robert before turning back to me. “We do.”

  I glanced at Elijah, who smiled as though he agreed, and happily shoveled the rest of his breakfast into his mouth, finishing it with the rest of the water in his glass.

  While Mrs. Pembroke and Miss Beers, Elijah’s teacher, hadn’t taken the news too kindly, they had agreed with the Davenports that Elijah and me traveling so far for school every day made little sense when there was a school just down the road. So with their blessing, we drove down to the school to register.

  Elijah stuck close to me in the car, his little body pressed up against mine as Robert steered the motorcar down the lane and through town, parking along a building with a fenced yard. Children played outside, their different games of tag, hide-and-seek, or just enjoying the swing set caused them to scream out of sheer fun and excitement at one other. A few of them gawked as we climbed out of the car and strolled up to the school while others continued playing, unbothered by the new strangers arriving. One little girl waved to Elijah—a broad smile spread through her face.

  Over in the corner, under a large tree, a group of young adults sat at a table, and their chatter silenced as they watched us. Their eyes sent heat through my cheeks.

  Inside the building proved to be a more quiet space as I followed the Davenports down one of the long hallways and into the primary office, ignoring different murals painted on a few of the walls.

  “Ah, you must be Mr. and Mrs. Davenport,” a woman said as we entered. She stood from behind her desk, shuffling around it. “I will let Mr. Johnson know you are here.” She vanished for a moment around the corner, and yet her voice echoed through the room as she explained to another man his appointment had arrived. No sooner than she returned, a man followed close behind. His round belly jiggled as he shook hands with the Davenports and gushed about how happy he was to make their acquaintance.

  “The children are more than welcome to join the fun outside if they wish,” he said, pointing toward the door.

  Eleanor glanced at us. “You may go if you like.”

  If we like.

  Such a heavy statement for the way I was feeling right now.

  No, I didn’t like. I didn’t like at all.

  Elijah tugged on my sleeve as he glanced up at me and blinked a few times before he motioned outside. Whether nervous or not, he didn’t let on. Perhaps the idea of playing, and playing with other children, proved far more important to him than being the new kid in a sea of strangers.

  “We will be in here, should you need anything,” Eleanor said.

  While the Davenports followed Mr. Johnson into his office, I followed Elijah toward the pair of doors leading back outside. Hesitation stopped me as I reached for the doorknob. My breath quickened as my palms became clammy.

  “Are you scared?” Elijah asked me.

  “Would it make me look pitiful if I said yes?”

  “I don’t think so. I’m scared too. But . . .” He moved to
ward the door, standing on his tiptoes as he peered out the window. “But they look like they are having fun. Maybe they will be nice. Maybe they will be our new friends.”

  “I wish I shared your way of thinking.”

  “You’ll be all right. You’ll see.”

  With the last of his reassurances, he shoved on the door and stepped back outside, trotting down the stairs and toward the swing set. A few of the children watched him, and the one little girl who smiled at him when we arrived, trotted after him. Her dainty voice muffled in the shouts and screams around them, as she appeared to ask him his name. They sat, one on each of the swings, and began kicking their feet, moving the seats to and fro.

  Not knowing what to do with myself, and feeling the burn from several pairs of eyes watching me from the table of youth my age, I pretended to watch over Elijah as though I felt he needed looking after. Not that he did. His once shyness seemed to melt away as he continued chatting with the little girl and then another little boy who had come to meet him.

  A part of me envied him as I wondered exactly when we lost the ability to make friends whenever and wherever we went. Somewhere along in time it had to happen, a change in us that made us go from an outgoing child to a shy young adult, incapable of just starting a conversation with anyone and instantly bonding.

  At least it seemed impossible for me.

  While I did long to just walk over to the table, my feet remained rooted in the ground. I could almost hear Evelyn whispering in my ear, telling me to be bold, that I had much to offer them as a friend, or simply just to stop being a bloody coward. She always had more gumption than me, always the first one to forge anew. Even as children, she would travel the road ahead of me, always telling me to keep up and not lag behind her.

  “Bloody coward,” I whispered to myself.

  I closed my eyes for a moment then and spun on my heel as I opened them, determined to force myself to approach them.

  Unfortunately, one had already approached me, and my body collided with his, knocking me to the ground.

  “Are you all right?” the boy asked. He reached out for my hand, helping me stand.