He wasn’t a boyfriend. But he was a friend. And a friend I didn’t want to see die at the hands of the barbarians he now promised to destroy. I thought of the afternoons as we walked home from school and of all the stories we had told each other about our families. I thought of how he always sat across from me at the table, smiling with his slightly slanted smile.
He opened his mouth to utter something else, but I leaned forward before he could and kissed him. He jerked away from me, blinking at me for a second before he kissed me in return. With our lips locked, he clutched the sides of my neck, cradling my head. I had dreamed of this moment—my first kiss.
And yet, it wasn’t with the one I was kissing.
I jerked away from him. “I . . . I shouldn’t.”
“I’m sorry. Was I supposed to—”
“No, it’s just I shouldn’t. I . . .” I glanced around as I rubbed my forehead. “I need to find Elijah.”
Before William could say a word, I darted off toward the front door of the school. Shards of glass littered the stairs, and the door had blown off the hinges. My eyes fell upon the other end of the building, the one hit by the bomb. Blown to bits, rubble had flown dozens and dozens of feet in all directions while water from a few of the bathroom pipes squirted from several cracks.
“Amelia, wait!” William called after me. “Wait for me.”
I paused, letting him catch up.
“We need to be careful. We don’t know the structural damage of the building. We should wait for everyone outside.”
As I opened my mouth, the door flung open and the teachers and students inside filed out. Single file, they stuck close to one another, and yet trotted in a hurried pace. They all ran past us.
“He’s . . . he’s not here. Where is he?”
I lifted my hand to my face, shielding my eyes as though the mere movement would push away the smoke and dust, allowing me to see all around me. Children coughed and sputtered as they gathered near the table across from the play yard. Their eyes were wide and blinking.
“Where is he?” I didn’t mean to shout, but the sheer panic of not knowing set my teeth on edge. And I grabbed William’s shirt with both my hands, balling the material in my fists as I shook him. “Where is he?”
“I don’t know. Amelia, calm down.”
A girl screamed behind me. The shrill of it ran cold through my blood. I spun around to find Shelly pointing over by the tree. Following her finger, I saw it. The thing she was pointing at. The thing that made her scream.
A tiny leg sticking out from around the other side of the tree.
No. No. No.
I leapt down the last of the stairs and rushed across the grass, rounding the tree.
“Elijah! Elijah!” Before my knees hit the ground, I knew he was gone. But knowing and accepting were two different paths, and while I traveled down one, I didn’t travel down the other. I grabbed his shoulders, shaking him. “Elijah! Wake up. Come on.” In my shaking him, his hand fell off to the side and as his fingers hit the ground, they opened, and his silver coin fell out. I grabbed it. “Look, Elijah, I have your coin. You have to wake up. You found it and you have to give it back to your mum and papa.”
My throat closed as I clasped down on the coin and reached for his shoulders once more. A pair of hands wrapped around both of my wrists, stopping me.
“Amelia, he’s gone.” William knelt on the other side of him and tugged my attention to his face. “He’s gone.”
“But he can’t be gone.” Tears welled in my eyes. My body grew weak. “He’s got to go home to his parents. He was just feet from us and in the smoke and dust I couldn’t see him. I called for him. But I didn’t hear him.” By the time I finished, my tears broke free and streamed down my cheeks. I fell forward into William’s arms, sobbing. “I didn’t hear him. Why didn’t I hear him?”
“Things just happen. No one ever knows why they do.”
“His parents sent him here for safety. They sent him here so he would be safe.”
Sirens from the Fire and Rescue Service Brigade blared as the trucks rolled down the streets. Mr. Johnson ran through the gate and headed toward one of the trucks, waving his hand. He shouted words I couldn’t hear, pointing over toward the tree and the crowd standing under it. A few of the firefighters jumped down and followed him back toward us.
William stood, pulling me up with him. My knees buckled, and he bent down, scooping me into his arms as he walked back over to the table and sat down, cradling me in his lap. I pressed my forehead into his neck and sobbed.
“They sent him here so he would be safe,” I whispered one last time.
THIRTEEN
Amelia - September 1940
In the course of my life I’d only been to a handful of funerals. My grandparents on my mum’s side and my grandparents on my father’s side, of course, and perhaps one or two family friends—old acquaintances of my parents who lived in Guernsey and knew them well, even before Evelyn or I were born. While my grandparents were upsetting, with sorrow and tears, the others I went on about the day, not exactly bored with the circumstances of the events and people in attendance, but not emotionally invested either. Surely, it was sad, and I felt bad for the family and friends.
Elijah’s funeral—or what we could have of one in the madness of being in the middle of war—had been only a few days ago and still the thought of the little boy twisted in my stomach. Images of him in my mind robbed me of my ability to breath at times and I cried more often than I cared to admit. Not my blood, I had grown to think of him as a brother, and I missed him. I missed him more than I thought I would.
I sat at the makeshift desk in the makeshift classroom. Weeks after the bombing, nearly half the students were still out of school while the other half stuck together in one room. To my right, a few primary students huddled together learning how to add two plus two and four plus four. To my left, older students—about the age of ten and eleven, studied long division and their multiplication tables. Several of the teachers made their way around to the desks of their students, teaching and helping with soft whispers as though not to disturb the others. It was a different education, and yet, it also felt needed. Close together, there was a sense of warmth to it, and a sense of comfort.
Along with my schoolwork for the day, my schoolbookswere laid out, scattered across the tabletop. They were all opened to various pages along with several sheets of stationary, a few pencils, and my ruler. I flipped from book to book, trying to read one of the lessons before giving up and moving on to another subject. Too distracted to read or even think about answering questions, I threw the pencil in my hand down.
My teacher, Mr. Hughes glanced up at me. He opened his mouth, for what I can only assume was to call my name, but before he could speak the bell rang, signaling the end of the day.
Finally.
Along with all the other students, I gathered up my books and papers, throwing them inside my book bag with the rest of the supplies.
“Miss Ashton, I’d like a moment after everyone leaves,” Mr. Hughes said as I stood to leave.
I sat back down, waiting for the room to empty before standing again and approaching Mr. Hughes desk. The dread over the impending conversation trickled down the back of my neck. It was never good when the teacher asked you to stay behind.
Never.
“I wanted to have a word with you about how you are feeling. You seem a bit . . . distracted lately.”
I shrugged. “I’m all right.”
“I don’t think you are.”
“I’m not really sure what you are wanting me to say, Mr. Hughes. I turn in all my assignments on time. I don’t think my marks are slipping. So, what is the problem?”
He inhaled a deep breath as he leaned back in his chair. “No, you are right. Your marks are fine and your lessons are all complete. I guess it’s just something I sense. Perhaps I am wrong.”
“Perhaps. May I go now?”
He nodded but raised his hand after I
turned to leave. “The town will rebuild the school and we will go back to normal. It’s best that we all be prepared for that when the time comes.”
“I understand.”
Without another word from either of us, I left the room, letting the door shut with a hard thud behind me.
Since the bombing, I had taken to walking home alone. William had enlisted and was off on whatever adventures were required of him, as were most of the other boys from our class. Although Claire and Isabella tried to keep me company, more often than not their endless chatter about everything that had happened set me on edge, and it wasn’t long before I stayed away from them, too. It wasn’t that I didn’t wish to spend time with them or discuss the current events. They were important, after all, but the reminders ate at me, from dawn to dusk, stealing my ability to think about anything else, and I didn’t know how much more of it I could take.
“Amelia?” Claire called out. She scurried up behind me with Isabella on her tail. “Isabella and I wanted to talk to you.”
“Um,” I glanced down the road. “I promised Eleanor I would be home right after school and Mr. Hughes has already made me late.”
“We can talk as we walk.”
“All right, I guess.” Although I wished to find another excuse, I couldn’t. She blocked me at every turn.
“Have you heard about the Women’s Land Army?” She winked at Isabella, “Or the WLA, as the girls are calling it.”
“No, I haven’t. What is it?”
“It’s a group of volunteers who move out to the country to work the land. You know, growing crops, tending to livestock. It is to help keep food supplies going during the war.”
“It sounds like a lot of hard work.”
“That’s what I said.” Isabella rolled her eyes.
“But it’s also cheap room and board, weekly pay, and the best part, it means freedom from our parents. I mean, think of the adventure.” Claire glanced between the two of us then nudged Isabella.
“Think of the hard work,” I muttered back at her. “You’re forgetting I’ve cared for livestock and crops before in Guernsey. It’s not easy.”
Claire’s eyebrows furrowed and she frowned on one side of her face. “I know it’s not. But at least it won’t be like the Voluntary Aid Detachment.”
“Which is not a bad post to volunteer for,” Isabella said. “And the one I suggested we volunteer for instead.”
“I’ve already been over this with you. I have no interest in seeing what those women see. Men without arms or legs, or men burned all over their body. They aren’t all going to be coming into your care unscathed by war.”
“But the nurses will handle most of the urgent and critical men since they have the training and skills. Most of the volunteers will only be responsible for providing meals or helping them take walks around the hospital grounds. Little, mundane tasks the nurses can’t be bothered with.”
“It’s still a risk and one I don’t think we should take. I would much rather work the land.”Claire eyed Isabella for a bit then cleared her throat as she turned back to me. “So, are you interested in joining us?”
“I don’t think so. But I’m happy for you and wish you well.”
“You’re not even going to think about it?” Isabella asked.
“I don’t even know if I can. I’m a ward of the Davenports.”
“You could always ask them. But, at the same time, I mean, it’s not like they are your parents, I don’t think they could make you stay with them.”
Although she hadn’t meant it, Isabella’s words stung, and I quickened my pace as I tucked my chin.
“That wasn’t nice, Isabella,” Claire said.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it that way.” Isabella reached out grabbing my arm. “Listen, just tell us you will think about it. You don’t have to say yes, but just think about it.”
“All right. I’ll think about it.”
“Good. We are leaving tomorrow on the morning train. It leaves at eight o’clock. It would be so much fun if you came, too.”
“I told you I would think about it and I will.”
As the two of them left down the opposite street, I watched them for a moment before continuing. The thought of the adventure in the unknown played on my deep feelings of being lost in the moment. However, I also longed for calm in the known while so much chaos surrounded me. Comforts like my bedroom at the Davenports, the quiet walks to and from school, evening meals around the table where we talked of literature and Robert’s studies at Oxford University—anything that didn’t have to do with the war.
At the same time, working the land brought a sense of home. Something familiar, something I knew I could do. Not only did it sound like a comforting thought, but it also sounded like just the distraction I needed—something to take away the endless reminders of Guernsey, my family, Henry, and Elijah.
“I was hoping you would show up soon,” a voice said.
I glanced up toward the porch of the Davenport’s home. William stood at the top of the stairs, and he cocked his head to the side as if to mirror me.
“What are you doing here?”
“I came to see you, and to talk to you.”
Warmth spread through my chest and I rushed through the gate, scaling the steps toward him. We both wrapped our arms around each other, giving one another a hug. I motioned toward the door.
“Do you want to come inside?”
He moved around me, stepping one foot down upon the stair below while the other foot remained on the porch. The new leather of his boots glistened in the sunlight. “Actually, I was wondering if we could speak out here.”
“You know, that’s quite the uniform you are wearing.”
He held out his arms and spun in a circle. The olive shade of the blouse with a fly front and pleated pockets matched the single pleat trousers, and it deepened in the light of the setting sun. The uniform brought both a sense of pride and a sense of fear, and the two emotions collided with one another.
“Nice, huh? I finally got my orders. I ship out tomorrow morning.”
“It is nice. It must be exciting for you.”
“I sense some hesitation.”
I shook my head as I folded my arms across my chest and looked out upon the horizon, not meeting his gaze. The fear mounting in my blood kicked up my heartbeat.
“Did you think I was joking about enlisting?”
“No. I guess I only hoped . . .” I bit my lip.
“You hoped what?” He paused for a second, but instead of letting me answer, he answered for me. “You hoped I would change my mind?”
Unable to say the word, I nodded.
“Why?”
“Because I don’t want you to die, too.” I blurted out my thoughts before I had a chance to even think about whether to say them.
“And who says that’s going to happen?”
“There’s still a risk. I just worry about you, or I will worry.”
“Are you worried about me because I am your friend or are you worried about me because I mean more to you than that?”
His question prickled against my chest. “Don’t do that. Don’t ask that of me.”
“Why should I not? Seems to me like you need me to push you into admitting your feelings.” He stepped closer to me and I backed away from him, marching across the deck to the side of the house where I leaned on the railing and looked out upon the neighbor’s front yard.
“Why is everyone so concerned with pushing me?” Although I hadn’t meant to, I raised my voice into a near shout before growling under my breath.
“Who else is pressuring you?”
“Mr. Hughes. The Davenports. Even Claire and Isabella were asking me to go with them.”
“Go where?”
“They are going to volunteer at the WLA, and they want to me join them.”
“Is that something you wish you do?”
“I don’t know. There was a small part of me that was just thinking it would be a n
ice distraction, and yet, I don’t desire to leave here. I just feel so lost.”
“Well, then, perhaps you should go. Have a little adventure in your life and get away from here.”
“But it’s not what I want to do in my life.” I spun around to face him. “When I first arrived in Derbyshire, I thought nothing of quitting school and finding a job. But in going again, I realized I want to finish and go to university, when the war is over of course, and I want to study to be a journalist and work for a newspaper.”
“There is nothing that says you can’t do both. Finish school, go find some peace in being a land girl, come back and go to university. Do it all or do none of it. Or even do some of it.”
“I suppose you’re right.”
“May I ask where marriage comes into your plans? Or a family?”
A lump formed in my throat. He threw out the words so casually, like any other thought in his head, not even the mere mention of it seemed to unnerve him.
I fidgeted with my fingers. “I suppose when I have secured a position at a newspaper, well, perhaps then I will consider marriage and children.”
“Then I guess I will wait.”
“Wait for what?”
“For you.”
We both stared at one another in silence. My heart pounded.
“You don’t . . . you don’t mean that,” I finally said, waving my hand is if to wave off his statement.
“What do you mean I don’t? I just said it, didn’t I?”
“William you know that I have someone . . . someone in Guernsey.”
“No, you have the idea of someone. What if something has happened to him? What if, when you go home after the war is over, you’re different or he is different? What if he finds someone else?” William stepped even closer to me. His tall frame and broad shoulders towered over mine and the warmth from his body left me slightly breathless. “What if you find someone else?”
“You mean what if I have already found you?”
Yours: An Emotional and Gripping WWII Family Saga (The Promises Between Us Trilogy Book 1) Page 13
