“One month,” she said. “I want to see you back here in one month. Until then, you make sure you get some rest. And try not to worry. Okay? Everything will be fine.”
Try not to worry?
Sera nodded as the doctor smiled and left the room. She even managed to take some steadying breaths as she gathered her things and left the exam room.
She kept reciting, Everything will work out . . . Everything will work out . . . as she marched through the waiting room and outside. It wasn’t until she made it back to the parking lot and was safely in her car that she allowed herself to burst into tears.
A baby.
Sera had no idea how she would tell William he was going to be a father. The news was so out of plan. So totally unexpected. And yet, so . . . wonderful.
Despite the uncertainty, despite the what-ifs and the maybes swirling on all sides, Sera couldn’t remember feeling happier than she did at this moment. And that was why something had to change. If she wanted her husband in their child’s life, there was nothing else to do but step up and take control.
She whispered a silent prayer that when she could finally get up the courage to tell him, William would see it that way too.
Sera sat in the coffee shop, staring out the window at the raindrops dripping off the black-and-white awning outside.
It was an eclectic little shop, one that she and Will had enjoyed together. With dim overhead lighting and tall ceilings, it had a cozy yet modern atmosphere. There were display cases of pastries, barrels of free-trade coffee, and a long concrete counter with wooden stools spanning the wall opposite the entrance.
The gallery was hopping with renovations and contractors going in and out; there’d have been no peace there. And she wasn’t ready to go home just yet. Somehow her car had driven itself to the coffee shop. There were patrons all around, some chatting and others buried in their laptops. The white noise was just right for her to collect her thoughts.
Sera spotted Penny when she breezed through the doors, shaking rain off her khaki military jacket and tossing her damp strawberry blond ponytail as she looked around.
She waved her over when their eyes met.
“So . . . your text sounded rather ominous.” Penny slid into the booth seat across from her. “The words ‘Meet me now’ followed by the name of a coffee shop did little to calm the insane wanderings of my imagination. Good thing I hit every green light between here and the gallery.”
“I know, and I’m so sorry. It couldn’t be helped.”
“Sounds like it. So what’s up?”
Sera pushed a coffee mug over to her. “Here. Got you a mid-morning latte for the occasion.”
“Occasion? Are we celebrating something, other than the fact that this rain has to end soon?”
“You could say that.”
“Don’t worry about it. I needed a break anyway. But you didn’t get one for yourself?”
Penny took the mug and warmed her fingers around it, breathing in the rich aroma of mocha and cinnamon that spiced the air around them. Sera took a deep breath as well, but for an entirely different reason.
“No, because I’ve got a huge favor to ask and I suppose I’m trying to butter you up with chocolate and whipped cream.” Sera took in a deep breath and just blurted it out: “Penn, I’m pregnant.”
Had the table not been between them, Sera was sure Penny would have dropped coffee down her front. As it was, the oversized mug fell from her hands and landed hard on the tabletop, sloshing mocha syrup and melted whipped cream down the sides. She sailed across the booth and with a squeal that could have alerted the entire world to her unabashed glee, swept Sera up in her arms for a bear hug.
“I’m going to be an aunt!” Penn cried, happy tears misting her eyes. “Well, sort of. He or she can just call me Aunt Penny. I’ll be that funny friend who takes them to the park and loads them up with gifts and sugar before I bring them home to the reality of their parents.”
“That would be great.” Sera laughed, smiling in spite of herself.
“So when did you find out?”
“This morning,” she answered, directing her attention to the mocha spill on the table. She began absently wiping at it with the few napkins they had nearby. “Remember that appointment I had?”
“And you thought it was stress . . . I wish I could have gone with you. It would have been a bit more fun than signing for another shipment of boxes that arrived.” She winked. “Though the delivery guy was kind of cute.”
“Penn, you’re amazing.” Sera bit her bottom lip over the emotion. “You can make anything sound okay, can’t you?”
“Everything will be okay. Your faith has brought you this far, remember? I know it’s difficult, but you have to go on trusting it.”
“I do. Now more than ever.” Sera wove her fingers around the tips of her hair, not even realizing she was doing it until Penny calmed the nervous hand with her own. “Maybe I didn’t imagine things would work out exactly like this. Well, let’s be honest—I didn’t expect any of this. But I still know this baby is a gift.”
“So why are you crying?” She reached up and dabbed at the corners of Sera’s eyes with the last clean napkin. “I hope those are happy tears I see.”
“They are—yes! I’m happy. Of course.” She rolled her eyes to the ceiling, trying to lighten the air.
“And what about Will? How did he react?”
Sera took in a steadying breath. It altered the air just enough that Penny’s expression changed with it.
“Oh no, Sera. You haven’t told him?”
“No, not yet. I only found out this morning. But I’m not sure it’s the right time. He’s out on bail, thank goodness. But he’s got so much on his mind. This is the last thing he needs to worry about.”
“Worry about? Sera, he’s going to be a father. He’ll want to know.”
“I know that. And I’ll tell him. But, Penn, I’ve got to do something. I’m scared. I won’t let our child know its father through a series of prison visits. And that’s why I called you. I need your help. I know it’s terrible of me to ask after everything you’ve done, but I didn’t know what else to do.”
Penny leaned back and folded her arms across her chest.
“Okay . . . I’m waiting.”
Sera nodded. “I know. That’s the problem. You’ve already been the best friend anyone could ask for. You’ve come out here to help with the wedding and now the gallery opening—putting your life and everything else on hold. I don’t know how to thank you, Penn. Really. I’m so grateful.”
Penny smiled, one of those patented “I’m still waiting because I know you so well” smiles.
“And?”
“And I need to ask you if you’ll go to London with me.”
A blinking stare later, Penny’s obvious question came out like a statement: “You’re going to London. Now?”
“Yes. I need to figure out how to help Will win this lawsuit. I’ve looked at it from every angle. The lawyers assure us he has a strong defense. But that’s not good enough. I told Will that it’s our future, not theirs. And the bill of sale, the deposits, the transaction turning the art over to the company in the first place—everything points right back to him. Now, his grandfather’s death and what happened after is from this world of years ago that I’m not a part of. For the life of me, I can’t get Will to open up about it. I’ve even asked his mother and she tried to help, but it was always something the Hanover men took pride in, managing the business. She never got involved. And though it was hard to bring up, I asked her about Will’s father, about why he left.”
“What did she say?”
“Oh, Penn . . . the family is so broken. They’re hurting. I saw everything I needed to in her eyes. She said he decided one day that he didn’t want to be married any longer. He just walked away and she had no clue why. I believe her.”
“Men.” Penny huffed under her breath. She reached for the coffee mug and downed another sip, seemingly on principle.
�
�I don’t want to open the family’s wound, but the one person I think we need to talk to—William won’t even consider as an option. I need to know why.”
“So you’re going to London to see Will’s father?”
Sera nodded, knowing full well it was a less-than-ideal plan. Not only was her father-in-law estranged from her husband’s tight-knit family, but she’d never met him. Never even spoken to him. It was possible he’d turn her away. Or that he’d have nothing of value to add to William’s case. It was a gamble—a huge one.
“As crazy as it sounds, yes. I think that’s where we might find our answer.”
“And what if he won’t accept you? I mean, if he walked away from his family, he might not want some daughter-in-law he’s never met showing up on his doorstep asking all sorts of questions.”
“I thought of that,” Sera admitted.
“So what do you plan to do?”
“I received a letter from Sophie this week. She said we could stay with her in Paris if needed. It’s a quick hop from Paris to London, and maybe talking to her will give us some ideas.”
“So you’re asking me to go to London, possibly Paris, and you thought there was the slightest chance I’d say no?”
Penny’s love for all things European mirrored her own. She had to smile at how God had brought such a special friend into her life.
“Well, I have to get Will to agree to it first, but yes. If his father won’t see us, then maybe Sophie can still help. After all, she knew Will’s grandfather probably better than anyone.”
“And she writes you letters?” Penny looked off into space and sighed, a dreamy haze covering her eyes. “How 1940s of her. She’s such a child of her generation.”
“No kidding. She sent me this with it.”
Sera took an envelope from her purse and retrieved a folded piece of yellowing newsprint from within. She unfolded it and gently laid it flat on the table.
“There,” she said, and pointed out a photograph of a lovely woman, with dark hair and eyes and a uniform hat tipped to the side of her brow. She read the headline aloud: “ ‘Telegraph Journalist Missing in Prague.’ ”
“Kája Makovský. My goodness—she was beautiful.”
Sera looked at the woman’s face, smiling out from the worn image. She brushed a finger over the photograph, feeling like she knew her somehow.
“It’s dated August 12, 1942.”
“Yes. It’s an article about how she’d gone missing during World War II, followed by her journal entries of life during the London Blitz. The accounts she wrote are amazing.”
Penny scanned the article. “So who was she? I mean, does she tie back to Will’s family in some way?”
“She does, actually. Adele and Vladimir saved Sophie’s life when they smuggled her out of Vienna. Well, this woman also had a hand in saving her after she was sent to a concentration camp in Prague. Will’s grandfather knew them both.”
“But we already knew Sophie’s connection to Adele. Why would she send you an old newspaper article?”
“I think there’s something here, Penn. Something to remind us what we’re fighting for. Sophie told me I had to keep battling for the man I love, no matter the circumstances. And she knows what she’s talking about, because she said it was this woman—her teacher—who fought for her in the same way. That no matter what, she never gave up.”
“Never gave up on what?”
“Sophie says here that if it wasn’t for this teacher, she’d have died in the Terezin concentration camp as a little girl.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
May 7, 1941
Bethnal Green Tube Station
London
Are you quite sure you want to come back to Bethnal Green? I know how close it is to Columbia Road. If you want a transfer, I can get one of the other girls to help out.”
“No, I’m fine.” Kája took a deep breath and readjusted the old wooden crate in her arms. “Now is as good a time as any to come back, I suppose. I can’t avoid it forever.”
“I know,” Trixie said. “But it’s been blitzy this week, and I hate seeing that look on your face.”
Like the nearly one million other women who’d signed up for the Women’s Volunteer Service for Civil Defense, they were office gals by day and uniformed WVS workers by night.
London had fallen into a routine of sorts, where the citizens worked during the day and made comments about the bombings being “blitzy” like it was the weather report. As soon as the sun ducked behind the horizon, they’d go into survival mode. The sirens were turned on and Londoners took to their Anderson shelters or went to sleep in the underground. They brought bags and baskets, even baby buggies loaded with whatever precious items they could carry from home. They’d settle in for the night, sleeping it out while the Luftwaffe decimated parts of the city aboveground.
Like clockwork, they’d leave again in the morning, walking around piles of brick that had fallen in the streets as they hurried to work.
“By the looks of the place, it’s a good thing we’re here. It’s going to need all the help it can get if we’re going to make this passable as a shelter for one more night. I mean, really,” Trixie said, tossing curls over her shoulder. “I’ve got a layer of dirt on my skin just from standing here.”
Kája smiled at Trixie’s unfiltered comment.
“Come on.” Kája laughed and led the way to the canteen. “Let’s get organized. The rest of the men will be here to build the extra bunks and they’re going to be hungry.”
“Hungry for ration food? And tea without sugar?” Trixie shook her head. “You’re right. I haven’t met a man yet who would turn down food, rationed or otherwise. It’s pitiful, but there you have it.”
Kája dropped her crate of tea and biscuits on the canteen booth’s wooden counter and looked around.
What could she say—Trixie was right. It certainly was an underground.
It was dark and not particularly clean.
They had some services, thank goodness, or it would have made their volunteer efforts near to useless. A makeshift booth had been built for serving tea, and one train car had been brought in for the canteen, where they’d be working. Another behind it was reserved for the shelter marshal and first aid station, both of which were kept busy round the clock. There were rows of bunks positioned along the wall opposite the tracks, though they were as yet unfinished. Thick canvas hammocks had been stretched out across the tracks to accommodate the overflow of people. And there were wooden slats that still had to be built above the bunks so the people could store their wares.
In a few short hours, the doors would be opened and the empty space would be filled with Londoners of all shapes and sizes. They’d wait out the worst of the raids all packed in together, praying through the night that a stray bomb wouldn’t penetrate the street above and punish those hidden beneath ground.
“See what I mean, doll? We’re going to have to work our magic with this place.” Trixie caught her eye and issued a skeptical glare with a tilt of the chin and an upturned eyebrow. It was so animated that Kája had to laugh.
“It’s not that bad.”
“Well, if we’re able to brew one cup of tea down here it will be a small miracle.” She pointed to a lonely corner of the tunnel, with a light that flickered overhead and water that dripped from the ceiling. “In any case, I’ve elected myself as chairwoman of the entertainment committee. I think that’s where we’ll put the turntable and the dance floor. I don’t imagine anyone in their right mind would wish to sleep over there.”
“I’m not sure anyone would complain at this point.”
“Nevertheless, I’ll go mad at our new post night after night if there’s no dancing.” She winked and did a twirl as she marched off. “You decide on the playlist while I fill the kettles with water.”
Kája smiled after her, grateful for the added fervor Trixie brought to any situation.
In the months that had followed the first night of the bombings, K
ája had found a spirited friend in Trixie Bell. Kája had been discharged from Kingsland Hospital two weeks after the Columbia Road disaster. And since her flat was not habitable, Trixie had taken her in, opening her Whitechapel flat without question. And she’d proved to be a most loyal friend, something Kája hadn’t expected but was now so very grateful for.
It made the long days and sleepless nights easier to bear, knowing that Trixie was there to lighten the mood.
Kája smiled as she unpacked their crates: tea and biscuits, and galvanized watering cans that they’d found to be quite advantageous in serving tea to so many. She hadn’t been focused for more than a few moments when she heard the workers tromping down the stopped escalators like stairs.
She looked up, intent upon welcoming them. But in that moment, her heart stopped on its own.
A familiar face was the first thing she saw in the crowd.
Liam’s hair was casually mussed and he wore the same oxford and suit pants as always, minus the tie or jacket. He carried tools in his arms like the rest of the men and walked along the tracks to the area being fashioned with bunks. The shelter marshal was with them and began organizing the effort, pairing the men up in teams to divide the work. Liam shrugged the worn leather satchel from his shoulder and fell into line with the rest of them.
It wasn’t the fact that Liam was working with the volunteers that surprised her. It was that he was there in Bethnal Green at all. The reporters on the war beat had been sent out weeks ago—to goodness knows where. Kája hadn’t heard a thing from Liam, except for when he sent his stories. But to see him there right in front of her, rolling up his sleeves with the rest of the men, was the last thing she’d expected.
Trixie returned, noticing Kája’s fixed glare along the tracks.
“Good, the boys are here. Now we’re in for some excitement.” She winked and began unpacking the rest of the crates.
Kája took hold of Trixie’s elbow. “Trix, what’s Liam doing here? I thought he was out on assignment.”
“Oh, Liam and Smalls got back this morning,” she said, casually going back to unpacking crates. “Called in on the switchboard to let Edmunton know and then they slipped into his office not long after. I’m surprised you missed them.”
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