Beyond the Olive Grove: An absolutely gripping and heartbreaking WW2 historical novel

by Kate Hewitt

  Don’t feed strays, Ava; they’ll never leave you alone. The cat’s feral; it can probably fell a goat.

  Sometimes she even found herself smiling, or saying something in response, as if they were actually having a conversation.

  But it’s cute, and I’ve always wanted a cat.

  His response: I’m sorry I’m allergic.

  Sorry not sorry, she would have teased, and he would have given her a rueful grin of acknowledgement.

  A week of near solitude and she was going mad.

  At least her isolation had caused her to look forward to meeting other villagers and being out in the pine-scented sunshine. They might ask uncomfortable questions or stare at the wedding ring that she couldn’t yet bear to take off, but at least there would be someone to talk to.

  Ava walked up towards the church alone, since Eleni needed to drive with Parthenope. The village felt livelier than it had since her arrival, with children racing along the street, and the central square decked with bright garlands of flowers. A few people smiled and nodded at her, and some children ran up to her and said something unintelligible in Greek, and Ava did her best to answer, calling “Kalimera” and waving. Still, she felt conspicuous, a stranger in a place where strangers were rarely seen.

  By the time she reached the church, the happy bustle of the celebration overtook her self-consciousness. She found Eleni, with Parthenope clutching her arm and leaning on her as she shuffled towards the church doors.

  “Come, let me introduce you before the service starts,” Eleni said, and led her to a group of women chatting next to the church.

  Ava didn’t catch many of the names, but she heard the hellos and saw the smiles, and felt cheered even though it was clear not everyone had nearly as good a mastery of English as Eleni did. She really should have learned more Greek.

  She was just heading into the little church when she saw a familiar figure coming up the hill from the village. It was the schoolteacher, with her straight eyebrows and plait of dark hair, her stride long and sure. Ava smiled hesitantly, and she was cheered when the woman smiled back and even lifted her hand in recognition.

  Her fragile cheer faltered when she entered the incense-scented interior of the church, and felt dizzying panic clutch at her, taking her by surprise yet again. A tiny casket, the priest’s sonorous and lamenting voice. Her own harsh cry…

  It had been almost a year, and for the first time she was tired of her own instinctive reaction, tired of herself and her endless grief. Sweat trickled between her shoulder blades and she took a gulp of the dusty air. She might not be willing to let go of her grief, but she should be able to function at least. Put it to one side, at least for a little while.

  Eleni placed a hand on her shoulder. “Ava,” she murmured, “Ta pas kala?”

  Are you all right. Ava swallowed. Nodded. Yes, she was. She would be. She did not want to fall apart here, in front of all these strangers. She did not want to fall apart, full stop. She was tired, so very tired, of feeling useless and fragile.

  “I’m fine,” she whispered, and thankfully there was no more time to talk as the priest, sporting a bushy black beard and wearing a long black cassock, moved to the front of the church.

  Ava let the Greek prayers and chants wash over her, unfamiliar enough to be bizarrely soothing. Some of her tension eased even as her legs started to ache from standing; Orthodox churches had no seating, except for the very old, like Parthenope. And then it was over, and Eleni was ushering her outside, the sun glinting off the near-blinding whiteness of the church.

  “Now we eat,” Eleni said, “and dance. You must learn some of the Greek dances.” Ava smiled noncommittally, and Eleni glanced at her with a frown. “What happened in there? You looked so pale. Ill, almost.”

  “Just tired.” Ava did not meet Eleni’s searching gaze. The older woman might have befriended her—saved her, even—but she’d known her only a week. She wasn’t about to pour out all the grief and misery in her heart, and especially not at a joyous occasion like this.

  “Then you dance. There is a book, a book that all Greeks know and love. Zorba the Greek. Do you know it?”

  Mystified by the sudden change in conversation, Ava just shook her head.

  “Zorba is a man with much wisdom. When his little boy died, you know what he did?” Eleni waited for her to guess, but Ava only shook her head again. She felt a hot clutch of emotion grab at her chest. What did Eleni know, or at least guess, about her own life, her own pain? “He danced,” Eleni said simply. “And everyone, they said Zorba is mad, to dance when he should be grieving. But Zorba, he said he must dance. Because it is only dancing that stops the pain.”

  Ava just shook her head yet again and looked away. She felt the hot press of tears at the back of her lids, the aching lump in her throat. She didn’t want to cry, didn’t want anyone to see her cry, and with a muttered excuse she pushed past Eleni and went to stand alone under a plane tree, the sun already hot even though the air was mountain-crisp as she struggled to control her emotions.

  “I saw you at the school. You are English, yes?”

  Ava drew in a quick breath and turned to see the schoolteacher smiling tentatively at her. She nodded, forced that rush of emotion back. There was no way Eleni could know about the loss of her daughter. She’d just been relating a story, something to make Ava join in the dancing. “Yes,” she said, managing a smile, “I am English. Anglika. How did you know?”

  “I’ve heard talk of the Englishwoman who has moved here, and since you are the only stranger, I knew it must be you.” The woman smiled and stuck out her hand, which Ava took. “My name is Helena.”

  “Ava.”

  “What brings you to such a tiny place as Iousidous?” Helena’s English was nearly flawless.

  “You might have also heard that my grandmother lived here many years ago—”

  “Yes, I did. Sophia Paranoussis.”

  Helena’s knowledgeable assurance took her a bit aback. “I’m living in her house, for a little while at least—”

  “Yes, the old Paranoussis place. I know it. But why come here?” she smiled, lifting her shoulders. “Most people leave a place like this, as your grandmother did. Why did you come back?”

  Did no one shy away from blunt questions here? Ava wondered. Was nosiness a Greek trait? Maybe just a village trait, although Helena’s questions felt too pointed to be run-of-the-mill curiosity. She sounded almost as if she were testing her, trying to figure her out.

  “I was at a bit of a stopping point,” Ava said, trying to sound both friendly and repressive. “My grandmother died, leaving me her house. It seemed like a good time to come here, discover a bit about my roots.”

  Helena looked pleased. “So you are interested in Greek history?”

  She could get in trouble here. She was clueless about Greek history. “I’m interested in my grandmother’s history,” Ava said, and then decided full disclosure was needed. “Although, to be honest, I wasn’t all that interested until I arrived and realized I didn’t actually know anything about my grandmother’s life. And no one seems to speak of that time—the war and everything.” She sounded rather inane, but Helena nodded in agreement.

  “No one does. It is very difficult. I moved back here to teach, but also to record a history of life here during the war. My own grandparents were killed here, you see, during the civil war that erupted after the Nazis left. My mother was just a small child, raised by relatives in Athens. But I always wondered about my own history, and I have hopes of learning more.”

  “How?” Ava asked, genuinely curious now. “I admit I haven’t tried very hard, but I have no idea how to learn about my grandmother. No one wants to tell me anything.” Eleni didn’t even want her to ask.

  “There are five survivors of the war left in Iousidous,” Helena said matter-of-factly, “and three have agreed to talk to me. This is after I have lived in the village for four years and won the trust of some of the older people.” She gave a wry
smile. “When I first moved back, there were eleven survivors. But time is running out. Their stories might be lost forever, and I would hate for that to happen.”

  Like her grandmother’s story, only known, it seemed, to Parthenope. “Have you talked to the survivors?” Ava asked. Iousidous was such a small place. One of them would surely remember her grandmother.

  “Not yet. My first meeting is next week. But I heard you had come here to stay in your grandmother’s house, and I thought perhaps you would be interested.”

  “Interested?”

  “In accompanying me. I do not know if all three will agree, but I could ask. You might learn something about your grandmother, and it would be good to have someone else listening.”

  “Oh…” Surprise temporarily robbed Ava of words. “That would be wonderful,” she said at last. “I never imagined such a thing, but yes. Thank you for suggesting it. Please do ask.”

  Helena smiled and nodded, and Ava saw that people were moving over towards a small, scrubby patch of grass where a couple of trestle tables had been set up and were already near to buckling with plates of food. Together they walked over to the group, and Ava joined Eleni and Parthenope. She was soon filling her plate with souvlaki, cucumber and yogurt salad, and baklava sticky with honey and studded with nuts.

  They all sat under the shade of a plane tree, and ate and watched the various entertainments: children performing a folk dance, a little play that Ava got only the gist of, and then the men in traditional village garb from about two hundred years ago—blousy white shirts and what were basically skirts—made a circle with their arms around each other’s shoulders and began to dance. It was a vigorous, joyful celebration, surprisingly masculine. Ava saw Andreas in the group, his head thrown back as he sang along with the others. The sunlight caught the gray threads in his curly hair, the browned column of his throat, and Ava felt a funny tightening in her middle.

  No, she couldn’t be thinking about Andreas Lethikos that way. She barely knew him, and in any case she was still, technically, married to Simon.

  And more than that, Ava didn’t want her marriage to be over, even if she had a sinking certainty that it was. She was not remotely ready to think about anyone else that way.

  “Ava. Come dance.” Eleni stood in front of her, smiling and flushed, and she saw that everyone was joining in the dancing now, half a dozen circles of people spread out on the grass. Eleni held out her hand, and Ava shook her head.

  “I’m sorry. I’m not… I’m not ready to dance.” Even if it stopped the pain. She might have felt frustrated with her inability to function in the church, but she wasn’t sure she was ready to do as Eleni said and stop the pain. She wasn’t ready to let go of her grief or her marriage.

  Eleni stared at her for a long moment, and then dropped her hand. “I understand,” she said quietly, and turned to join the other dancers. Ava watched them all dance with a sense of longing; the dancers’ easy joy was infectious, and yet she felt so distant from it. She almost wished she had accepted Eleni’s invitation to dance, and yet she knew she wouldn’t have been capable of it. Watching, for now, had to be enough.

  By late afternoon, the celebrations were winding down, and everyone began to head back down the hill, sleepy children hoisted on parents’ shoulders, the echo of laughter still lingering in the crisp air.

  “I will let you know,” Helena promised, touching Ava’s arm, “about the interviews.”

  “Thank you.” Ava waved goodbye and then slid her phone out of her bag; she hadn’t checked it all afternoon and she felt as if a fist had squeezed around her heart when she saw the missed call. Simon had rung again and this time he had left a voicemail.

  She waited until she was back at the house, having said her goodbyes to Eleni and Parthenope, to listen to the message. The sun was starting to sink towards the ragged fringe of pines on the hilly horizon, and the air felt cold with the onset of evening. Ava pulled a throw around her shoulders and curled up on the sofa before dialing her voicemail.

  “Ava, it’s Simon.” His voice sounded the same, wonderfully the same, brisk and no-nonsense with that tiny hint of wryness she’d always loved. “Just checking to see how you are and that the house hasn’t fallen down around your ears. Not that it would.” That last bit sounded like a concession, almost an apology. Then, back to brusqueness. “No need to ring back. Bye.”

  And that was it. The whole message was eight seconds long. Ava almost pressed delete, and then stupidly didn’t. She remained on the sofa, her knees tucked into her chest, the phone cradled against her heart.

  No need to call him back? Had he talked to Julie and heard she was fine, or at least alive, and so that was that? She swallowed past the tightness in her throat. Why did that pithy little message hurt so much? Because it did. It hurt almost unbearably, and she was too tired and emotionally wrung out—still—to figure out why.

  Ava let out a sigh and tossed the phone onto the sofa. It stared at her, as silent and unblinking as the cat that had taken to visiting her garden. She fed it scraps, but it never came close enough for her to stroke it. Taking with nothing to give.

  Fine. No need to call Simon back, so she wouldn’t. She’d get on with her life, she’d think about accompanying Helena on those interviews, maybe she’d even plant something. An orange tree, as she’d envisioned. And she’d build something here, something good and true, even if it was totally different from the way she’d wanted her life to be.

  8

  Now

  The next day, with an almost grim determination, Ava began the rebuilding process. She drove to Lamia and bought a bunch of seeds and plants, unsure exactly what she’d bought since all the labels were in Greek and the shopkeeper spoke no English. Never mind. She’d plant something, and she hoped it would be pretty.

  It felt good to work in the little garden, out in the sun, using her muscles and breaking out in a sweat. The earth was dry and crumbly, easy to dig through at first, until she got through the thin layer of topsoil and realized how rocky and barren it really was. How did anyone grow anything here at all?

  An hour later she’d planted two little shrubs, made something close to a flower bed and scattered it with seeds. The cat emerged from the scrub and watched her unblinkingly.

  “Don’t eat these seeds,” Ava warned it severely, although she didn’t really know if cats ate seeds. “I’ll get you something else.” Humming a bit under her breath, she went to the kitchen and found some scraps from the souvlaki that Eleni had brought a few days ago. She left them in a dish and stood about a foot away, watching and waiting just as the cat was.

  It didn’t want to come and get the food when she was so close, even if it was starving. Still, Ava wouldn’t budge. She wasn’t expecting to turn a feral cat into a house pet, but she wanted something back.

  “You’ve got to want it,” she told the cat, and it stared at her for a long moment before retreating back into the trees.

  Damn. Ava stared at the empty place where it had been and wondered just why she had pushed. Couldn’t she give a cat food without expecting something? Was she really that needy, that demanding?

  Sighing, she turned back to the garden, only to hear her phone trill against her hip. She slipped it out of her jeans pocket and saw that it was Julie.

  “Hey, Jules.”

  “Please tell me you’re sitting at a café, drinking espresso, and ogling the gorgeous Greek men.”

  Ava let out a rusty laugh, glad Julie was going for light. They’d had too many heavy, painful conversations lately. “No. But I just chased a feral cat back into the woods.”

  “That’s a relief. Was it dangerous?”

  “It was a cat. No, it’s not dangerous. It’s starving.” She gazed at the dish of meat scraps and decided to leave it out in case the cat returned.

  “Still, it’s a wild animal, right? I don’t fancy those so much.”

  “Well, it’s gone now.” She went inside and kicked the door closed behind her. “How are
you?”

  “Oh, fine. Weather’s miserable; job’s OK. Same, same.”

  “Right. Well it’s a balmy twenty-three degrees here with cloudless blue skies, so I do feel sorry for you.”

  “Nyah, nyah to you too,” Julie said, laughing, and then there was a pause. “I saw Simon last night.”

  Ava felt her fingers curl tighter around the phone, hurting. Her breath slammed through her chest. “And?” she asked as levelly as she could, even though she, absurdly, hated the thought of Julie’s seeing Simon. I saw Simon last night. It almost sounded like a date.

  “He seems pretty down, actually. He was really quiet, like he had a lot on his mind.”

  “Julie, that’s how Simon always seems.” She’d thought she’d liked the strong, silent types, and she had, oh, she had, until she’d finally needed something back. Some emotion, some sympathy, something more than solid reliability, stony silences and good sex, although they hadn’t even had sex in nearly a year. That, Ava knew, was mostly her fault.

  “Well, more quiet than usual,” Julie said and Ava let out a short laugh.

  “I’m not sure that’s possible.”

  “Be fair, Ava—”

  “Don’t take his side,” she cut across her friend sharply. “I can’t stand it if you do. You’re my best friend, Julie—”

  “I don’t even want there to be sides,” Julie told her, sighing. “But if we’re talking about whose friend I am, Ava, I was Simon’s friend first.”

  Ava blinked. She felt as if Julie had just punched her in the stomach. “I can’t believe you just said that.”

  “I’m sorry,” Julie said quietly. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have. But… he is my friend, and I don’t like seeing him so miserable. Have you rung him?”