by Hazel Gaynor
“Really? Oh, thank goodness for that.” I called out to Mouse, who was practicing a new knot for Guides. “She’s back, Mouse! Mrs. T is back. Hurry up. Let’s go and see her.”
“There’s just one thing,” Edward added, putting his hand on my shoulder. “She’s had a bit of a rough time of things by the look of it.”
I stared up at him. He really had got terrifically tall. “What do you mean?” I looked from him to Larry. “What’s wrong?”
“She’s a bit black and blue,” Larry said. “Bruised.”
My hand flew to my mouth. “Badly?”
They looked at each other and nodded.
“Perhaps you shouldn’t go to see her,” Larry said. “Or, if you do, be prepared for a shock.”
Whatever I’d imagined, the reality was worse.
She was lying on her mat when we arrived at her accommodation. She looked terribly pale and had the most awful bruises on her face and arms. She waved us away when she saw us and turned to face the other way.
“Not yet, girls,” she whispered. “Not like this. Go. I’ll be much better in a day or two.”
I reached for Mouse’s hand as we both stood in silence, afraid and upset and unsure of what to do.
“We took Churchill to our room,” I said. “Shall we bring him back?”
“Keep him,” she said. “He’s yours now.” She waved her hand over her shoulder. “Off you go.”
Her favorite china teapot and cups sat on the windowsill. The hook where Churchill’s cage used to hang was now being used to dry somebody’s smalls. There was something terrible about seeing someone so loud and playful reduced to the shattered person in front of us.
“Come on,” Mouse whispered. “We should go.”
Neither of us said anything for a long time as we walked back along Main Street.
“Stupid war,” I said eventually, unable to stand the silence. “I hate it. I hate what it makes people do to each other. We’re supposed to be helpful Girl Guides, and there’s not a thing we can do about it.”
Mouse reached for my hand as the guard we called Trouble, and who we were all the most afraid of, walked past us, his lips set in the familiar cold sneer we’d grown so accustomed to.
“I hate him the most,” Mouse whispered. “And maybe there is something we can do about it.”
“What?” I asked.
She looked at me for a moment before she shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. It would never work. Forget I ever said anything.”
We didn’t visit Mrs. T again that week. We got on with the usual things—school, chores, church, and Guides—but she was never far from my mind. The threat of the same thing happening to one of us lurked in the shadows at night and marched through my dreams.
* * *
“Would you mind helping me with something after class, Nancy?”
Miss Kent peered over the tops of her spectacles.
“Yes, Miss.”
Mouse raised an eyebrow at me. I shrugged and mouthed, “I don’t know?”
“I believe it is your birthday today,” Miss Kent said as we walked together along Main Street.
I nodded. “Yes, Miss.”
“Your fourteenth.”
I nodded again. My birthday should have been a day to celebrate, but birthdays didn’t matter like they once had. Besides, it was another birthday without my mother, or Sprout, and it didn’t feel right to celebrate without them.
“And to think you were only a little girl of eight when we first met.” Miss Kent smiled. “You probably don’t remember.”
“I do. I remember you stopped to ask Mummy the time, and you told us you were starting a new post as a teacher at Chefoo School.”
“You remember! Well, I never.”
“You gave me your handkerchief as I waved goodbye to my mother, and you told me to pull my socks up, and that we must always look forward, never back. Eyes on the horizon.”
Miss Kent laughed lightly. “Gosh! My brother used to say that to me. It’s nice to be reminded.” She let out a long breath and smiled at me. “Do you still have the handkerchief?”
I pulled it from my pocket. “It’s rather grubby now, I’m afraid. And some of the stitching has come undone.”
“Do you mind?” She held out her hand.
I watched as she ran her fingertips over the embroidered letters. I noticed that her wrists were bruised, but I didn’t mention it.
“Does EK stand for Elspeth Kent?” I asked.
“Yes. Stitched by myself many years ago. Although it was all much neater back then.”
“So, if you’re EK, who is HE?”
She looked up at me. “That’s Harry,” she said. “Harry Evans.” She ran her fingertips over the stitches again.
“Is he your brother?”
“No. My brother is Alfie.” She let her hands drop to her lap. “Harry was the man I was going to marry, but things don’t always work out as we want them to, do they.” She folded the handkerchief carefully and handed it back to me with a small nod. “Anyway, we can’t be getting all maudlin. We have a birthday to celebrate!”
She produced an apple from her pocket and led me around the back of the hospital, where she lit a small fire inside a tin-can stove.
“Have you ever seen apple blossoms?” she asked.
“Of course. They look so pretty on the trees in the springtime.”
“Ah, but have you ever seen an apple blossom inside an apple?”
I watched as she took a knife and carefully cut a wafer-thin slice of apple and held it up to the sun.
“See? Apple blossom.”
In the center of the translucent slice of apple was the perfect five-petal shape of a blossom.
She cut more slices and placed them on the hot metal, where they curled and crisped until they were golden.
“Now, let’s see how they taste.”
I closed my eyes and let the apple sit on my tongue, where it softened and melted. It tasted of summer orchards, and harvest festivals, and kindness.
“Do you miss England?” I asked as we enjoyed the apple slices and a few rare moments away from everyone else. “I can’t remember much about it, other than the fact that it rains a lot.”
“I miss the people there the most,” she said. “But I miss the rain, too. And the smell of smoke from the chimneys in the autumn. It’s all quite lovely really. Well, it is when I’m sitting here being all wistful about it. England has its difficulties, too.”
“I want to travel when I’m older,” I said. “Visit lots of different countries, like Isabella Bird, and Gertrude Bell, and the pioneering women you’ve read to us about. I’d like to see the real China, one day.”
She smiled at me. “You will, Nancy. One day.” She stood up suddenly and smoothed her skirt. “We should be getting back to the others before they think we’ve escaped, too. Happy birthday, Nancy. I know it’s not the way you would have chosen to celebrate, but we make the best of things, don’t we?”
I couldn’t find the words to thank her; to tell her that it was the perfect celebration, and the loveliest gift. Not just the delicate apple slices, but the sense of occasion; the sense that I mattered. For a few lovely moments, as the sun spread its fingers among the trees and painted us with bands of gold, Miss Kent wasn’t just my teacher, or my Guide captain. She was the mother I’d craved all these years; the mother I could hardly remember, and wondered if I would ever see again.
As we walked back to find the others, and before she became Miss Kent again, I thanked her once more. “It’s been a lovely birthday, Miss. I’ll never forget it.”
She pushed her spectacles onto her nose and said she was pleased and that I should run along now. But despite her stiffness, I knew she understood how much it had meant to me.
And I knew we would never talk about it again.
Chapter 37
Elspeth
In the year since Wei Huan had placed baby Meihua in Minnie’s arms, the infant had stubbornly bloomed, thanks to
the invaluable help of a new mother in camp who had agreed to nurse the child. Babies, it turned out, were of no particular interest to the guards, and, thankfully, no awkward questions had been asked. Like the winds that blew across the fields that spring, she became a whirl of vibrant energy, and when our own demands left us without enough time to devote to her, a group of missionary women stepped in to help. But for all that we loved her as our own, we still hoped to reunite the child with her mother, and I was prepared to take the occasional risk to ensure that happened.
The church held its breath as I stepped inside, my footsteps the only sound as I walked to the pew toward the center. The light never fully reached this part of the church, and one side was partially concealed by a large stone column. It was the perfect place for a brief clandestine reunion.
I was relieved to see Wei Huan already there.
“How is she?” he asked.
We were both too nervous to bother with any formalities.
“She is well. Thriving!”
Relief and joy lit up his face as I pulled back the blankets from the bundle in my arms. He brushed his fingertips over her cheeks and let his hand rest a moment on her soft-as-velvet hair before he took her from me.
“She looks like her mother,” he whispered. “She is beautiful.”
Through a series of discreet inquiries, assisted by Charlie and the guard the girls called Home Run, who I now knew by his real name of Yuuto, I’d managed to send occasional messages to Wei Huan and arranged for us to meet after evening roll call. It was the best time to slip away, while everyone returned to their respective parts of the compound. It was also the time when little Meihua slept, and I could be confident her hungry cries wouldn’t give us away.
“How is Shu Lan?” I asked.
“She is well. She is strong.”
“She is a very brave woman,” I said. “I think of her often, and all she has endured. I try to be strong, like her.”
Wei Huan’s gaze was fixed on the child, who slept on, oblivious to the dangers that surrounded her. We were both anxious and afraid. Yuuto had agreed to act as lookout, but we were still twitchy and uncertain.
After just a few minutes with her in his arms, Wei Huan passed her back to me. “Thank you, Miss Elspeth, but we cannot meet again. It is too dangerous.”
I nodded, understood. “I will find you when we are liberated,” I said. “I will bring her to you then. I promise.”
He offered a nervous smile, pressed his hands to mine, and stood up. “Soon, Miss Elspeth. Freedom soon.”
Afraid of being caught with every minute that passed, we left the church as quickly and as silently as we’d arrived. Wei Huan went first, and I followed a few moments later, only to find Trouble talking to another guard directly in the path I needed to take.
I turned around and started to walk quickly in the opposite direction. The child fussed and whimpered in her little bundle of blankets. I begged her not to cry and walked as quickly as I could, shushing and soothing her beneath my breath.
“Elspeth Kent!”
I glanced over my shoulder. Trouble was following me. He staggered a little as he walked, as if he had been drinking saké.
As dread and fear took hold, I put my head down and rushed on. Not looking where I was going, I stumbled into Charlie, who appeared from the men’s accommodation block.
“Elspeth! What’s the rush?”
“Charlie. Thank goodness. I need to get back to my accommodation.”
He saw the baby peering out from the blankets. “I see you have a rather precious load. Come along. I’ll walk you there.”
Trouble called out as he watched us pass. “Soon,” he shouted. “I will have my next lesson soon.”
“What was all that about?” Charlie asked. “You’re not teaching the guards now, are you?”
“Of course not,” I said, a little too brusquely. “Ignore him. He’s drunk.”
I knew I’d had a narrow escape. I was rattled and restless and Minnie knew something was wrong. She saw it in my face when I returned with the infant.
“Did he come?” she asked.
I nodded and passed the baby to her.
“How was he?”
“The same. It was worth the risk to see his joy, but we’ve agreed it is too dangerous to meet again.”
I slumped down onto a chair and rubbed an ache in the small of my back.
“Is everything all right, Els? You’re very quiet recently.”
“I’m fine. Just a little tired.”
She wasn’t convinced. “If there’s anything you’d like to get off your chest, I’m a good listener.”
I smiled thinly. “You’re the best listener, Minnie. And if I could tell you, I would.”
I so desperately wanted to confide in her, but I couldn’t find the words; couldn’t bear to speak the awful shame of it all. As it was, I was certain everyone could see in my face what had happened; that everyone knew but was too polite or afraid to say.
“They’re coming to get us, Els,” she said, a smile at her lips as she patted my knee reassuringly. “Soon.”
The echo of Trouble’s words sent a shiver over my skin.
I sighed and leaned my head against Minnie’s shoulder. “Do you remember the first night we topped and tailed back at the school?”
She chuckled. “I do. You snored like a hippo, but I didn’t like to say.”
“And your toes were cold, and you fidgeted dreadfully.”
I felt the smile in her cheek. Dear dependable Minnie. I loved her like a sister. Perhaps I would tell her, one day, what she meant to me. For now, I wrapped my arms around her and let her hold me, like a mother holding her child, and for a few rare and precious moments, I felt safe.
* * *
“The Allies are getting closer,” Charlie whispered as he stood beside me in church that Sunday. Not long after our arrival at Weihsien, we’d decided that the safest place to share information was during our regular church services, our whispers and reassurances passing along the pews as we sang hymns and Psalms. “We’ve heard reports of victories, and ongoing battles in Guam, Manila, and Okinawa,” he continued. “Liberation is coming, Elspeth. I can feel it.”
I so desperately wanted to believe him; to believe that I would soon be sailing back to England, and that Alfie would be waiting for me at the back door, and that Charlie and I would go dancing together at The Ritz. I feared false hope almost as much as I feared the heightened mistrust between us and the guards. The slightest hint of insolence, or the slightest delay at roll call, now resulted in physical punishments. The guards’ intolerance and cruelty seemed only to increase as our ability to endure it diminished.
Since the two men had escaped, impromptu searches had become more frequent, and the dangers associated with the bamboo radio became even greater so that ever more ingenious methods of smuggling messages into camp were being devised.
Coded messages were written onto silk, concealed in a pellet, and hidden up nostrils or inside the mouths of the local farmers who came in and out of the compound. The pellet was then ejected with a sneeze or a cough once the messenger had safely evaded the guards’ inspections. Those involved in the operation inside the compound would stop to tie a shoelace, or to pick up a dropped item of clothing, subtly retrieving the pellet in the process, and taking it to the translator. It was fraught with risk and danger but, in this way, we learned vital news about Allied victories; news that sustained us for a little while longer. Without such messages, life inside Weihsien’s walls stretched endlessly on in an increasingly desperate cycle of roll call, filthy latrines, sickness and suffering, and the tired shuffling lines of starving people waiting for inedible scraps at mealtimes.
The challenges of life in the compound meant that gratitude was found in the smallest of ways, and I was pleased to see Edwina back on her feet and attending church again. After the discovery of the notes concealed in her library books and her subsequent disappearance and interrogation, she’d returned
in such a dreadful state, badly bruised and shaken, her spirit broken. Unsurprisingly—and not without consequence—she’d stubbornly maintained her ignorance of any escape plan, insisting she was an old woman who merely wished to share her love of books, and had nothing whatsoever to do with it. Without specific evidence of her involvement, and being subjected to her singing operatic arias day and night, she’d been released on the agreement that she was to report to the guards’ house twice a day. “They would have sent me to another camp,” she’d said, “but I think they were afraid I would stir up anarchy there, too. Besides, they’re all in disarray; bickering and squabbling among themselves. I think they’re starting to fall apart.” With time and care, she was more like her old self again, although the twinkle in her eye had been put out.
After we’d seen Edwina safely back to her accommodation after the church service, Joan and Nancy walked with me to school.
“Miss Kent, do you remember the flowers Wei Huan used to grow at Chefoo?” Joan asked. “Tall pink flowers that grew against the wall of the San?”
“Yes. Chinese foxglove. Deadly poisonous as far as I can remember.”
“That’s right,” she said. “I’d forgotten which ones they were. Did you know the leaves of the oleander are also poisonous?”
“I didn’t, Joan. Who’s been teaching you all this? You’re becoming quite the horticulturalist!”
“Mrs. T,” she said. “She’s taught me all sorts of interesting things. Plants that are good for headaches, and to cure vomiting and whatnot. I wish we could have found a cure for Sprout and Uncle Eric.”
“So do I, Joan. So do I.”
She was a pleasant child who was growing into a confident young woman, and I was pleased to see her find her voice at last. And yet, I couldn’t forget the look of shock and fear on her face when she’d seen me stumble away from the shed. I wondered if she understood what she’d seen and heard, and whether I should talk to her about it. But how could I when I could hardly comprehend it myself? Some things were simply too difficult to talk about. Besides, there were no words for what he had done to me. There was only a dark, terrible silence.
But all Joan’s talk of medicinal plants made me wonder if Edwina might know of something to prevent an unwanted pregnancy. My monthlies had arrived, much to my enormous relief, but if we were to stay here much longer, and if Trouble kept looking for me . . . I couldn’t bear to think of the consequences.
