Beyond the Shadow of War (8 page)

But deep in her heart, she knew she’d seen these faces before. She’d walked among them back home in Utrecht and all across her beloved homeland during the Occupation. She watched them drop dead in their tracks from years of malnutrition and hopelessness. With a shudder, she realized how precariously close she’d come to doing the same.

It made no sense, of course, to think London might have survived without a scratch or expecting it to look exactly as it did in the pictures in her school textbooks. Wishful thinking? Perhaps.

Maybe that was why it overwhelmed her. Unrealistic expectations giving way to the harsh ugliness of war’s ragged scars. Whatever the cause, she wondered if the world would ever be normal again.

She settled back in her seat by the window. “I’m so glad we’re leaving.”

Danny took hold of her hand. “Me too. We’ll take a proper honeymoon when we get back to the States. But until then, maybe a couple of days at the coast will clear our sails.”

“And you’re sure this town we’re going to wasn’t bombed to bits during the war?”

He looked at her with such a blank face, she had to laugh. “You mean you don’t know? You didn’t ask anyone?”

“Well, now that you mention it, no. But not to worry. If we get there and it’s nothing but a crater, we’ll just skedaddle back to Framlingham and hide in our room above the pub. We’ll just hunker down and order room service from Patrick. Fair enough?”

“Fair enough.”

9

12 June 1945 

Departing from London, they rode the rails northeast toward Ipswich where they transferred to the East Suffolk Line then on to Saxmundham. The ride mirrored the route they’d taken going the other direction on their wedding day. In Saxmundham, they boarded a bus that took them to Aldeburgh.

Danny and Anya found the quaint seaside town a welcome relief, especially as it appeared untainted by the war. The little village, situated on the River Alde on one side, the sea on the other, was quiet and serene. Perfect.

“We should have come here first and skipped London altogether,” Danny mused as they approached the White Lion Inn. “Next time I’ll let you plan the honeymoon.”

“Next time?”

“Hey, this place looks nice, doesn’t it? I didn’t realize the inn was right across from the beach. I’m glad it finally stopped raining.”

Anya smiled, ignoring the gray sky, simply grateful for the soothing sight of the waves lapping against the shore. “It’s beautiful, Danny.”

After checking into their room, they kicked off their shoes and relaxed for a while, lounging on the bed as they browsed through the town’s tourist brochure.

“Look, here’s that old building we saw across the street,” Danny said. “It says here it’s called Moot Hall. It’s where the town council has met for over four hundred years. They still do. Can you imagine?”

Anya wrinkled her nose. “I would imagine it smells of mold and mildew.”

“You’re probably right. We won’t bother. Let’s see ... oh, here’s something we might like to see. It’s called the Martello Tower.”

“Don’t you have a neighbor by that name?”

“Yes, Mrs. Martello. Wouldn’t that be a coincidence if there was some kind of family tie?”

“What kind of tower is it?”

“Apparently, there are a bunch of these all over Great Britain, and this one is the largest. They were built as defense forts during the French Revolutionary War and‌—‌”

“No. We came here to forget about the war, remember? Any war.”

Danny winced and blew out a sigh. “You’re right. Sorry. Okay then, let’s find what else we might want to see.”

She grabbed the brochure and sent it sailing over him and onto the floor. “Why don’t we just put on our shoes and go? It’s a small town on the beach. No more tourist attractions. Let’s just go wherever our feet take us.”

He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her soundly. “Good idea.”

“But first we should eat. Are you hungry?”

“Starving. My buddy back on base said Aldeburgh has some of the best fish and chips in all of England.”

Mischief tugged at her smile.

“What?”

“Did you know that your whole face lights up when you talk about food?”

“It does not.”

“Yes, it does. It’s one of those things I love about you.”

“Well, then. We should talk about food more often.”

“We always do.”

“Then you should probably know there are millions of things I love about
you
. Like the way your eyes change color when you get upset.”

“They do not. No one can change the color of their eyes.”

He turned on his side to face her. “There, see? Right now. Your eyes are tinting more gray than blue. Whereas, when you’re happy and laughing, your eyes look bluer. Much bluer.”

“Danny, you are so silly.”

“Or like now. The way you scrunch up your face when you’re trying to think of a swift comeback.”

She blanked her face. “I do no such thing.”

“Or how your knee bounces when you’re nervous. And how your voice gets raspy when you’re feeling rather romantic …” He dispensed with the chatter and kissed her neck just below her ear. “And that,” he whispered in her ear.

“That what?” she said, her voice husky.

“The way you shiver when I kiss you here … and here.”

She said nothing more. He didn’t expect her to.

They could see the sights later. At the moment, they had better things to do.

Later, they dined on fish and chips and immediately understood what all the fuss was about. The pub was cozy like most are in England, but here the air was heavier than usual with the aroma of deep-fried fish‌—‌a scent Anya found not altogether unpleasant as she might have supposed. She wasn’t sure she wanted to try the battered fish and fried potatoes at first, but was glad she did.

“I’ve never cared much for fish before, but this is very good.”

Danny grabbed a chip off her plate and ate it. “I had a hunch you might like it.”

She stabbed a bite of fish from his plate and quickly downed it. “Stay away from my food, Danny McClain.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he teased with a laugh. “I have a feeling I might pull back a stump if I try again, eh?”

“You most certainly would.”

“We call these French fries back home. Do the Dutch eat French fries?”

“Yes, but we call them
patat friets.
We eat them with
mayonaise
‌—‌”

“Mayonnaise? On fries?” Danny faked a shiver of disgust. “Not sure I could stomach that.”

She arched a brow and glared at his plate. “And yet you have no problem with tartar sauce?”

He stopped chewing, glancing down at the mound of the mayonnaise-based sauce alongside his battered cod. With his mouth still full, he gave her a sheepish grin. “Point well taken.”

“Personally, I prefer them without. Or
patat zonder mayonaise.”

“Interesting. I never knew them as anything but French fries until I read
A Tale of Two Cities
when I was in high school. Dickens called them ‘husky chips of potatoes fried with some reluctant drops of oil.’”

Anya set down her fork. “How do you do that? How in the world can you remember something you read when in high school? I hardly remember a thing from school.”

“I don’t either, for the most part. Mine is more of a junk brain, so maybe it’s the peculiar wording Dickens used. Maybe that’s what stuck with me all these years later. Think about it‌—‌ ‘potatoes fried with reluctant drops of oil.’ Who but Charles Dickens would come up with that? How can oil be
reluctant
?”

Anya smiled. “I see your point. But I could also ask, who but
you
would remember such a trivial thing? I remember how Hans used to read me some of the things you wrote about.”

“He did?”

“We used to laugh so hard at—”

“What? Why?” he balked. “What was so funny?”

“I would have to say my favorite was in the first letter you wrote him when your teacher made the assignment to write a pen pal in a foreign country.”

“You have no idea how much I dreaded that. I put it off as long as I could, until I realized I might get stuck writing a girl if I didn’t hurry up and choose a name off Mr. Chesterton’s list. That’s when I picked
Hans Versteeg
. I thought it was the strangest name‌—‌
Versteeg.
”

Anya lost herself in the memory. “He read me that letter the day he got it. He must have read it twenty times that first day.”

“Okay, but what was so funny about it? As I recall it was pretty short. I didn’t have a clue what to say to some kid on the other side of the world.”

Anya pushed her plate aside. “Mostly, you rattled on about Chicago and those Cubs you love so much.”

“No surprise there.”

“Then you asked a lot of questions about The Netherlands and our windmills‌—‌things you were familiar with. But at the end, I remember you asking if Hans could speak English. You said you hoped so or your ‘grade would be in the toilet.’ We laughed so hard.”

Danny chuckled at the memory. “Oh yeah, I did say that, didn’t I? Well, I’m glad I was able to give the two of you a few laughs.”

The smile remained on her face. “It’s odd, isn’t it? To think we’re here now because of that first letter? It seems a lifetime ago. We were but children then.”

He reached for her hand. “Those are good memories, Anya. I’m glad we share them, even if we were half a world apart.”

“Yes. Good memories. Happier times.”

She nibbled on another fry. “It’s strange, everything so different. Like food. So different from what I grew up eating. What about you? What kind of food does your mother make?”

An easy smile warmed his face. “She makes the most incredible fried chicken you’ve ever tasted. Crispy on the outside, juicy on the inside. And a pot roast that’ll knock your socks off. And her biscuits?” He closed his eyes. “I mean, I’ve dreamed about those biscuits. They practically melt inside your mouth.”

As he carried on, Anya’s mind wandered down an unexpected path. She’d done her best to put aside any thoughts of life in America knowing it would only cause more worry. But she knew the time was coming soon when she’d meet his family, and most likely live with them until they could afford a place of their own. Such thoughts always tightened a knot in her stomach.

“Anya? Are you all right?”

She nodded, wishing away the intrusive thoughts.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.” She took a sip of tea, avoiding his eyes. She ate a couple more bites of fish, struggling to eat any more but keenly aware that he was watching her. “The sun will set soon. Do you think we might take a walk out on the beach when we’re through here?”

“Sounds great.”

A few minutes later, they left the pub. The breeze was cooler, and the sky had finally cleared with only a few clouds drifting over the water. Danny tucked Anya under his arm as they crossed the road and stepped onto the beach. She stopped, looking down at her feet.

“What is this? I thought beaches were made of sand.”

“It’s called a shingle beach,” he said. “It’s made of pebbles instead of sand.”

She looked up at him. “They have these in America?”

“I don’t think so. Why?”

“Then how did you know what it’s called?”

“I read about it in the brochure while you were getting dressed for dinner.”

“I should have known.”

They continued walking toward the water, feeling the crunch of pebbles beneath their feet. “I have to say I prefer a sandy beach,” he continued, “but there’s a certain charm about these.”

“It feels so strange. I’m not sure I could go barefoot on this.”

“There’s a shelter over there. Let’s go sit and watch the sun set.”

As they settled into the wooden structure shielded on three sides, Danny pulled Anya close beside him. “This is nice, isn’t it?”

She nodded, taking a deep breath of the salty air as the breeze lifted her hair and danced it about. He leaned his head against hers.

“I love you, Anya.” His long contented sigh warmed the side of her face. “I’m not sure I’ve said it enough. I never once heard my dad tell Mom he loved her, and I don’t want a single day to go by without telling you.”

She relaxed, nestling her head against the crook of his neck. “I love you, too.”

They sat quietly watching the streaks of color splash from the west toward the water, changing before their eyes. The lingering clouds gradually transformed to a breathtaking palette of pinks, oranges, and purples, each shade deepening as they watched.

“I just realized something.”

“What’s that?” she said quietly.

“Look at that sky. See all those colors?”

“Yes?”

“It just dawned on me that without those clouds up there, we wouldn’t see all those colors. The clouds give them a backdrop. A clear sky can’t reflect color.”

“I guess you’re right. I never thought about it.”

“Neither have I until now. But think about it. Without the clouds, the sunset would be rather boring.” He leaned down, turning her chin to face him. “And without the clouds in our lives, we’d never see all those colors. It’s not like we welcome the clouds into our lives‌—‌why would we? But the fact remains, once we’ve endured them … once we’ve survived those darkest clouds, we have an entirely new backdrop. A new perspective to our lives. We can appreciate the simple fact we
survived
. We’re forever changed; of course we are. But the depth has added a dimension to our character that we would never have known, had we not survived the dark clouds in our lives.”