The Color of Secrets (15 page)

Part Two

L
OUISA

Chapter 16

A
UGUST 1944

Eva poured the last pail of milk into the churn and went over to the corner of the cowshed where baby Louisa was fast asleep in her basket. Her long black eyelashes flickered as Eva picked up the basket, but she didn’t stir.
Good,
Eva thought. With any luck she’d have time to eat some breakfast before Louisa woke up. It was only half past seven, but Eva had been awake since just after five. She was ravenous and the thought of bacon and eggs made her quicken her step as she made for the door.

Her aunt usually had breakfast ready. Eva trudged across the farmyard sniffing the air. But there was no smell of cooking coming from the kitchen. She peeped around the door and saw Rhiannon sitting at the table, her head in her hands.

“What’s the matter?” Eva set the basket down on the slate flagstones and ran across the room. Rhiannon looked up, her cheeks wet with tears. “Oh,” she said, glancing at the clock, “I thought you were still milking!” A tear trickled down her face.

Eva sat down beside her, taking her hand. “What’s happened? Is it Uncle Dai?” She felt a sudden stab of horror. Surely he couldn’t have died in the night?

“No, it’s not Dai,” her aunt said, blowing her nose. “It’s this,” she fished a letter from the pocket of her overalls. “It came yesterday.” She unfolded the scrap of paper and smoothed it out on the table in front of her, looking at it with an expression of utter despair. “It’s from Trefor,” she said, fresh tears welling as she looked up at Eva. “He says he’s met an Italian girl. Wants to marry her. Says he won’t be coming back.”

“What?” Eva took the letter, scanning the few paragraphs of her cousin’s untidy handwriting. “How can he do that? What about the farm?”

“He says her family has a farm out there, and they want him to help run it.” Rhiannon sniffed.

“But what about Uncle Dai? Surely if Trefor knew what had happened, he’d change his mind?”

Rhiannon shook her head. “He already knows,
bach
. I wrote to him the day after Dai had the stroke. He says he’s very sorry, but the girl’s parents won’t let her marry him unless he stays in Italy.”

How convenient for him,
Eva thought, picturing Trefor’s smug face. “Listen, you mustn’t worry,” she said, sounding much calmer than she felt. “You’ve still got me: I’m not going anywhere.” She was looking at her aunt but seeing Bill. His face hovered between them, his eyes reproachful, accusing. Her dream of being with him in America was slipping further and further away. She turned her head away, glimpsing the fields stretching into the distance beyond the farmhouse door. There were sheep waiting to be sheared, cows that would need milking again this evening, pigs to be fed, as well as machinery to be fixed. How could she possibly leave her aunt to cope with all this alone?

From her basket Lou gave a thin wail, like a hungry kitten. Eva bit her lip as she went to pick her up.
Would Bill ever see her?
The thought made her panic, made her want to gather Lou in her arms and run and run until she found him.

“It’s all right,” she whispered as she held the baby to her, stroking her soft brown hair. “It’s all right.” She rocked from one foot to the other, eyes half-closed, chanting the phrase like a prayer. How she wished it was true.

Cathy picked up her overnight bag and gave her son a final wave. He was so busy with his friend’s Meccano set, he didn’t even look up when she called good-bye. She smiled as she walked down the path that divided her house from her neighbor’s. At least she wouldn’t feel so guilty about leaving him behind. He would probably have loved the idea of a train ride to Wales, and if the circumstances had been different, she would have taken him. But it was too serious a business for a child. She had thought long and hard about how to deliver the bombshell the telegram had contained. Giving Eva the news in person was the only solution, she’d decided. Her presence was unlikely to be much comfort, but she would at least be on hand to offer what support she could.

Cathy looked at her watch. It was going to take most of the day to get to the farm, but before she went to the station, she wanted to pop into Eva’s old house just in case there was a letter from Bill. It couldn’t be long before Eddie arrived back and Eva was going to have to decide what to do. If there was the slightest chance of some sort of future with Bill, she needed to be able to contact him, and fast.

As she turned the corner, a newsboy shouted the headlines across the street: “Paris liberated! Read all about it!”

She stopped and bought a paper. She had already heard about it on the wireless last night, listened to the cheering, the crowds singing the “Marseillaise.” But it would be nice to read about it on the train. Something cheerful to take her mind off what was to come.

She tucked the paper under her arm. Two minutes later she was walking past the Goodyear factory and up the narrow street toward Eva’s house. She fumbled in her pocket for the key, cursing as she dropped the newspaper onto the pavement. Eventually she got the key into the lock. It wouldn’t turn. She frowned and tried again. She tried the handle, and to her amazement the door opened. Surely she hadn’t forgotten to lock it last time?

Her mind was racing as she walked into the hall. What if the house had been burgled? It would be her fault for leaving it unlocked.
Oh no,
she thought,
please, not that. Not on top of everything else
. . .

“Who the hell are you?” The voice gave her such a shock, she let out a yelp of fright. She caught sight of him through the banisters and froze. A gaunt white face with huge hollow eyes staring back at her. A tramp—or a madman? No. He was in uniform. A clean, new-looking uniform. A navy uniform. “Oh
. . .
Oh my God,” she stammered. “Is it . . . are you . . . Eddie?”

“How do you know who I am?” The voice was different. Softer and less aggressive. He sank back onto the stairs as if Cathy’s words had winded him.

“The photo in Eva’s bedroom
. . .
” She hesitated, her heart thumping. The sight of him whipped up a crippling cocktail of pity and fear inside her. “I . . . er . . . we worked together on the railway. She got a job after you were sent overseas . . . didn’t she say in her letters?”

He stared at the fading flower pattern on the stair carpet, and she noticed a streak of pure white running through his close-cropped black hair. “I never got any letters.” His voice was no more than a whisper now. “Where is she? And David? Where’s my little boy?”

Cathy took a deep breath. “They’ve gone to stay with relatives,” she said. “A lot’s happened while you’ve been away.” Another breath. “Eva’s mother died, I’m afraid, in a road accident.”

“Mary? Dead?” He looked up, blinking. “So that’s why the place is in mothballs.” He nodded slowly and slipped a bony hand inside his jacket. “Don’t worry,” he said, with the flicker of a frown puckering the sallow skin of his forehead. “I know the rest.” In his hand was an envelope, ripped open. He leaned forward, passing it to her through the banisters like a prisoner reaching through the bars of a cell. “Go on, read it.”

Panic surged as she spotted the US Army stamp at the top of the envelope. It was addressed to E. Melrose. No prefix. He must have found it lying on the mat and thought it was for him. Cathy cursed herself for not finding it first. As she read Bill’s words, her insides shriveled:

My darling Eva,

We are in France, which I guess you will probably already know about from the newspapers. I can’t say much more than that, but I want you to know that I’m thinking about you and the baby. I don’t know if you’ve been getting my letters. I guess not, as I haven’t heard from you, but I know how bad the mail is now, so maybe you’ve written me and your letters have gone astray.

As I write, I’m wondering if our little boy or girl has been born yet. It’s so strange, thinking I might be a dad and not even know it. I met a guy from the Red Cross a few days ago and told him all about it. I gave him your address, and he’s going to send some forms through about getting the baby over to the States when he or she is old enough. I realize how tough this is going to be for you, but it seems the only solution for the time being. It’s really hard, not being able to talk with you about it
. . .

Cathy glanced up at Eddie. There was a tear coursing down his face. She dropped the letter, almost tripping up the stairs in her clumsy attempt to put a comforting arm around his shoulders. It was like hugging a skeleton. She could feel his bones through the coarse fabric of his uniform.

“It’s all right.” He wriggled away from her as if she were contaminated. “I just want Eva. I’ve got to find her. Will you tell me where she is?” Once again he turned his big, round, pleading eyes upon her.

This took her by surprise. “But she’s had a baby, Eddie. A little girl. By another man. Surely you can’t—”

“Yes, I can,” he cut in, his voice calm and even. “It doesn’t matter. She thought I was dead. I can’t blame her for that
. . .
” He stared at a blue patch of sky framed by the glass pane in the front door.

“Well, that’s a very generous and compassionate thing to say,” Cathy began, “but it’s not as simple as that, is it? You’re talking about taking on someone else’s child and she’s—”

“It doesn’t matter,” he cut in. “How old is she, the baby?”

“Just a few weeks. But—”

“So I can be a father to her, can’t I?” He was nodding as if he was talking to himself rather than to Cathy. “She won’t know any different, will she?”

Cathy made a silent prayer. She felt as if Eva’s whole future was now in her hands. If she told Eddie about the baby’s color, he might realize how hopeless his plan was and leave Eva alone. But was that what Eva would want? What if Bill never came back from France? Would she want the chance to try again with Eddie? Her head was spinning, trying to second-guess what Eva would want her to say. What if she didn’t tell him? Gave him the address and let him find out for himself?
No,
she thought,
that would be inhuman
. Whatever had happened to Eddie while he was away, he had obviously suffered enough.

“Eddie,” she said, “why don’t you let me get you something to eat? It’s a long way away, where Eva’s gone, and you’re going to need a decent meal inside you before you go looking for her.” She smiled at him, trying not to betray her nervousness. She needed time to plan what she was going to say.

“All right,” he murmured, a distant look in his eyes.

“If you could set the table for me,” she went on, as if it was Mikey she was talking to, “I’ll be back in a moment with some food.”

She closed the front door firmly behind her and hurried back to her own house. She felt horribly tempted to stay there. He didn’t know where she lived, wouldn’t be able to find her. The feeling lasted for only a few seconds. She scurried around the kitchen, bundling food into a shopping bag. A tin of soup, some Spam, and a jar of homemade pickle. Some lettuce from the garden and a few slices cut from the hard, gray National Loaf. Tea, milk, and a bit of sugar twisted in brown paper. Not exactly a feast, but by the look of Eddie, it was probably a lot better than he’d been used to.

She concentrated hard as she set off again. She would try to stall until he’d eaten. Bad news never seemed quite so bad on a full stomach. Then she would have to help him come to terms with it. Should she offer to let him stay with her while he got back on his feet? She thought of Mikey. What would he make of having this strange, hollow-eyed man living in the house? Would he be frightened? Perhaps it would be better to leave Eddie where he was. Call in now and then to get him a meal and make sure he was okay. She wondered what he would do, whether he was fit enough for some sort of work. She hoped so, for his sake. It wouldn’t do him any good to sit around brooding about what Eva had done.

She stopped short a few yards away from his house. What if her revelation tipped him over the edge and he went off looking for revenge? She mustn’t tell him where Eva was until she’d told him about Bill. Perhaps not tell him at all if things went badly.