Tracie Peterson (38 page)

She tried not to think of the children lying in their beds at night, listening for the inevitable sound of the buzz bombs. It was all right as long as you could still hear the buzzing. That meant it wasn’t yet going to explode. But when the sound stopped, then you knew it was only a matter of seconds. You counted them and prayed and pleaded with God for mercy. Then you held on and waited for the explosion. It was terrifying and certainly no good way for a child to grow up. Many of England’s children had been sent abroad to wait out the war, but apparently there were still those who would bear the scars of Hitler’s aggression. The sad, frightened expressions haunted Clara as she passed through the narrow streets to the heart of town.

Clara pushed their images aside as she glanced at her watch. She kept moving down the street, calculating that she had enough time to get to Flaghtery’s and back before the sergeant returned. She picked up her step, but her guilty conscience continued to eat at her. The day had been nothing but disappointing, and yet here she was caught up once again in worries over a material item that held very little significance for anyone but her.

Flaghtery’s looked to be an ancient institution for the little town. The window proudly displayed a list of area men who’d given their lives in service to their king and country, right alongside a sign that denoted a strict adherence to rationing.

Clara went inside and noted the poorly stocked shelves. To the far side of the room a long, slender pipe doubled as a display rack for clothes.

“May I help you?” a shabbily dressed man asked in a rather refined tone.

Clara smiled. “I wondered if you had any wedding gowns?”

The man pursed his lips thoughtfully. “There is one gown, but I’m not sure it would suit you. It was made for a much shorter woman.”

Clara didn’t care. She’d wear it cut to the knee if it meant having an honest to goodness wedding dress. “I’d like to see it, if I might.”

The man nodded. “But of course.”

He led her through the store and after thumbing through several modest dresses, he pulled out the off-white gown.

It wasn’t much to look at, and a pale reddish stain marred the bodice where someone had evidently spilled wine. She could tell by looking at the dress that it would never fit. Not only had the woman been shorter, but she’d probably been at least two sizes smaller as well.

“No, I don’t suppose this will work,” Clara said, disappointed. “You don’t happen to have any material. You know . . . parachute silk or anything like that?”

The man shook his head. “I’m sorry, miss. I can’t say I’ve even seen such things in over two years.”

Clara nodded and thanked him. As she made her way through the store, she noted a shelf containing canned milk. Thinking of the young mother she’d just intruded upon, Clara paused and pulled out her British ration card. Every Red Cross girl was assigned a ration card, and while many of their needs were provided for, the card was a necessity of life.

“I wonder,” Clara said, eyeing the milk, “do you make deliveries?”

Clara and Jeanine pulled back into their station just after dark. The cold night air was dampening more than Clara’s spirits and all she longed for was a warm bath and a hot meal.

“I can’t stand the smell of grease anymore,” Jeanine said as they headed for their billet. “We aren’t even allowed a real bath for two more days. I’ll go crazy if something doesn’t give soon.”

“I doubt anything is going to change our having to ration baths,” Clara replied. “We’ll just work it out with what we have. Say, I know. Let’s put some extra pence in the stove tonight and get the room real toasty. I’ll wash your hair in the basin and you can wash mine and we’ll make a night of it.”

“Sounds like a real party,” Jeanine said, rolling her eyes.

“Oh, ladies, I’m so glad I ran into you,” Sylvia Clarke said, coming down the steps of the hotel as Clara and Jeanine made their way up. “I came to extend an invitation. Please forgive me for such an impromptu arrangement, but I’ve put together a little party in my home for some of our officers and wanted to invite you ladies to join us.”

“When?” the girls questioned in unison.

“Tonight. I know it’s poor manners, but there was little choice in the matter. Can you come?”

Clara felt her feet protest the idea but found her mouth affirming that they would be there. “We’ll have to get cleaned up first. What time is the party?”

“If you arrive by eight o’clock you’ll be perfectly in order,” Sylvia replied.

“All right, then,” Clara replied. “Count us in.”

“Oh, and bring your other friends. The more the merrier. We want to keep our boys in good spirits.”

“Absolutely,” Clara replied and cast a weary glance at Jeanine.

When Sylvia was out of earshot, Jeanine leaned over to protest. “I can’t stay awake that long.”

“I know,” Clara said, giving her watch a quick glance. “If we hurry, we can still get our hair washed.”

Jeanine sighed. “All right. But I’m only doing this for you.”

Two hours later, Clara laughed with as much enthusiasm as she could muster as a navy lieutenant made a joke comparing and contrasting the differences between army and navy personnel. Her head throbbed something fierce as the men joked and guffawed at one another’s clever comments.

“Why, Miss Campbell, that is a lovely dress you’re wearing,” Sylvia Clarke commented as she made her way to where Clara stood.

Clara glanced down at the woolen day dress. The rich plum color suited her dark brown hair and complexion, as she well knew, but its simplicity was hardly suited for a formal gathering of officers and British officials.

“I borrowed it,” Clara said in hushed tones for only Sylvia’s ears. “I sent my own civilian clothes back home.”

“My dear, it’s enchanting. You really are a vision tonight,” Sylvia replied. “You mustn’t be so self-conscious. I’m sure you’d make wonderful company for our gentlemen whether you were dressed in a silk gown or a Red Cross uniform.”

Clara knew the truth of her statement. As the party wore on, Clara shared popularity with her girlfriends and was once again struck by the sense of urgency in their gathering. Her mind went back to the poor woman she’d met earlier in the day. The look on her face was so void of hope. Had her husband gone off to play soldier in the war? Or had he been killed?

To Clara, so many of the young boys in uniform had no idea what they were really about. They left their homes with complete enthusiasm and barely restrained energy. Their gait was lively, their conversation bold and boastful, and their eyes nearly shone from the excitement of the moment.

It was, however, a different group of soldiers who returned on the hospital ships. Boys whose limbs had been blown to pieces. Boys who fought to hang on to the slender thread that connected them to the world of the living. Their eyes no longer shone—in fact, they were
dull, almost lifeless. They looked up with a pleading suggestion that someone put them out of their misery. They were young men with old eyes.

Clara had seen those expressions over and over and it almost seemed sacrilegious that she should be here in Sylvia’s lovely home, safe, warm, and joyous, when they were only minutes away—dying. Her thoughts put a damper on the evening, as if she needed any help to do that. Walking to the fireplace, Clara held out her hands to the flames as if to ward off the chill that had settled in her heart.

Oh, God, so much is changing. Life isn’t at all what I expected it to be
. She thought of her prideful desire for a wedding gown. In light of remembering everything around her, Clara knew her desire was silly. Yet, like a child hanging on to a most beloved toy, Clara hung on to her dream. Her mother had been so sad about eloping and missing out on a wedding. Clara didn’t want to feel that way about her own marriage. She never wanted to regret marrying Michael, no matter the reason.

“I don’t believe it. Look who’s here,” Jeanine whispered in Clara’s ear. “Do I look all right?”

Clara looked up to see Joe Wittmer walk through the door with several other officers. He looked nervously around the room as if checking for hidden traps. “You look smashing!” Clara said with an enthusiasm she didn’t feel. “But I can’t imagine how he got leave to be here.”

“I’ll bet he went AWOL,” Jeanine said, shaking her head. She giggled. “Isn’t it romantic?”

Jeanine hurried off to talk with Joe, while Clara contemplated the scene and continued to feel sorry for herself. Something had to give. She knew she was destined to marry Michael. They’d come from clear across the world to find each other again; now the paper work was in order and nothing should be standing in the way of their union.

Clara frowned. “I’m standing in the way.”

“No, you’re just fine” came the voice of an army colonel.

Clara glanced up and smiled. “I’m sorry. I’ve taken to talking to myself.”

The man grinned and leaned closer. Clara could smell the unmistakable odor of whiskey on his breath. “You can talk to me instead.”

“It’s a lovely party, don’t you think?” Clara tried to keep the conversation impersonal.

“I think you’re lovely. How about taking a walk with me. Mrs. Clarke indicated there were some nifty gardens in the back.”

Clara noticed the man’s wedding band. “I see you’re married. Do you have children as well?”

The man’s expression grew rather puzzled. “I have two daughters. Why do you ask?”

“I just wondered. It’s my job to notice things and draw conversation out of soldiers and sailors,” Clara said rather flippantly. She didn’t want this man getting any ideas about playing games with her. She’d much rather put him on the defensive than have to fight off his amorous advances.

Unfortunately, her lack of interest was not a deterrent to the man. “My family is back in the States, but you’re here. A guy could sure go for a little gal like you.” He put his arm around her shoulder and leaned into her rather heavily. Clara couldn’t help but wonder how much the man had already had to drink.

“Look, I appreciate the compliment,” Clara said, trying to pull away, “but I’m engaged, and while marriage may be a rather casual thing to you, I take my commitment seriously.”

He grinned rather lecherously. “A little fun in the garden never hurt anyone. Now, why don’t you let me get you a drink and we can just see what develops from there.”

Clara shook her head. “Why don’t you go have some coffee and sober up?” She turned to walk away, but the man wasn’t that easily put off.

“You’re sending me into battle without the one kindness you have to offer?” he whispered in her ear.

This stopped Clara in her tracks. She turned and eyed him seriously. “You’re leaving? When?”

“Day after tomorrow or the next,” the man said, weaving just a bit. He put his finger to Clara’s lips. “But that’s top secret.”

Clara nodded and thought of Michael. “Are there to be a lot of troops heading over?” she asked softly.

“As many as we can send. We have to do our part.” He put his arm around her waist this time. “And you need to do your part too.”

“Ah, Colonel Adams,” Sylvia Clarke said as she came to the
rescue. “I thought I’d lost you. Won’t you please come and meet my dear friend Colonel Thomason. He was in India, don’t you know.”

Sylvia threw Clara a quick glance as she steered the colonel in the direction of her friend. Clara mouthed a thank-you and sighed. Some Christmas. She had hoped against hope to be married, share a romantic leave, and enjoy Christmas all without the interference of the war. Was that too much to ask?

She glanced around the room, almost afraid she’d asked her question aloud. Joe smiled at her from across the room, and when Jeanine left his side for some unknown business, he crossed the distance and greeted Clara.

“You’re looking pretty down in the mouth.”

“That sounds like a professional assessment,” Clara said, trying to sound good-natured. “Really, I’m fine, but I’ve been hearing so many rumors. Joe, may I ask you something?”

His expression grew very serious. “I don’t know much. If you want to know about this latest push, I really can’t give you any more information than you probably already have. I know there’s a need for more troops. I know we’re loading men out nearly as fast as we get transports for them.”

“And what about you and Michael?”

“We’ll no doubt be headed out sooner or later,” Joe replied. “I wish I could say something more positive, but there’s a war on, don’tcha know.” He smiled in his boyish way. “We’ve been told it might be anytime this week. Maybe even before Christmas. They’re hoping to delay it, but there are no guarantees. Still, we’ve had it pretty soft, haven’t we?”

Clara nodded. “More so than I realized or appreciated. Look, Joe, I have to get to Michael. I have to marry him before they ship him out. Will you help me find the way?”

“Tonight? Now?” he asked in disbelief. “I’m already going to be in hot water. I’m not supposed to be here, you know.”

“Yes,” Clara replied. “I already figured that. Look, I know it’s cold out there, but we could liberate a Red Cross Hillman. I can drive, if you just show me the way. We don’t have to be gone long.”

Joe looked at his watch. “What will they say if you leave the party?”