Those Who Fought for Us

by D. Allen Henry

  Chapter 1

  God Willing

  Near Boston, Massachusetts - June, 1939

  James Moorehead lounged within the first class section of the train, a look of supreme confidence pervading his every action. Tall, handsome, blue-eyed and well-bred, he was the picture of every young lady’s fancy. He had just completed his freshman year at Hanford University, the finest institution of higher education in the United States. Not only that, having finished first in his class within the Department of Chemistry, he was now on his triumphant way home to Concord for the summer.

  Although his first year at university had gone better than even he had anticipated, he was quite relieved to be away from the frenetic pace of academia, not to mention the competitive atmosphere of Hanford. The slower pace of family life being a welcome relief, however short, he looked forward to it with relish.

  His first year in college had seemed to him the very epitome of the Darwinian ideal – survival of the fittest – a competition at which he of all people excelled. His adversaries, his own fellow students, were by all accounts the fittest of the fit in the entirety of North America, perhaps even the world. Nonetheless, he had thus far not only survived, he had managed to leave a fair portion of the competition in his wake. The future for him therefore seemed bright indeed and, intent on continuing his torrid pace, he resolved to complete his studies at Hanford at the pinnacle of his class.

  Cardiff, Wales – Early August, 1939

  Isolde Channing observed intently as the train pulled out of the station. Having never undertaken a journey such as this, the sheer distance of it was quite daunting, she fearing that her destination was indeed a world apart from Wales. Had her mother not passed on, she might have eventually matriculated to Cambridge, but as it stood, she would now be forced to live in the far-off United States of America with her aunt Fiona.

  As the train rolled along, she pondered idly what Philadelphia must be like. Would she eventually have the opportunity to go to college, and if so, what might she study? Indeed, what were the colleges like in the United States? And for that matter, would the young men in her new homeland be attractive and cultivated, or were they a bunch of uncultured ruffians? She so desperately wanted to meet the perfect lad and settle down to marriage and children, but now it was painfully evident that, though still possible, it would most likely not be with someone from Great Britain.

  As for her educational ambitions, she was enamored of all things scientific, but would the complexity of it exceed her abilities? If so, she supposed that a literary career was possible, although in truth she could not bring herself to find excitement in such a future. Still, she supposed that the proper course would present itself, all in good time, if only she could manage to be patient.

  The train pressed onwards, the green hills of Wales, and thenceforth Western England, drifting silently past her window, like time itself, slipping into her past. Hopefully she would be back this way before long, but only time would tell.

  Arriving several hours later in London, she subsequently caught another train for Portsmouth, from whence she would board ship three days hence, the trans-Atlantic passage thereby transporting her to the United States.

  Cambridge, England – Two Days Later

  Sloan Stewart waved farewell to his father, still wondering at the sanity of this sojourn. He was, somewhat incongruously, departing the home of arguably the most prestigious university in the world in quest of higher education. His father, an august member of the faculty of Trinity College, had hammered away relentlessly at him these two years, never deviating from his steeled decision that Sloan should attend Hanford University, in the distant United States.

  Having fought his valiant best, he had nonetheless succumbed to his father’s iron will, thereby leading to his departure for Portsmouth, from whence he would commence the Atlantic crossing the following day. “What will it be like?” he contemplated to himself, “Will the United States be wild, as northern Scotland is, or will it be more like the civilized nature of England, Cambridge in particular?” He supposed to himself as the train rocked along that his best course of action was to accept this unfolding chapter of his life as an adventure, no matter what lay in store for him.

  Aboard Ship – Two Days Later

  Sloan came forward to the dining table and, ogling the stunning blonde-haired young lady seated before him, he inquired politely, “Pardon me, miss, is this seat taken?”

  Having observed his flagrant scrutiny of her, she responded suspiciously, “No, sir.”

  “Then, perhaps you would allow me to join you for dinner this evening, as it seems that you, as am I, are traveling alone.”

  She glanced at him and, her irritation at his effrontery obvious, she responded condescendingly, “I suppose so, if you must.”

  Undeterred, he pulled back the chair, promptly seated himself and, offering his hand to her, he announced genially, “My name is Sloan - Sloan Stewart - from Cambridge.”

  “Hullo,” she responded shyly, “I am Isolde Channing, from Wales.”

  “Ah, Wales, is it? Tis indeed a pleasure to meet a shipmate who is also traveling alone,” he responded courteously, “And where might you be traveling to, if I may ask?”

  “I’m off to Philadelphia,” she responded distantly, “And where might you be headed?”

  “I’m for Boston. I shall be attending Hanford University beginning in the fall,” he boasted.

  “Hanford,” she responded and, ignoring his immature outburst, she added, “Yes, I’ve heard of it – quite an excellent school, if I am not mistaken.”

  “Yes, or so they say. I should have preferred to attend Cambridge, but my father wouldn’t hear of it.”

  “Oh! Why ever on earth for? It’s such a fabulous university!”

  “Yes, just so, but he says that war is coming, and best for me to be out of harm’s way.”

  “War? What sort of war?”

  “He says the Germans shall rise up again, and indeed, in many ways, it could be said that they have already commenced doing so.”

  “Yes, I suppose that is true,” she replied absently, apparently displaying little interest in the subject.

  “And why are you for Philadelphia, if I may be so bold?” he inquired, deftly diverting the topic so as to maintain her attention.

  “Actually, my mother passed away. I am going to live with my aunt Fiona.”

  “Oh, I say, I’m terribly sorry to hear that.”

  “Yes, well, thank you, but there it is nonetheless,” she responded disconsolately.

  “And will you attend university at some point?”

  “I’m afraid I don’t know the answer to that question. I had hoped to attend Cambridge, from whence you have so recently departed, but my mother’s death has quashed that hope, I fear.”

  “I say, why don’t you come to Hanford? It would be ever so nice to have a friend from the home country there.”

  “A friend?” she asked, eyeing him apprehensively.

  “Well, er, I see your point. That is perhaps a bit presumptuous of me, but if you will allow me, Miss Channing, I shall endeavor to gain that distinction by the time we make landfall in Boston.”

  Sneering at his forwardness, she responded derisively, “My, we are a bit cheeky, aren’t we, Mr. Stewart!”

  “My dear Miss Channing, if you will consent to indulge me for a moment, let me put it to you this way – I have nothing but the utmost of intentions and, it seems to me, we two are on a similar course, thrown together by the chances of fate. For the next two weeks we shall be confined nearby to one another and, should we two discover mutual friendship by the time we disembark from this ship, I for one ask you – what better way to arrive in a foreign land than on the arm of a new-found friend?”

  “I see,” she responded hesitantly.

  “Right, then, what say you?” he responded, his face embellished with his most attractive smile.

  “Sounds altogethe
r quite intriguing,” she replied and, breaking into a quite breathtaking smile, she finally succumbed to his charisma, responding, “I shall take it under advice,” and at this, the pair giggled convivially.

  A Week Later

  Sloan glanced toward her from the corner of his eye and, gauging her mood, he queried, “Did you enjoy dinner tonight, Isolde?”

  “Yes, quite so. We never ate like that at home in Wales. It was quite scrumptious!”

  “I agree,” he responded ingenuously, “Thanks for agreeing to a stroll on deck with me this evening. I realize it’s quite cold out, but I confess – just the site of you warms me quite nicely.”

  “My, thank you, at least I think,” she responded serenely.

  “Twas meant as a compliment, I assure you. And I for one am much too contented to consider the thought of turning in for the night. What say, might I convince you to share a drink with me in the bar?”

  “Ha!” she replied jovially, “You’ve asked me that each and every night since we boarded ship, you brazen lothario!”

  “Right, thereby demonstrating my amazing penchant for persistence. For your part, I’d say you’ve amply demonstrated your virtue via your uniform rejections up to now, so what say we turn a corner and move on to geniality.”

  “Oh? How so?”

  “Just say yes!” he responded confidently.

  At this she giggled, responding, “Alright then, yes. But don’t you be getting any ideas, Mr. Sloan Stewart. Just because I’ve agreed to have a drink with you, it doesn’t mean I’m a friend of any sort!”

  “Perish the thought,” he responded flirtatiously, “I’ve still more’n a week to accomplish that objective.”

  Three Days Later

  Sloan and Isolde sat convivially devouring a scrumptious breakfast, Sloan grinning impishly at her between bites. “This just might be the best meal of the entire passage,” he suggested off-handedly. “What do you think, Isolde?”

  “Delectable, absolutely to die for!” she replied, flashing him her most winning smile.

  The air audibly rushing from his lungs, he responded directly, “Don’t do that!”

  “Don’t do what?” she inquired vacuously.

  “Don’t smile that way, you adorable thing. When you do so, you absolutely take my breath away.”

  “Oh, you naughty boy, you’re just making fun of me!”

  “Tell you what, Isolde, why don’t you come back to my cabin with me, and we’ll see who makes fun of whom!”

  “Sorry, not possible,” she responded impishly.

  “Why ever not?”

  “I’ve a rule. I only consort with friends. And you, sir, are definitely not a friend of mine!” and this last she laced with yet another vivacious smile.

  Breaking into a grin of his own, he responded, “Say the word, and we can move on!”

  “What word?”

  “Why, that I am your friend, of course, and then we may go in search of my cabin together.”

  “My, but we are in a feisty mood today, aren’t we! What’s got into you, Sloan?”

  “Only you, Isolde, only you,” he responded lightheartedly.

  “You shall be the first to know when we are friends,” she responded light-heartedly, “And when we are, I shall be more than happy to accompany you to your cabin. Now, if you please, take my arm and promenade me round the deck, my dear potential friend.”

  Boston, Massachusetts – Four Days Later

  Sloan and Isolde stood patiently at the ship’s railing, awaiting the lowering of the gangplank. Sensing that their journey was finally at an end, Isolde turned to him and spoke mournfully, “It’s been ever so lovely traveling with you, Sloan.”

  “I say, it has, hasn’t it,” he responded, smiling graciously.

  “As I recall, that first night aboard you predicted our mutual friendship by this very point in time, rather pugnaciously I might add,” she offered and, taking his hand in hers, she murmured, “I confess that I doubted both your prediction and your intentions at the time, dear Sloan.”

  “Yes, I was a bit forward, I confess,” he replied in embarrassment.

  “That you were, but all’s well that ends well and, I must admit, you have succeeded, against all odds. You have been quite the perfect shipmate these two weeks. Accordingly, I for one hope that we shall be friends.”

  “My dear Isolde, we already are friends. I expect, indeed, I hope that we shall remain so for the remainder of our lives.”

  “As do I, dear Sloan, as do I,” and, so saying, she tugged him to her and kissed him brazenly on the lips.

  At this, he probed pleasantly, “What’s this for?”

  “Sorry, just creating a memory,” she responded diffidently.

  “I say, don’t you think it’s a bit late for that?” he cajoled, “Had you done so a day or two ago, we might have created a far more penetrating memory,” and this last he said with a wink.

  “You naughty boy,” she responded, “I for one have just the right memories,” and so saying, she leaned forward yet again, planting a friendly peck on his cheek.

  Noticing a wayward tear as she pulled back, he reached forward and, caressing it askance, he suggested, “My, we are melancholy today. Let us not drown ourselves in self-pity over our parting, dear Isolde. Let us instead pledge to one another to write, and if our newfound friendship is sustained, let us also undertake to reunite when the opportunity arises. What say you, does that strike a chord of agreement?”

  “Yes, ever so much so, dear Sloan. And may I say this – let us resolve, we two, that we shall live life to the fullest. And whenever and wherever we meet again, we shall always be true to one another.”

  “Well said, dear Isolde. I so promise.”

  “As do I,” she responded, “I shall write, I promise and, God willing, we shall meet again before too long. Now, as the ship has now docked, suppose we get on with the inevitable.” And with that the pair disembarked arm in arm.