Shelter From the Storm

by Ellie Dean

  April regarded her with some surprise. ‘But how do you know so much about it, Peggy?’

  ‘I have a friend who came here a long time ago in the hope of adopting her brother’s baby,’ she replied. ‘That sadly didn’t work out, but by the look of things, this place hasn’t changed much over the eighteen years.’

  The far door opened and a pleasant-faced woman stepped into the room. She was wearing a sprigged cotton blouse and cream skirt beneath a pink cardigan, her greying hair was neatly brushed back into waves from her lightly made-up face, and the only jewellery she wore was a pretty brooch. ‘Do come in. I’m sorry you were kept waiting,’ she said in a mellow voice.

  They followed her into the room to find that it wasn’t furnished as an office at all, but was more like a comfortable drawing room. There were chintz-covered chairs surrounding a low table on which stood a carafe of water and glasses; there were pretty pictures of country scenes on the wall, and a huge vase of flowers stood on the desk that had been discreetly placed beneath the long window.

  ‘Make yourselves comfortable,’ said Miss Franklyn. She waited until they were seated and then looked at Peggy. ‘It’s nice to see you again, Peggy, although of course the circumstances are a little unusual. Are you related to Miss Wilton?’

  Peggy smiled back. ‘April’s my evacuee, Evelyn. I’m here to lend her some support.’

  Evelyn Franklyn chuckled. ‘Still the mother hen, I’m delighted to see.’

  She turned to April and picked up the notebook and fountain pen from the table between them. ‘There’s no need to be nervous, dear,’ she said calmly. ‘Anything said in this room goes no further – and nothing you may say will shock me. I’ve been doing this for almost forty years, and I very much doubt I haven’t heard it all before.’

  She smiled and settled back in the chair, the pen poised over the notebook. ‘Why don’t you begin by telling me about yourself?’

  April’s qualms were eased as the older woman’s gentle voice led her through her family history, education and work experience. It was only when Miss Franklyn began asking questions about Daniel that she faltered. ‘I really know very little about him,’ she confessed. ‘He proved to be a liar and a cheat, so I can’t really say for sure if anything he told me was true apart from the fact he eventually revealed that he had a wife and children back in America.’

  ‘That’s not unusual,’ Evelyn replied calmly. ‘Just tell me what you think you know.’

  April conjured up an image of Daniel and described his dark, honey-coloured skin, black hair and gold-flecked eyes. ‘He said his mother was a native Indian and his father was a light-skinned African whose roots went back to the days of slavery. Judging by his bone structure and colour, I can assume that that at least was true,’ she finished lamely.

  ‘I know this is upsetting for you, but we need to know as much as possible so we can place your baby with the right people,’ Evelyn said, pouring a glass of water for April from the carafe on the table. ‘Were there any serious medical problems, do you know?’

  April shook her head and Evelyn turned a page in her notebook before she began to question April about her health and that of her family.

  ‘My father had no siblings and his parents were very elderly by the time I was born. Father died of a heart attack when I was little, and it was thought to have been caused by his experiences in the trenches during the first war.’ April paused to gather her thoughts.

  ‘Mother has an older brother who’s in good health, but they did have a sister who died when she was a baby. I don’t know why that was,’ she finished lamely.

  Silence fell as Evelyn wrote in her notebook before setting it aside and replacing the cap on her fountain pen. ‘Are you fully committed to having your baby adopted, April? Because once the final papers are signed, you will never be permitted access to its records or be able to trace it.’

  ‘I realise that,’ she replied, ‘but I think it would be best for the baby to have two parents who really want him – or her – and who will be able to provide a proper home. I’ve seen enough to know that life would be a real struggle for both of us if I didn’t go through with this, and I don’t think that’s fair on the baby, do you?’

  ‘Have you talked this over with your mother?’

  ‘I wanted to, but she made it very clear she had no interest in me or the baby.’ April clasped her hands tightly in her lap and regarded the other woman evenly. ‘I’ve discussed it with Peggy and my friend Shirley, who decided to keep her baby and weather the storm of disapproval even though it seems relentless. But I seem to go round in endless circles trying to decide what to do for the best. What’s your advice, Miss Franklyn?’

  ‘Your circumstances are not unusual, April, and some girls have taken the very brave step of keeping their brown babies. But you seem to be aware of the prejudice and unpleasantness this can cause,’ she added with a sigh, ‘and no matter how much the mothers love their babies, without support from family members, life becomes almost impossible for them. In many cases this results in older children being put into care – and they are much harder to place with adoptive parents. In my opinion, your child would fare better by being placed with a family already in a mixed marriage.’

  ‘Are there such people willing to adopt a brown baby?’ asked April tentatively.

  ‘There are,’ Miss Franklyn replied carefully, ‘but they are in the minority, April.’

  ‘Yes, I see,’ she murmured. ‘And what if no one wants my baby? What will happen to it?’

  ‘There are foster homes and orphanages which will take your baby and look after it until a suitable family is found. The Church of England Adoption Agency prides itself on making sure that no child is placed with the wrong parents.’

  April looked at Peggy for reassurance. ‘What do you think, Peggy?’

  ‘I think you should sign the first batch of documents to get the ball rolling,’ she replied as she took her hand and held it tightly. ‘That way, the Agency can start to look for the right people, so that when your little one is born, there will be someone there waiting to take him in.’

  April nodded and turned back to Evelyn. ‘If I sign these papers now, will that mean I can’t change my mind later?’

  Evelyn leaned forward and patted her knee. ‘It’s as Peggy said, it will merely start the search for suitable parents. Applicants have to be vetted very carefully, their homes inspected, their characters and medical history looked into, along with their lifestyle, habits and religion. This all takes time, April, so the sooner you sign these, the sooner we can begin.’ She discreetly placed a form on the table between them.

  April looked at the heading on that form, and suddenly everything came into sharp focus. This was real, so real that it made her heart skip a beat as all the doubts and fears returned.

  She read every word and looked back at Evelyn. ‘You promise I’m not signing my baby away with this?’

  Evelyn’s smile was soft. ‘This is the first document of three. You will sign the second nearer to the birth to give us permission to present your baby to the adoptive parents, but they will have no right to keep the baby until the third document is signed six weeks after the birth. Only after that will you be relinquishing all your rights to your child.’

  It all sounded horribly cold and callous, but feeling reassured that she was merely getting things started, and not giving up her baby even before it was born, April signed.

  Evelyn nodded her thanks and carefully placed the document in a beige cardboard folder. ‘I will telephone you at Peggy’s when it’s time to sign the second document,’ she said. ‘Now that things are on a more official standing, your doctor will keep me informed of your progress, and nearer the time, we’ll meet again.’

  She gathered up her notebook and pen and stood to indicate that the interview was over. ‘If there are any questions you wish to ask then make a list and we can go through them then.’ She pointed to the door on the other side of the room. ‘If you go
through there you won’t have to go back into the waiting room, where I do believe I have my next appointment waiting,’ she said quietly.

  April shook her hand and headed for the door as Peggy said goodbye to Evelyn and hurried after her.

  They walked in silence along the corridor and down the sweeping staircase to the entrance hall where April drew to a halt. ‘What have I done, Peggy?’ she managed through gathering tears.

  ‘You’ve given some childless couple real hope that they will soon have a lovely baby to love and cherish and raise as their own,’ she said softly before drawing April into her arms. ‘It’s a wondrous gift, April, and they will bless you for it.’

  April sniffed back her tears and returned Peggy’s hug before searching in her coat pocket for a handkerchief. ‘I don’t know how to feel at the moment,’ she admitted. ‘One minute I feel that I’m doing the right thing – the next I think I must be very wicked to give my baby away. It’s not its fault – any of this – but mine. And yet he’s the one being punished.’

  ‘Now you’re just getting worked up,’ said Peggy firmly. ‘Come on, dry your eyes and think properly, April. You’re doing the best thing, really you are, and at times like these we have to remain clear-headed and practical – not get maudlin and over-sentimental. That baby will be loved and cared for, so it’s no punishment – and you, well, you’re still young and have the rest of your life ahead of you. It’s a harsh lesson, April, but now you need to learn by it and do the best you can for you and that baby.’

  April knew she was right, but the awful weight of guilt simply refused to leave her – and she wondered then if it ever would.

  Despite his outward support of April during the past week, Ron had struggled to accept the situation, for like Fran, his upbringing in Ireland had been a strict one, the moral code adhered to through dire threats of hell fire from the priests and the intransigent opinions of society in general. This might be a different world – a world once more plunged into a war that brought uncertainty with every hour – but surely it was no excuse for turning from the lessons that had been drummed into them since childhood, for, to him at least, they were more important than ever.

  He plodded along the undulating hills, his thoughts churning. Rosie had been correct when she’d said he was hardly the right person to judge anyone. He was a sinner, and an unrepentant one at that, but April’s dilemma worried him on several levels.

  Her arrival at Beach View had stirred things up and although, on the face of it, everyone seemed happy to support her, Ron knew there was a deep unease in Cordelia and Sarah, which caused some tension. Even his darling Peggy was struggling despite her determined smile, for he’d noted the worry in her eyes every time Shirley came to the house with her baby, and knew that the tittle-tattle had already started in the town – no doubt fanned by that sour-faced bitch Mabel.

  And then there was his oldest and dearest friend, Stan, who was blissfully unaware that his blossoming friendship with April would soon force him to face an unpalatable truth, which could cause a huge amount of trouble for him, and for Ethel.

  He reached the brow of the hill and looked back to check that Queenie hadn’t been left too far behind – the damned cat still insisted upon accompanying him on these walks and managed somehow to evade all attempts to shut her indoors.

  On seeing her fluffy tail waving above the grass, he breathed a sigh of relief and then turned to admire the view of the sparkling sea beyond the jutting white cliffs. It was the tail end of May and in three weeks’ time Stan and Ethel would be getting married. Ron was glad the girl had taken Peggy’s advice not to say anything until after the celebrations, for his old pal deserved to enjoy his special day before the proverbial hit the fan – but he wasn’t too sure he wanted to be around when it did. Ethel could be a ticking time bomb.

  He settled down on a tussock of grass while Harvey and Monty raced about like hooligans in search of something to hunt. He lit his pipe and waited for the now familiar sound of Queenie’s miaow, and when he heard it, he gave a soft grunt.

  ‘Damn fool cat,’ he muttered affectionately as she insinuated herself against his legs. ‘It seems I’m outnumbered by females with minds of their own and no regard for the opinions of a man who suffers terrible from the moving shrapnel.’

  Queenie purred loudly, rubbing her cheek against his hand, and then settled down in a patch of sunlight to stretch luxuriously. Her tail fanned out behind her as she yawned and cleaned her pink paws before going into a doze, fluffy ears twitching at the slightest sound.

  Ron contentedly smoked his pipe, watching the seabirds hover and swoop above the shore, and the tide begin to turn, bringing the waves further up the shingle at each roll. May had seen a turn in the tide of war too. Ron thought back over the developments of recent months. Despite the terrible toll of lost young lives, the Allied air forces had achieved great victories in the Mediterranean as well as in the heavy bombing campaign over Dortmund, Düsseldorf and Essen in Germany. With further air attacks on southern Italy and Sardinia, and growing support for the Allies in Argentina, it seemed that Germany was at last losing its grip, and that Italy could very soon change sides.

  There had been retaliations, of course, with devastating raids on Torquay and Eastbourne, and accounts of utter brutality in Poland against the Jews in their ghettos. It seemed Hitler was determined to wipe them from the face of the earth, and there were appalling stories coming out of Europe about concentration camps and forced labour. And yet the breaching of those German dams in the Ruhr by Barnes Wallace’s amazing bouncing bombs was a triumph of ingenuity and skill, and the thought that Peggy’s younger sister Doreen might have played a very small part in that gave him an enormous sense of pride.

  Ron looked at his watch, then scooped up a supine Queenie and gently placed her in one of his larger coat pockets where she settled back to sleep for the ride home. Since being spayed she’d put on weight and was now quite a large, glossy cat; queen of Beach View and all she surveyed and the undoubted nemesis of any other feline that dared encroach on her domain. She’d decided to accept Monty’s presence – under sufferance, as he and Harvey came as a pair – but she didn’t allow any liberty taking, and if his nose got too inquisitive, it would receive a right royal battering from those needle-sharp claws.

  Ron strolled back down the hill and along to the Anchor, to return Monty to his home. Back at Beach View, he found the house deserted. Now he remembered that Cordelia had gone out with Bertram, and Peggy was with April at the adoption agency. He grimaced at the thought, his soft old heart going out to the girl. ‘To be sure,’ he muttered as he poured some milk in a saucer for Queenie, ‘’tis a hard lesson for one so young. This world can be very cruel.’

  He watched Queenie lap at the milk while Harvey gobbled down some biscuits and water, and then left them to sleep off their walk in the basement. Closing the back door firmly behind him, he set off for Stan’s allotment. He’d promised to help him do a bit of hoeing, and it would provide the perfect opportunity to sound him out about his and Ethel’s views on mixed-race babies.

  Stan wasn’t feeling too clever this afternoon. He’d been troubled with indigestion throughout the night and as the day had gone on, the heartburn had become even worse. He slumped into the deckchair outside his shed and stared morosely at his allotment as he swallowed the chalky antacid straight from the bottle.

  It was the third bottle he’d gone through in a week, and the regularity and gathering strength of these attacks was finally starting to worry him. He couldn’t afford to be ill, not with the wedding only three weeks away, and it was no good the doctor telling him to cut down on rich food and fried breakfasts – Ethel would think he didn’t appreciate her cooking.

  He gave a deep sigh and watched the friendly robin hopping about amongst his early vegetables. Ethel was a marvellous cook who managed to magic up things other people could only dream about during this time of shortages and strict rationing, and he was easily tempted, for he
’d always loved his food, and it was a pleasure to have a woman cooking for him again.

  ‘Hello, Stan. What’s this? Sitting down on the job?’

  ‘Just resting for a minute, Ron.’

  ‘Getting too much for you, is it?’ teased Ron as he plumped down in the other deckchair. ‘Get us a cup of tea then, and tell me what you want doing – although it all looks fairly shipshape to me.’

  Stan set the kettle on the primus stove. ‘April and Ruby came over to help yesterday,’ he confided. ‘Did a lovely job of weeding and burning the rubbish, too, and it was good to see how well they got on.’

  ‘They’re about the same age, and now Mike’s been sent up to the wilds of some Scottish Isle, Ruby needs a pal to take her out of things,’ said Ron comfortably.

  Ethel appeared around the corner of the shed dressed in her working overalls and knotted headscarf, the usual fag stuck in the corner of her mouth. ‘I’m sure your April’s a pleasant enough girl,’ she said. ‘But I don’t want my Ruby mixing with the likes of that Shirley.’

  ‘Shirley’s a nice girl,’ protested Stan.

  ‘Nice girls don’t have babies without an ’usband in tow,’ she retorted sharply. ‘Are you making tea, Stan? Me mouth’s as dry as a duck’s arse after working in that factory all day.’

  Stan smiled and kissed her cheek. ‘Just waiting for the kettle to boil, my little flower. Why don’t you sit down and relax?’

  ‘I ain’t got time to relax,’ she said, gathering up scattered flower pots and setting them in neat stacks by the shed wall. ‘What with me ’aving to ’ave me dress taken in again, and Rosie to see about the last-minute arrangements, there ain’t enough time to breathe, let alone sit down.’

  Stan smothered a soft burp and wished he could sneak another few drops of his medicine, for the heartburn was making him feel decidedly sick.

  Ethel looked at him sharply. ‘You don’t look right, Stan. You got indigestion again?’