by Brenda Joyce
By the time Rachel had arrived in front of their two-story white plaster house, her thighs and calves were burning with fatigue from the long bicycle ride. She carried her bicycle up the three steps to the front stoop and left it there. Her neighborhood was small and close-knit. There was no theft.
The sun had begin its descent. Rachel knew that dusk would soon follow as she pushed open the screen door and entered the small, narrow parlor, thinking about a long, hot bath.
Hopefully Sarah wasn’t home. If she were, their single bathroom undoubtedly would not be available.
Delicious odors drifted to her from the kitchen, and Rachel realized, with no small amount of guilt, how late it was. She should be helping Papa in the kitchen. He still worked long hours, tending both his shoe store and his factory. A widow from down the block came most days to help him and Hannah with the evening meal, out of the goodness of her heart and the hope that Papa might marry her. Knowing that Rachel was home for a few days, Mrs. Winkle had stayed home.
The BBC radio was on. As Rachel hurried into the kitchen, she recognized the radio commentator’s voice. He was mocking the latest German propaganda efforts to sway the British to Hitler’s side. Periodically London was barraged with leaflets and flyers dropped by the Luftwaffe in lieu of bombs.
She was ravenously hungry. She hadn’t eaten all day, she was very tired, and she just might fall asleep in her bath when she had the chance to take one, but that wasn’t all she was thinking about.
He would name his plane Angel after her.
“Rachel!” Hannah appeared from the narrow, carpeted stairwell, shrieking. “Where have you been? Joshua wants you to call him so he can see you tonight. And someone named Eddy Marshall called three times.”
Rachel stared at her eleven-year-old sister, whose dark hair was pulled into pigtails with pink ribbons, her glasses slipping down her small nose, her ankle socks bagging about her scuffed and worn Mary Janes. They could easily have new shoes from Papa’s factory. But of course, they would not think of breaking the law by violating the government’s rationing orders.
“Did you hear me?” Hannah cried.
Rachel’s heart was skipping uncontrollably. “Yes, of course I did. How could I not? Being as you are always shouting,” Rachel said evenly. She was trying to marshal her thoughts and emotions. Eddy Marshall had called three times? What could he want? And how had he gotten her phone number?
She had left immediately, while Lionel had stayed. That was it. Lionel had given Eddy her number, even while knowing that she would one day be engaged to Joshua. Rachel had to close her eyes. She had the distinct impression that Lionel had done so on purpose, solely to cause trouble.
The way he had fed Ellen’s fish to the swans.
Rachel did not know what to do.
“Who is Eddy Marshall? He’s an American! How did you meet him? Is he a diplomat?” Hannah asked, tugging on her hand.
“Hello, Rachel-lay,” Papa said, coming out of their small kitchen and wiping his hand on one of Mama’s old aprons. “Is everything all right?”
“Everything’s fine,” Rachel lied, filled with desperation.
He wasn’t Jewish. What had she been thinking—even if with the back of her mind? He wasn’t Jewish. Papa would never allow anything to happen between them.
And Eddy would be shocked if he realized she was a Jew. Rachel felt sure of it. Gentiles were always stunned to learn that someone was a Jew. It was as if they expected horns on your head or a scarlet letter hanging on your chest, and if there wasn’t, then you couldn’t possibly be Jewish.
“Joshua wants Rachel to go out tonight, he must have gotten the night off,” Hannah cried. Rachel gave her a warning look. Hannah ignored it. “And an American keeps calling her.”
“What’s wrong?” Papa asked quietly. “And who is this Marshall person?”
“He is an RAF pilot who crash-landed not far from Greenwich today,” Rachel said briskly, as if reciting mathematics to a teacher. “It has been a horrid afternoon.” She walked past them both and into the kitchen. There was a pot of stew on the stove. It was mostly potatoes and onion, but there were carrots and peas from their garden, and Papa had put a few pieces of chicken in as well. Automatically Rachel began to stir it.
Her sister and father came to stand behind her.
“First bombs fell on a factory. I ran into Lionel. We dug out three workers before the rescue squads came. Then there was a dogfight. He downed a Luftwaffe fighter first, but he was hit, and he crash-landed in a field right next to the factory.” Rachel felt breathless and despairing. “Somehow he survived the landing and was barely hurt. Lionel drove him to the hospital. I went with them.”
“He left a number for you. Are you going to go out with him? And if you do, what will Joshua say?” Hannah asked, knowing full well that she was causing trouble.
Rachel turned, finally looking at Hannah and Papa. “What makes you think he wants to ask me out, Miss Trouble?”
Papa turned and walked out of the kitchen without a word.
Rachel stared in surprise and then concern. “Papa?”
“Why does he keep calling if he isn’t trying to go out with you?” Hannah said.
“Mind your own affairs, Busybody,” Rachel cried in a whisper, yanking hard on one of her sister’s pigtails.
“Ow,” Hannah screeched, tears coming to her eyes.
Rachel let her go, shocked by her own temper. “I’m sorry!”
Hannah shot her a baleful glance, her eyes filled with tears, then turned and fled up the stairs. “I hate you!”
Rachel could not believe that she had hurt her sister. What was happening to her? She looked up to find Papa standing in the doorway, studying her.
Rachel flushed, thinking, He knows. He knows I like this American pilot, he knows.
“Did you eat anything today?” he asked.
“I had two cups of tea this morning before I left the house,” she said, wanting to smile and failing. “With sugar and lemon.”
He seemed to accept that answer. “Sarah is not coming home tonight. Take a bath and we will eat.”
Rachel nodded. Sarah was lucky enough to be able to come home every night to sleep when she was not on a night shift. However, sometimes she chose to sleep over with other ATF drivers who shared a flat in Cheapside. Rachel knew that on those nights she was out dancing, smoking, and drinking in the city’s various nightclubs with her girlfriends and soldiers. Sarah seemed very happy in spite of the war. No one knew how to enjoy life more.
Papa knew. He knew about her girlfriends, none of whom were Jewish. He knew about the cigarettes, the drinking, the soldiers. He had never said a word, but Rachel saw the sadness and resignation in his eyes, and she knew he felt that he had lost Sarah, and that he had given up on her.
Rachel secretly admired her sister for having the courage to live as she pleased, but she wished she could be just a bit more circumspect. In the end, when Sarah married a Jew, Rachel knew it would all work out.
Rachel walked over to the phone and dialed up Croyden. It had been a civilian aerodrome until a few days before the war began. Although many of the squadrons were housed in buildings outside of the station, Joshua’s unit was in barracks that had been built the previous year, inside the grounds. There was no telephone in the barracks. Five minutes passed while Joshua was located. When he came on the line, he said, “Rachel! It’s the last night of your leave and we haven’t seen each other. I miss you terribly. How about dinner and dancing?”
“I have had a terrible day,” Rachel said, gripping the phone too tightly. She felt ill and she didn’t know why. Tears filled her eyes. “Oh, Joshua. I rode my bike to Eltham and a factory was bombed right before my very eyes. I helped rescue some workers, and then a pilot from Biggin Hill was shot down in the field next to the factory. I ran into my cousin and we drove him to the hospital—”
“Rachel! Stop and take a big breath. I’m sorry you had such a day. You must be exhausted.”
/> “I am,” Rachel said, trying to do as he had asked. She continued to shake. She felt like an adulteress. Had she committed adultery in her deepest thoughts? But she wasn’t even married!
“Which pilot? Maybe I know him.”
“The American, Hawk Marshall, out of Biggin Hill.”
“I’ve heard of him. He’s a brash fellow, they say,” Joshua remarked.
Rachel froze. “What?” But of course he was brash; she had seen that firsthand.
“They say he’s brash as can be when he flies. A daredevil pilot, will try anything. Likes to take ‘pleasure spins,’ looking for Gerries to fight. Was he an interesting fellow? The way he sounds?”
Relief washed over her. She had assumed Joshua meant brash as in bold with the ladies. “He was interesting.” Oh, God. He was far more than interesting, and he had called. Three times.
“I think you need a fine meal and some dancing. Haven’t you been begging to go dancing for months and months now? We could go to the Savoy. I know it’s not our kind of place, but it is grand. We—”
“I’m too tired,” she whispered, but the truth was, she was too frightened. What would happen if she called Eddy back?
They would go out. Papa would shout and scream.
And what if they fell in love?
Rachel shuddered at the notion. She could not call him back. It was as simple as that.
Joshua was silent for a moment. “I understand,” he finally said.
And Rachel knew that he did. Because he was so very understanding—except on the issue of their marrying. Now she was consumed with guilt. “I have to be at Bentley Priory at six A.M. I must have ridden fifty kilometers today. I—”
“Rachel, I understand. We have our whole lives to go to the Savoy and dance the night away. God willing,” he added. “You get a good night’s sleep. Call me tomorrow after your shift.”
“I’m working a double,” she managed. “I’ll call you the following morning.”
“That’s fine,” he said. “Sleep tight. And Rachel? I love you.”
A huge lump in her throat was choking her, preventing her from making a reply. Fortunately he hung up, sensing that the conversation was over.
Rachel stared at the receiver in her hand before slowly hanging up. And then tears filled her eyes, spilling over onto her cheeks, as a very vivid image of Eddy Marshall filled her mind.
“You should meet him tonight,” Papa said.
Rachel whirled, wiping her eyes. Papa stood in the doorway.
“Do you want to tell me what this is really about?” he asked too quietly.
Rachel couldn’t meet his gaze. “It isn’t about anything,” she said, a terrible lie, and to her own father.
The telephone rang.
Rachel whirled to stare at the black receiver hanging on the wall. She knew who it was. She just knew.
Papa moved past her and lifted it. Rachel tensed with dread and expectation.
“It’s for you,” Papa said, handing her the phone. “It’s Mr. Marshall.”
Rachel did not take the phone. She shook her head, soundlessly forming the words No, not now. I’m not home. She shook her head again, backing away.
Papa spoke. “I am afraid my daughter cannot come to the phone right now, Mr. Marshall. Might you state your business?”
A long silence seemed to ensue as Eddy spoke to her father, Rachel desperately wishing that she knew what he was saying. And all she could think was Please, Eddy, don’t tell him the truth.
Papa nodded and said, “Good night.” He hung up the phone and turned. “This man seems to be interested in you. He asked you to please call him.”
“He’s just a friend,” Rachel said too quickly.
Papa just looked at her.
When they had finished their meal, she shooed her father out of the kitchen, guiding him to his favorite chair in the parlor. Benjamin sat in his rocker with a pipe, listening to the radio. Back in the kitchen, Rachel handed Hannah a towel. “I’ll wash, you dry.”
Hannah gave her a dirty look. She had decided not to forgive Rachel for the mean-spirited yank on her pigtail.
“I’m sorry I lost my temper and hurt you,” Rachel said, filling the sink with sudsy warm water, to which she added their dirty dishes and spanking-new pots and pans.
Hannah did not reply.
Rachel sighed. They had given all of their old, heavy cookware to the ministry of supply, for use in the manufacture of airplanes. As a result, they had bought new pots and pans, which were delightfully lightweight. But now she was thinking about airplanes. About Spitfires. About Angel . . . about Eddy Marshall. “I wonder where Sarah is tonight,” she said, attempting to break her own train of thoughts.
“In a nightclub,” Hannah said meanly.
Rachel scrubbed a plate, dunked it in a bowl of clean water, and handed it to her little sister. “I’m sure she’s still working, Hannah. And don’t speak so loudly.”
“Papa can’t hear. He doesn’t hear well anymore.”
“I told you I’m sorry,” Rachel said, washing another plate.
Hannah put the dry plate in the cupboard. “Why did you do that? You’ve never been mean before.”
“Maybe it’s a lesson. Maybe sometimes you shouldn’t be a snoop.” Rachel kept her voice kind.
“But he keeps calling!” Hannah exclaimed.
“I don’t even know him,” Rachel said firmly, her heart skipping a series of beats.
They washed and dried in silence until Hannah said, low, “Last night she came home at four in the morning.”
Rachel, dunking the plate, purposefully splashed her sister with dirty water. “That’s her affair.”
“Hey! You did that on purpose.”
“Yes, I did. And how would you know what time Sarah came in?” she whispered. But she was thinking that Sarah must have had a reason to come home and not go to the shared flat in Cheapside.
Hannah shrugged. “I heard her. Them. She wasn’t alone.” She sent Rachel a sidelong look.
Rachel stood still. “She did not come home alone?” She was scandalized.
“They stood on the front stoop kissing for hours and hours.”
What was wrong with Sarah! “That’s enough. Sarah is an adult. Her life is her own affair. When will you stop minding everyone’s business?” Rachel said tersely. She finished the plates and began washing the silverware. She could not manage this new burden now.
“I think he’s a new boyfriend. I heard her call him John. Her last boyfriend was that captain in the navy, Ted. Or maybe she has two boyfriends?”
Rachel was distressed, and she hit Hannah with the soapy dishrag. “Enough. Quit spying on Sarah. You should pray that one day you are as beautiful and brave as she is.”
“I’m the ugly one,” Hannah said. “I will never look like Sarah or you.”
Rachel froze. “You’re not ugly,” she began, horrified that Hannah would think such a thing, when there was a knock on the front door.
“You and Sarah are both blond and fair, and I’m as dark as a Spaniard,” Hannah said. She shrugged. “And I wear glasses.”
Rachel looked at her, but before she could respond, she heard Eddy Marshall’s voice in the parlor. The pot she was then scrubbing slipped from her hands, landing on the floor with a loud bang.
“It’s the American,” Hannah cried gleefully, setting the last dry plate in the cupboard. She grinned at Rachel and ran from the kitchen.
Rachel just stood there, unmoving. All she could think was Oh God.
He was talking to Papa, explaining how he had met Rachel earlier that day. “I hope you don’t mind that I came by unannounced, but I just had to thank her for helping me out of my plane and staying with me at the hospital,” he was saying.
Papa was silent. Rachel cringed. Finally he said, “Rachel is a dutiful daughter. And a dutiful soldier. I am very proud of her. She is always helping everyone, even the neighbors.”
Rachel came to life. She retrieved the pot, took of
f her rubber gloves, and patted the waves of her hair, which she had set three days ago. There was now a silence in the parlor. Dear God, what should she do?
And did she have rouge on? Lipstick? Oh, God! She hadn’t put on a stitch of makeup after her bath!
“It’s very late for callers,” Papa suddenly said.
“I’m really sorry,” Eddy said. His tone sounded subdued, as if he had figured out that Papa was not friendly. “But I caught a ride with a bunch of soldiers on a delivery truck. It’s pretty far from Biggin Hill to London.”
There was another silence. Rachel crept to the door, straining to hear.
“Did you walk?”
“A bit,” Eddy said. Then, “I’d really like to thank your daughter properly.” He was not going to give up.
Papa sighed. “I’ll tell her you are here.”
It was too late to change her plain old blouse for her favorite pink cashmere twin set, and there was no time to put on even a speck of rouge. Inhaling hard and shaking like a leaf, Rachel stepped out into the parlor.
He was standing in the center of the room when she walked in. He had put on his dark blue dress uniform and beret, and his left arm was in a sling. There was also a tape high up on his right cheekbone where he’d been cut in the crash. He had several officer’s bars and one medal pinned upon his chest. Upon seeing Rachel, he smiled.
It was reflexive; Rachel smiled back.
Hannah was devouring a bag of jellybeans. “Look at what he brought me,” she cried.
Rachel couldn’t look away from Eddy. They grinned at each other.
“You didn’t return my calls,” he said simply, as if no one else were present.
“I was going to,” she managed. And then she stopped.
Papa stood there staring at them both.
Rachel felt all of the color draining from her face. “Papa?”