by Bonnie Toews
“Good grief” Hayden exclaimed. “Now I’ve done it! Me and my big mouth. I just told ’er the earl and his wife were killed in the crash.”
“WHAT!”
Hayden looked shamefaced. “How was I to know who she was? She asked me what happened to them, and I told her.”
“Great shot, old man!” the doctor remarked dryly. “Dr. Barrington!” He motioned to a young intern rushing up the hall. “Take over for me,” he instructed. “Hayden here knows the routine. Send the worst cases to Team Room Four. I’ll be back in a jiffy.”
He stuffed his stethoscope into his breast pocket as he charged in pursuit of Sister Mary.
Lee heard news of the bombing at the train station right after she arrived at Radcliffe House. As soon as Sir Fletcher confirmed Grace’s parents were among the casualties, she drove off to the hospital without thinking about what she would find, only hoping to save Grace from hearing about her parents’ death from a stranger. But, when she entered the Emergency Unit, the sight of burned children lining the corridors flung her back into the horrors of Spain and Poland.
While in those theaters of war, she had disconnected herself from the emotional impact of what she was witnessing and reporting so many times that, now, when the pain finally struck her, the shock of it shattered her carefully crafted blocks. She gagged and, in the hallways of the hospital, faced sights so sickening she fled to the nearest washroom where she wrenched and wrenched until she only spit up bile. A terrible trembling chilled her. She shivered and hugged herself in a futile attempt to keep warm. After more straining, she removed her regulation hat and rubbed her forehead against the back of the toilet seat. Completely exhausted, cold sweat bathed her weakened body. She struggled to her feet, dropped the hat on a hook beside the sink, grabbed for a towel and doused it in tap water. As she patted her face, she stared at the painfully thin and hollow-eyed reflection of herself in the bathroom mirror.
She was wearing the dress uniform of a woman’s auxiliary unit, the First Aid Nursing Yeomanry dubbed FANY by the military. The Polish partisans had cropped her thick waves to a crew cut when she had become infected with lice during their escape from Warsaw after Hitler invaded Poland. Once in Russia, her hair grew back with a natural curl, and she had decided to keep it short. It was easier to manage, while they were constantly on the move organizing their underground contacts for the Amanita Project. Damp strands clung to her forehead. She ran her fingers through her hair trying to puff it up. She had to hang on and find Grace.
After Grace called the last name on Sister Mary’s list, she pushed her chair under the desk and dropped her head on top of her folded arms to rest. Talking to all those people had been an ordeal. She would have preferred retreating into silence, to cling to her pain, to the jolting realization that, while she was phoning, she hadn’t thought about her parents. Guilt needled her. How could she forget them so quickly? Anger seized her. How could they leave her like that? With no good-bye and no special message. There was no one left. She was alone, really alone. Little by little her crushing loss dug deeper and deeper into her soul. A dry sob mounted.
“OH NO!” she cried. “NOOooo… Noooo … NO…”
She held her face in her hands, mumbling and shaking her head, desperately wanting to weep, needing to weep, but the tears wouldn’t come. The hurt was too deep and too shattering.
She felt hands grip her shoulders and arms. She shook off their solace. Again, a gentle hand patted her left arm.
“If not now, WHEN?” Lee whispered.
Grace lifted her grief-stricken face and stared straight ahead.
“Sister Mary explained how you found out about your parents, Grace. I’m so sorry.”
Grace turned her head and blinked. “Lee? LEE!” She screamed and rose from her chair. “Lee? Thank heaven! You’re alive. You made it!”
She desperately grasped the journalist to her. “The last we heard you …” She stopped herself. “It doesn’t matter now, does it?”
Then she felt the bony frame under Lee’s uniform and stood back to study her more closely. In the FANY suit, which hung on her body like a pillow case flung over a broom handle, Lee reminded Grace of a fading foal, all skinny and helplessly spent, too tired to keep on living. Just then it struck her. Lee’s hair, once so long and thick, had been cropped. With growing concern, Grace touched the stubby ends. “What happened over there? What did they do to you?”
Like an abandoned filly, Lee stood alone, unsure and quivering, fighting for self-control, and then, trembling, she lost the battle and pulled Grace to her. Her breast began to heave, and she wept freely, in great spasms.
Grace awkwardly rocked her.
“Lee … Lee … It’s all right. I’m here.”
And she kept rocking her until the worst of Lee’s convulsive crying eased.
“I’m sorry,” Lee finally rasped. “I saw the children… in the hallway.. T
“I know. It was awful”
Lee’s words drifted.
“… And when I asked for you … Sister Mary…”
She drew in a shaky breath and stood back from Grace, distancing them.
“Why were your parents at the train station? Why?”
“Mommy and Daddy were sending a trainload of children from East London to the country. Mommy has turned Guild Oaks into a war orphanage.”
“If that isn’t just like her. I’m so sorry, Grace.”
Lee clutched Grace’s hand as if it were her lifeline to sanity and pulled her into another hug.
“We’ll get through this, Grace … somehow… we’ll get through this together.”
SIXTEEN
Saturday, September 21st, 1940
On either side of the two red barns, pinpricks of grass struggled up through the soft dirt paddocks. Behind them rolled lush pastures, and beyond them, woodlots thick with fall colors. As Lee slowly headed down the lane towards the foaling barn, she breathed in deeply, savoring the fresh country air. Mid-step she paused, wistfully looking at the hilly pastures as the morning sun bathed her face with soothing warmth. The war seemed far removed from this idyllic retreat.
She crossed over to the rail fence and leaned against a post, watching Grace exercise her champion mare, Decency. To Lee’s surprise, Grace stepped up in the stirrups and crouched forward in the saddle. In response, Decency changed gears, and together they streaked down the backstretch, a blur of flying blonde hair and red mane, woman and horse—one spirit with wings.
Poor Grace. The part of her that once envied Grace felt guilty as she watched the younger girl wildly race her horse around the turf track.
Being in the country with Grace was helping Lee heal as well. Guild Oaks had replaced the home she never knew, a place where she belonged. Here, everyone had gathered her into their loving arms without her having to earn their approval. Here, she was part of a family…a huge family, if she counted displaced children, the nursing sisters who looked after them, the farm manager, his wife who was the Radcliffe’s housekeeper, as well as Grace. The thought of leaving Guild Oaks depressed Lee.
With Lord Radcliffe’ death, maj or changes were being made at Project Amanita. She had been assigned to replace him in field training. That was going to be the toughest and the most heartbreaking task of her life, but it gave her hope. They weren’t going to give up until they defeated Hitler, totally. Underlying her new responsibility, however, was the realization Grace would have to be involved in their secret operation. Radcliffe House was Amanita’s communication center, and Grace, who had inherited her father’s estate, would have to know what was going on in her father’s house. As she watched Grace race around the far turn, she admired her athletic confidence.
The sound of Decency’s charging hoofs sent the farm manager rushing out of the barn. Old Tanner shook his fist at Grace. “Stop it!” he railed. “You’ll break both your bloody necks!”
The wind mockingly carried off his angry voice.
Before Lord Radcliffe had hired Ed Tanner to
be the manager of Guild Oaks and his racing stable, the trainer had been unknown to the Ascot crowd. Five years later, “Tanner,” which everyone preferred calling him for it was more distinctive than Ed, was the recognized trainer to beat. After Lord Radcliffe married Princess Alexandra, the devoted Tanner and his wife, Millie, naturally became an extension of the Radcliffe family, and so, on learning of the tragedy at the train station, they decided to carry on Princess Alexandra’s plan to turn Guild Oaks into a temporary home for displaced children. Behind Tanner and all through the fields, the air rang with tapping hammers as the local villagers worked to convert the main house of the estate into a dormitory for the children.
Seeing Grace gallop Decency so recklessly lined Tanner’s face with worry. “When she’s through chasing her demons,” he muttered to Lee, “tell her I want to see her,” and stomped back into the barn.
To Lee, it seemed what disturbed Grace most was her lack of preparation for her parents’ death. She could sympathize with the younger girl’s feeling of inadequacy. How could she keep Radcliffe House and Guild Oaks running the way her father did? What did Grace know about business and financial administration? What she wanted and needed had always been there.
Down the backstretch, Decency abruptly pulled herself up, almost throwing Grace over her head. Grace quickly dismounted and stroked the lathered chestnut’s neck, while she carefully scrutinized the mare’s legs for signs of puffiness. Seeing nothing, she slowly led Decency forward.
Tanner reappeared in the doorway of the barn. His trained ear had picked up the abrupt halt of the galloping feet. “Is Decency limping?”
Lee squinted, watching the chestnut walk beside Grace. “She doesn’t seem to be.”
“If that filly’s not hurting, Grace’s bloody lucky,” he pronounced tersely and disappeared inside the barn again.
Grace waved at Lee, reassuring her Decency had survived her wild ride unscathed. She then turned the filly around and walked her back over the track towards the barn and Lee.
“Tanner says when you’re through chasing your demons, he wants to see you,” Lee called to Grace when she was close enough to hear.
Grace looked sheepish. “He’s right to be annoyed. Thank goodness Decency was smart enough to pull up. Help me walk her about. After, we can bathe her and see what Tanner wants.”
When they entered the cool barn, mares curiously thrust their heads over the half-doors of their stalls and, one by one, snickered and snorted or playfully curled up their lips in greeting. Lee petted each velvet muzzle as Grace led Decency down the shed row to her stall. Once stroked, the mares bent their heads back over their feed tubs and resumed chewing their oats. Their crunching sounded like soft marimba music, and through the barn, this rhythmic ritual traveled like tranquil waves over the shores of Lee’s soul. She felt her inner tensions relax, and the same sense of silken contentment she had experienced when Intrepid was born slipped from the base of her head through her shoulders and down her back.
“Where’s Intrepid’s stall?” Lee asked, anxious to see Decency’s colt. She was curious to see if he would remember her, as Grace promised he would.
“He’s not here.”
“Not here. Where is he?”
“In Eire, training. Tanner sent the most promising yearlings to Ireland because he can’t handle training here.”
“I wish I could have seen him.”
“You would be proud of him,” Grace told her. “He’s developing into a stunning horse, shows tremendous speed when he’s free to run in the pasture.”
Lee smiled. “Good.”
While Grace bathed the sweaty chestnut, Lee steadied Decency’s head. Warm sudsy water splashed over the tuft of mane between her ears, rolled over her white diamond star and down her nose to catch in a well above her nostrils. Before sponging off her face, Grace kissed her dripping muzzle. “Do you forgive me, girl?”
“She was taking care of you. She loves you as much as you love her,” Lee observed.
“I know. I’m quite lucky.” Grace handed Lee a long narrow metal scoop. “Will you help me scrape the water off? We can’t towel dry her, not while she’s soaking wet.”
Starting behind Decency’s ears, Grace whisked the mare’s mane and drenched coat with long swift strokes, and then flicked the water collected in the scraper on the ground. On her side, Lee copied Grace. As they worked together, Grace talked.
“You know, while you were missing in Poland, I prayed for you.”
Lee was touched. “Thank you.”
When she didn’t offer to explain what had happened, Grace told her, “In my grief for Mummy and Daddy, I forgot the comfort of Psalm 91 … Thou shalt not be afraid for the terror by night; nor for the arrow that flieth by day for He shall give His angels charge over thee, to keep thee in all thy ways. That promise came to mind when I was walking Decency back to the barn. God’s not to blame for what happened to my parents. Neither is the pilot. They say he was trying to avoid the train when his engine cut out.”
“A Nazi with scruples? How lovely!”
“You would be surprised how many times I’ve heard RAF pilots on my ward tell stories about Luftwaffe seaplanes rescuing them from the channel. Between the airmen, it still seems to be a gentleman’s war.”
“That won’t last long. Believe me.”
Grace eyed her sharply. She hadn’t seen what Lee experienced, and Lee didn’t feel up to explaining her bitterness. To her relief, Grace avoided a confrontation with a change in conversation.
“Did your boss … what’s his name?”
“Quinn Bergin.”
“That’s it, Quinn Bergin.” Grace traded the water scraper for a towel and began rubbing Decency down. “Did he make it?” she asked as she worked.
Seeing how soaked Grace’s towel got, Lee wrung out her sponge and began wiping the upper part of the mare’s body with it first.
“He made it,” she said.
“I see. And what about you? Are you giving up your On The Spot column to become a FANY?”
Lee raised her head and gazed into Grace’s soul.
“Don’t you approve?”
“Well frankly, the First Aid Nursing Yeomanry doesn’t seem quite fitting for you.”
“But it’s fitting for you?”
“Being a volunteer nurse’s aide is the only way I can help the war effort. Reporting the news from the front lines as you have done is the bravest contribution I can think of. I assumed you would want to carry on your work.”
Lee mellowed. “Being a FANY is the only way to get around the red tape.”
“What red tape? I don’t understand.”
“The WRENs and WAAFs cannot participate in field or battle action,” Lee explained. Seeing Grace frown, she added, “Some antiquated government ruling doesn’t allow it. Consequently, there is no military uniform suitable for women serving in Military Intelligence except FANY. Belonging to it entitles you to a military commission and guaranteed pay, either in the field or at home base.”
“So that explains it,” Grace sighed with obvious relief. “You’re in Military Intelligence. I couldn’t picture you changing bedpans.”
“Is that what you do?”
“If I have to.” She considered Lee carefully. “Theoretically, since I’m already a FANY, I could transfer into Military Intelligence too, and no one would be the wiser.”
“True.” Lee’s insides stilled. She knows already. We never fooled her. Lee picked up a towel and began vigorously rubbing Decency’s flanks. Irritated, the mare shook her mane.
“Softly, Lee. Like this.”
Lee followed Grace’s example.
“Okay,” she relented. “You could join Military Intelligence, but I don’t believe your parents would want you to be a field agent. You have people depending on you. Guild Oaks and the orphanage. These are two huge responsibilities. I have no one to worry about me.”
“What do you mean you have no one?”
While Grace spoke, Lee stopped
toweling the mare and began sponging off the remaining water shedding from Decency’s coat with light airy strokes.
“What about your mother?” Grace persisted.
Lee laughed. “My mother? You can’t compare her to yours. All I remember is one boarding school after another.”
“Oh, Lee, that doesn’t mean she didn’t want you.”
“Really! My mother left my father and me when I was ten. After that, he couldn’t stand to look at me because I reminded him of her, so he sent me to private school after private school after private school. I’ve lived most of my life in one kind of dormitory or another. The last one at Bryn Mawr College in Philadelphia. I never saw either of my parents ’til the day of my father’s funeral. He lay in his coffin …”
She paused as the sense of abandonment seized her again.
“… So still and quiet. All we ever shared was silence.”
She stopped talking, remembering. “Having me was an inconvenience, an interruption in my mother’s work.”
Grace frowned. “I don’t understand. She writes plays seen all over the world. My mother was a dedicated pianist. We shared our gifts and were proud of each other.”
“I know.” Lee’s feelings for Grace softened. “Unlike your mother, my mother is obsessed with a cause. Her plays are mere vehicles for Marxist indoctrination.”
“Even Nazi fanatics love their own children, Lee. I don’t believe your mother doesn’t love you.”
The comparison stung Lee.
“You don’t understand. She can’t distinguish between the reality and the dream. She never experienced Stalin’s cruelty firsthand because my father smuggled us out of Russia in 1917, during the Bolshevik Revolution before the Czar and his family were assassinated. She simply refuses to believe how treacherous Stalin is. The Marxism she preaches and believes in is not the Communism Stalin practices. In Lenin’s own words, she is a useful idiot.”
Grace stared at her, speechless.
Lee sensed she wanted to gather Lee in her arms and her right eyelid twitched. “Don’t waste your pity on me. I won’t stand for it.”