“Shall I get the last of the bread out?”
He nodded. “We can make more tomorrow. Did I tell you I found a sack of wheat flour behind a parcel in the cellar?”
“No, you didn’t.”
“I was shocked when I came across it. I thought I had gotten everything that was down there. I searched for anything else I may have missed, but the sack was all I found.” He glanced at me. “Felt like when I was a child, and I would come down the hallway to find all the presents under the tree.”
“I know how that feels.” I moved back over to the table, setting the bread on a plate already in the middle.
“Sometimes I can’t believe we can still have that feeling as adults. Or I suppose it’s shocking we can have it for something as simple as a sack of flour.”
“Or a chunk of butter.”
“Or a few apples or a sack of potatoes.” He chuckled.
“The war has effected everything.”
“In ways I never imagined.”
“Who would have thought back in May that we would be where we are in just six months?”
“And yet, it seems like a lifetime ago.” He flipped the slices of pork over one last time in the pan, checking them before he stuck a fork into each of them, lifting them from the pan and setting them onto two different plates. After he tossed the pan into the sink, he grabbed the plates and brought them over to the table, sitting in the chair next to mine. I sat, too, grabbing two slices of the bread to make a sandwich.
Although dry, it at least had some flavor. It was also food, and knowing how little we had, a meal was still a meal, no matter how tiny, and a sandwich was still a treasure.
We both ate in silence, and while we had moments like this before, this time felt different, as though there was a cloud hanging over both of us, weighing us down with a heavy thickness. It almost made each bite more miserable than the one before it, stealing any enjoyment I could have.
I had to know. Had to ask the questions. Damn the consequences.
“Did you mean what you said tonight?”
“What did I say?”
“That you didn’t know how anyone could find love during a war.”
“Maybe a little.” He shrugged, pausing before taking another bite, and continuing with his mouth full. “Why does it matter?”
My heartbeat thumped in my ears and I stared at my plate as heat rushed up the back of my neck. “Ivy asked me if we ever talk about Amelia.”
“That’s an odd question.”
“Is it?”
“Why wouldn’t it be?”
“Because of the reason she asked.”
“And what reason was that?”
My breath quickened into short, choppy breaths heard as I inhaled and exhaled them through my nose. I wanted to blurt out the answer, and yet, fear stopped me.
“Why don’t we ever speak of her?” I asked instead.
“I don’t know.”
“Are you sure you don’t know? Or do you just not wish to tell me why?”
“What does it matter? If we talk about her or if we don’t? She’s hundreds of miles away, living God knows where, with God knows who, doing God only knows what.”
“Things like what?”
“Like . . . like talking to people. Spending time with people.”
“People? As in other men?”
He sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly as he finished the last of his sandwich. He lifted his arms, resting his elbows on the table. His shoulders tightened, and he ran his hands through his hair. They trembled slightly as he balled them into fists.
“Do you think she will come back to us?” I asked.
“Us?” He snorted. “You mean, do I think she will come back to you? Yes, I do. But do I think she will come back to me? That’s a different story.”
“What do you mean? She told you she would the day she left with the evacuation.”
“We were only together a couple of weeks. It’s not like we loved each other.”
“So, you don’t think she believes you two are still together?”
“I don’t know if she does. I guess I have just decided that she doesn’t.”
“And how do you feel about that?”
He clenched his jaw and with one swift move, he slid from the chair, grabbed the plate, and crossed the kitchen to set the plate in the sink. His sudden need to get away from me caused me to flinch, and I set the last half of my sandwich down on the plate. My stomach was too sick to even think of taking another bite. I stared at my plate, listening to him wash his dish, grab a towel from a cabinet, dry it, and then put them both away, shutting the cabinets with loud thumps. After all he finished, he just stood behind me. I couldn’t see him or hear him. We both were silent.
He heaved a deep sigh. “I know you deserve an answer to how I feel about it. But the truth is, I don’t really know how I feel. A part of me feels relieved. I wouldn’t want her to miss out on anything because she is tied to thoughts of me. I’ve only always wanted for her to be happy. Then another part of me feels sad. I did—and still do—care for her. Although, I’ve been wondering if I care for her as a friend or more.”
He paused, and I could feel his eyes burning into the back of my head.
I should have stood and faced him, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t move, not even an inch. So, I continued to sit and stare at the plate.
“There is another part of me that feels a little jealous. Not only with the thought of another man and her together. But also because she is there and away from this island and what it has become. It’s been my home all my life and for the first time in nineteen years I don’t recognize it. Not even a little. Lastly,” he took a few breaths as though he was summoning up courage, “I feel a little guilty. Guilty because I don’t feel there is a future for Amelia and me any longer. Even if she came back. Even if she waited for me. I don’t want to look her in her sweet face and tell her I’ve found another. Especially when she finds out who that woman is. I will be the one to cause her pain, which is one thing I never wanted to do. At the same time, in not trying to cause her that pain, I will cause another pain instead. It’s a weighted burden and one I’m trying to figure out.”
Before I could say anything, I heard him push off the counter. He walked past me, without looking in my direction, and left the kitchen.
I sat alone for several minutes before I stood and made my way over to the sink to clean off my plate. His answer seemed so clear in my head and yet didn’t at the same time, and I searched each word for all the meanings they could carry with them. So much of what he said made sense. Almost like he’d taken most of it from my own thoughts and feelings.
Setting the last of the sandwich off to the side on the counter, I turned the water on and fetched the rag, soaking it under the faucet before adding soap. The suds lathered as I swirled the cloth over the dish several times more than it needed, and I watched the bubbles spin and vanish in the drain. For a moment, all I could think about was how lucky they were.
Far too often I’d heard the term ignorance is bliss, and while in my youth I never understood what it meant, I learned the meaning as I grew older. At first, I didn’t understand how one could feel that way. Why would you not want to know what was happening? Now I understood better. Or at least I thought I did.
I rinsed the plate off and fetched the towel from the drawer, and as I straightened up to use it, the sense of someone behind me overwhelmed me.
I swallowed, feeling every inch of my throat move.
Too scared to turn, I froze, feeling the warmth of Henry’s body behind me. His hot breath whispered across the back of my neck. He stood there for several minutes until he finally left the kitchen without saying another word.
TWENTY
Evelyn - December 1940
Henry and I had avoided each other for several days after that night. I didn’t know his reasons, but I knew mine. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to see him or spend time with him. After all, I actually mi
ssed him terribly. But I didn’t know what to make of what he had admitted, and I suppose I needed to think about it.
Still, however, even weeks later, I hadn’t decided what to think or how to feel. I would never wish to hurt Amelia, and knowing it could cause her pain nearly made me sick to my stomach. With that, however, the thought of losing Henry as a friend or seeing him with any other woman drove me to such anxious thoughts, they would cause me to pace in whatever room I was in or worse, cause me to want to run down to the cliffs and scream as loud as I could into the distance.
I couldn’t hurt her.
But I couldn’t lose him.
As the days and weeks wore on, we both developed a knack for ignoring the awkwardness between us—or at least the reason for it—and began pretending as though the night and the conversation never happened. We would sit at the table or wash the dishes or drive to and from town talking about every day matters like something that happened in town that day, how we thought the war was going for our countrymen, or how we could hardly believe Christmas was nearly there and New Year’s Day,1941 just a short week later.
When all the mundane talk was over, we would retreat to our bedrooms or more commonly lately, the couch where we would find a book and read, not uttering a single word to each other for the rest of the night. While I couldn’t deny the silence was peaceful, there was also oddness to it. Sometimes it felt like he wanted to talk but didn’t, which often caused me to want to talk, and yet, I said nothing either. Instead, we would flip the pages of our books, listening to the popping and cracking from the fire in the hearth.
Just as we were about to do tonight after Ian headed off to bed for the evening.
I sat on the couch next to him, reaching for the book on the table beside me. Firelight flecked off the cream printed pages, casting shadows across the black words and almost making them hard to read. I flipped on the light and his eyes narrowed for a moment and he blinked.
“I’m sorry. Is that too much light for you?”
“No, no. It’s all right. I guess I hadn’t noticed my eyes had gotten used to the darkness.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to ruin your reading.”
“You didn’t.” He turned his attention back to his book, reading a few more minutes before moving on to the next page. I watched him for a moment out of the corner of my eye, studying the way his hands held the book and his fingers turned the pages. Worn from hard work, and strong, they were also tender when they needed to be, brushing along the paper with whispered movements.
An anxious little itch fluttered through my chest and down to my legs. It made me stand, and I set my book back on the table before I made my way over to the Christmas tree. Cut from part of a tree in the grove behind Ian and Henry’s house, we had used what little ornaments we could find in their cellar and some old tinsel stored in a bag. The bulb lights glimmered against the silver strands, creating rainbows of color. I reached out, letting my fingertips touch the sparkles as I exhaled a deep breath.
Henry cleared his throat behind me. I didn’t know if I wanted to face him or ignore him, but the latter of the two options won out, and I remained focused on the tree.
He cleared his throat again.
“I can’t believe we are just days away from Christmas,” he finally said.
“I know. It seems like just yesterday we were ringing in the New Year. Now the year is almost over.”
“I remember that night. You wore a blue sweater.”
“How on earth could you remember that?” I spun to face him.
“It was a pretty sweater, and you looked beautiful that night.”
“Don’t tell me that.” I shook my head as I dropped my gaze to the ground and chuckled to relieve the tension burning in my shoulders.
“Don’t do what?”
“Don’t tell me how beautiful I was that night or how you couldn’t stop staring at me or thinking of me or how you wanted to talk to me that night but you didn’t or couldn’t for some foolish reason that will only make me feel worse.”
“Make you feel worse?”
“If you believed me to be so beautiful you remembered what I was wearing, then why didn’t you ever talk me as anything other than an old friend who suddenly became interested in my sister?”
He ducked his chin, taking his gaze to the floor. Guilt seemed to wash through his shoulders and they deflated a little. “I didn’t think you were interested. All you talked about was the bookstore, and it seemed like that was the only thing you had room for in your life. So, I decided not to even think about you in any other way than a friend.” He paused, inhaling and exhaling a deep breath. “And then Amelia came along and she was interested in me.”
“So, it’s my fault? I unknowingly pushed you away and into my sister’s arms?”
“I never said that. I don’t blame you, nor do I think you did anything wrong. It just happened how it happened. There’s no reason to any of it.”
“Just that it’s utterly complicated.”
“Life is complicated. Who said it would be otherwise?”
“I suppose you’re right.”
I turned back around to the Christmas tree, touching it again and letting the tinsel slip through my fingers. I wanted nothing more than to relive the innocence of my youth, a time when all I thought about was the bookstore and nothing else. Not that I didn’t think of marriage and children, however, it wasn’t the priority or concern. I figured after I opened, one day, someone would walk through the door and that would be it. I would be in love. He would be in love. And we would fall madly for each other, spending the rest of our lives together.
I suppose some of it had come true. I had fallen in love. However, the who I’d fallen in love with complicated and skewed every picture I had in my head. Our lives, well, they just weren’t the way of my dreams.
Does life ever follow the imagined images of what you want for your life? Mum used to say how things always seem to work out, whether you thought they would or not. It might not look the same, but in the end, you’ll reach your destined path, and that’s all that matters.
Was she right, though?
I often heard Dad talking about how it wasn’t the end that actually mattered, but it was the journey in which we traveled to that, what we believe, is the perfect ending. In the everyday lives we live, we should enjoy the happiness we can find, and if we only looked to the end, we would miss all that came in the middle. And sometimes the middle was the best part.
I never knew who to believe, and still in thinking about it, I wanted to knock both of their heads together for sending me down such different paths. It was almost so pathetic that it was laughable.
Henry rose from the couch and made his way to the tree, standing next to me as we both stared at it.
“I used to love Christmas time,” I whispered.
“And you don’t now?”
“No, I still do. But there is something different this year. Perhaps it’s because my family isn’t here this year. It’s my first Christmas without them, and while I knew someday I would have to face such a heartbreaking thing, I didn’t think it would be so soon.”
“I know how it feels.”
Having lost his own parents years ago, I knew when he said those words he meant them.
“How did you get through it?”
“I just did. I remembered memories from the years past and held on them as I tried to enjoy the time I had with Grandfather and . . . friends. It’s still Christmas. It’s still a time to embrace what you have, give all you can, and find happiness in those little things like trees,” he reached out, grabbing onto a branch. The tree shook a little, and the tinsel reflected the lights once more, “and presents.”
“Perhaps that could be it too—the childhood dreams of getting what you want on Christmas morning is lost on me this year.”
He glanced over at me, chewing on the side of his lip for a moment. His brow furrowed for a moment, as he seemed to think about something, but before
I could ask him what, he strode out of the living room. On a mission, he was determined, and his cane tapped the floor quicker than I’d seen it move before.
Although I heard some commotion in the hallway, along with a few grunts from him, I stayed near the tree, both wanting to know what he was up to, and yet, a little nervous to know, too.
He finally popped around the wall, a smile beamed across his face. “I have something for you.”
“You do? What is it?”
“I wanted to wait for Christmas morning, but . . . I think it would do you good to get it now. Or I should say to get them now.”
“Them? It’s more than one? Well, now you’ve piqued my interest.”
I moved a few steps forward, toward him, and he held up his hands.
“Stay right there,” he said. “And close your eyes.”
“What if I don’t want to?” My heartbeat kicked up, the nervousness grew.
“Just close your eyes.”
“All right, fine.” I closed my eyes. Once again, I heard some commotion as though he was carrying something and he grunted a few times, struggling with whatever it was. Then there was a loud thump against the floor.
“All right. Open them.”
I peeked with one eye, squinting the other as my gaze fell upon him standing next to a box sitting on the floor. The word ‘Bookstore’ etched in black ink across the top and the sides. I opened the other eye and brought both hands to my lips.
“My books. My books for the store.”
“Well, one box of them. The rest are in another place, but I have them.”
I moved over it, kneeling down in front of the box before flipping open one of the top flaps and gazing down at the collection of titles packed away in it.
“But I thought soldier said they were gone.”
“He did. But I guess he lied to me. The hauptmann who is living in your parents’ house, he’s the one who Major Lanz told to help me with Harold. He remembered you and when I asked him about the books, he said they were still in the cellar and I could have them if I wanted them.”
Yours: An Emotional and Gripping WWII Family Saga (The Promises Between Us Trilogy Book 1) Page 23