A Woman's Courage

by S Block

  This was different.

  Jenny plumped one of his pillows and propped it at his back. His lips were cracked, his throat dry and tender.

  ‘I’m parched,’ he told her and she poured a glass of water from the jug on the bedside table and helped him take his first few sips.

  ‘Have you seen Ma, my dad?’ he asked. ‘Vivian?’

  She shook her head. ‘Not yet, but I’m told they’re fine. Your mum’s with Vivian, and your dad’s on a special ward. ’ She caught his look. ‘It’s just a precaution, they said. His blood pressure was up, and after what happened before they wanted to keep a close eye on him. ’ She waited a moment. ‘What happened?’

  He told her about getting home and smelling smoke, opening the door into the hall and finding the place thick with it, getting his mother and Vivian out and then discovering his father wasn’t with them.

  Going back a second time.

  She hung onto his hand. ‘What if you hadn’t made it? You should have waited for the fire crew. ’

  He shook his head.

  No time.

  He could not lose his family. He would not let fire hurt them, too.

  Chapter 27

  S

  ARAH MOBILISED THE MEMBERS of the WI, who gathered outside the butcher’s the day after the fire, armed with buckets and mops and cloths, ready to undertake the clean-up. It was hoped they’d be able to get things back to some semblance of normality before Miriam and the family came home from the hospital.

  It looked like the fire had started in the storeroom at the back of the empty shop. An electrical fault, most likely, according to the fire chief, who ’d carried out an inspection of the still-smouldering premises hours after the blaze had been extinguished. A stack of wood intended as new shelves and flooring, as well as other materials destined for the new shop, had gone up in flames. In a corner of the room a pile of old insulating material awaiting removal was identified as the most likely source of the choking smoke that had spread throughout the building. ‘Lucky they got out when they did,’ the fire chief said. ‘That stuff’s a killer. ’

  Most of the damage was to the new shop. Water from the fire hoses had gushed inside, streaking every surface with soot and filth, creating a foul-smelling sludge. Even the ceiling had not managed to escape. A sickly smell hung in the air.

  Erica, who led the clean-up team for that section of the building, stood for a moment on the wet floor, surveying the damage.

  ‘Right, ladies, let’s get the windows open and the doors, back and front. Get some fresh air in. And mind your step, the floor’s swimming with water. ’

  They began at the front of the shop, working methodically, wiping down the walls, mopping the floor. Erica found a set of steps and was able to reach the ceiling. ‘We’ll go over everything once, get the worst of it off, and then go back over it all again,’ she said. ‘Let’s get to work!’

  Soon, the scent of bleach and Vim filled the air.

  At the back of the building, John was busy emptying what was left of the charred materials from the storeroom. Everything was a sodden, stinking mess. He shovelled it into a wheelbarrow and carried it away to the furthest corner of the yard. Earlier, he had checked the butcher’s shop and found it largely unscathed, the cold store and its contents undamaged. There was a door into the butcher’s from the corridor that now linked both premises but, thankfully, it had been shut. There was no reason he could see why they wouldn’t be able to open up once the place had been given a thorough clean.

  Sarah and Frances, meanwhile, were making a start on the house. ‘It doesn’t actually look too bad,’ Sarah said, opening the windows in the front room. ‘It’s the smell more than anything. I’d say the best thing we can do is get it aired right through. ’

  ‘Thank goodness the fire didn’t spread beyond the storeroom,’ Frances said, ‘although smoke can be just as deadly. ’

  Sarah started taking down the curtains. ‘I’ll sponge these and get them on the line,’ she said, ‘and the ones upstairs as well. There’s fresh linen for the beds. Apart from that, if we clean everything as best we can, and wipe down the walls and the paintwork, at least it’ll be habitable. ’

  Frances nodded. ‘I wonder how they’ll feel about coming back after such an ordeal – somewhat nervous, I imagine. ’

  ‘It doesn’t bear thinking about what might have happened if David hadn’t returned when he did,’ Sarah said. ‘He got here in the nick of time, by all accounts. ’

  Frances sighed. ‘It must have brought it all back, what he went through on the ship. ’

  Sarah nodded grimly. ‘I don’t doubt it. ’

  *

  Frances opened the door into the windowless hall. The corridor, she saw, led to a kind of lobby littered with obstacles: a coat stand at the rear, one for umbrellas nearby; a side table on which sat a rather lovely coloured vase. If you didn’t know where you were going, what were the chances of reaching the stairs? she wondered. One wrong turn and you could miss the staircase altogether and end up crashing into the table. If that were to happen, you’d most likely blunder into the passage that now led to the new shop, going in entirely the wrong direction, plunging ever deeper into the smoke, edging closer to the source of the fire.

  She closed her eyes and took a few tentative steps forward, aiming for the staircase, and was almost immediately disorientated, feeling she might lose her balance. She put her hands out in front of her and kept going, feeling her way, searching for the banister. When she opened her eyes she saw she had veered to the right and missed the stairs altogether, and was now only inches from the table. How much worse it would be in the dark, with your heart pounding, smoke filling your lungs. John had definitely made the right decision. She felt a sudden shiver, the hairs on her arms standing on end.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Sarah asked, coming up behind her.

  ‘Thinking about John. He seemed to feel he could have done more when David went back in to get Bryn out. ’ She shook her head. ‘I don’t think he ’d have stood a chance. ’

  ‘I just hope the people who’ve been so antagonistic towards him might now have a change of heart,’ Sarah said. ‘The Dawsons, for a start. ’

  ‘John’s such a decent man,’ Frances said. She remembered all too well the day that John had found Noah, after he ’d run away from school, and brought him home safe. She would be grateful to him forever. She smiled, remembering his hand on Alison’s the night before. ‘And I think he’s very fond of Alison. ’

  ‘They’re certainly close. ’

  Closer than we might imagine, Frances thought.

  ‘It makes you think about life, how fragile it is,’ Sarah said. ‘It brings everything into sharp focus, somehow, all that truly matters and how easily it can be snatched away. ’ She glanced at Frances. ‘Sometimes, all that we hold most dear – what we most want to protect – can feel tantalisingly out of reach. ’

  Frances touched her arm. ‘I know it must make you think about Adam. I take it there’s no more news?’

  Sarah shook her head. She ’d had one more letter, and then nothing. ‘I keep writing, but nothing comes back. It’s been months. ’ She gave Frances an anguished look. ‘All we seem to hear is bad news. The newspapers are full of how the Soviets are suffering now – hundreds of thousands dead, Leningrad under siege. ’ Germany’s decision to launch Operation Barbarossa and invade Russia in the summer had caught Stalin out and was proving catastrophic. ‘I was reading about the Einsatzgruppen, the so-called “special duty units” who kill any Jewish people they find as the Nazis push on into the Soviet Union. ’ She felt suddenly tearful and took a deep breath. ‘It’s all so terrible, and it makes me feel even more anxious. I can’t help thinking something awful must have happened. Otherwise, why wouldn’t Adam have been in touch – even just a few lines to let me know he’s all right?’

  ‘There could be any number of reasons. It may be something as simple as the
post not getting through. ’

  Sarah was quiet for a moment. ‘I was thinking earlier about what David did, risking his life to save his loved ones,’ she said, ‘preventing what might have been a terrible tragedy. It says so much about how we’re set up, doesn’t it? When it comes to those we love, our instinct is always to put them first. We don’t stop to think, we simply act. We do what we can to protect the people we care most for – run into a burning building, sacrifice ourselves, if need be. ’ She sighed. ‘One of the hardest things about all this is that I can do nothing for Adam. Whatever he’s going through, whatever he might need, I’m utterly helpless. If it came to it, I’d happily run into a burning building to save him. ’ She smiled sadly. ‘Happily is the wrong word, perhaps. Willingly. What I mean is that I’d do anything for him, lay down my life without a second thought, just like David was prepared to for his family. But I can’t. My hands are tied. ’ She frowned. ‘Listen to me – do I sound completely mad?’

  ‘Not to me you don’t,’ Frances said. ‘Self-sacrifice, putting others first – it’s what we do in the name of love. War takes no account of that, I’m afraid. ’

  ‘I just needed to get all that off my chest,’ Sarah said.

  ‘It’ll be all right,’ Frances told her.

  Sarah shook her head. ‘You can’t possibly know that. ’

  ‘And you can’t possibly know it won’t. ’

  *

  It was late by the time Sarah got home. Her shoulders and back ached from all the stretching and hard work they’d done. She was in no mood to start cooking, and rummaged half-heartedly in the pantry, looking for something that required almost no effort. She found a loaf of bread and cut a few slices, spreading them thickly with jam. She ate standing up, listening to the wireless.

  More grim news. In Germany, the newsreader intoned, the Nazis were further singling out the country’s Jewish community, who for several weeks now had been required, by law, to wear a yellow Star of David. During their time in Oxford, Sarah and Adam had been friendly with a Jewish family whose relatives had fled Berlin at the end of 1938 after Kristallnacht, when the windows of synagogues and stores owned by Jews were smashed. Homes were destroyed and tens of thousands of men arrested.

  Sarah felt a chill go through her. The decision to make a Jewish badge compulsory felt so ominous, a precursor to something else, something worse. Why label people unless your intention was to make targets of them? It had already happened in Poland, where Jewish people had been made to wear armbands, thousands herded together in a ghetto. What would come next? she wondered. Surely nothing good.

  She finished eating and switched off the wireless. These days, she could hardly bear to listen to the news. It put her on edge, and she already felt exhausted.

  A bath and then bed. That was what she needed. At least tonight she was so tired she would sleep.

  She put off the kitchen light and was almost at the top of the stairs when she heard a soft tapping at the front door. She could think of no one who would call so late, although one or two of the others were still busy in the new shop when she and Frances had called it a night. It would be Erica, perhaps, with something she felt couldn’t wait until morning.

  She went to the door, still in her oldest pinny, a few strands of hair escaping from the knotted headscarf she ’d had on all day that was now beginning to work its way loose.

  She stood on the top step and peered into the garden. There was no one there. The sky was full of thick cloud that obscured the moon, making it too dark to see much beyond the shapes of the trees. She waited a moment, the breeze gently shaking a branch of wisteria above her head. Perhaps that was what she had heard.

  As she turned to go back inside, the sound of something crunching on the gravel made her freeze. She spun round to find a dishevelled figure facing her: long, straggly hair, a beard that had been allowed to grow wild, a tattered and dirty coat. The moment their eyes met Sarah knew him.

  ‘Adam,’ she whispered.

  Chapter 28

  T

  HROUGHOUT THE MONTHS THAT Adam had been gone, Sarah had never stopped dreaming about having him home again. Occasionally, she would while away several hours, an entire day sometimes, thinking about what it would be like when he came back.

  In her mind’s eye, she waited for him at the bus stop in the village wearing the yellow seersucker dress she kept for best. Her hair was left loose in waves and she had taken care over her make-up and dabbed rosewater behind her ears and at the back of her neck. The sun felt warm on her skin, the brilliant blue of the sky bringing to mind the topaz earrings she had worn on their wedding day. At the side of the road hollyhocks laden with pink and white flowers swayed in the breeze and the air was sweet with the scent of lilac. Somewhere, out of sight, a blackbird sang, a sweet, liquid call.

  In her imagined version of events, it was the Adam of old who returned. He would be smiling, looking smart in his officer’s uniform, stepping from the bus to take her in his arms. She imagined the two of them laughing as he lifted her into the air, kissing, not caring who saw them. She pictured the familiar sparkle in his eyes, the strength to sweep her off her feet.

  That was how she chose to think it would be.

  The night Adam came home was nothing like it.

  She hadn’t known him at first. He seemed a stranger hunched inside a shabby overcoat standing on the path in front of her, an old man with sagging shoulders. In the darkness, she couldn’t see much beyond the unkempt hair poking out from under his hat and the sort of wild beard she associated with hermits; the tramp who wandered the countryside, arriving in Great Paxford each spring. For some reason a Rembrandt came to mind, a painting she had seen in the National Gallery with Adam.

  Adam.

  When the shambling figure looked at her, she had felt her legs threaten to give way.

  There was none of the joy she had imagined. As she embraced him she felt how frail he was, as if he might fold like a paper bag. Inside, in the light, his ragged state became even more apparent. There was dirt in his hair and under his fingernails, and the wild beard was tangled and matted, his coat stiff with mud and stale sweat. She felt as if her heart would break as she sat him at the kitchen table, putting bread in front of him, along with the small scraping of butter she had, slices of tinned meat. She watched him devour every bit of food, and wondered when he had last eaten. When she filled a tumbler with whisky, he drank it straight down.

  She ran a bath and gently soaped his skin and washed his hair. His body was nothing like the body she knew so well. He was thin, shoulder blades and ribs jutting out. At first, he told her almost nothing, only that he and two others had managed to escape from the camp. When she asked how they’d got away he gave a wry smile. ‘A fluke,’ he said, ‘sheer luck. ’

  It seemed that was all he was prepared to say tonight. It was clear he was exhausted and she knew not to press him, even though her head was full of questions. The finer details could wait until he was ready. For now, what mattered was that he was back.

  In bed they clung to one another, their lovemaking brief and frantic. Afterwards, Sarah laid her face against his chest, and felt his breathing change as he sank into a deep sleep.

  *

  The following morning, dressed in his own clothes and with the beard gone, he looked more like his old self. After breakfast, Sarah cut his hair.

  ‘How are you feeling?’ she asked.

  ‘Strange,’ he said, stroking his chin. ‘I’d got used to all the hair, not having to shave. Even the rather ripe overcoat. ’

  Sarah wrinkled her nose. She had put it out first thing.

  ‘When you look like a down-and-out, no one pays you the least bit of attention. I mean, they might see you in a vague fashion but they don’t really look at you. It can be quite useful. ’

  Sarah smiled. ‘When I opened the door last night, do you know what I thought?’

  ‘What’s that smelly old tramp doing on the doorstep?’<
br />
  ‘I remembered our trip to the National Gallery, a painting I’d seen there. ’

  He gave her a quizzical look. ‘Should I take that as a compliment?’

  She laughed. ‘Probably not. It wasn’t the most flattering of portraits. Looking at you now, freshly scrubbed and clean-shaven, I’m hard pressed to see the resemblance. ’

  ‘I wasn’t sure how you’d react, if you’d even recognise me. ’

  She reached for his hand. ‘The village will be overjoyed to have you back,’ she said. ‘Everyone’s been incredibly concerned about you, so kind. The entire congregation of St Mark’s prays each Sunday for your safe return. It’s become part of the service. ’ Sarah had begun attending church regularly; it was her way of expressing gratitude to those who had shown her such kindness. Despite her lack of faith, she found being with other people a comfort, and the services were starting to instil in her a sense of peace she had not expected. ‘They’ll be delighted to have their vicar back. ’

  Adam’s smile disappeared. ‘I don’t want them to know, not yet. I’ve only just got home. ’

  Sarah was taken aback. ‘We can hardly keep it a secret,’ she said. ‘Not when I’m stopped every time I go into the village by someone wanting to know if there’s any news. How can I look people in the eye and pretend I’ve heard nothing when you’re hidden away at home? It would feel wrong. ’

  ‘I don’t want them knowing,’ Adam insisted. ‘I need time to settle in, to get a few things straight in my head. I can’t just pick up where I left off. ’ He looked at her. ‘After everything that’s happened, I can think of nothing worse than people crowding in, making a fuss. ’

  ‘Aren’t they entitled to make a fuss when you’ve been captured and held in a German POW camp and now, by some miracle, you’re home? These are your parishioners, Adam, people who care about you. ’ Sarah gazed at him. ‘You’re their vicar. The one they look to for support of all kinds, spiritual guidance, someone to listen and show compassion and understanding. They’ve felt your absence keenly. I know, because they’ve told me. It seems only fair to let them know you’re safe. ’