by Kate Albus
It was while counting out peas for planting that Edmund hit upon his grand plan to restore the librarian to village society.
“We should plant a garden at school.”
William looked sideways at his brother. “Why would you, of all people, want to do anything that involved spending more time at school?”
Edmund sighed. “I don’t want to spend more time at school, but wouldn’t it be a perfect way for you to—to…I don’t know, make friends, Mrs. Müller?”
“Nora.”
“Right. Nora.”
It didn’t take long for Anna to join in. “It would be digging for victory and such! There’s a sunny patch by the school’s side door, and I don’t think there’s much growing there but dirt just now.”
“Dirt doesn’t grow,” said Edmund.
“I know dirt doesn’t grow.” Anna rolled her eyes. “That’s the point, isn’t it? Don’t you think it’s a good idea, William?”
William cast a glance at the librarian. “I think it’s not up to me whether it’s a good idea or not.”
Mrs. Müller laid her knitting in her lap and looked up at the children. They were surprised to see her eyes shining.
“Oh,” Edmund said. “I’m sorry, Nora—I didn’t mean—I shouldn’t have said that bit about making friends. I only just meant—”
Mrs. Müller reached out and stroked the top of his head. “I’m not getting weepy because you’ve hurt my feelings, Edmund. Just the opposite. I’m touched that you’re devising clever plans to bring me back to the world, is all.”
Edmund grinned. “So, do you think it’s a good idea?”
“I do, actually. If not for my sake, then for the village. I’ve loads of seeds set by—if we planted them about the school, the extra vegetables might come in useful to folks like your Mrs. Griffith.”
Edmund was mildly outraged. “She’s not my Mrs. Griffith.”
“Right,” Mrs. Müller said. “Of course she’s not. But you know what I mean.”
William was enthusiastic now. “And what about the old couple Mrs. Warren was billeted with before her husband…before she—you know—had to leave?”
“Honestly, children, I think it’s a smashing idea,” Mrs. Müller said. “You’ll need to get permission, I suppose, from the village council, or at least the school?”
Edmund raised his eyebrows. “Not us, Nora. You. That’s the point, isn’t it? Reminding people that you’re…suitable?”
“Honestly, Edmund,” Anna said.
Mrs. Müller only chuckled. “Thank you, Edmund, for your kind words.”
“I don’t mean you’re only suitable, Nora,” Edmund said. “You know I think you’re a brick. It’s just—you need to show the rest of the village. And you can’t do that if you’re only ever at home and the library. Remember what you said about spending less time minding dragons?” Anna and William hadn’t the foggiest idea what Edmund meant, but they nodded approvingly nonetheless.
Mrs. Müller directed a piercing look at Edmund. “I’ll make you a bargain,” she said. “I’ll go to the council. You, darling boy, will go to Miss Carr.”
Edmund was horrified. “Miss Carr? She hates me.”
“My point exactly.” Mrs. Müller’s smile held just a bit of mischief. “Perhaps your evacuee victory garden will show her just how suitable you are.”
Plans were drawn up, plots outlined, yields estimated, and Mrs. Müller and Edmund steeled themselves for their respective assignments. March was fast approaching, after all, and the earth does not wait for dawdlers.
Edmund rehearsed what he planned to say to Miss Carr over and over in his head as the children walked to school that Thursday morning, grumbling the words under his breath and wishing the librarian hadn’t named him to the task.
“It’s your own fault,” William said in response to his brother’s scowl. “You’re the one brought up the stuff about dragons. What was that, anyway?”
“That bit from The Hobbit about making sure you’re mindful of dragons that live round about you. I wish I hadn’t brought it up, now it’s me minding the dragon.”
The dragon, as it turned out, was in a particularly foul temper that morning. She was short with Anna when she couldn’t recall the capital of Denmark, and she sentenced Alfie to clapping erasers because he made a rude noise during the mathematics lesson.
It was therefore with some trepidation that Edmund approached the teacher as his classmates filed out toward the noon meal. Anna and William stood close by for moral support, but both were glad that the job had been assigned to Edmund.
He cleared his throat. “Ma’am?”
The frown creasing the teacher’s face only deepened as she turned and saw him.
“I was wondering, Miss Carr, if—well, we—that is, my sister and brother and I were wondering if—”
Miss Carr sighed. “I do hope you’re not about to request a change of billet, because there aren’t any left. That was the only reason Mrs. Norton agreed to the arrangement with Mrs. Müller.”
“No, ma’am,” Edmund said. “It’s not that at all. It’s only just that, well, we’ve had an idea about something we could do as a sort of a…a class project, I suppose.”
“A class project?” Miss Carr scoffed. “Are you not satisfied with the assignments you’ve already been given?”
“No—it’s not that.” Edmund faltered. This was not going well at all. “I’m very satisfied by the assignments—I mean—they’re fine…not just fine—I mean—they’re great. Well, as great as schoolwork can be, mind you—”
“Ed,” William whispered. “Get on with it.”
Edmund got on with it. “Nora—Mrs. Müller—the lady from our billet—”
“Yes?” Miss Carr looked down her nose at him.
“Well, she’s got a garden at her cottage, and we’ve helped her with it a bit, and we thought that if the evacuees got together and planted a garden here at the school, we could give the vegetables to the mums and dads from our billets, and to other people that might need them, here in the village.”
Miss Carr stared at Edmund for a long moment, studying him in a way that was unfamiliar. “Go on.”
Edmund thought he’d heard her tell him to go on. This was unexpected. His mind raced. “It wouldn’t be any more work for you, ma’am. You wouldn’t need to spend any more time with us.”
The barest shadow of a laugh escaped the teacher’s throat. “Small mercies.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Edmund agreed rather too enthusiastically. “I mean—uh—I’m not sure what you mean, but Mrs. Müller can provide the seeds and most of the supplies, and she’s willing to supervise us all.”
The furrow in the teacher’s brow seemed shallower. “This will no doubt come as a surprise to you, as it does me.” She put her hands on her hips. “I like your idea.”
“You do? Really? I mean—thank you. Thank you very much.”
The teacher nodded. “Yes. I think this could be good for the war effort in general, and our relationship with the village more specifically. But don’t get ahead of yourself, young man. The decision isn’t mine to make alone. It would be up to the village council.”
“Right,” Edmund replied. “We know that—I mean, thank you for telling us, but Mrs. Müller is going to speak with the people from the village.”
“Mmmm. And you were tasked with speaking to me?”
“Ehm—Yes.”
“I see.”
Was that a smile on the wicked old witch’s face?
“Well,” she said, “should the council agree, I am indeed in favor of an evacuee victory garden. In fact, while I appreciate Mrs. Müller’s willingness to take charge, I might just pitch in and get my hands dirty.”
Edmund had no reply for this. Given Miss Carr’s unexpectedly positive response to the idea, I really wish you wouldn’t hang about seemed rude. Even worse would be That’s the last thing I’d want—to have to see more of you. In the end, Edmund took a page from his brother’s book of diplo
macy.
“Excellent.”
The children ran to the library as fast as their legs could carry them.
But Miss Carr’s approval, while encouraging, was only half the battle. The next evening, the children waited eagerly for Mrs. Müller to return home from her encounter with the powers-that-be at the village council. She arrived just past dusk, her cheeks bright from the cold.
“Did they say yes?” William asked.
Mrs. Müller unwrapped herself from her coat and scarf and joined the children by the kitchen fire. “They did. Eventually.”
“Eventually?” Anna asked.
“Mmmm. Evelyn Norton objected straightaway, and when Evelyn Norton speaks, her gaggle listens. She said she didn’t think I was suitable for supervising such a project.”
“She quite likes that word, doesn’t she?” Edmund said.
“Indeed.” Mrs. Müller nodded. “Her cronies joined in, concerned it would be tearing up village property and the like.”
Edmund was outraged. “But it’s just the opposite!”
Mrs. Müller smiled. “So said Betty Baxter.”
“Who’s Betty Baxter?” Anna asked.
“She’s a retired schoolteacher. And evidently a gardener. She went on and on about how much the school grounds could yield, if we planned it out properly.”
“So she convinced them?” William asked.
Mrs. Müller took a seat at the kitchen table. “She got them talking. Evelyn Norton started in on the expense and the demands on your teachers, but when I told them your Miss Carr had agreed, and that I’d provide the supplies free of charge and the vegetables to anyone in need, the council saw reason.”
“So they voted?” William asked.
Mrs. Müller nodded. “Seven to three.”
Edmund grinned at her. “Seven yeses?”
“Seven yeses,” Mrs. Müller said. “Betty Baxter actually hugged me after.”
Edmund wrinkled his nose. “Did you want to be hugged by Betty Baxter?”
Mrs. Müller chuckled. “I can’t say I’ve been pining for a hug from Mrs. Baxter, specifically, Edmund, but when the meeting was over, we got to talking and I told her about Martin, and suddenly there she was, hugging me, telling me she’s sorry.”
Anna grinned. Edmund’s plan would work. She knew it would.
And so it was that, on the first fine Saturday in March, Anna, William, and Edmund, accompanied by most of the other evacuees, put spades, picks, and forks to the earth and began turning the soil around the school building. Tools were brought from billets all around the village, and in a few hours’ time the scruffy grass and anemic boxwoods gave way to dark, fertile soil. Mrs. Müller supervised and helped the older boys with the heavier tasks of digging out stones and shrubs. Anna and some of the younger children got down on hands and knees to press dampened peas into the cool, rich earth. Edmund and a smattering of others sowed row upon row of radish and lettuce seeds, carrot and beet, seed potato and kale.
William worked on engineering a trellis by the south wall of the school. Kneeling in the damp loam, he felt an unpleasant twinge in his gut when a pair of feet appeared before him and he realized they were attached to the legs of Frances.
“Hullo.” She tilted her head just so. “Your brother sent me to help you.”
William glanced sidelong at Edmund, who returned his gaze with glee.
“Ehm.” William cleared his throat. “Hello, Frances. Ehm…perhaps you could work on the other end of the trellis? Dig some holes…” He pointed. “Way over there?”
Frances crouched by William’s side, far closer than was necessary, in his view. “Why don’t I just stay here and keep you company while you work?” she said, smiling. “Isn’t that a better idea?”
It’s the worst idea I can imagine, William thought. In the history of worst ideas, it’s the worst idea that’s ever been. “Ehm…well, you see, Frances—”
She held out a handful of dried peas. “Did you know that if a girl finds nine peas in a pod, the next boy she sees will be her husband?”
William’s mouth tasted sour. “No,” he squeaked.
“It’s true,” Frances said. “My auntie told me.”
William could see no reasonable means of escape. A sudden need to visit the toilet? He was pretty sure he’d used that one fairly recently.
“You’ll be Frances, then?”
William exhaled audibly at the sight of Mrs. Müller.
“Yes, ma’am.” Frances straightened herself.
“Aren’t you lovely?” Mrs. Müller said, offering William the most imperceptible of winks. “It would be a shame to dirty such a pretty dress, wouldn’t it?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Much as Frances hated to be torn from William, she was glad to be in the company of a woman who understood the importance of not mussing dresses.
“Do you know what we could use?” Mrs. Müller continued. “We could use someone to draw up a map of the garden. You strike me as an artistic girl, Frances. Are you up for it?”
Frances nodded as she was herded off. Mrs. Müller glanced backward only once to throw William a smile.
William sighed. God bless her.
A letter arrived for the children that afternoon. “From your grandmother, yes?” Mrs. Müller handed it to William.
William recognized Miss Collins’s neat scrawl on the envelope. “Yes.”
“I hope she’s keeping well, children,” Mrs. Müller said. “Why don’t you take your letter upstairs while I set to preparing supper?”
The children did just so, lying on their stomachs on the big bed as William read aloud for all of them to hear.
Dear Children,
Your last letter took some time in its travels, by the looks of it. You said you wrote it on Christmas night, but it only just arrived with yesterday’s post, on the last day of February. I suppose the mails are hardly the most important thing the war has mucked about with.
I must say, I’m not sure what to make of your new lodgings. I can’t imagine the government is billeting children with Nazi sympathizers, are they? Perhaps you’re mistaken? I daresay, I hope so. In any case, I have every faith that you children will know what is right and what is wrong when it comes to the preposterous plan.
I hope this reaches you more quickly than yours did me. Please do write again when you can. I think of you often and pray that this cruel time will end well, and soon, for us all.
Yours,
Kezia Collins
William looked up from the letter and was not surprised to find Anna smirking at him. What did surprise him was that Edmund had rather a smirk on his face as well.
“She has every faith that we’ll know what’s right and what’s wrong,” Edmund said.
William looked from his brother to his sister, a sort of warmth suffusing his chest. “I do, too,” he said.
Anna wrapped her arms about his neck and squeezed him tight.
Just as a watched pot never boils, a watched carrot never sprouts. But in a matter of days the emerging green of radish and kale could be seen in the evacuees’ victory garden. There was great excitement in the classroom at the first glimmer of sprouts. Even Miss Carr seemed to understand. She only put a stop to it all when Hugh asked to check on the garden for the fourth time that morning.
“I realize it’s all terribly exciting, Hugh, but I expect the radishes won’t be quite ready to eat just yet.”
“Oh, I know, ma’am. I don’t even like radishes.” Anna nodded in understanding. “I just want to be sure they’re all right.”
“You may check on them again after class, Hugh. Back to your work, please.”
Hugh sighed and returned to the subject of fractions, which, as it turns out, holds less interest to a nine-year-old boy than does the subject of radishes.
As the garden took flight, so too did the interest of the village. People could be seen smiling warmly as they read the wobbly, hand-lettered sign announcing the EVACUEES’ VICTORY GARDEN.
Watering
the lettuce sprouts one morning, Anna was met by a familiar and not entirely welcome face.
“What’s this?” Mrs. Griffith asked. Penny, Helen, and Jane peeked out from behind her. Robert was in his pram, uncharacteristically quiet.
Anna straightened herself. “The evacuees have planted a victory garden,” she said, thinking this really should have been obvious from the sign.
Mrs. Griffith nodded as Jane launched into a fit of coughing. Anna felt a sad sort of ache as she watched the wretched child wipe her mouth on her mother’s skirt.
“Jane doesn’t sound well,” she said.
Mrs. Griffith gave a dismissive wave. “She’s fine.”
“Have you had word from your husband, Mrs. Griffith?”
“Not since the new year.” Mrs. Griffith grew suddenly intent on a worn patch on her shoe. “Still in the north of Africa, far as I know.”
Anna swallowed and took a deep breath. “Once the vegetables are ready to pick, we can bring some over for you, Mrs. Griffith.”
The woman narrowed her eyes at Anna. “How much are you going to charge?”
“Oh, nothing—that is, the evacuees are growing the vegetables for their billets, and—seeing as how Edmund and William and I were billeted with you last fall—”
Mrs. Griffith brightened. “That’s right.”
“You’re welcome to some,” Anna said. “When it’s ready, William and Edmund and I will be glad to bring over a parcel.”
She felt a sort of glow as she realized that she really would be glad to do just that.
Edmund also found himself facing his past one afternoon that week, as he trained baby pea shoots to grow up the trellis. Threading a delicate green tendril through one of the slats, he recognized Jack Forrester’s voice—somehow a growl and a whine at once—before he turned around.