It was an odd request, but Brandon saw no reason to refuse. “Sure. I guess. I mean, I’ll try.”
“Thank you,” she said simply.
Ten minutes later, the taxi driver rang the doorbell, and then she was gone.
In the coming weeks, Brandon heard nothing from Peggy Gordon, or the Professor, and he began to wonder what he would do if he never made it home to Snipesville in the twenty-first century. One afternoon, he was mulling over his uncertain future while he tidied the surgery near the end of a dreadful day. There had been two extractions, four fillings, and a hideous scene with a small boy who was terrified of going to the dentist. Mary tried to tug the screaming boy up the stairs by the arm, while his mother sat in the parlor, wringing her hands. Finally, Brandon couldn’t stand listening anymore, and ran downstairs.
“Mary, let me try,” he said.
“Good idea. You’re stronger than me, I reckon.”
But Brandon had no intention of dragging the boy anywhere.
He sat down on the stairs, and spoke to him.
“Hello, I’m George. What’s your name?”
“Freddy,” said the boy, looking at him suspiciously.
“Have you ever been to a dentist before?” Brandon asked.
“N..n…no,” the boy hiccupped.
“So why are you here?”
“My tooth hurts.”
“A lot?”
The boy nodded miserably.
“If I promise not to hurt you, will you come with me?”
The boy looked skeptical, so Brandon tried again.
“I promise, we’ll just look at your tooth. And if it needs to be fixed, we’ll use our special fairy gas to put you to sleep. Do you know, it gives you the best dreams, just like in Peter Pan.”
“Honest?” asked the boy.
“Honest,” said Brandon.
“How much does gas cost?” asked the mother.
“Two shillings and sixpence,” said Brandon.
“I can’t afford that,” said Freddy’s anxious mother. “I just told him, if he’s a good boy and gets it over with, I’ll buy him some sweeties later.”
Brandon figured that Freddy had already had enough “sweeties,” judging from the state of his teeth. And he didn’t feel like extracting a child’s tooth without anesthetics.
He said, “Look, we have a special today: Free gas with every tooth extraction for all children under 11.” He reckoned Mr. Gordon wouldn’t mind so long as he took the money from his own allowance. Freddy and his mother both looked very relieved.
“And first, if you like, I will show you how our special chair works. It can go up and down.”
“And round and round?” the boy asked.
“Yes, that’s right. Wanna come see?” He offered a hand, and Freddy took it.
Freddy’s tooth was in bad shape, but the nitrous oxide helped. He turned out to be remarkably calm once he was in the dentist’s chair. Now, Brandon swept the surgery, and turned out the gas lamp. The last patient had left, and Mr. Gordon had gone to town on business.
“Letter for you, George,” came Mary’s call from downstairs.
The writing on the envelope was unfamiliar, and there was no return address, but that, he had learned, was normal in England. He opened it, and was surprised to see that the writing on the letter was different from that on the envelope.
It was from Peggy. She was staying at an address in Bedfordshire, the next county. There was, she wrote, no need to reply, and she begged him not to tell anyone, including Oliver, about the letter. Her message was brief. She wrote, “Captain Braithwaite was killed in action two weeks ago.”
Chapter 12
Arrivals and Departures
Now that Alex and Hannah were members of Mrs. Devenish’s household, they were expected to accompany her to church every Sunday.
The Friday before their first church service, Mrs. Devenish took both kids to pick out some clothes from a collection of used garments assembled by the ladies of the WVS and the Women’s Institute. Hannah was shocked to be offered only secondhand clothes, and said so. Taking her firmly by the arm, Mrs. Devenish pulled her aside. She sternly lectured Hannah on the need for sacrifice in wartime, and the government’s campaign to “make do and mend” clothes. Most clothing factories, she said, were now making supplies for the troops, not pretty dresses for little girls.
Hannah sulked a little, but she managed to find an acceptable dress in light blue. It was very plain-looking, she thought, and rather drab, but that was true of all the clothes, and at least it didn’t look totally sad.
Alex, on the other hand, was happy to accept whatever Mrs. Devenish could find to fit him, even though there were several holes in the shorts which she darned later that evening. All the same, as the kids walked to church, Hannah thought her brother looked smart in his blue pants, white shirt, and matching blue sweater.
“What I don’t understand,” said Hannah quietly to Alex, as they walked behind Eric and Verity, who in turn walked behind Mrs. Devenish, “is why Mrs. D. bothers to go to church every Sunday. I mean, the Archers never did, and lots of girls at school say they only go at Christmas.”
“Maybe Mrs. D. goes to keep an eye on God. She can’t much like the competition.” Alex laughed at his own joke.
“Yeah,” said Hannah, who hadn’t listened. “But most Christians I know in California talk about Jesus all the time. Mrs. D. never even mentions him. I’ve never seen her open a Bible. There’s no religious stuff in the house, like crosses. She smokes, and she drinks…”
“She does?” said Alex, astonished.
“Well, sometimes. There’s a whisky bottle in the kitchen, you know, and the level is slowly going down.”
“Slowly, yeah, but that makes sense. Kind of like Grandma and Grandpa, or Dad…They all like a drink, but they’re not drunks.”
“You know,” continued Hannah, still not listening to her brother, “I told her we don’t usually go to church at home, and that we have to lipsync the hymns and prayers at our school assemblies every morning, because we don’t know them. She’s all,” and here Hannah gave a passable imitation of Mrs. Devenish, looking over imaginary glasses and wagging her finger at Alex, “‘As Christians, you children must take your religious education more seriously.’ So I go, how do you know we’re Christians? I mean, we could be Muslims, or Wiccans, or whatever…”
“Yeah, well, I bet that set her off,” said Alex with a smile. “You know, I don’t think we know what counts as Christian here. I guess it’s kind of like the difference between the Masses that Grandma and Dad sometimes drag us to, and that wacky religious stuff that your friend Britney’s mom is into, and all the no alcohol stuff that Brandon’s church preaches. From what I can figure out at school, everyone here assumes you’re a Christian unless your parents say otherwise.”
“Yeah, maybe,” said Hannah, but she didn’t sound convinced.
“Why is this church so new?” Hannah asked Mrs. Devenish as they drew near to the building. “I kind of like the other church better, you know, with the stained glass and tower, and stuff.”
“Balesworth has grown a great deal in recent years,” said Mrs. Devenish. “It’s much larger than it was when my husband and I moved into our house in 1907. The old parish church became quite unsuitable for a large congregation, and the parish was divided in two. But, you know, I rather like this new church. It’s very modern, isn’t it?”
“Yes, but that’s the problem,” said Hannah, “That’s kind of boring. What’s the point of an English church if it isn’t cute?”
“I doubt very much that God sees it that way,” said Mrs. Devenish wryly. “In any case, you should know that St. Swithins Church, while beautiful, is not terribly comfortable. There are no lavatories…”
“You mean toilets?” interrupted Hannah.
“I do,” she continued, “and it’s absolutely freezing in the pews, especially in the winter. I don’t like to complain, of course, but I didn’t object when I le
arned I was to belong to the new parish…”
Just then, Verity, who had been walking with the boys, rushed up on Mrs. Devenish’s right, and took her grandmother’s gloved hand.
“Mind if I join you two?” she asked cheerily. “The boys are talking about aeroplanes.” She pulled a face, and Mrs. Devenish smiled at her.
Suddenly, to Hannah’s surprise, Mrs. Devenish grasped her hand, too. Hannah was torn between feeling a bit silly to be holding hands with an old lady and being rather pleased. The three of them walked hand in hand to the church, where the vicar, dressed in his vestments, greeted them at the door.
The Church of England service was surprisingly like the Catholic Masses they had attended: Alex and Hannah simply copied the others as they kneeled, sat up, and stood. The service lasted about an hour, and they might have found it extremely boring, but Mrs. Devenish never once allowed them to become bored: She nagged the kids constantly.
“Do stop fidgeting, Hannah,” she murmured, as Hannah played with her cloth handkerchief. When Hannah resumed folding it into a smaller and smaller lump, she suddenly found it taken from her, and deposited in Mrs. Devenish’s substantial purse.
Glancing to her left, Hannah saw Eric and Verity sitting bolt upright in the pew, gazing intently at the pulpit while the vicar gave his sermon. Hannah giggled, as she realized that Eric was actually staring into space, daydreaming. Suddenly a gloved hand gently but firmly grabbed the top of her head, and turned her face forward again. Hannah almost protested, but then she saw several adults glaring at her, and she changed her mind.
Alex fared no better. He gradually slid down the hard wooden pew, until Mrs. Devenish hissed “Sit up!’ at him, and yanked him straight up by the collar, almost throttling him. When he began to make up his own words during the singing of Bread of Heaven, she smartly slapped the back of his head, without lifting her eyes from the hymnal or missing a note.
But when time came for communion, Mrs. Devenish was shocked to see Alex and Hannah get to their feet. “Neither of you is confirmed,” she whispered urgently. “Sit down at once.” They gladly did as they were told.
As Mrs. Devenish was returning from the altar, Hannah noticed her give a sudden surprised look of recognition to someone in the congregation, followed by a small smile. Hannah tried to see who it was, but she couldn’t figure it out.
After the service ended, Mrs. Devenish and the kids paused at the church door to greet the vicar. He was a young man, in his late thirties, with a receding hairline and a gentle smile.
“And who might you be, eh?” he asked Alex and Hannah kindly.
“These children are Alexander and Hannah Day, Vicar,” said Mrs. Devenish, before they had a chance to answer for themselves. “They are my new evacuees, but I’ve known them since they arrived at their first billet in Balesworth, and we have become friends. Haven’t we, children?”
Hannah looked at her with amused disbelief. “Well, yeah, I guess that kind of describes it. Sort of.”
Mrs. Devenish glanced at her warningly and said under her breath, “That will do, Hannah.”
“Now, Vicar,” she said more loudly. “About that sermon of yours.”
The vicar blenched. “Yes, Mrs. Devenish?”
“It’s all very well for you to twitter on about the need to raise funds for the diocese to replace the church roof over at St. Swithin’s, but I must say that I find it in remarkably poor taste… Run along, children, I’ll catch up with you…Vicar, don’t you think that in the middle of a war, the money would be better spent on our Spitfire fund?”
“Good old Granny,” said Verity, laughing, as the kids walked away. “The poor vicar is terrified of her. I’ve seen him run a mile in the other direction when he sees her coming up the High Street.”
“You two,” was her opening salvo from the front door.
“You two, Alexander and Hannah Day, simply must learn to behave properly, and especially in church. I feel like poor Professor Higgins, what with Eric and now the pair of you.”
“What does that mean?” asked Alex casually, as he and Hannah stepped into the hall to see what Mrs. Devenish was fussing about.
“What it means, Alexander, is that I feel rather like a character in a play by George Bernard Shaw, who lives not too far from here, by the way. The play is called Pygmalion, and it is about a professor who trains a Cockney guttersnipe to speak and act like a lady.”
“Oh, you mean My Fair Lady,” said Hannah. “That was an awesome movie. I saw it on DVD with my Grandma once.” She began to sing the song to a hip-hop beat, “I coulda danced all night, I coulda danced all night…”
Mrs. Devenish shook her head. “Hannah, that’s ridiculous. I don’t know what you are talking about. Indeed, that pretty much sums up my experience with you two. Anyone would think you had just arrived with Flash Gordon in a spaceship from the planet Mars.”
“Hey, Mrs. D.,” laughed Alex, “how do you know we didn’t, huh? Did Hannah tell you where she stores her antennae when she’s out in public?” Hannah giggled.
“Oh, good grief, what a lot of bosh you two talk,” said Mrs. Devenish. She pushed past them into the kitchen, but Hannah saw her suppressing a smile. “Come on, I have to finish making the lunch, and I need all of you to help.”
Lunch was roasted pork, with roasted potatoes that were crisp, buttery and golden on the outside, white and fluffy on the inside. Mrs. Devenish also made sliced boiled carrots, and chunky, tart applesauce with apples from the old tree in the garden. And there were Brussels sprouts.
Hannah tasted one of those at Mrs. Devenish’s insistence, and loudly declared it to be disgusting. Mrs. Devenish responded by adding two more to her plate. “And I expect to see that plate cleaned before you leave the table,” she said.
Shortly after the meal began, Mrs. Devenish got up to check the oven, where an apple crumble was baking for dessert. Hannah thought she wasn’t looking, and quickly lifted the sprouts off her own plate, stuffing them in the pocket of her dress. The other kids saw her, and started giggling. They soon stopped when Mrs. Devenish turned to look at them suspiciously. Grabbing a spoon, she took two more sprouts from the tureen, and dropped them onto Hannah’s plate.
“Go and empty your pockets, young woman, before you get a stain on your dress. You can put them in the bucket I keep for Mr. Johnson’s pigs.”
“How did you know?” said Hannah, agog, as she stood up.
“I didn’t,” Mrs. Devenish replied with a wry smile.
Alex looked at Hannah and mimed “Duh…”
“That will do, Alexander,” Mrs. Devenish said. “I haven’t seen you eat your Brussels sprouts yet, either.” Alex looked appalled. The other kids smirked, until Mrs. Devenish said, “All of you can wipe those silly smiles off your faces. Each and every one of you is fussy about some food or other. You are all pests.”
After lunch, during which Hannah managed to finish the sprouts with the aid of the potatoes and several glasses of water, Mrs. Devenish pulled out a letter from the pocket of her apron, which was hanging on a hook on the kitchen door.
“I received a letter yesterday that concerns all of you except Alex,” she said, sitting down at the kitchen table, and putting on her reading glasses. “It’s from Mrs. Smith. Let me refresh your memory: She is the unfortunate woman whose window you broke, and for whom you caused so much trouble. She insists that she does not wish the three of you to make a personal apology, but would prefer I simply send her a postal order for the amount of eleven shillings, sixpence ha’penny, which is apparently the payment she requires.”
“Cool!” said Hannah. “That’s nice of her. See, I told you guys it was no big…”
She was suddenly silenced by one of the looks from Mrs. Devenish that Alex had named “the death rays from hell.”
“I, however, have begged to differ,” said Mrs. Devenish, “I’ve written back to Mrs. Smith to ask her to reconsider. The three of you will apologize to her, and, as far as I am concerned, that is final.”
She tucked the letter back in the envelope, and placed it on the table in front of her. “Now, I have some rather more pleasant news for everyone. I ran into old Mrs. Lewis at church today. I was surprised to see her there, but she said,” and here she coughed, “she said that the roof is leaking too badly at St. Swithins for her to attend communion there.” Verity gave a small smile, remembering the conversation between her grandmother and the Vicar.
“And Mrs. Lewis would be….?” asked Hannah in her attitudey voice.
“I beg your pardon?” sputtered an offended Mrs. Devenish.
“You never learn,” breathed Alex in a singsong to his sister.
“Um, sorry,” Hannah said. “Who is Mrs. Lewis….please?”
“That’s better,” Mrs. Devenish said with a nod. “Mrs. Lewis is an old lady to whom I pay occasional visits. She lives on the outskirts of the town. In fact,” she added casually, as though it were an afterthought, “she just happens to be the next door neighbor of Mrs. Smith. She has kindly invited me to afternoon tea today, along with Hannah and Verity.”
“Oh, joy,” Hannah muttered, sarcastically. “Joyous occasion,” she corrected herself to say, seeing a flash of annoyance cross Mrs. Devenish’s face.
“You, my girl, are pushing your luck,” said Mrs. Devenish with a sour look, as she got to her feet, and pulled on her apron. “Come and help me with the washing up. You can dry.” With that, she handed Hannah a dish towel.
Don't Know Where, Don't Know When (The Snipesville Chronicles Book 1) Page 21