A Fire Sparkling

by MacLean, Julianne

  Theodore had been called into the office for a few hours in the afternoon to deal with administrative tasks. Perhaps it was women’s intuition, but Vivian and April had decided to spend that time redecorating their Anderson air raid shelter in the back garden.

  “It’s too depressing in there,” April had said while they ate their lunch on a park bench overlooking the Thames. “Heaven forbid—what if we ever need to spend an entire night in there, like rats in a hole? How would we amuse ourselves? Books and a deck of cards would be nice. And extra blankets, now that it’s cooling off at night.”

  “Good Lord. I can’t imagine being stuck out there all night,” Vivian replied. “But you’re right. We should be prepared.”

  April stood up from the bench and held out her hand. “Let’s go and make it pretty, shall we? It needs some pillows with tassels or something. Perhaps a colorful tapestry along the corrugated metal sheeting? I’m not sure how I will attach it.”

  Vivian laughed and allowed her sister to pull her to her feet. “We’ll think of something, I’m sure. Although I don’t know where we’ll find colorful tapestries.”

  A few hours later, they collapsed onto the narrow beds in the shelter. The door was open, and they lay for a while with their ankles crossed, their hands cupped together on their bellies, listening to the sound of pigeons cooing on the roof of the house.

  “What a perfect day it’s been,” Vivian said. “So much better than yesterday.”

  April turned her head on the pillow. “What do you mean? I thought yesterday was a good day.”

  Vivian wished she was better at hiding her feelings and keeping secrets, but it was not her strong suit. It never had been, and it probably never would be.

  She rolled to her side and faced April. “All day yesterday, when I didn’t know where you’d gone in the morning, I thought you were hiding something from me.”

  “Well, I was,” April replied with a look of bewilderment. “I didn’t want to spoil the surprise.”

  “Yes, but I thought you were hiding something else.”

  April rose up on an elbow and spoke with indignation. “What, exactly?”

  The air seemed to sizzle between them. Suddenly, Vivian regretted bringing up any of this. She stared at her sister for a heated moment, then flopped back down and blinked up at the top bunk. “Never mind.”

  “No, that’s not allowed. You can’t say something like that and then say, ‘Never mind.’ Tell me what you thought I was hiding.”

  “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

  “Yes, you should have.”

  Vivian paused. “Fine. I’ll be honest with you. I’m still worried that you’re communicating with him somehow.”

  “Who? Ludwig?”

  “Yes. Who else? You haven’t spoken about him lately, but I know you too well. He’s on your mind constantly, and you miss him, and part of you is hoping that he’ll cross the English Channel and march his troops into London so that you can be with him again.”

  April’s cheeks flushed with anger. “No, Vivian. That’s not what I wish. Yes, I want to be with him again, but I don’t want Germany to invade England. That’s ridiculous. Besides, it would be treason.”

  “Yes, which is why I was so upset yesterday when you didn’t tell me where you were going. I warned you before that you could get into trouble if anyone found out about your affair.”

  April rolled onto her back. “Stop calling it that. It was more than an affair, and I haven’t said a word to anyone, nor have I written to him. I’m not stupid. I understand the situation, and he and I both agreed to have no contact whatsoever until after the war is over.”

  Vivian regarded her with surprise. “You did?”

  “Yes. I thought you understood that.”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  They lay in silence for a moment.

  Vivian swallowed uneasily. “So, you haven’t been in touch with anyone from Germany?”

  “Of course not! Why are you asking me this?”

  Vivian hated herself suddenly, because she couldn’t seem to remain loyal to either Theodore or April. She was always somewhere in between, playing both sides.

  “I’m asking because it’s possible that the government is aware of who you were with in Paris. They might be watching you.”

  April sat up and swung her legs to the ground. “What do you mean it’s possible? Did you hear something? Did someone ask you questions?”

  Vivian sat up as well. “Not me. Theodore.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I promised him I wouldn’t.” Vivian buried her face in her hands. “Oh God, I’m an awful person. I can’t be trusted.”

  April looked away, toward the open door. “It’s not your fault. You’re stuck in the middle. But please believe me when I tell you that I’m not helping the Germans. I don’t want the Nazis to win this war, and neither does Ludwig. He’s caught up in the middle of it, just like you are. But he’s an officer, and he has to do what his generals tell him to do. It doesn’t mean he enjoys it.”

  Vivian regarded her sister intensely. “But where does one draw the line between duty and honor? Would he do anything for his führer?”

  “Every soldier must kill in battle,” April argued. “I doubt any of them enjoy it. But you can’t choose which side you were born on, which side calls you up to fight. He’s German. He has to fight for his country, just like our boys do.”

  “That’s different!” Vivian shouted. “We’re defending ourselves! We didn’t start this!”

  “But you don’t understand what it’s like over there. Hitler has made everyone believe they are fighting for what they lost in the last war. He paints a picture of justice and proud, nationalistic vengeance, as if they are defending what belongs to them, what was taken away from them. He’s roused everyone’s anger and patriotism. It’s a dangerous mix.”

  “And you think that justifies Ludwig’s choice to fight? Has he fallen for Hitler’s agenda? His propaganda?”

  April’s expression hardened. “No. I told you before. He’s conflicted. Life is complicated. Don’t pretend that you don’t know that.”

  A sudden uproar of people shouting in the street brought them out of the shelter. Vivian and April ran through the house and out the front door. Outside, her neighbors were running toward the river.

  “What’s happening?” she asked, just as the air raid siren began to wail.

  “Jerries are bombing the East End!” a man said. “Can’t see anything from here!”

  April and Vivian followed him to the bottom of the street and all the way to the Thames, where a crowd had gathered, their faces turned toward the eastern sky.

  “My God,” April said. “Heaven help those poor people.”

  It was like nothing they’d ever seen. This was not five or six planes that came and went in a matter of minutes. There were hundreds of them, tiny black dots in the distance, circling round and round, dropping bomb after bomb, then departing only as another squadron flew in to take their place and continue the assault.

  Vivian stood paralyzed, eyes wide, heart racing, terrorized by the thunderous rumble of the distant explosions and the giant clouds of smoke rising upward from the horizon. Fire engines raced across bridges, clanging their bells. The whole city seemed to explode with panic.

  April grabbed hold of Vivian’s arm and began to drag her away. “Come on. We need to get to the shelter.”

  “What about Papa? The wine shop? It looks like that’s exactly where they’re dropping the bombs.”

  “We can’t help him now. We have to go.”

  ARP wardens began to blow their whistles. “Take cover!”

  They hurried home, where they found Mrs. Hansen already hunkered down in their Anderson shelter, sitting on the edge of a cot, hugging a pillow to her chest.

  “They’re getting hammered in the East End,” April said as she shut the small door. “May God have mercy upon their souls.”

  April and V
ivian joined hands and thought of their father.

  The All Clear sounded just over an hour later, and the ladies emerged from their safe haven in the garden.

  The bombings had ceased, but the entire East End was a red glow against the sky, ablaze and still burning. Fire brigades were overcome and unable to gain control of the inferno while an acrid black smoke covered the entire city. The smell was ghastly—burning rubber from the devastated rubber factory, tar and paint, and the sickening aroma of the gasworks, which had taken a number of direct hits.

  At last, Theodore came running through the front door. “Is everyone all right?”

  Vivian hurled herself into his arms while April stood back. “We’re fine,” she explained in a calm voice. “We were in the shelter.”

  “Our poor father,” Vivian added, squeezing her eyes shut against Theodore’s chest.

  “I know. Pray God he made it to a shelter before the worst of it.”

  Theodore spent the next hour on the telephone, talking to other government officials while Vivian and April watched the hellish red glow in the sky from the top floor of their town house. But the horror was far from over. Shortly after eight o’clock, the German bombers returned to further pulverize the city’s docks, factories, and power sources. Water pipes, gas mains, and telephone cables were destroyed, along with hundreds of homes where the dockworkers lived.

  The attack went on all night until, finally, the All Clear sounded at 4:30 a.m. Vivian, April, Theodore, and Mrs. Hansen emerged wearily from their shelter, sleep deprived and dazed by the damage done to their city. Fires were still burning everywhere. There was no gas, electricity, or water, and almost the entire East End had been reduced to rubble and ash.

  April and Vivian tried ringing their father’s wine shop repeatedly that day, but there was no telephone service. They wanted to go there themselves, but Theodore would not permit them to travel anywhere near the East End, where emergency services were still working to put out fires. He said it was too dangerous. Roads were impassable due to fallen buildings and giant bomb craters in the streets, and trolley lines were down everywhere. Vivian and April had no choice but to be patient, so they made themselves useful at the local primary school, where the WVS had set up a mobile canteen to serve sandwiches to those who had been bombed out of their homes.

  People were tired, hungry, and covered in soot and dust. Some of them had lost loved ones, and it wasn’t long before Vivian and April learned that more than four hundred people had perished during the night—buried under rubble or consumed by fire—and far more than that were seriously injured.

  “When will we hear from Papa?” Vivian asked April while they unpacked loaves of bread and containers of sliced ham that had been delivered by volunteers from Clapham Junction.

  “I don’t know. He’s not conscientious that way. He wouldn’t think that we might be worried about him and that he should get in touch with us somehow.”

  “Or he could be in a hospital, unconscious, or worse. April, what if . . .”

  April gave her a sharp look. “Don’t even think about it, Vivian. Just stay focused. Pick up that knife and start spreading mustard.”

  Still with no word from their father, Vivian and April were forced into their little air raid shelter again that night when the German planes returned in astonishing, terrifying numbers. They dropped bombs over London for more than nine hours straight, and another four hundred civilians were killed.

  It was not until late the next day that Theodore left his office, walked into the house, and asked Vivian and April to sit down in the parlor.

  “I’m sorry to tell you this,” he said in a quiet voice, “but there is news about your father, and it’s not good.”

  Vivian reached for April’s hand and held it.

  Theodore continued. “The wine shop burned to the ground on Saturday night. They found your father’s remains this morning.”

  Theodore’s words echoed through Vivian’s mind, and it took a moment for her to comprehend the reality of what he was telling her. Then her belly careened with anguish.

  She shut her eyes to try to control her emotions. “Are they sure it was him?”

  “Quite sure,” Theodore replied. “He was the only person registered as an occupant of the building and the only body that was recovered.”

  The notion that he’d died alone was not easy to accept. She felt a wave of guilt for abandoning him so completely, and tears filled her eyes.

  “Do they need us to identify him?” April asked matter-of-factly.

  Theodore shook his head. “No. I’m afraid there isn’t much left to identify. The whole street was an inferno.”

  Vivian sat in silence, contemplating his words. Then she turned to April for comfort. April opened her arms and held her.

  “Why didn’t he get to a shelter?” Vivian asked, her voice breaking. “Surely there was time after the sirens went.”

  “He was probably stinking drunk,” April murmured bitterly. “Passed out on the sofa or too sloshed to take any of it seriously.”

  Vivian shuddered. Sometimes her sister could be so callous. “We shouldn’t speak ill of him now that he’s gone.”

  “No, I suppose not. But I won’t mourn for him. He was a rotter, and we both know it.”

  Theodore remained silent on the matter.

  April turned her face away, then stood abruptly. “I’m going down to the kitchen. I feel like I need to peel some potatoes or something.”

  Vivian watched her go. Then Theodore moved closer to sit beside her.

  “I know she seems heartless right now,” Vivian said, feeling an inexplicable need to explain her sister’s response, “but she’s not really. She just keeps things inside. She won’t let herself fall apart. She prefers anger over sadness and weeping. Maybe that’s what makes her so strong.”

  “You’re always defending her,” he whispered, “because you see the best in people. I just hope she won’t disappoint you.”

  “She won’t.”

  “I wish I could be as confident as you,” he gently replied as he took her into his arms and offered comfort and solace. “I’ll try to be more trusting. I promise. And I’m so sorry about your father, Vivian. Truly I am.”

  She nodded and clung to him tightly as she wept.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  The bombers came again that night, and the next night, and the night after that. Bombs rained down mercilessly over London, more innocent people were killed, and after a week of sleepless nights with the four of them crammed into the Anderson shelter, Mrs. Hansen asked to be let go. She wanted to travel to Leicester to live with her sister for a while.

  “They’re saying London can take it,” Mrs. Hansen said, “but I can’t. One more night of German bombs will take what’s left of my sanity from me. I’m frightened all the time, and my hair is starting to fall out.”

  “Oh dear,” Vivian replied. “Well, of course you must go. Be safe, and I hope you’ll return to us when this is over, when everything is normal again. I’m sure it will be, eventually.”

  But was she certain about that? Normal seemed very far off, with all the nightly destruction.

  Mrs. Hansen was packed and gone within the hour.

  That evening, when Theodore arrived home and found Vivian and April in the kitchen, bleary eyed, preparing dinner, he said, “That’s it. You both need to leave the city as well. I’ll ring my mother in the morning and arrange for the two of you to go to my family’s house in Surrey.”

  Vivian whirled around to face him. “What? No! I’ve never even met your family, and I know how they feel about me. I won’t be welcome. Besides, I don’t want to leave you.”

  “It will only be for a short time,” he argued. “Until the danger has passed. And I’m certain that when they learn you are carrying my child, a potential heir, they’ll sing a different tune.”

  Vivian spoke heatedly. “Absolutely not. We have a perfectly good air raid shelter in the back garden. And besides, this
can’t go on forever. Maybe we’ve already seen the worst of it, and Hitler will run out of bombs by the end of the week.”

  “He won’t run out of bombs,” Theodore said. “We know what they have, and we know how he thinks. He’s determined to break our spirit, but Churchill is equally determined to buck up and take it. So, this won’t be over anytime soon. You need to go to the country.”

  “No, I will not, and you can’t force me, Theodore. I don’t want to go. I won’t leave you.”

  They stared at each other in the kitchen, neither of them willing to back down.

  April set down her knife and wiped her hands on her apron. “That’s enough, you two. We’re on the same side, remember?”

  Theodore spoke in a deep, decisive voice. “Here’s how it will be. You may stay here for now, but you must promise that you’ll always go to the shelter immediately when you hear the sirens. Some people are ignoring it. Taking their chances in their beds for the sake of a good night’s sleep.”

  “Of course we will,” Vivian assured him. “I want to be safe. You know that.”

  Theodore turned to April. “Did you hear her say it?”

  “Yes. Don’t worry. If you’re not here, I’ll make sure she’s in the shelter whenever the bombers come.”

  Theodore seemed to accept that and walked out.

  It was curious how quickly the daylight hours passed, and yet another night of air raids was upon them, sending them dashing down the stairs and out the back door to their little shelter.

  It was often just the two of them—Vivian and April—when Theodore worked late at the ministry and had to spend the night in the shelter there.

  “I could barely think today,” Vivian said as she turned on the lamp in the shelter and watched April shut the door. “It was like my brain turned to porridge. I’ve never gone so many nights in a row with so little sleep.”

  “It’s been ten days,” April replied, sinking onto the wooden cot and pulling a wool blanket over her knees. “When will it end?”