Courageous

by Yona Zeldis McDonough

  “Sally, do you think … I mean, it sounds so scary and all … but do you think the Margaret could be part of the rescue effort?”

  Sally considers his question. “I don’t see why not,” she says finally. “They’re saying all the boats, and the Margaret’s a boat, isn’t she? So I’d say yes, she certainly can.”

  “I have to let my dad know!” Aidan says. “He’d be the one to go, of course. I’ll tell him.”

  “Good plan. I’ll come with you.” She stops for a second though. “Aidan, it’s scary to think of going across the Channel, isn’t it? I mean, your dad … he’d be going right into a war zone.”

  “Dad’s very brave,” Aidan says loyally. But the thought frightens him too. “Come on. No time to waste, is there?”

  So they hurry down the stairs and back along the pebble-strewn path that leads away from the lighthouse. By the time they reach Aidan’s cottage, they are both a little bit out of breath.

  “Mum! Dad!” Aidan cries as he bursts through the door. “You’ll never guess what we just heard on the radio!”

  “Is it about the evacuation and the call for local boats?” asks Aidan’s father. “Operation Dynamo, I believe they’re calling it.”

  “Yes, but how did you know?”

  “Your mum and I heard it too. It’s quite an undertaking.”

  Aidan stares at him, confused. Why isn’t his dad heading down to the dock to get Margaret ready? Instead, Dad’s still wearing his slippers and shaking out the newspaper the way he does when he’s ready to settle in with it. “Aren’t you getting dressed?” Aidan asks. Then he has another thought: Maybe his dad is scared. This makes Aidan scared too, as he’s never known his father to be afraid of anything.

  “Why would I be getting dressed at this hour?” His father pulls his reading glasses out of his pocket.

  “To head down to the dock, of course!”

  “Now, what would I be doing that for?” asks his father.

  “To get the Margaret ready to cross the Channel, along with all the other boats.” Aidan just can’t believe how casual his dad sounds about this.

  “I’m not going,” Aidan’s father says.

  “What?” Aidan is properly shocked. “Here’s something we can actually do and you say you’re not going to do it? Why not? Don’t you care about the boys? Don’t you care about George?” To his own shame, Aidan feels the tears rising in his eyes and he blinks them away quickly.

  His father sighs loudly and puts down the paper. “Of course I care about the boys. Every last one of them, and George most of all. But it’s a fool’s errand, lad. Our little dory isn’t going to make a lick of difference,” says his father. “She won’t be able to carry very many men.”

  “The man on the radio said all boats were important,” Sally says, and Aidan nods his head vigorously.

  “It’s a brave effort,” Aidan’s father says. “But just the same, I’m not going.”

  Aidan’s mother walks into the room then. “Mum, you have to talk to him!” Aidan says. “Tell him he’s got to go. He’s simply got to.”

  “Got to go where?”

  “To take the Margaret across the Channel to Dunkirk!” Why are he and Sally the only ones who seem to care about this?

  “Ah yes, we heard about that on the radio,” says his mum. “But our wee boat’s not going to help. And we can’t risk it. If we lose her, how will your dad go out fishing? He’d have no way of making a living and then where would we be? Out on the street and begging for our supper, that’s where.” She smooths down the front of her dress. “Best to leave this alone.”

  “But what about George? George is over there. He needs our help.”

  “There’ll be others going,” says his mum. “Now, no more talk of this, do you hear?”

  Aidan looks from his father to his mother. They seem calm, and very, very sure of themselves. But he can’t believe what they’re saying. Not join the others to help the boys? Not be there for George? He’s never felt so let down by them in his entire life.

  “Maybe we should go outside for a while,” whispers Sally. “Come on.”

  Mutely, Aidan follows her out of the cottage. It’s still light, the waning hours of an ordinary spring day. But it’s not ordinary for George or his mates trapped like rats across the sea in France. Once again, stinging hot tears fill Aidan’s eyes and he angrily wipes them away. He has to make his mum and dad see the importance of pitching in.

  “Maybe your dad could talk to them,” says Aidan. “He could change their minds.” Sally’s family doesn’t have a boat, but as the lighthouse keeper, her father holds a special place in their community of sailors and fishermen. “Let’s go and ask him. Right now.”

  They go to Sally’s cottage, where her mother is spooning out baked haddock onto a platter. “Sally, Aidan—just in time for supper,” she says. “Go wash your hands and come to the table.”

  Once the food is served, Sally brings up the radio broadcast.

  “Oh yes, we heard about that. What a fine thing to do.” Sally’s dad takes a big forkful of haddock.

  “Dad, don’t you think Aidan’s father ought to take part? After all, he’s got a boat.”

  “He does at that …” He chews thoughtfully. “But every man needs to decide that for himself,” he adds. “No one can tell him what to do.”

  “He won’t listen to us. But maybe he’ll listen to you,” Aidan says.

  “Maybe,” says Sally’s father. “Maybe not.”

  “So you’ll talk to him?” Sally asks. “There are so many of our boys at the front, Dad. Not just George. Duncan Campbell, Bobbie Byrne, Will Shepherd …” She ticks them off on her fingers.

  “I know, but as I said, every man’s got to look into his own heart and figure out what’s the right thing.”

  Aidan says nothing. To him, the right thing to do is pretty obvious. Even allowing for his fear—and for his dad’s—the answer’s still clear.

  He eats his haddock quickly and excuses himself before Sally’s mum serves the pudding. He has to go back to the cottage to talk to his dad. The boats are already getting ready to leave for Dunkirk. And the Margaret just has to go with them.

  Aidan jogs the whole way home. He finds his dad sitting in his favorite armchair, reading the paper. His mum is darning socks, her needle moving in and out to mend the holes in toes and heels.

  “Dad, we just have to join up with the others,” Aidan says. “The boys need our help.”

  “We’ve already talked about it,” his father says. “And the answer is still no: We’re not going.”

  “Leave it be,” Mum says.

  But Aidan can’t leave it. “If you won’t go, I’ll go by myself,” he says. He’s bluffing though. Aidan doesn’t really want to go by himself. In fact, the mere thought is terrifying, especially after getting the news about Trevor. He’s been out on his father’s boat scores of times, but he’s always stayed close to home, and in waters that are familiar. Crossing the Channel by himself in that little boat would be another thing entirely. He’d be mad to even attempt it.

  Dad turns on the radio—music, not news. And when Mum finishes the sock she’s working on, she steps next door to visit with Mrs. Pringle.

  Aidan feels restless. It’s Saturday night and, since there’s no school the next day, way too early for bed. He doesn’t want to listen to the radio with his dad and he certainly doesn’t want to join Mum visiting Mrs. Pringle, who is a nice enough lady but who does go on endlessly about her stomach ailments and her arthritis.

  He goes to the door. Maybe he’ll join his mum over at Mrs. Pringle’s after all. But just as he’s about to leave, he sees a tiny bit of blue sticking out from under the doormat. When he pulls out the thin, blue envelope, he recognizes it immediately as a letter from George. Aidan’s heart starts a heavy thumping in his chest. The letter hasn’t been opened, so clearly Mum and Dad haven’t seen it yet. It must have gotten pushed under the mat when the postman dropped the rest of the mail throug
h the slot earlier in the day.

  What to do? He should show it to his parents of course. But would it be wrong to open it and read it first? It’s addressed to the whole family after all. Mum is still over at Mrs. Pringle’s and the radio’s still on. Aidan makes a split-second decision and darts up the stairs with the letter. It’s only when he’s alone in his room with the door closed that he carefully opens it and begins to read.

  Dear Mum, Dad, and Aidan,

  Not sure how long it will take you to get this letter or where I’ll be when you receive it—your last letter took a full month to reach me.

  I’d thought that being far from Paris and London would be a good thing, that we’d be safer where we are. But we’re getting squeezed harder and harder, even way out here, and we’re on the march—it feels to me sometimes like we’re on the run. We stop somewhere and then before you turn around, we pack up and keep going. Pretty soon we’ll reach the coast and then what? No one knows for sure. The only thing certain here is the uncertainty we face, day by day or even hour by hour.

  Anyway, I wish had something more cheering to report. What I wouldn’t give, Mum, for one of your pre-rationing scones, flaky with butter and dripping with clotted cream and jam. But that will have to wait until we’ve done our job and beaten Jerry back once and for all.

  Think of us. Pray for us. And know that I am thinking of and praying for you all the time.

  Love always,

  George

  Aidan feels a thundering in his head as he reads these words once, twice, and a third time. The coast … George’s unit is heading for the coast. Dunkirk is on the coast, isn’t it? And Dunkirk is where the Germans are headed too—that’s why they were talking about it in that message he and Sally were able to intercept. It’s bad enough to think that the Germans are threatening any of their boys. But to think that they are threatening George—the realization hits Aidan like a slap to the face. If George does end up in Dunkirk, he’ll be trapped and at the mercy of the Germans, and the German soldiers are not known for their mercy. All the while he, Aidan, will be sitting here, doing absolutely nothing to help.

  He thinks of what he said to his father: I’ll go myself. All of a sudden, he means it. Because after reading this letter, despite his fear of the water and his reluctance to disobey his parents, he knows he has to go. Maybe his father will relent, and he’ll be the one to take the boat across the Channel; Aidan wouldn’t be as frightened if he were with Dad. But right now, Dad doesn’t want to go, leaving Aidan with little choice. If he wants to join in, he’ll just have to go himself.

  Aidan tucks the letter in his pocket. He’ll show it to his parents later. Right now, he needs to get out of the cottage. Clear his head and all that.

  The evening is cool, with no clouds in view, and since the sun hasn’t fully set, there’s still a glow of pink along the horizon. Aidan ambles down the road and toward the center of town. He passes the sweet shop, the pharmacy, and the post office, all closed for the night.

  Then he comes to Dinty’s, the pub where his dad likes to go for a pint of ale. The door is open and the place is crowded—men, women, and even some children. Children at a pub? Why is it so packed? Aidan moves closer, until he can hear the voices coming from inside.

  “… and that’s why I think we shouldn’t be forced to go,” someone is saying. Aidan peeps into the open doorway and sees Mr. McAllister, who owns and runs the general store. “We’ve lost too much already. Much too much.” Mr. McAllister’s twin boys, Barney and Peter, were both killed a few months ago.

  “But if we don’t go, the Germans will slaughter more of our boys. We need to rescue them.” That’s the voice of Mr. Carr, the pharmacist in the village.

  “It’s too much to ask,” Mr. McAllister says. “The risk is too great.” That’s what my dad says, Aidan thinks. But he doesn’t speak up. Instead, he slips inside and finds a place on a bench. Clearly he’s stumbled on a town meeting. Everyone here is wrestling with the same sort of questions that his dad and mum are wrestling with now. He wants to hear what they have to say.

  “May I have the floor?” says Mrs. McAllister. She’s a pale, soft-spoken woman, yet she possesses a quiet dignity and composure that make everyone quiet down. They all lean forward to listen to her.

  “Ever since we lost Peter and Barney, I’ve felt like my heart’s been cut out of me. I cry every morning, and every night too. But I also know I’m not alone in my grief. So many of you here have felt it too, haven’t you?”

  A murmur goes around the room, and Aidan sees several people nodding, and one or two wiping their eyes.

  “Well, we can’t let this go on and on, now can we? Painful as it is, we have to be brave and do our best to rescue the rest of the boys. My own heart may be broken, but it will do me some good to think I can save another mother from the same fate. Churchill’s asked for our help and we can’t say no to him, can we? Some of the boats are on their way right now. And I’m going to be on our boat, the Moonlight Sonata, first thing tomorrow morning. I hope all of you will be there to join me.”

  There is silence, and then a few people begin to clap, until the whole pub is clapping thunderously and many people rise to their feet. Mr. McAllister is weeping openly. As he embraces his wife, he raises his hand for silence.

  “She’s the most courageous of all, my Tess,” he says. “She’s even changed my mind. I can be a stubborn old goat, but I can also admit when I’ve made a mistake. I’m going to be with her tomorrow. Please join us.”

  “Amen,” calls out someone behind Aidan. And someone lifts a glass in a toast. “To the little ships! And to England—long may she wave!”

  Aidan gets up and heads out of the pub. He takes his time walking home because he needs to think. George’s letter is burning a hole in his pocket, and his head is abuzz with everything he’s seen and heard.

  Entering the front room, Aidan finds the radio’s been switched off. Dad’s settled in his armchair with one of those murder mysteries he favors. Mum’s across from him in her rocker, working on the word jumble in the paper.

  “Where’ve you been?” asks Dad.

  “Down at Dinty’s,” Aidan says truthfully.

  “Dinty’s? The pub’s hardly a place for a lad your age.” Mum’s pencil is suspended midair and she’s frowning at him.

  “There was something special going on,” Aidan says. “A town meeting.”

  “A town meeting? I didn’t hear anything about it,” Dad says.

  “Mrs. McAllister spoke. She’s very brave.”

  “That poor woman,” says Mum. “Not one boy gone, but two.”

  “That’s exactly why we’re not going,” says Dad. “Enough’s enough.”

  Aidan decides it’s time. “A letter came,” he says. “It’s from George.”

  “From George!” says Mum. “Let me have it!” As soon as Aidan hands it to her, she begins to read. “So they’re heading for the coast.” Mum looks up from the letter.

  “They could end up stranded there,” Aidan points out. “And if we go to meet him, there’s a chance we could bring him back. That’s what they’re talking about, isn’t it? Rescuing the boys and bringing them all back home?”

  “Not that,” his father says. “Not again.”

  “But, Mum, Dad, don’t you see? We have to go! What if George does end up at Dunkirk and we miss the chance to help him because we’re not there?”

  “We’re not going.” Dad’s gotten all red in the face and his voice is very loud. “Do you hear me? Not going! It’s a suicide mission and we’re not going to be on it.”

  “Yes, we are,” says Aidan. He turns to his father. “You always taught me to stand up for myself and do what I think is right. Well, that’s what I’m going to do. George is out there, Dad. We have to help him.”

  “I’ve already lost one boy to this terrible war!” his father thunders. “How much can a man be expected to sacrifice?”

  Aidan is shocked. He’s never heard his dad lose contro
l like this—never. The naked emotion on his face causes Aidan to look away. But when his gaze turns to his mum, it’s even worse. Her face is buried in her hands and she’s sobbing.

  “Mum …” Aidan walks over and touches her shoulder gently.

  She raises her face to look at him. “Not another word about this,” she says in a fierce and terrible voice. “Not one more word.”

  “But I thought—”

  “Go to your room, young man,” she says. “At once.”

  Aidan doesn’t move.

  “You heard your mother,” says his dad. “Upstairs. Now.”

  Aidan trudges upstairs, goes into his room, and flops down on the bed. Frustration, anger, confusion are swirling around inside him, a terrible storm of emotions. He’s furious that his parents are being so stubborn, but he also feels ravaged by the naked exposure of their grief. Then he hears a light tapping—it sounds like someone is throwing pebbles against the window—and he walks over to investigate. Sally is outside, waving her arms.

  Aidan opens the window wide. “What are you doing here?” he calls softly, hoping his parents won’t hear.

  “I followed you, but when I heard all the commotion inside I thought it was better to wait outside the cottage.”

  “My dad won’t join the others.”

  “I heard,” says Sally. “What are you going to do?”

  “I don’t know.” He looks at Sally. “Stay there,” he says. “It’ll be easier to talk if I come down and—”

  He stops, alerted by an unfamiliar click. Has someone locked him in his room? What in the world is going on here?

  “Dad?” he calls, rattling the knob. “Mum? Are you out there?”

  “Aidan, I’m very sorry to have to do this but Mum and I feel it’s the only way.”

  “Only way for what?” Aidan is confused. “What are you talking about?”

  “We have to keep you safe,” his mum says. “We’ve already lost one son to this war. And who knows what could happen to George. You’re all we have left and we just can’t let you go.”

  Aidan tries the door again. No luck. He’s been jailed, right in his own home! “You’ve locked me in here?” he asks in disbelief. “Like I’m a prisoner?”