Courageous

by Yona Zeldis McDonough

  “It’s because of you,” his mother says as she wipes the tears—of joy and relief, he knows—from her face. “You and Sally.”

  “What do you mean?” Aidan asks.

  “After the two of you ran off, Mum and I didn’t know what to do,” his father says. “We were so worried. So upset. Then the answer came to us, clear as a bell. If you two youngsters were brave enough to go, why, then we had to go too. And so did all our neighbors. Those people at the town hall meeting the other night? Everyone who had a boat decided to go. Every last man and woman.”

  “That’s right,” his mum adds. “When we told everyone what you’d done, they all wanted to join in. Why, practically the whole village is here—just look around you.”

  Aidan raises his head to glance about and sees that his mother is right. There are so many boats he recognizes from the village, like Ned Blarry’s and Herb Whitson’s. And this boat he’s crouched in right now—he knows this one too. “Doesn’t this boat belong to Mr. Potts?” Mr. Potts lives by himself in a cottage near the edge of the village. He has white hair and a full white beard. He’d been a fisherman years ago, but he’s long since retired from the sea.

  “It does indeed,” says his father. “He’s got the arthritis so bad he couldn’t join in, but when I told him what we were doing, he offered the Evening Star straightaway. You see, you and Sally set an example for the whole town. Your bravery and selflessness inspired others to do the same—so many others.” His father gestures to the boats that dot the water.

  But Aidan’s mind is elsewhere. Sally. Just hearing her name causes a pit of fear to open in his stomach. “Where is Sally?” he asks. “She fainted a while ago and we moved her to another boat. I haven’t seen her since. Is she all right?”

  There is a weighty silence during which his parents exchange looks. The pit of fear in Aidan’s stomach gapes wider. “What is it?” he demands. “What’s happened to her? You have to tell me!”

  “That boat she was on—” his father says.

  “You mean the one I put her on!” Aidan bursts out. If something’s happened to Sally, he’s to blame because he was the one who agreed to move her.

  “Yes, that one,” his father says. “Well, it’s like this …” He seems to be searching for the words. “It was hit, you see. The boat took a direct hit. And Sally was hurt in the explosion.”

  “Oh no,” Aidan says, covering his face with his hands so no one will see the scalding tears that leap into his eyes. “No, no, no!”

  His father puts one hand on his shoulder but Aidan twitches it off. He doesn’t deserve his father’s comfort now—not after what he’s done. Finally, he lifts up his face and asks, “Where is she now?”

  “She’s here,” his mother says. “We found her in the water and we brought her aboard. She’s belowdecks.”

  “Can I see her?” Aidan asks.

  Again the silence.

  “There’s not enough room right now,” his father says. “Her folks are down there with her, and so is Nora Billingham.” Nora Billingham is the nurse in their village. “Best to wait until they come up.”

  “All right.” Aidan paces back and forth on the deck. At last, Mr. and Mrs. Sparks emerge from below. They look very anxious and Mrs. Sparks’s eyes are red and teary.

  Aidan says hello to them and then turns to his father. “Now can I see her? Please?”

  “All right,” he says at last. “Your mum will go down with you. But you may want to brace yourself first. She … well, it looks pretty bad.”

  “That doesn’t matter. I’ve got to see her anyway,” Aidan insists. He turns to face his mother. “Please,” he says. “Can you take me to her now?”

  Using a sturdy tree branch as an improvised cane, George limps his way down to the shore. The bombing has stopped, at least for the time being, and since the coast is clear, Rogers has decided they’ll head back to the water. With the whole town under attack, it’s too dangerous to remain in the cellar. So it’s back to the boats—that is, if there are any boats left.

  George doesn’t know what time it is but it’s almost dark. All around, he can see the results of the recent bombing. Buildings are aflame, wreckage is everywhere, and the dead lie still and silent. George’s heart aches to see them, the valiant men who’ve fallen trying to ward off the Nazi menace.

  Then George stops. There, lying right in front of him, is the big, belligerent soldier who was giving him such a hard time just hours ago. Silently, George says a little prayer for the dead man, and then another of thanksgiving that his own wound, painful as it is, came in the leg. He is lucky that the shrapnel didn’t hit his face or some vital organ.

  Tears rise in his eyes as he continues down toward the beach. The soldier wanted to live, that’s all. Just to get home safely. The tears now cloud his vision and he has to wipe them away before he can go on.

  When George can see clearly again, it’s as if a miracle is taking place before his eyes. Earlier, there were only three boats in the water. Now there must be more than a dozen. And what’s more, he knows them; he recognizes them. These are the little boats from his village, owned by people he’s known his entire life. But how did this happen? Who brought them all here?

  Hurrying as best he can on his wounded leg, George stands at the shoreline, water lapping at the toes of his combat boots. The dory is nowhere to be seen, and George feels a stab of fear. If the dory is gone, where are Aidan and Sally? He scans the horizon anxiously, and to his relief, he sees the dory. It was hidden behind a larger boat. This boat is blue and white and George knows it at once. This is the boat that belongs to old Mr. Potts, who had been in the navy before becoming a fisherman.

  As a small boy, George was allowed to explore that boat. It was much bigger than the dory and had living quarters down below—two narrow beds, a table, and two benches. Once, George was invited to spend the night and he thought it was the most exciting thing ever. Mr. Potts kept him up until all hours spinning wild yarns about his life at sea—storms, pirates, whales, and even a mermaid or two. George knew that these stories were largely made up, but that didn’t stop him from enjoying them immensely. Yes, that’s Potts’s boat, all right—George is certain of it.

  He wades into the shallow water, eyes trained on the blue-and-white boat. Standing at the wheel is a man in a sweater and tweed cap, but the man is younger than Mr. Potts. In fact, he looks a lot like George’s father.

  George wades out deeper and deeper, the water chilly and biting as it swirls around his knees. Soon the water splashes up even higher, wetting the fabric of his jacket. His wound starts to throb, but George scarcely notices. That man is his father, yes he is!

  “Dad!” he cries, waving with a single hand at the boat. “Dad, it’s me—George!”

  Aidan follows his mum down the few steps that lead belowdecks. Sally is on a narrow bed under a blue blanket, a bandage wrapped around her head, her eyes closed. Nurse Billingham is seated on one bench, shaking the mercury down in a glass thermometer.

  “Hello, Aidan,” she says softly. Her bun has come loose and there are deep shadows under her eyes.

  “How is she?” Aidan asks, not sure if he really wants to hear the truth.

  “Well, she took a blow to the head and she wasn’t conscious when we found her. I’ve patched her up as best I can, but it’s hard to tell. If she comes to, we’ll know she can pull out of it. If she doesn’t …”

  Aidan doesn’t need her to finish the sentence. “Can I talk to her?” he asks.

  “Of course,” Nurse Billingham says. “I don’t know that she’ll be able to hear you but it can’t hurt to try. Her mum was singing to her just a little while ago.”

  Aidan approaches the bed nervously. Sally is pale and still and he finds himself looking very hard to see if she is even breathing. He is relieved when he can see the slight movement her chest makes, up and down, up and down.

  “Hey, Sally,” he says. “I’m sorry you got hurt. So sorry.”

  There is no re
ply.

  “But you’re a fighter,” he continues. “You always were. You can fight your way out of this one, Sally. I know you can.”

  Aidan waits for her to give some indication she’s heard him, even a flicker of her eyes. But she remains silent and motionless. Finally, he turns away.

  “Try not to take it too hard,” Nurse Billingham says. “Maybe she’ll pull through.” But she doesn’t sound confident.

  “Maybe?” Aidan says. “That’s all—just maybe?”

  “It’s the best I can do now, lad,” she says. “Why don’t you go up and see your dad? He’s been so worried about you. I’ll stay down here and if there’s any change, I’ll pop right up and tell you about it.”

  Aidan hesitates and she adds, “You can trust me.” So, sighing deeply, he climbs the stairs. If Sally doesn’t pull through, he knows he’ll never forgive himself. He’s the one who brought her into this. If it hadn’t been for him, she’d be safe at home.

  Up on deck, Aidan sees that night has fallen, and lights from the boats gleam ominously on the oil-slick water. The boat is moving quickly toward the shoreline, probably to pick up some of the soldiers who are now lining up on the beach. But there is one soldier moving out into the water. He appears to have been hurt because he’s clearly unsteady on his feet and is using some kind of cane. It seems very risky for him to be wading out into the water. Why doesn’t he remain safely on the shore with the others? Someone ought to make sure he gets back onto solid ground.

  Aidan hears his dad choke out a sob and runs up next to him at the helm.

  “Dad! Over here, Dad!” the soldier is shouting, and his father uses one hand to steer while he waves the other up in the air. “George!” cries his father. “George, don’t take another step! We’re coming—you wait right where you are!”

  Aidan leans out over the prow. George! They’ve found George and this time they’re going to take him home! The boat comes closer and closer and as soon as it is close enough, Aidan reaches down to help his father pull George aboard.

  They’re all weeping and hugging, and their mum is covering George’s face with hundreds of kisses.

  “You’re limping,” she says when she finally steps back for a moment. “You’ve been hurt.”

  “Aye, but not too badly,” says George. “Shrapnel got me in the leg but the piece is out now. I’ll be as good as new soon.”

  Aidan is relieved to hear it but the relief sours quickly when he thinks of Sally, lying there belowdecks. Will she ever be as good as new? He tries to push the thought away, to just let himself feel glad about his brother. George is here, safe and sound. At least he can be thankful for that.

  “Where did all these boats come from?” George looks around. “Practically the whole village is here.” When his eyes come to rest on Mr. and Mrs. Sparks, he hobbles over to give them a hug.

  “It’s true,” says their dad. “And it’s really because of Aidan and Sally. When I told everyone how they’d run off to come over here, everyone who was on the fence wanted to come and help too.”

  “Where is Sally?” George asks.

  Aidan finds the words are frozen in his mouth and he can’t say them. He just looks down, unable to meet his brother’s eyes.

  “She was hurt,” Mrs. Sparks says for him. “She’s belowdecks now. We’re all praying for her. Let’s do it together, shall we?”

  For a moment, they all close their eyes and join hands in a silent prayer. Aidan prays harder than he ever has in his life. Please let her be all right. Please, please, please.

  Aidan opens his eyes when the hands holding his let go. The boats of the village are all around, and soldiers are making their way on board the different vessels. With all the recently arrived boats, it looks like there will be room for everyone. Aidan’s heart swells with relief and happiness—they’re going to be saved. Every single man here will be saved. If only Sally knew! She’d be as happy and proud as he is.

  Not saying a word to anyone, Aidan heads for the steps. But belowdecks there is no change in Sally. Nurse Billingham has stretched out on the other bed and closed her eyes. She looked awfully tired earlier, and Aidan takes care not to disturb her.

  Silently, he tiptoes over to Sally’s bed and takes her cold, clammy hand in his. Then he bends down and whispers urgently in her ear. “We did it, Sally. We really, truly did it. If only you’d open your eyes, you wouldn’t believe what you would see. The whole village is here—your mum and dad, and mine too. They all came, and there’s room for all the men now. They’re coming home, Sally. We’re bringing them home.”

  Aidan stares at his friend, willing her to wake up. Her eyes remain closed and her chest continues its rhythmic rise and fall. He squeezes her hand just a bit harder. “Oh, Sally, please won’t you wake up? Do it for me, Sally. Please do it for me. I know you can.”

  And then, to his amazement, there is a flickering of her eyelids. Or does he just think he sees it because it’s what he so badly wants to see? “Sally,” he repeats. “Sally, open your eyes.”

  And just like that, she does.

  Her gaze skitters around the room at first and she seems confused until she sees Aidan’s face. “There you are!” she says, and her lips, which are dry and chapped, form a smile. “I was dreaming about you, Aidan. Such a good dream. We’d saved all the boys, every last one of them. And I was so happy.”

  “It’s not just a dream!” he cries. “It’s true! And we’ve found George again! He’s wounded but he’s going to be fine, perfectly fine. When you’re strong enough, you’ll come up the stairs on deck and you’ll see for yourself!” He’s afraid to hug her, but he continues to clutch her hand and they sit like that for several seconds, just beaming at each other.

  Then Nurse Billingham wakes up and her face breaks into a wide smile when she sees that Sally is awake. “Why, it’s just a day filled with miracles, isn’t it?” she says as she joins Aidan at Sally’s bedside. “Miracles all around.”

  Then she turns to Sally. “Welcome back, lass,” she says. “We were worried about you, but since you’re up, I think you’re through the worst of it. Now how about a spot of tea?”

  George sleeps most of the way back across the Channel. He is exhausted from the stress of this long and harrowing day, and from all the long, harrowing days that came before. And the shrapnel wound still hurts. Nurse Billingham applies a salve to the spot and that makes it feel a little better, but he is relieved he can go home. He’ll return to active combat when he is feeling stronger and his leg is fully healed.

  It’s still dark when the Evening Star arrives in the village, but by the time everyone is off the boat and they’re back at the cottage, the first faint streaks of dawn are lighting the sky.

  Exhausted, relieved, joyful, and filled with gratitude, George tumbles into his own bed for the first time in months. Here’s the familiar blue comforter, and the red-green-blue afghan Mum knit one year for Christmas. On the wall is the chart of the periodic table he tacked up, as well as the poster that shows all the musculature in the human body. He deliberately doesn’t look at the other side of the room, where Trevor’s neatly made bed remains just as it was, or at what his brother chose to hang above it: a poster advertising the circus and another for a popular musical that played in London. Trevor didn’t make it home. George did. And so did Aidan. There’s no rhyme or reason to any of it, and George isn’t going to spend another second trying to make sense of what’s unfolded. Instead, he closes his eyes against the brightening day, and sleeps for nearly twenty straight hours.

  George spends a lot of time reading and just taking it easy, but after a few days, he finds himself getting restless. He starts taking daily walks down to the water, happy to be back on English soil and to stand on the dock, looking at all the brave little boats that crossed the sea and brought him and the other boys home. Many of them had never been in open water before, and the men and women who steered them weren’t enlisted soldiers or trained for their mission. They had just seen the
need and heeded the call. Their heroism makes George grateful and proud. It also makes him eager to return to combat—the war is far from over, and every man is needed to fight against the ruthless enemy.

  “Don’t rush back,” says his mum. “You’ve got to be well first.”

  “Mum’s right,” adds his dad. “We need strong, battle-ready boys. You’ll be of greater use to the country if you get your strength up before you go back.”

  One day shortly before he is ready to return to active duty, George is sorting through his things when he pulls out the wallet he picked up from the dead German soldier. The two pictures, the ID card, the money, and even the frayed bit of ribbon—it feels like a year since he first looked through, but everything he remembers is still there. He wonders if he could find Gerhardt’s parents to return it to them. Would they want to have this back again? Or would receiving it make them too sad?

  Then his thoughts turn to his own parents. Would his mum and dad want to receive such a package from the soldier who killed his brother? He doesn’t know the answer to those questions. Besides, he doesn’t have any idea of how he might track down Gerhardt’s parents. And even if he did, would a letter or package to a German family even get delivered when Britain and Germany are fierce enemies? Probably not, and then the wallet would end up discarded, like so much trash.

  No, he decides, he won’t try to return the wallet. It’s better to keep it himself, so it will be respected and protected. The wallet will also serve as a reminder of the price of war.

  George thinks of the men he’s known who have died, some of whom were friends, and others whose names he’d never even known. He still believes in his country and the necessity of fighting the Nazis. Hitler’s goal is world domination—he’s come out and said so, over and over again. To George, there is no choice—the evil dictator must be stopped. And yet this German soldier, and all the others, had to die because of one man’s murderous aims …