If I Were You

by Lynn Austin

  “We’ll pray that he makes it,” Eve said.

  “Thank you so much for taking us in, Margery,” Audrey said. “Will you wake us, please, so we can help you in the morning?”

  “It’ll be before dawn,” Margery said. “We fix jam toast and tea to give out as soon as the boats arrive.”

  Eve stripped to her underwear and snuffed out the candle, falling asleep almost instantly. Audrey stayed in her clothes, lying awake for a long time as the harrowing boat trip played over in her mind. Her stomach felt as tightly clenched as a fist. The lumpy bed sagged in the center, and whatever they’d used to stuff the mattress made her skin itch. Or maybe it was the rough cotton sheet. Eve was accustomed to sleeping this way, and so were the London children who had stayed at Wellingford. They’d been content to sleep two and three to a bed or even on the floor. Audrey knew she was spoiled. If this war toppled the barriers between the classes as Miss Blake predicted, would Eve be raised to her level, or would she be reduced to Eve’s? Audrey doubted if anyone would be content to meet in the middle.

  Audrey’s head ached when she awoke the next morning. Margery fed them weak tea and thick porridge before leading the way back to the church. Airplanes droned overhead in the dawn light, dozens of RAF planes flying south toward the Continent. The train must have come for the soldiers during the night because they were gone, the streets emptied. They neared the seaman’s shack and the wall where Audrey had tied up her boat last night.

  “We’ll catch up with you at the church,” she told Margery; then she walked with Eve to the water’s edge. The flotilla was preparing to leave with all sorts of ships, from ferries and tugboats to paddle steamers and fireboats. Audrey spotted hers in the middle. She recognized the harried naval officer from last night walking toward her and wondered if he’d slept at all.

  “Good morning, miss,” he said, tipping his hat. “I didn’t have a chance to warn you last night, but you should know it’s possible your boat may be damaged before we’re through. I’m sorry, but the channel is mined, and the Luftwaffe will attack our ships from the air. Mind you, the RAF will give them a run for their money, but enemy planes still hit some of their targets.”

  “I would hate to lose our boat,” Audrey replied, “but there will be little need for it if we’re forced to surrender.”

  “You’re right about that.”

  Audrey felt useless at the church when it came to slicing bread and brewing gallons of tea, so she helped spread jam on the toast. They left for the dock just as the first ships neared the shore. Audrey stared in amazement at the sight. Soldiers in round tin hats and bulky life vests filled every inch of deck space on the vessels. A vast forest of men in olive drab, thousands and thousands of them, moved from ship to shore in long, silent lines like colonies of ants. Their faces had the weary, haggard look of beaten men. “Where do we even begin?” Audrey breathed.

  “The most important thing,” Margery told her, “is for the men to see your pretty faces and smiles. They’ve been to hell and back, shelled while on land and attacked from the air. Your job is to welcome them home.”

  Audrey waded into the stream of weary men, smiling as she passed out jam toast from her basket, searching the sea of unshaven, dirt-smudged faces for Alfie’s. Eve stayed beside her, pouring tea from a large kettle into the soldiers’ mess cups. “How will we ever find Alfie?” she asked Eve. “He won’t stand out among so many!”

  “No, but we’ll stand out. He’ll see us, Audrey. If he’s here, he’ll recognize us.”

  The soldiers’ dazed expressions all looked the same, numbed by shock and fear. And shame. Armies were supposed to fight, not retreat. It isn’t your fault, Audrey wanted to tell them. No one ever dreamed the Nazis would be so powerful. Or that the combined armies of Europe would be unable to stop them.

  “Welcome home,” she repeated again and again to hundreds of murmured thanks.

  “Is that blood on your face?” Eve asked a soldier as he reached for a piece of toast. “Do you need medical attention?”

  He absently wiped his cheek. “The blood isn’t mine. It’s my mate’s. They bombed the beach and we had no place to hide. Men were blown to bits all around me. Guess I’m one of the lucky ones.”

  “Ever hear the screaming sound the Nazi dive-bombers make?” the young man beside him asked.

  “No, I—I . . .”

  “It sounds like a siren coming down out of the sky. They dove straight at us with their load of bombs. I kept thinking, This is it. I’m done for now.”

  “Right, and just when we’re thanking God for not being hit, back they’d come to have another go at us.”

  Audrey didn’t hurry the men along, letting them talk, unloading their horror. Some of the men were shell-shocked, staring straight ahead as they walked past the refreshments, trembling like palsied men. Some needed help to hold the cup of tea and lift it to their lips.

  “Where are you from?” Audrey asked to put them at ease. They named places she’d never heard of.

  “I felt like a sitting duck,” she heard a soldier telling Eve. She was much better at getting them to talk. “Our destroyers couldn’t get close to shore, so they used smaller ships to ferry us out to them.” That was probably what Audrey’s boat would be used for. Many of these working-class men would be boarding a boat like hers for the first time.

  “They had this long pier-like thing that stretched out into the water,” another soldier said, “and we all lined up, waiting for a ship to pull alongside it so we could board. I was next in line when they told me no more room. I watched the ship move away, carrying my mates and leaving me behind. . . . Then, out of nowhere—boom! A Nazi plane got through and bombed the ship. I stood there watching it burn and sink, smoke boiling up, men jumping off into the water.” His voice broke and he started to weep. “It might have been me!”

  Eve shoved her kettle into Audrey’s hands and pulled the soldier into her arms to let him cry. It was such a natural thing for her to do, so like Eve—and so foreign to Audrey. It wasn’t that she felt no compassion for the man—his story brought tears to her eyes. But she’d never experienced warmth or consolation for her own tears and had no idea how to offer it to a stranger. Eve had once comforted her with a handful of strawberries.

  The soldier thanked Eve and wiped his smudged face. He moved on. Audrey pasted on a smile and served the next soldier and the next as airplanes droned overhead and the sounds of battle rumbled in the distance.

  Eve had looked into the faces of thousands of men, served hundreds of cups of tea, but hadn’t seen the face she was searching for. Late that afternoon, she and Audrey became separated, so after emptying the last drop from her kettle, Eve went to find her. Audrey wasn’t cut out for this work, physically or emotionally. She had a tender, sensitive heart, which she guarded behind an icy wall. But when Eve finally found Audrey, she was speaking to a group of French soldiers in their language. “We’re rescuing their soldiers, too,” she told Eve. “Isn’t it wonderful?”

  “Yes, and I’m glad to see your fancy education is finally being put to good use.” Eve was relieved when Audrey laughed.

  “I never imagined that speaking French would prove useful.”

  “My kettle is empty again. Let’s go back to the church.”

  “I’ve looked everywhere for Alfie,” Audrey said as they walked, “but I haven’t seen him.”

  “Neither have I. But I have to believe that he’s here somewhere.”

  “Let’s stop by the dock where we left the boat,” Audrey said. “I want to see if it’s back.” They pushed through the crowd of soldiers lining the shore and found the old seaman from last night standing outside his shack. There was no sign of the Rosamunde—or of any other boats, for that matter.

  “Heard you ladies might be looking for a ride back to Folkestone,” the man said as they approached. “There’s a fellow here who can take you in his lorry.”

  “We can’t leave yet,” Audrey said. “We need to stay and help.
”

  The man rested a thick hand on each of their shoulders. “Go on home now, girls. I’ll make sure your boat gets put back where it belongs.”

  Eve knew they had done enough. Audrey looked exhausted and there was little hope of finding Alfie among thousands of soldiers. “He’s right, you know,” Eve said. “We’d better go while we have the chance. And if we leave now, we might be able to get back to London before dark. Alfie might already be there.”

  Their car was in the same place where they’d left it in Folkestone. Eve jumped into the passenger seat before Audrey had a chance to. “What are you doing?” Audrey asked.

  “Get behind the wheel. You’re driving home.”

  “You know I can’t drive.”

  “It’s time you learned.”

  “Eve . . . please . . .”

  “You’ll thank me for it someday. Get in and let’s go home.”

  Audrey was a terrible driver at first, bouncing the car like a kangaroo until she got the hang of the clutch and shift lever. Eve nearly changed her mind about trying to teach her. But after the first hour, she did well behind the wheel. Once again, they passed miles of barbed wire, fortified military installations, and dozens of signs warning them to Keep Out. “It’s a relief to know that our coastline is well armed and ready to defend against an enemy attack,” Audrey said.

  “The first attacks won’t come from the sea, though,” Eve said. “The Nazis will attack us from the air like they have in all the other countries.”

  Audrey stared straight ahead, her gaze riveted to the road. “I’m scared, Eve.”

  “So am I.”

  Audrey glanced at her. “But you’re always so brave,” she said before turning to watch the road. Eve didn’t reply.

  Back in London, Eve asked Audrey to drop her off at the boardinghouse. She climbed from the car, stretching her weary limbs, then walked around to the driver’s side to say goodbye to her friend. “You’ll let me know as soon as you hear from Alfie, won’t you?” she asked. “You still have my telephone number, right?”

  “Yes, you gave it to me,” Audrey replied, patting her purse.

  “Promise you’ll ring me up the moment you hear?”

  “I will. Cross my heart and hope to die.” She smiled as she traced an X over her chest. “Now let me get going while there’s still enough daylight to find my town house.”

  Eve felt reluctant to let Audrey go, wondering when she would see her again. “What’s next for you, Audrey? Are you going home to Wellingford?”

  “I plan to, yes. If they give Alfie leave time, that’s where he’ll want to come.”

  Eve thought otherwise. After hearing what the men had endured in France, she guessed that Alfie would seek comfort with a whiskey bottle in a London nightclub. Eve studied her friend and wondered if she looked as ragged as Audrey did. Suddenly Audrey flung open the car door and leaped out, pulling Eve into her arms for a hug. They held each other tightly; then Audrey released her and got back into the car, grinding the gears as the car lurched away.

  “Keep practicing, Audrey,” Eve called with a grin.

  Eve found the other girls in the parlor of the boardinghouse, still gathered around the wireless where she’d left them the night before. One of her roommates leaped up when she saw her. “Eve! Where in the world have you been? We’ve been worried sick about you, taking off like that.”

  “Have you heard what’s happening?” another roommate asked. “The news is calling the evacuation from Dunkirk a miracle. They say if it hadn’t taken place, we would’ve been forced to surrender to Hitler!”

  “I heard.” But Eve didn’t say that she’d been part of it. She couldn’t find words to describe her experience yet, but she was proud to know that she and Audrey had made a difference.

  On June 4, everyone gathered around the radio as a news announcer described in grim tones how some 250 ships of various kinds and sizes had been sunk in the channel. Was one of them Audrey’s? He told how the RAF had downed numerous Luftwaffe aircraft and had suffered heavy losses themselves. Thank heaven Alfie wasn’t a pilot. Some 300,000 men had been ferried to safety across the channel, thanks to hundreds of civilian volunteers. The number astounded Eve.

  Then the room grew hushed as Prime Minister Churchill spoke. “Wars are not won by evacuations,” he said in his gravelly voice. Eve closed her eyes, picturing everything she’d witnessed, the weary, discouraged men, wounded and shell-shocked. She didn’t open them again until Mr. Churchill reached his stirring conclusion: “We shall not flag or fail. We shall go on to the end, we shall fight in France, we shall fight on the seas and oceans, we shall fight with growing confidence and growing strength in the air, we shall defend our island, whatever the cost may be, we shall fight on the beaches, we shall fight on the landing grounds, we shall fight in the fields and in the streets, we shall fight in the hills; we shall never surrender.”

  Never, Eve silently repeated. She walked out of the parlor and up the stairs. This was only the beginning of the war, not the end. She didn’t want to type memos while she waited to hear from Alfie. She wanted to fight back. On Monday, she would go to the War Office and apply for a job.

  11

  USA, 1950

  Eve barely slept. It was more than just the discomfort of a restless night in the summer heat, sweating on the narrow bunk in Robbie’s room. What kept her awake was the unanswerable question of what to do about Audrey. She couldn’t send her former friend away with no place to go. Audrey had been part of Eve’s life, on and off, since they were children, sometimes growing very close, sometimes distant. Yet if Audrey stayed, then Eve and Robbie would have no place to go. And they couldn’t live together, two women and their sons sharing the same names. All of Eve’s lies would be exposed. Her life would unravel.

  She lay in bed with her eyes open, watching the sky beyond Robbie’s cowboy curtains slowly grow light. The bunk reminded her of the one she’d slept on as an Auxiliary Fire Service volunteer. She peered at her watch. A few minutes after six. Eve tried to crawl down from the top bunk carefully but the movement awakened Robbie. He sat up, rubbing his eyes.

  “Mommy?” He would never go back to sleep now. Eve opened her arms and he went into them for a hug. She loved his sticky warmth, his little-boy smell. “I’m hungry, Mommy,” he murmured into her shoulder.

  Had they eaten supper last night? Eve vaguely recalled cooking beans and sausages—hot dogs, the Americans called them—but she couldn’t recall eating any. Her stomach felt the way it had aboard the Rosamunde during the evacuation of Dunkirk, as her mind swirled with thoughts of what to do about Audrey. She wished they would simply vanish. Poof!

  Eve needed help with this dilemma, someone to confide in, and the first person who came to mind was Tom Vandenberg. Whenever Louis and Robert talked about the Famous Four, they called Tom their conscience. He’d become a trusted friend to Eve during the past four years, and if her life was about to disintegrate, perhaps he could tell her how to fight back or where she could go or what she should do next. Maybe he’d help her pick up the pieces—if he didn’t turn against her for lying to him all this time.

  “We need to get dressed very quietly,” she whispered after releasing Robbie, “so we don’t wake up our guests. Then we’ll ride out to Uncle Tom’s farm and see his new baby lamb. Would you like that?”

  “Yeah!” The wooden bed frame creaked as Robbie bounced up and down.

  Eve held her finger to her lips. “Shh . . .”

  “Shh . . .” He grinned, imitating her. Eve threw on the clothes she’d worn yesterday and helped Robbie into a clean pair of shorts and a striped T-shirt. She was dying for a cup of tea but couldn’t risk waking Audrey. After scribbling a quick note telling Audrey to help herself to breakfast and promising to return soon, Eve grabbed a banana for Robbie and hurried out the door, speeding away in her car like a bank robber fleeing the scene of the crime. She had to find a solution to this problem. For Robbie’s sake.

  The twenty-min
ute drive through the rolling countryside calmed her, as did the sight of Tom’s sheep dotting the green hillside beyond the barn like tufts of cotton wool. Eve rolled down her window and inhaled the scents of hay and manure, the scents of her childhood. Tom’s farm had become a place of refuge for her, the only place where she felt free to be herself. Tom was coming out of his barn with his dog at his side as she pulled into the driveway.

  “You’re up with the chickens this morning,” he said with a grin. Eve had never seen Tom without a smile. He reminded her of the film star Jimmy Stewart, with his tall, angular frame and thick hair. He walked with a noticeable limp from a shrapnel wound, but it didn’t keep him from running his family’s dairy farm. She looked away from him to quench the impossible attraction she felt as Robbie ran up to him for a hug. Mum and Granny Maud would have adored Tom. Mum had told Eve to never settle for less than courage, kindness, and laughter in a man—a description that fit Tom perfectly.

  “I suppose we are rather early,” Eve said. “I wanted to apologize for being so short with you yesterday. My guests arrived unexpectedly and . . . and I guess they threw me a little off-balance.” She swatted at the ever-present flies that buzzed around the barnyard.

  “No problem. You looked a little frazzled yesterday.”

  “Are we too early to watch you feed the new lamb? I don’t want to interrupt anything.”

  “Not at all. The cows are all milked, and that new lamb will want his bottle right about now. Want to help me, Robbie?”

  “Yeah!” He hopped up and down with excitement.

  “Come in the house while I fix it.”

  Eve followed Tom through the screened-in back porch, waiting while he stopped at the porch sink to wash his hands. The aromas of coffee and frying bacon drifted from the kitchen along with the smell of something wonderful baking in the oven. They stepped into the kitchen, where Mrs. Vandenberg stood at the cast-iron range, pans sizzling as she cooked breakfast. Tom’s father sat at the kitchen table drinking coffee. The room was cozy and warm with blue-checked curtains and whitewashed wainscoting and a worn linoleum floor that groaned when you walked across it.