by Lynn Austin
“Good morning,” Eve said. “I’m sorry we’re here so early. We heard there’s a new baby lamb to feed.”
Tom’s mother turned, spatula in hand. “Well, good morning, Audrey. I’m just fixing breakfast. You want some?” She was a sweet, white-haired woman who reminded Eve of Granny Maud. “The eggs are fresh. Gathered them myself this morning.”
“We don’t want to be a bother.”
“You two are never a bother,” she said matter-of-factly.
“Guess what, Grandma Van!” Robbie said. “I’m going to feed the lamb!” Mrs. Vandenberg had told Robbie to call her Grandma Van after he’d struggled to say her name.
“Come here and give me a hug, sweetie pie.” She bent down as Robbie hurtled toward her, then folded him into her arms. A wave of longing for Granny Maud’s soft arms washed over Eve. If she told the truth about who she was, all of this would be snatched away from her son. He had a family here in America. He was loved. Mrs. Vandenberg was a fine churchgoing woman who would be horrified to learn what a liar Eve was, how she’d deceived her and won her heart by pretending to be someone else. Facing Grandma Van’s disappointment would be like facing Granny Maud’s. Eve could never confess—to her or to Tom. She would have to find another way out of this dilemma.
“That’s wonderful, Robbie,” Grandma Van said, returning to her cooking. “We sure could use your help with that lamb. Get out two more plates, Audrey honey, and some silverware.” Eve was familiar enough with the farm kitchen to do what she’d asked. Tom poured a cup of coffee for himself and one for Eve, then dragged an extra chair to the table.
“You take cream, right, Audrey?” he asked, setting the pitcher near her plate. Eve was certain Tom could read her guilt. She nodded, then quickly turned away.
“What’s baking in the oven?” she asked. “It smells wonderful!”
“I made a batch of biscuits.” Mrs. Vandenberg gestured to a wire rack on the counter where plump white mounds, lightly browned on top, were cooling. “Try one,” she said, “then go ahead and put the rest in that basket.” They looked like coconut macaroons, but the bite Eve tasted wasn’t sweet at all. Instead, it was buttery and floury and seemed to melt in her mouth. Tom had explained once before that British “biscuits” were called “cookies” in America. What his mother made, he’d insisted, were real biscuits.
“You and Robbie sit down now,” Mrs. Vandenberg said. She carried the skillet to the table and dished scrambled eggs onto everyone’s plate. Guilt ripped through Eve’s heart when Tom’s father bowed his head and prayed aloud. God knew the truth about her. Granny Maud said He kept a record of her sins in His book. Her page must be full. Robbie folded his hands and closed his eyes, too, his little legs dangling, his chin level with the table. He loved it here. Loved Uncle Tom and Grandma Van as much as he loved Nana and Grandpa Barrett. And so did Eve. It didn’t seem fair that Robbie would be punished because of her lies.
Eve struggled to smile and act nonchalant while they ate, flinching inside each time someone called her Audrey. After breakfast, she helped wash the dishes while Tom and Robbie fixed a bottle for the lamb. Then the three of them walked out to the barn, Robbie skipping ahead with the bottle, the dog at his heels. Eve gazed up at the blue sky and white clouds and knew, deep down, that her secret would be found out. Audrey was here in America and she wasn’t going away. And Eve also knew that it was more noble to confess than to be caught in the act. But she simply couldn’t bring herself to confess—not to Tom or anyone else. Not yet. Not until she exhausted every other possible way out of this mess. And she would find a way out. She had to.
“Come on, Mommy,” Robbie called from the barn. “Hurry! The lamb is hungry!”
“We’re coming.” Tom led them to a little pen he’d made inside the barn, opening the gate for Robbie to step inside. Tom crouched down, wincing slightly as if his leg felt stiff. He showed Robbie how to hold the bottle. The lamb dropped to its front knees to suck, its white tail whirling like a flag in the wind.
Don’t cry, Eve told herself as she watched them. Whatever you do, don’t let Tom see your tears. He would ask about them and she would have to pour out her story. “What happened to the lamb’s mother?” Eve asked instead.
“The ewe had twins and rejected the smaller one,” he replied. Robbie giggled as the lamb pushed against the bottle, guzzling greedily. Her son needed this, needed Tom’s strong arms around him, teaching him things only a father could. She wouldn’t let Audrey take this from him.
“Hey! He drank it all!” Robbie said a few minutes later. “Can we give him another bottle, Uncle Tom?”
“No more until lunchtime, I’m afraid.” Tom ruffled Robbie’s hair as they both stood. “And the lamb is a girl, not a boy. What do you think we should call her?”
“Um . . .”
“You don’t have to decide right now. Think it over and let me know.”
“Okay.” He handed the empty bottle to Tom and ran out into the sunlight with Tom’s dog.
“We need to go home,” Eve said. “Thanks so much for letting him do this.”
“What’s your hurry?”
“My visitors are still here. But I wanted to apologize again for yesterday.”
“There’s really no need . . . Are you all right, Audrey? You seem—”
“I’m fine.” She felt tears burning and fought them back. “Just tired. We got up much earlier than we usually do.”
“Cloudy!” Robbie suddenly shouted. “The lamb’s name is Cloudy because she looks like a cloud.”
“Cloudy it is,” Tom said with a grin.
Eve used the twenty-minute drive home to rehearse what she would say to Audrey, barely listening to Robbie chatter on and on about Uncle Tom’s dog and the new lamb. Audrey was sitting in the living room, her son asleep on her lap, when Eve arrived. She looked rumpled and bleary-eyed, as if she hadn’t slept well either.
“I fed Uncle Tom’s lamb,” Robbie announced in a loud voice. “He said I could name her anything I wanted, so I called her Cloudy ’cause that’s what she looks like. Wanna come out to the farm and see her?” he asked Audrey’s son, who had awakened. He shook his head.
“Have you eaten?” Eve asked. “Would you like breakfast? I can fix some toast or eggs . . .”
“Neither of us are hungry,” Audrey replied.
“Maybe some tea, then?”
“We need to talk, Eve.”
She couldn’t stall any longer. Eve sat down on the sofa, perched on the very edge, and drew a deep breath. “Listen, Audrey. If you need money, you can have all of Robert’s life insurance money and the trust fund his parents set up. All of it, if you’ll just—”
“If I just what?”
“Go back home. Please, I’m begging you!”
“I told you, I don’t have a home.”
“Then I’ll sell this house and give you the money to buy one. And I’ll send you more money every month, as much as you need—”
“I don’t care about the money, Eve. I didn’t come here for the money. My son is Robert’s child, and he deserves to know his grandparents and to have a real family. I don’t have any family left and—”
“Neither do I! All I have are the people I’ve grown to know and love here. Please, let Robbie and me get on with our lives. He loves all these people, too.”
“I know what happened to your family back home, Eve, and I’m so sorry for you. But this is my son’s family, not yours. I want Bobby to grow up surrounded by them, celebrating his birthdays with them, Christmastimes.”
“And I want the same thing for my son!” And for herself. How many times had Eve started all over, forging a new life when the old one ended? She couldn’t do it again. The loss would undo her. She cleared her throat, forcing herself to talk quietly so she wouldn’t upset the boys. “I’m sorry, Audrey, but you can’t have this life back. It’s too late. We’re settled here. I’m sure we can figure out a different plan for you, a different road to take—”
“
I’ve reached the end of the road, Eve. I’m not going any further. I belong here, not you.”
Eve stood as her fear of losing everything made her desperate. “Listen, the war taught us a lot of things, most of all, how to live day to day. We never knew during those long, endless months and years what would happen tomorrow, whether we’d be dead or alive by morning, so we both tried to grab a little happiness wherever we could find it and—”
“I tried to warn you about the poor choices you were making, but—”
“Don’t lecture me, Audrey! I’m not your servant anymore!” She was shouting now. “The war did away with all the barriers between us and made us equals. I’m sorry your father sold Wellingford Hall. But you threw away your chance to have this life when it was offered to you four years ago. It’s too late to change your mind!”
“It’s your fault for—”
“Don’t you dare blame me for the way things turned out! If you’re going to blame anyone, blame Hitler. He ruined our lives the day he invaded Poland. Or blame the Americans for not coming to help us until it was nearly too late. We did the best we could, Audrey, making the best decisions we could, trying to survive the bombs and the rockets, living on a pound of meat a week and a few ounces of sugar and a pinch of tea, if we could get them. Remember?”
“Of course I remember. How could I ever forget?” The determination Eve saw in Audrey’s eyes, the strong tilt of her chin, startled her. “But Bobby and I are not going anywhere. We’re staying here.” Audrey had found her courage at last.
Eve closed her eyes as she faced the reality of what she was about to lose. She pictured Granny Maud standing in front of her, wagging her finger the way she always did when Eve misbehaved. “The Good Book says that when you sin against the Lord, you may be sure that your sin will find you out.” Were the losses she now faced God’s punishment for her sins?
There had to be another way out. But Eve had no idea what it was.
12
WELLINGFORD HALL, JUNE 1940
Audrey opened the French doors that led from Wellingford Hall’s drawing room to the garden and searched the gray sky for the airplanes thrumming overhead. The sound interrupted the serenity of her peaceful estate as planes took off and landed at the new airfield nearby. The Royal Air Force had built dozens of airfields, radar stations, and repair sheds all over the once-peaceful countryside, making it commonplace to hear their activity. Audrey always looked up to see if they were RAF, having learned to tell British Hurricanes and Spitfires from German Junkers and Messerschmitts. Not that she’d seen a Luftwaffe plane flying above Wellingford—yet. But after what she and Eve had witnessed in Dover a few days ago, she feared it was only a matter of time.
The jangling telephone echoed through the foyer. She closed the drawing room doors and hurried to answer it before Robbins did. She lifted the receiver with hope and dread. “Wellingford Hall. Miss Clarkson speaking.”
Her brother’s laughter greeted her on the other end. “Are things that bad at home, Sis, that you have to answer the phone yourself? Has our butler joined the Army, too?”
“Oh, Alfie! Thank God you’re alive!” Her vision blurred as she sank onto the hall bench, weak with relief. “I’ve been waiting for days to hear from you!”
“Yes, I’m alive. And grateful to be off that hellish French beach.”
“Where are you? Are you coming home? Shall I fetch you at the village station?”
“I’m not at the station—”
“Then I’ll drive to London straightaway. I need to see for myself that you’re all in one piece.”
“I’m not in London, either. I’m not supposed to say where I am, but I’m back on British soil and digging in to defend us from the Hun.”
“Oh, it’s so wonderful to hear your voice! I’ve been frantic with worry ever since driving home from Dover—”
“What were you doing in Dover? Do you have a driver again? Is Williams back?”
“They put out a call for ships of all sizes for the rescue operation, so I went to London and got Eve Dawson. She and I drove down to Folkestone to offer the Rosamunde. We sailed it to Dover ourselves and loaned it to the Royal Navy. Then we stayed and helped serve tea to all the soldiers. We searched and searched for you, but there were so many men!”
Alfie whistled in admiration. “I’m proud of you, Sis.”
“I got word from the marina yesterday that the Rosamunde made it back safely.”
“That’s good to know.”
“Eve gave me the courage to sail it by myself. And she even taught me to drive the car on the way back to London. She’s a good friend, Alfie. And she cares so much for you. Does she know you’re all right? Did you telephone her?”
“I didn’t think you approved of me seeing Eve.”
“Of course I do, but Mother and Father won’t. Please don’t hurt her, Alfie. I know you have no shortage of girlfriends, but Eve is—”
“Hang on a minute, Sis . . .” Audrey heard muffled voices in the background, and Alfie speaking to someone. Then, “I have to go, Audrey. Tell Father and Mother I’m well. Call Eve for me, too, will you? Hope to see you soon.” He rang off.
As soon as she hung up the telephone, Audrey doubled over on the bench and wept for joy, her days and sleepless nights of worry over. For now. Alfie was safe.
When she scrubbed her eyes and looked up, Robbins and Mrs. Smith stood in the doorway to the servants’ quarters, waiting as if steeled for bad news. It embarrassed her to be seen weeping. “It’s good news,” she told them. “Alfie is alive and well and back in Britain.”
“Thank God,” Mrs. Smith breathed. Their relief seemed nearly as great as her own.
“Yes. We must thank Him straightaway!” She would ride her secondhand bicycle into the village and go to the church and . . . and she wasn’t quite sure what she should do once she got there but perhaps the vicar would know. She started to rise, then remembered that she’d promised to call their parents and tell them the news. And she must call Eve. “Do you know how to contact Father?” she asked Robbins.
“He left some numbers where he might be reached.”
“Please call him for me and relay the news. And . . . and will you call Mother at the town house, too?” She couldn’t explain her reluctance to speak with her mother, but she couldn’t deny it, either.
“Yes, Miss Audrey. They will be very happy to hear that Master Alfred is well.”
“I have to make one other call first, but I’ll need to run upstairs and fetch the number from my room.” Eve was at work when Audrey called the boardinghouse, but the landlady promised to give her the message. Audrey scribbled a quick letter to Eve in case she didn’t get the phone message, then rode into the village to post it. Afterwards, she propped her bicycle outside the church and went up the front steps, longing to say something or do something to show the Almighty her gratitude for sparing Alfie’s life.
The small stone church was cool inside and whisper-quiet. She paused in the vestibule near a message board overflowing with pinned notices and meeting schedules and ARP bulletins. She felt like an intruder. And she was unsure how one went about thanking God properly. The notices reminded her of the church in Dover where she and Eve had volunteered. The women there worked as a team, and she had so enjoyed helping them.
Audrey slipped into the silent sanctuary, tiptoeing down the long aisle to the front, reluctant to disturb the Almighty or anyone else. She sat in the Clarkson family pew, where she and Alfie used to sit with Father on special occasions such as Easter and Christmas, her brother fidgeting to contain his boundless energy, jiggling his foot and squirming in his seat. Father never reprimanded him and seemed just as eager as Alfie to hurry away when the service ended. Audrey couldn’t recall Mother ever attending with them.
Alfie was safe! She rested her forehead on the pew in front of her. “God, thank You . . . thank You!” It was all she could manage before dissolving into tears. Mother would be appalled at her lack of control. Proper lad
ies didn’t parade their emotions in public for all to see. But how else to convey her enormous gratitude and relief to God?
Audrey lifted her head when she thought she heard footsteps. She turned, recognizing Rev. Hamlin in his dark suit and clerical collar, hesitating in the doorway behind her. She quickly wiped her eyes and sat up straight. “Good afternoon, Vicar.”
“Forgive me, Miss Clarkson. I didn’t mean to disturb you, but if there’s anything I can do, I’m happy to help.” He was a lean, pleasant-looking man in his fifties with curly white hair that reminded her of lamb’s wool. From his sermons in the few months she’d been attending church regularly, Audrey thought him an intelligent, caring man. His tanned, muscular arms and work-worn hands hinted that he was unafraid to share his parishioners’ labors.
“Thank you for your concern, Reverend. I just heard from my brother, Alfie, who’d been on the Continent with the BEF. He’s fine, thank God, and I wanted to . . . to thank Him.”
“Indeed. That’s very good news. I’ll leave you, then.” He turned to go.
“Wait. If you have a moment, I would like to ask you how I can help. In the village, I mean. I know my family hasn’t been very active, and I apologize for that. But I would like that to change. My parents are away for the time being, and I’m now the lady of the manor, you might say, and I see on the notice board that there’s much to do here in the village. For the war effort, I mean. And to . . . to serve God.” She was rambling, her words stumbling along like a drunkard on a crooked path, but the vicar smiled kindly.
“No need to apologize, Miss Clarkson. We’ll simply go forward from here. There is, indeed, much to do as we prepare for the defense of England. We welcome all the help we can get.”