Tidings of Comfort and Joy Page 9

  "Oh, they gave us help. Initially." His voice turned as stark as the winter white beyond our little cab. "Her name was Matilda Whetlock. You will hear that name spoken with dread by all who met her. Prior to her arrival in Arden, she ran a borstal."

  "A what?"

  "A prison. A borstal for young women. She was hard as nails, Matilda was. She and the staff she'd brought along with her. A worse caretaker for children coming from the horrors of war I could not possibly imagine."

  Outrage filled his voice. "We were positively aghast at what we saw happening. The children were so terrified of her and the staff, they neither ate nor slept. We would arrive most mornings to find them sleeping outdoors, rather than be put to bed by Matilda Whetlock. We spent most of August and September walking from tree to tree, gathering up these little forms, then battling the mistress and her staff to keep them from punishing our children."

  He stopped the truck right in the middle of the road.There was no need to pull off to one side. There was no traffic. The road was an unblemished strip of white, thankfully marked by hedgerows and low stone walls. Otherwise there would have been no way to tell where the road stopped and the neighboring fields began. Colin walked around front and scraped ice off the windscreen, then returned to the cab and did the same to the inside. He settled back behind the wheel, put the truck into gear, and started off.

  When he drove on in silence, I demanded, "What happened?"

  "What? Oh, to Matilda, yes, of course. Sorry, I was busy hoping this trip wasn't in vain. We drove her off."

  "Who did?"

  "The entire village. By that point, everyone within twenty miles was talking about Matilda Whetlock. Her name was enough to give the young ones nightmares, just listening to how the adults spoke of her. We held a town meeting, then went up one day and drove her away, her and her minions." He turned to flash me an apologetic smile. "Which partly explains why the Ministry has been somewhat reluctant to jump in once more. Our actions made the national press. British officialdom does not like to have its hand slapped in public."

  "But they have to help you," I cried.

  "Oh, they will. But they are dragging their heels in best bureaucratic fashion. It is their way of punishing us, I suppose." He crested the steepest rise so far, and applied the brakes. The truck shuddered to a halt. "Well, the worst is behind us."

  He climbed from the truck to give the glass another scraping. As he did, the snow stopped once more. A lance of sunlight managed to break through the clouds. I opened my door and climbed down. When I turned around, and saw where we had come from, I had to grip the truck for support.

  The view was beautiful but frightening. Behind us, the road dipped into a valley of white and silence. Dark gray lines crisscrossed the empty fields, and smoke rose in lazy ribbons from cottages that seemed a very long way below us. "I'm glad I didn't know where you were taking me."

  Colin Albright laughed, and suddenly the years and the strain fell away. "It is quite a feat, what we've just done. I don't mind saying so myself." He pointed ahead of us."You can see the airfield in the valley just along there."

  The descent was far more gradual than the rise we had just crested. The planes were tiny toys, and the field itself was a long white ribbon laid upon the valley's floor. All was silent and still. Not a person could be seen moving about.I climbed back inside with Colin, exhilarated by the air and the accomplishment. I took an overdeep breath and coughed.

  Colin was instantly concerned. "How are you feeling?"

  I waved away his concern, fighting to regain my breath."Fine," I gasped.

  "You don't sound fine. You sound like our journey has brought on a relapse."

  "Really, it's nothing." I fought down another rising cough, swallowed noisily, and forced out a smile. "I'm on the mend, as Rachel says. Better than that. It's just this silly cough that won't go away."

  He did not start forward. Instead, his concerned gaze remained on me. "I really must apologize for that day in the hospital. I was awful."

  "No more so than I was," I replied, suddenly glad that it was out in the open.

  "You had every reason to say what you did. But the children . . . " He sighed and shook his head. "They had started dropping like flies that very week. No explanation for it, none at all. Suddenly they were just not getting out of bed. Sleeping all the time, their little bellies swelling up, moaning in tongues none of us could understand."

  I was glad the scarf disguised my blushing flood of shame. There in the hospital, trapped within my own selfish misery, I had scalded an innocent man with my anger. I felt so small. "I'm sorry," I said weakly. "I didn't know."

  "No, of course not, how could you?" But his worry held him, and the words were spoken automatically. "A few of the children are finally growing better. Almost despite our best efforts, or so it seems."

  "What do you think it might be?"

  "We're not sure." He put the truck into gear. "All we can say for certain is that we can see some improvement, and fewer seem to be falling ill."

  As we approached the airfield, round-roof igloos became metal Quonset huts covered in snow. Men began streaming out the doors, drawn by the grinding sound of our motor disturbing the valley's silence. When Colin pulled up and stopped, I shyly stepped down into the snow, pulling away the scarf and cap, searching for a familiar face.

  "Miss Robbins!" A red-haired young man came bounding forth, his leather flyer's jacket flapping open to the cold. "What on earth are you doing here?"

  "Hello, Bob. Call me Emily, please." I ruffled my hair from the matting it had received inside the woolen cap. "I'd like to introduce Reverend Colin Albright. He's the local vicar."

  "Sure, hey, Reverend. I've seen you around."

  Bradley Atwater waved and called as he approached, "There ain't no planes today, Emily. Not in, not out."

  "Whole world's snowed in," Bob confirmed. "Word is, we're seeing the worst winter in Europe's history."

  "I didn't come for myself," I said, reddening under the multitude of gazes. "That is, well," I stopped, took a deep breath, and said, "We desperately need your help."

  TWO HOURS LATER, I climbed back into the truck, so full of canned pineapple juice and turkey sandwiches I could scarcely move. "I can't thank you enough, Bob."

  "Shoot, Emily, you kidding? Get a load of the guys."Three jeepswere piled high with all the supplies our own vehicle could not carry. Around them, heated arguments rose as men vied for the chance to drive them back to town. "We're just sitting around here, playing cards and jawing, bored to tears."

  Bradley Atwater grinned at all and sundry. "Then up pops the cute little lady here, and says we got a load of kids starving to death."

  "Well, I'd hardly call it that," Colin murmured.

  "Close enough," Bob said, winking at me. "That's what we'll tell the guys at Stores, if anybody tries to raise a stink."

  "Probably won't even miss it," Brad offered.

  "I would never wish to be party to a lie," Colin said."But in all honesty, if the snow holds for another few days, it might actually bring us close to starving." Colin offered them his hand. "Be that as it may, we simply cannot thank you enough. All of you."

  "Shoot, Reverend, it's a pleasure." Brad was of Indiana farming stock, tall and angular and possessing the jaw of an ox. His midwestern twang rang strong and clear in the icy air. "But you folks better be getting on, looks like it's gonna snow again 'fore too long."

  "Right you are." Colin climbed on board and ground the starter. The sound was enough to galvanize those gathered around the jeeps into action. A trio of men stopped the quarreling by being the first three to scramble behind the wheels. There was no room for others. The jump seats were piled high with cartons of canned goods.

  "Oh, hey." Bob stepped aside, revealing a box and two lumpy sacks by his feet. "Thought you might use these."

  Colin inspected the bags' labels, and his eyes turned round. "It can't be."

  "The best there is, and ever will be," Bob
agreed proudly."Real Florida oranges."

  "No, really," Colin said, dragging his eyes away from the burlap sacks with their bright yellow emblems. "I simply couldn't."

  "Sure you could." Bob waved cheerily as one of the jeeps blew its horn. "They dumped half a ton of this stuff on us.We eat much more, we'll be sick as little puppies."

  "Give Emily the other box," Brad urged.

  "Yeah, right." His face turned the color of his hair as he lifted the cardboard container. It was very light, given its size. "This is from me and the boys."

  "Don't open it now," Brad warned, "otherwise he'll burst into flames."

  "We just wanted to tell you," Bob glanced at his friend for support. "Well, ma'am, Miss Robbins . . . "

  "The name's Emily," Brad offered cheerfully. "And she already knows that."

  He wheeled around. "You mind?"

  Brad offered a huge grin and open palms. "Just trying to get this show on the road, pardner."

  "Give me a sec." Bob turned back around. "What we wanted to tell you, Emily, is that Grant is a fool."

  "The purebred, ten-gallon variety," Brad affirmed.

  I felt my face turn a shade to match Bob's. "Thankyou," I said weakly.

  "Lady as easy to look at as you," Bob went on determinedly, "good-hearted to boot, you deserve better treatment."

  "Doggone right," Brad agreed. "Anytime you want to give another flyboy a try, give us a holler."

  "Not a chance in this world," I said, glad for a reason to smile. "But thank you just the same."

  We settled the sacks on the floor by my feet, and put the box on the seat between us. The men left behind saw us off with a chorus of waves and shouts. The jeeps fell in, one in front and two behind. Once we were well under way, Colin asked me what was in the box. I peeled back the lid and exclaimed, "Silk stockings!"

  "An entire box of them?" He slowed to gape. "I don't think I've seen a box of stockings since the war started."

  I closed the lid. "You take them."

  He halted so abruptly the jeep behind us did a fourwheel slide up alongside. A voice shouted over, "Hey, what gives!

  "Sorry!" Colin called back, then returned his gaze to me. "Do you have any idea what they are worth?"

  "Take them," I repeated. "What on earth am I going to do with that many? Besides, this trip was supposed to be for the children. Maybe you can barter them for something more useful."

  "There's no 'maybe' about that." He gave me a long glance. "For what it's worth, I'd like to say that I agree wholeheartedly with the gentlemen's comments about your fiancé's departure."

  "Ex-fianceé," I corrected. "But thank you for the sentiment."

  I settled back in the seat. The smile I wore seemed to stretch my face into unaccustomed angles.

  TWELVE

  Marissa entered the kitchen, her face wreathed in smiles.Her hand hovered alongside the door frame, but she stood unsupported. Her beaming face wore a freshly scrubbed shine. Beneath her robe she wore a sweatshirt and stretch pants instead of the nightgown.

  She waited for her grandmother to turn around and notice. But Gran moved about the kitchen in noisy concentration, her face one big frown. Gradually Marissa'ssmile slipped away.

  Gran chose that moment to glance over. "Oh, good morning, child." There was none of the hoped-for cheer.Instead, Gran's customary abruptness was sharpened."Ready for breakfast?"

  "I guess so." Glumly, Marissa walked over and seated herself in the breakfast nook. A good deal of the light had gone from the day.

  Gran prepared their oatmeal in silence. It was only when she brought over the two steaming bowls that she focused upon Marissa's form, and demanded, "What are you wearing?"

  Marissa shrugged. "I felt like dressing for a change."

  "That means your energy is returning." A trace of Gran'saffection surfaced. "Honey, that's marvelous!"

  Marissa tasted her oatmeal. "Have I done something to make you mad at me?"

  "Oh, child." Gran set down her spoon. "There are no secrets between us, are there?"

  "It wasn't hard to spot." The cinnamon tingled in her mouth and nose. As far back as she could remember, cinnamon and brown sugar were the scents of winter mornings. "What did I do?"

  "It's not you, child, not at all." The grim lines deepened the furrows on Gran's face, aging her into a hardeyed stranger. "I'm just angry with Colin."

  "At Granpa?" Incredulous, Marissa stared across the table. "But he's dead."

  "Exactly. He's left me here all alone." The eyes glistened as she rapped her spoon on the tabletop. "How dare he go off without me and leave me here by myself!"

  "You're not alone, Gran," Marissa whispered.

  The old lady could no longer remain seated. She rose and paced back into the kitchen. "Oh, I know that, darling. It's just this talking has made the memories of all we shared so much more vivid. I lay awake last night missing him more than I have since the funeral."

  Although it cost her dearly, Marissa offered quietly, "You don't have to tell me any more of your story if you don't want to."

  Gran stood by the kitchen window for a very long moment. Long enough, in fact, for Marissa's heart to sink with apprehension that she might never know what happened to the orphanage and her grandparents' early days.

  But eventually Gran shook her head, and sighed, "No, that wouldn't be right. I've started this, and I want to finish."

  "But—"

  "Not just for you, child." Slowly Gran walked back over and seated herself. With careful motions she pushed the bowl aside and folded one hand upon the other. "This is for me as well. I believe this to be a very important exercise.I am setting my house in order, you see. I am allowing the most important lessons of my early life to be passed on."

  "I really want to hear what happened," Marissa offered.

  Gran smiled for the first time that day, and the sudden aging slipped away. "Then hear you shall. Now eat your oatmeal before it grows stone-cold, and let me see if I can remember what happened next."

  GRAN'S STORY

  Nobody at the orphanage dared touch my box of stockings. There were thirty-six pairs in all, and occasionally I would find a couple of the ladies gathered about the cupboard where they were stored, passing them from hand to hand. Without any discussion, at least not any that I heard, the stockings had been set aside as a sort of barter-savings for a rainy day.

  Five days later, the snows finally ended, and the skies cleared. That same afternoon we received some real help from the Ministry, in the form of six lorry-loads of muchneeded goods. Shoes and clothes and blankets and sheets and canned goods and soap and cleaning utensils, all the things that one never thinks about until they are not there.The people who helped staff the orphanage walked around in a daze, unable to take in the sudden flood of wealth.

  The first thing we did, after storing away most of our goods, was to scour the kitchen. Perhaps they should have done it earlier, but I certainly did not have the heart to point that out. They had been so exhausted, those villagers, from the daily strain of finding enough to feed and clothe the children, that such things as fighting infection had simply been postponed.

  Every utensil was boiled and then boiled again. The floors and walls and stoves and counters were scrubbed with wire brushes and disinfectant. The beds were stripped, the mattresses scrubbed, and the sheets boiled in lye. The entire house stank of carbolic acid, and we ate in the far downstairs room for four days. And we waited. The doctors had finally decided the children probably had hepatitis, the signal being that those who got better stayed so. If it was indeed hepatitis, we should now begin to see a decline in the infection rate.

  By the end of that second week, I was working at the orphanage more or less full-time, and thinking of the children as ours. For as long as I needed to stay in England, I was united with the villagers by the needs of these wonderful children. And they truly were wonderful.

  The brightest among them, and those who had been least scarred, had begun to pick up their first
words of English. We could not organize classes, there simply was too much work and too few volunteers. We also had neither books nor blackboard nor enough pencils and paper to go around. It did not matter. The children gathered whenever there was an adult or two with free time, and they learned the words for everything within reach, everything they could see through the windows, everything we could find in chattering parades through the grand old house. We sang hymns, the children mouthing words that meant little or nothing to them, but loving it all the same.

  Annique continued to seek me out, pulling me down hallways and up back stairwells, chattering softly in a tongue I could not understand, drawing me to little forms huddled in attics and closets and crannies.

  My health continued to improve. The warm spell helped tremendously. I was able to get out some afternoons and walk through the manor's huge estate. After five years of neglect, the formal gardens had become overrun. But I found the leaf-strewn paths to be even more beautiful for their unkempt state. It was a private place, where I could draw out my problems and my woes, and inspect them in peace. I found myself healing, both inside and out.

  Later that week the doctors confirmed what we had been hoping. The rate of infection was slowing. But with the good news came the bad; it was not slowing as fast as it should.

  As a result, Colin and I made a second trip out to the Arden airfield. This was a very different trip indeed. The road was awash in icy rivulets, the sky china blue. Although the fields were still winter brown and dotted with snow, our stop at the top of the rise rang with the sounds of life.I took in great breaths of the clear country air, and listened to the chorus of sheep, cows, chickens, and children from the valley below.

  "The trouble with stopping out here is I never want to leave," Colin confessed.

  "It is beautiful," I agreed. I was becoming increasingly comfortable with the soft-spoken assistant vicar. Colin was an odd candidate for sainthood, with his shock of sandy hair that looked as though it had never seen a brush, and his utter disregard for the state of his clothes or his truck.He often forgot to eat, unless someone grabbed hold as he rushed by and sternly ordered him to sit. He was scatterbrained and forgetful, and he took on more work than could possibly have been handled by two men.