The Gathering Storm (40 page)

~ 315 ~

to my anxious prayers could guide him through the thick, black smoke and curling flames.

How long could he stay inside? Already the heat of the blaze was scorching the plaster next door. Little drips of lead fell sizzling from the rain gutters and roof seams as fire burst through above.

I felt the heat boiling out of the conflagration even from the other side of the street. My face prickled with it, while the distracted mother was reduced to hoarse cries and tearless sobs.

"Best come away, miss," the warden said. "Let me help you move back."

"No!" I replied fiercely. "Help him. Him!"

And then Eben was there, tottering at the top of the stairs. The blanket was steaming, and his clothes and face were streaked black. In his arms was a tow-headed five-year-old—very much alive and anxious to get to his mother. Eben delivered the child into the arms of the warden, then pitched forward into mine.

Suddenly our world was upside down. Eben dusted himself off and made ineffectual daubs with his handkerchief at his face. London was alight with fires from burning structures. Smoke rising over the city turned the moon blood red.

Eben grasped my hand and pulled me quickly along the burning street, out of the damaged shopping area and down toward the untouched dark reaches of the city.

Down past Piccadilly Circus and Leicester Square we went, and on beyond Trafalgar. "There's more to come," he said. "Hurry!"

In the distance we could hear the crump of bombs falling on the warehouses of the East End where so many refugees were interned.

Almost in the same instant the siren wailed again and men and women scrambled back into shelters. Eben did not turn to the right or the left but continued toward the Embankment and the Savoy

~ 316 ~

Hotel, which was among London's few buildings fortified by steel. We charged into the unlit, deserted lobby. Flames from an inferno across the river lit up the interior that flickered softly. A doorman, looking strangely out of place in his livery, shouted over his shoulder as he ran that we must take shelter in the basement with the other guests.

Eben said, "Go, Lora. Get to the shelter. This will last all night."

I did not let go of his hand. "I want to stay with you, Eben."

"You're not afraid?"

"No."

"All right, then."

We walked calmly together into the dining room. The bandstand was deserted, instruments abandoned and sheet music strewn across the floor. Meals were left uneaten on dining tables overlooking the Thames and the blazing docks. The orange conflagration reflected in the water of the Thames was strangely beautiful and
terrifying, like the images on the screen of the burning of Atlanta. In
the distance the hollow, ringing thump of anti-aircraft blasted away at the empty German bombers.

More would certainly be headed our way before long.

Eben found a table beside the open doors leading to a balcony. There was roast beef, roast potatoes, and fresh dinner rolls set out before us. We were alone in the most elegant dining room in London.

"We should eat before the next wave arrives," Eben said, as if
expecting nothing more consequential than a train. "They will use the
fires along the Thames as a path to guide them here from France."

"What will happen?"

"They will drop more bombs."

"Eben?"

"Yes, Lora?"

"You are not afraid?"

"No."

"Never?"

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"Never for my own sake. No."

"Why? How are you unafraid?"

"I am certain of what comes after this. What is beyond the horizon. So I am not afraid."

"How can you know?"

"I have seen it."

"Seen it? I am speaking of...Eben? I am not speaking of earthly things."

"Nor am I."

"Who are you?" I whispered. "Where do you come from?"

"Another place. Another time. You know, Lora. Don't you? Your
heart knows me. I have seen it in your eyes. In your smile. You know."

Yes. He was right. I had known all along that he was a man, yet unlike other men. But I still could not comprehend that my suspicions could be more than imagination. "What am I to do with you?"

"Marry me."

"Marry?"

"I meant to ask you tonight. I believe there is so little time left for the world, Lora. I feel I must taste happiness...live for a while like other men live."

I tested my suspicions. "Like younger men?"

He laughed. "If you like."

"How long have you waited to love me?"

"A very long time. Centuries. What do you say?"

"It has felt like centuries since I first loved you. Yes, Eben. I will
marry you."

We raised our glasses and toasted whatever future we might have together in this broken world.

And so we ate. Our meal was a banquet. I had not tasted such a fine meal since the summer at the White Rose Inn. By the light of burning buildings I could see the bench where Eben and I had shared our meager picnic only hours before. He poured two glasses of champagne. We toasted
L'Chaim:
"To Life."

~ 318 ~

Eben drew his chair close to mine and pulled me against his chest. He stroked my cheek and kissed me gently, as though my lips were wine to savor. Tracing my chin with his forefinger, he lifted my face to his. Warm eyes drank me in, devoured me. Then his mouth covered mine. He kissed me urgently, fiercely, tasting my mouth with his tongue. Embers of desire ignited within me. Desperate with long dormant desire, I returned his kisses.

His breath brushed my face and neck. "In the morning, my White Rose. We will marry, and I will make you mine at last."

"Yes. Oh, Eben!" I whispered. Yielding to his touch, my resis
tance melted in his fierce embrace. I longed for him to take me away;
to find a quiet place where I could lie in his arms through the night. "Please." I sighed. "Now."

Suddenly a siren screamed as the next wave of German bombers swarmed up the Thames. He raised his head and took my hands, leading me out onto the balcony.

Searchlights bored into the black canopy of night like white pillars holding up the sky. Lights locked on the German bombers. Black swastikas on tails were plainly visible.

Bombs began to explode upriver. Anti-aircraft guns boomed. Eben held me and searched my face. "Lora, suddenly I am afraid... truly...I don't want to lose you. Do you understand? I want to spend the rest of my life with you."

Luftwaffe bombers came in relays.

British fighter planes soared almost vertically into battle, as bombs rained down throughout the long night. But in Eben's strong arms I was not afraid.

We rode the tube to Hampstead Village and climbed out of the deep tube station on High Street while it was still dark.

"Would you like to come to my flat?" For years Eben had kept a
tiny, one-room, pied-a-terre on Church Row.

319

"No. Better not." My hand in his was electric. Knowing what was
ahead, I felt weak from his touch.

"A cup of tea?"

"A cup of tea alone with you could be dangerous."

His laugh was husky, and I knew I was right. "Later, then. I'll fix you tea after we are properly married."

"I'll fix you tea and bring it to you in bed."

In that moment I remembered the nights Varrick and I had shared together. We had been so young—so eager and clumsy in our lovemaking.

I knew this time that experiencing passion in Eben's arms would be different.

Eben took me to a park bench on the edge of the heath. He held me close as we watched the red sun rise through the smoke to hover above the smoldering ruins of London.

He knew the elderly priest at St. Mary's Church, Hampstead, and had asked him to marry us first thing in the morning.

"Should I be offended?" I asked, as we slowly walked toward the church.

"Offended?"

"You arranged for the wedding before you asked me to marry you."

"I didn't want to waste any time."

"What if I had said no?"

"I would have taken Father Brocke to breakfast at the Hollybush, and he would have told me it was all for the best that you had refused me in these uncertain times."

"You thought it all out."

"No. I knew you would say yes. Fresh linens and cleaned the place.
I bought a new brass bed. Delivered yesterday. It fills up my room."

"Not too big, I hope. I wouldn't want to have to look for you."

"It's a very small room. So you can always find me."

"You were certain of me."

"From the moment I saw you again in..." He shook his head as if in
amazement. "Not a child, Lora. But a beautiful, beautiful woman."

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I did not have a watch. I did not have a change of clothes. Perhaps it did not matter. "What time is the wedding?"

"Before early service. Seven."

"So early. You're in a hurry," I teased.

He stood and looked over the smoke-filled basin of London beneath our vantage point. "Today will be our day. Tonight I suppose the bombers will come back."

"I don't think I'll notice, Eben." He tugged me to my feet and I pressed myself heavily against his chest.

One more kiss and then we walked back along the wooded path to the Georgian houses on Church Row. Eben pointed up to the open windows of his garret room.

We turned onto the steep narrow lane called Holly Place that sloped up past the iron gate of the graveyard to little St. Mary's. The entrance of the church could easily be missed. Its white facade was only as wide as one house, but inside it opened up into a plainly decorated space with high whitewashed walls and a dark-beamed ceiling. The crucifix above the altar was the focal point.

Father Brocke was dressed in his clerical robes and waiting when Eben and I arrived. He was a small, balding, cheerful man with sharp features and a broad smile. His Irish brogue was only slightly diminished by long years in England.

"Ah, Eben! I prayed for your success with the young lady all the
long night through. I hope this is the one you were after, and you've not had to fall in love with another."

"This is Lora." Eben seemed proud to introduce me.

Father Brocke beamed. "Heaven is smilin'. I see you won her
over! Took you all night, as I said. Lovely! Lovely! A brilliant mornin'
to be wed, eh?"

Suddenly shy, I shook his hand. Pleasantries were exchanged, then Father looked at his wristwatch and declared that the exiled leader of the Free French, General Charles DeGaulle, would be arriving for morning worship and we had better hop to it. He called a janitor and the organist to serve as witnesses.

~ 321 ~

And so we were married. No music. No march down the aisle. No
guests. No public celebration. Eben's vows were so muted with emotion I could barely hear him. And I could not speak above a whisper. Yet my heart was so filled with love for Eben that the covenant we made seemed so much higher and deeper than any promises ever made between a man and a woman. I felt the presence of angels; Papa and Mama at my side.

Father Brocke recited the words "...till death do you part?" Eben
shook his head slowly from side to side. "Not even death shall part us."

Only minutes passed before Father Brocke blessed us and said, "Before God and man I now pronounce you man and wife. Mr. and Mrs. Eben Golah. Glory be, it's a good thing I'm not hard of hearin'! That's the quietest weddin' I've ever presided over. Any questions? Well then, Eben, my boy! You may now kiss the bride."

Church Row was just waking up as Eben led me home to his garret flat.
Workmen were already at work removing ornate iron railing outside the Georgian townhouse to be melted into bullets and tanks.

A narrow private stairway led to the tiny room tucked beneath the eaves. He turned the key in the old-fashioned lock. Hinges groaned as the door swung open to reveal a brass bed. Fresh white linens were neatly turned back over a white bedspread.

"What would you have done if I had said no?" I smiled.

He did not reply but kissed my mouth. I grew weak. He swept me
into his arms and carried me across the threshold. It was a moment before I opened my eyes. He held me, my arms around his neck, as I took in the details of his flat.

I smelled a hint of new paint. The walls were the color of fresh cream. The open window was framed by cornflower blue curtains. A small table with two plain wooden chairs overlooked the Row. Two teacups and a centerpiece of white roses told me Eben had been expecting me.

~ 322 ~

A chest of drawers stood against the opposite wall beneath framed magazine engravings of scenes from Shakespeare. A pale green alarm clock ticked loudly in front of a neat row of books that lined the top of the dresser. Stacks of volumes formed a sort of multi-colored wainscot around the four walls of the space. A tall walnut wardrobe was beside the yellow door leading to the WC.