Tidings of Comfort and Joy (9 page)

"Oh, I'm volunteering up at the War College. Do you know, I believe I'll join you for a cup. How do you take your tea, my dear?"

"A little sugar, please. I'm sorry, where did you say—"

"Oh, just listen to me." Rachel's laugh had a gay ring, and she bustled about the kitchen in an excited manner. "The War College is what it's been called for the past five years, and such names die hard. The Ministry of Defense took over a large manor just outside of town and turned it into an academy for senior officers. They came in for courses on everything from strategy to language to map reading." She poured steaming water into the old teapot. "We had one of these officers stay in your place for a time. Charming fellow.Didn't make it back, I'm afraid. I still talk to his wife from time to time. She came down and joined him while he was here. Took the loss rather hard, poor dear."

I accepted my cup. "It sounds like you can't mention anybody without talking about them losing someone."

"Yes, I suppose it does. There are so many." She sipped at her cup. "Mind you, it hasn't been a bed of roses for those left behind. There are quite a number of grieving ghosts wandering our streets."

I started to ask what she did at the former War College, when the doorbell rang. Her face lit up with renewed excitement. "Oh, that must be Fred!"

I followed her back downstairs, and watched as she flung back the door and said in mock severity. "Shame on you, Fred. I thought for certain you had forgotten me."

Fred doffed his cap and held open the cab door. "Not you, Miss Rachel. Just held up a bit by the snow, is all."

Rachel started to enter, then straightened. "Oh, wait, Emily wanted to ask you something."

I stepped up beside her. "I was wondering if you could take me over to the airfield."

Rachel's face fell. "Oh, my dear. Are you sure that's such a good idea?"

Fred clearly misunderstood, for he said, "Not a hope, Miss Emily. Not today."

To Rachel, I said, "I need to see about a way back to America, and there's no berth available on a ship." To Fred, "Why not?"

"Because the hills are chock full of snow, is why." Fred turned and pointed toward the hills rising behind us. "The airfield's only five miles away, but it's straight up and straight down. All roads over the Chilterns are closed up tight."

I had not thought of that. "What about this afternoon?"

"Not likely. They do all the roads around town first. Leave it till tomorrow, I say." He glanced up at the heavily laden clouds. "That is, unless we get more snow, which by the look of things could well happen."

"Never mind, my dear." Rachel patted my arm. "You might be better off leaving that for a day or two. And you are welcome to stay here just as long as you like."

"'Course, some of the boys might try to make it in to the local tonight," Fred offered.

"I'm sorry, the what?"

"The local, the pub." Fred was totally oblivious to the dark look Rachel was shooting his way. "The Horse and Groom, just at the top of New Street. The townsfolk call it the Gloom and Doom, don't ask me why. Those Yank flyboys, they claimed it as their own. Take those fourwheel-drive jeeps over roads I wouldn't try in my dreams."

"We should be off, Fred," Rachel said crisply, climbing inside the cab.

But Fred was too busy grinning and talking to pay her any mind. "Had one of 'em tell me they had their nerves surgically removed the day they pinned on their wings. I wouldn't put it past a few of them to try and—"

"Fred!"

"Right away, mum." Fred scampered around to his door.I stood there, feeling at a loss as to what I should do with my day. Rachel observed my confusion, and leaned back through the door. "My dear, I do wish you would reconsider and join me."

"I'd just be in the way," I replied, though the invitation held the appeal of at least filling the empty hours.

"Oh, piffle." Rachel slid over and patted the seat beside her. "We are so understaffed, I shouldn't be surprised if the day shift didn't fall at your feet in gratitude just for showing up."

"It's the truth, Miss Emily," Fred called from the front seat. "It's a right shambles up there. Why, just the other day they—"

"That is quite enough, Fred," Rachel rapped out. "I am paying you to drive, not spread your dreadful rumors."

"Right you are, Miss Rachel." Fred grinned as he pumped the gas bag lever and pulled on the choke. "Right you are."

THAT MORNING, THE village of Arden appeared straight from a fairy-tale painting. All the ancient buildings stood draped in snow and icicles. The air smelled of wood smoke and winter. Chimneys puffed cheerily, and windows glazed in frost stared back at me. People were made plump by padding, their faces lost behind scarves and hats and shawls.

We climbed the slope leading beyond the clinic and on out of town, up to where the clouds draped lazily over the hills. Forests from a black-and-white etching closed in about us. Little stone cottages appeared now and then, surrounded by snow-covered hedges. In several yards, horses stamped and jingled their harnesses as families loaded carts with crates and milk tins.

"Egg deliveries," Rachel explained. "With the rationing we've returned to earlier times."

"What is it you do at the War College?" I asked.

"Everything under the sun, and then some," Fred offered cheerily.

"That will do, Fred," Rachel said mildly, and patted my knee. "It will be easier to show you than try and describe what has taken place in our little village, my dear."

"Best thing that could have happened, if you ask me,"Fred declared.

This time, Rachel did not dispute. Instead, she said to me, "Now as to your trying to find a way back to America, you mustn't concern yourself over how long you'll be staying in my little place."

"I'll pay you rent," I offered. "But I need—"

She shushed me with another pat. "We can work something out, of that I am certain. With everything else that has befallen you, I want this to be the last thing on your mind."

The simple kindness brought a burning to my eyes."You've been awfully nice, Rachel."

"Nonsense. It's the least I can do." Her eyes lit up as Fred turned through a pair of great stone gates and entered a long tree-lined drive. "Here we are, my dear."

The elms were centuries old and thicker than I was tall.Through the snow-covered boughs I caught glimpses of a house that drew a gasp from my lips. Four stories of stone and turrets and gables and gargoyles, a fantasy palace standing proud and stern in a vast sea of white.

Rachel paid my reaction no mind, nor did Fred. For as we drew up before the vast entrance, the front doors opened, and a sea of little figures came cascading down the stairs. There were so many of them, and they were making so much noise, that I drew back from the door.

Then I saw Fred smiling and rolling down his window to admit a dozen little hands. I watched as Rachel allowed them to draw open her door and engulf her, and I knew my fears were groundless.

The voices were a keening babble as I opened my own door and stepped out. I could not understand a word of what was said. A few of the little ones looked my way, those who were at the periphery of the circle around Rachel. Their outstretched hands formed a skirt of arms extending out from the elderly woman. She responded with a crooning voice and strokes to as many of the faces as she could reach.

She turned to me and called out, "Come along, my dear. We mustn't keep you out in this cold."

"But who are all these children?"

"Ah," she said, moving at a slow enough pace to allow the children to flow with her. "These are my little angels. And the reason I have strength to meet another day."

"THREE HUNDRED CHILDREN?"

"Two hundred and seventy-six, at last count." Rachel's arms were white to the elbow, and a smudge of flour creased her forehead where she had wiped away a stray lock of hair. "But we are scheduled to receive more next week. At least, that is what we were informed the day before yesterday."

I continued to peel the potatoes, just to give my hands something to do. "But who
are
they?"

"War orphans." She had said it before, but the words had not really sunk in. She kept her tone light and musical, as a half dozen little ones were playing a hand-clapping game in the kitchen's far corner. "They come from all over, as far as we have been able to tell. Most of them speak languages that none of us can fathom."

I set down my knife. "They've sent you children without even telling you where they're from?"

"Don't look so concerned, my dear." Rachel almost sang the words. "They can't understand you, so they only hear the tone. And yes, that is exactly the case. From what I've heard, there are some truly horrific discoveries being made over on the Continent."

I nodded, recalling half-heard news stories about camps and trains and things so bad I had always turned away. But now I glanced over to where a half-dozen sets of eyes were observing me. Huge eyes, dark and quietly watchful. Their bodies were little, and the faces so pale and so fragile they seemed barely able to contain those great cautious gazes. I smiled down at them, and tried to match Rachel's light tone. "I don't understand."

"No, I don't suppose you do." She slid out an empty metal tray, dusted it with flour, and began rolling out loaves of dough. Three other women moved about in utter silence. They carried themselves with the stolid determination of people too tired to see or hear beyond the task at hand. Rachel went on, "Neither do we for that matter, not fully. I can only tell you what we ourselves have learned.

"Millions of people are wandering about Europe, from the sound of things. Simply millions. Displaced persons, they're called, DPs for short. And among them are thousands and thousands of orphans. No papers, no explanation for how they got to be where they are, and often no one who understands their language."

Rachel stopped in her work, and stared at the group huddled quietly in the corner. "Several of the officers who were stationed here are now working with the Red Cross on these displaced persons. The plight of these children simply broke their hearts. They decided to turn their vacated War College into a temporary orphanage."

I was unsure which question to ask first. "But you can't even understand them."

One of the other women gave a snort. Rachel glanced her way before replying, "Oh, we have been promised interpreters. We've been promised the moon, for that matter. And no doubt we shall receive them. In time. What matters, however, is how we are going to . . ."

Rachel stopped as the kitchen door was pushed aside by a dark-haired pixie with flashing eyes. The girl raced over, started to take Rachel's hand, and then stopped. Rachel asked, "What is it, Annique?"

The girl was perhaps thirteen or fourteen, quite a bit older than the others I had seen around the ground floor.I had not visited the rest of the house, however. As soon as we had arrived, a harried woman had come racing over and told us to hurry in and start with the kitchen, half of the day crew had failed to show up, what with the snow and it being New Year's, as if the children would understand why they weren't to be fed because the idiots had celebrated too much. The food delivery was late as well, for that matter, so just make do with what we could find. Then she had turned and raced away, her skirts and hair flying.

Rachel had then said to me, "That is probably the only introduction to the mistress of the night shift that you are likely to receive. Her name, by the way, is Kate." As I stood there, more shouted comments had drifted out from somewhere down the back hall. And I had realized the reason behind Kate's hurried commentary was that Rachel ran the day-shift crew.

Rachel asked gently, "Do you need something, Annique?"

But the girl was now staring at me, her dark eyes probing with silent intensity. Then she marched over and grasped my hand. I looked a question at Rachel.

"This is Annique," Rachel explained. "She was found wandering the streets of Munich, more or less in charge of a group of a dozen younger children. That is all we know."

Annique gave my hand a tug and said something in an urgent, sibilant tone. Rachel continued, "Annique is something of a guardian angel for the younger children.You'd best go with her."

I nodded, and allowed myself to be led out of the kitchen and down a long side corridor. Annique was a truly lovely child, despite the shadows and harsh edges that marred her features. She was dressed in a smock far too large for her thin frame, which of course made her look even more emaciated. The fingers and arm that led me were little more than skin and bone, and her face was etched to a fineness that made me shudder to think what she had seen and endured.

She led me up a flight of narrow stairs that had probably been intended for the servants' use, and stopped before a hall cupboard. She pointed at the door, but said nothing. A soft whimpering seemed to be coming from inside the cupboard. I hesitated a moment, then knocked and opened the door. And my heart melted.

Curled up on a stack of starched bed linens was a little boy. He could not have been more than four or five. His hair was the color of honey, and his eyes were big and gray and full of tears. He had all the fingers of one hand crammed into his mouth, I suppose to stop his cries from being heard. He gave me a terrified look, and scrunched up into a tighter little ball.

I reached out my hands to him, but did not touch. Something told me that the first contact needed to come from his side. Annique studied me with an impassive gaze as I spoke words I am sure he did not understand. But I kept talking, and gradually his tears stopped.

Then he reached out one little finger, and touched my open palm, and for some reason I found myself crying as well. The boy unwound enough to let me reach for him and pull him up and in my embrace. He wrapped his thin arms around my neck with a fierce strength, and buried his face in my shoulder.

Annique's reaction surprised me. She studied the pair of us, then simply nodded and walked away. I stared after her for a moment before starting back toward the kitchen.

In the doorway, I halted once more. There beside Rachel was the young vicar. The two of them were unloading produce from a stack of wooden crates. Rachel looked up and smiled, "Ah, there you are. Crisis resolved?"