The Air Raid Book Club(13)
Gertie patted her shoulder and dearly hoped she was right.
She watched now as the steam train transformed from a smoke-curled dot in the distance to a billowing behemoth, hissing to a halt alongside the platform. The noise was terrific, and yet Gertie could still hear the sounds of children: a babble of chatter, an anguished shout, a few plaintive sobs. There were a lot of other expectant-looking individuals, mostly women, waiting behind the barrier alongside her. They watched as the station staff moved forward to open the doors and a handful of adults emerged, each leading a little group of children toward them. Gertie was immediately struck by the variety of ages. They ranged from babies in arms to boys and girls who almost looked like adults. They bore every expression Gertie could imagine. Some looked excited as if they were off on an adventure; others seemed terrified, eyes darting left and right as they took in the noisy chaos. Some were crying, mouths open wide, wailing with a sorrow that made Gertie’s heart break.
“Poor wee mites,” said a woman in the crowd, echoing everyone’s thoughts, because it was pitiful. They all looked so lost and alone. A freshly stoked fire of indignation flared up somewhere in Gertie’s soul. Who would do such a thing to this poor, wretched group of children? To children, for pity’s sake? Forcing them to leave their homes and their parents and come to a strange land without knowing what might happen. What kind of evil did this to children?
As they were led through a side exit to a waiting area, Gertie spotted a familiar figure carrying a small boy who couldn’t have been older than four or five.
“Charles!” cried Gertie.
He turned and waved before passing the child to another volunteer and hurrying over to her.
Gertie flung her arms around his neck. “I’m so glad to see you. I didn’t realize you’d be traveling with this particular group. How was the journey?”
Charles’s face was ashen, his chin pricked with stubble, his eyes ringed with gray shadows. “It’s a relief to be here finally.”
Gertie could tell this was only half the story. “Was it difficult leaving Germany?”
Charles ran a hand over his chin. “Let’s just say it was easier once we arrived in Holland. The people there were very kind. They gave the children chocolate.” He glanced over his shoulder. “I should get back. What’s the name of the child you’re collecting?”
“Hedy. Hedy Fischer.”
Charles nodded. “I’ll find her.”
Gertie watched him disappear out of sight. She had known this man for most of her life, and yet, when she glimpsed him in this world, he took on an enigmatic quality.
“Charles Ashford is a man I know better than myself,” Harry used to say. “And yet there are times when he’s a complete mystery to me. And I like him all the better for it.”
Agnes and her army of clipboard volunteers had already leapt into action and were introducing the smaller children to their new families. Most of them looked bewildered as they were led away to new lives with these strangers. One small boy, suitcase in hand, caught Gertie’s eye, his frowning face a picture of resilience. She gave him an encouraging smile as he passed her. “God save the King!” he cried in a squeaky German accent, causing those around him to chuckle.
Moments later, Charles tapped Gertie on the arm. She felt a flurry of nerves as she turned. “Gertie Bingham. This is Hedy Fischer,” he said as casually as if introducing two people at a party.
The girl standing before her with a rucksack on her back was almost the same height as Gertie. She had shoulder-length wavy brown hair and eyes the color of molasses. She wore a navy-blue wool coat with a rose-colored scarf and looked as wary as a kitten in a corner.
Gertie held out a gloved hand. “My name is Gertie Bingham, and I’m very pleased to meet you,” she said, noticing that Hedy’s hands were trembling as she accepted with a polite nod.
“Here is your paperwork, Mrs. Bingham,” said Agnes, appearing alongside them. “You can collect Hedy’s luggage over there. Her suitcase has a label with the same number as the one on her coat and rucksack. Then you’re free to go.”
“Thank you,” said Gertie.
“Welche Nummer haben Sie?” asked Charles as they reached the neat rows of suitcases lined up against one wall.
“Neunundfünfzig,” said Hedy in a faltering voice, holding up her label for inspection.
“Fifty-nine. Right ho,” said Charles.
As he headed off to search through the luggage, Gertie was momentarily thrown into a panic. How on earth was she going to be able to communicate without him? She scrabbled around in her brain for a smattering of schoolgirl German. “Neunundfünfzig,” she ventured, gesturing at Hedy’s label. “Ich bin neunundfünfzig Jahre alt.” Hedy’s eyebrows lifted in obvious surprise at the fact that this stranger was readily sharing her age.
“Here we are,” said Charles, returning with an olive-colored suitcase. “Will you be all right getting back home? I could find you a taxi.”
“Oh no. We’ll be quite all right, thank you, Charles,” said Gertie in a breezy tone that she hoped concealed her apprehension.
“Are you sure? What about the suitcase? It’s rather heavy.”
“I carry,” said Hedy, moving forward to pick it up.
“There we are then. Hedy is strong as an ox. We’re going to be top hole, aren’t we?” said Gertie with forced cheer. Hedy’s brow furrowed with confusion.