The Air Raid Book Club(15)

“You must sit by the window,” said Gertie. “So you can see London in all its glory.”

When the train pulled out of the station, Hedy sat up taller in her seat, transfixed by the River Thames, glittering in the early-evening sunshine with St. Paul’s Cathedral a beacon in the distance, as Gertie pointed out the sights. Hedy remained silent, keeping her eyes fixed on the images flashing by as London’s industry gave way to residential brick terraces with neat gardens. Gertie was grateful to slide into a peaceful daydream, closing her eyes for a moment, wondering and worrying what the future might hold. She couldn’t quite believe this girl was now in her charge. She squinted through half-closed eyes and noticed Hedy staring out the window, biting at her lip as if she couldn’t quite believe it either.

As they emerged from the station a while later and made the short walk home, Gertie felt a tingle of pride for her neighborhood. She caught sight of Mr. Travers, Beechwood’s retired greengrocer, who tipped his hat to them both. Gertie offered a cheery wave in reply.

“I think you’ll like Beechwood. Everyone is very friendly,” she said, dismissing thoughts of Miss Snipp’s antagonism and Miss Crow’s petty gossiping for the time being. She glanced at Hedy, but the girl’s eyes remained fixed forward as if she were in a trance. Hardly surprising, thought Gertie. The poor child must be exhausted.

As they rounded the corner onto her street and walked up the garden path to the front door, Gertie’s body flooded with relief. She had always loved her little house, with its bottle-green door and roses in the garden. She hoped Hedy would find it as inviting as she did. Gertie stood back to usher her inside. “Welcome to your new home,” she said, trying to read her expression as Hedy gazed around in bewilderment.

They were interrupted by Hemingway bounding out from the living room to greet them. Gertie grabbed his collar as Hedy took a step back.

“Now, Hemingway. That is not how we greet guests.” She reached out a hand to Hedy. “Don’t worry, dear. He’s just a big bear really.”

Hedy stared at the dog for a moment before dropping to her knees and wrapping her arms around his furry body, receiving a frantic tail wag in reply. “I love dogs,” she murmured into his fur.

“I think you may have a new friend, Hemingway,” said Gertie, buoyed by their meeting. “Would you like to see your new room before I make us some tea?”

“Please,” said Hedy.

Gertie told herself that Hedy’s monosyllabic responses were only to be expected. The child had left her home and arrived in a strange land after the most arduous of journeys. Press on, Gertie, she thought, echoing her mother’s words whenever life threw up a challenge. You’ll find a way.

“Follow me,” she said, leading Hedy up the stairs to the freshly painted bedroom. She switched on the bedside lamp, delighted at how cozy and inviting it looked, bathed in a warm apricot glow. “Here we are,” she said, placing Hedy’s suitcase on the bed.

Hedy gazed around the room without comment, so Gertie pressed on.

“I hope you’ll be very comfortable. Betty and I tried to choose nice colors. Oh, and these are the books I told you about,” she added, gesturing toward the mantelpiece. When there was still no reply, Gertie made an attempt at levity. “We bashed the rug to within an inch of its life.”

Hedy frowned in confusion.

“To get rid of the dust,” she explained, feeling the color rise in her cheeks. For heaven’s sake, Gertie. Stop talking.

“Ah,” said Hedy finally. “Thank you.”

Gertie hadn’t expected Hedy to dance the cancan in gratitude, but she had hoped for something a little more effusive. She told herself that a thank-you would suffice for now. “I’ll go and make us that tea,” she said. “Why don’t you unpack your things and come downstairs when you’re ready.” Gertie moved toward the door.

“Excuse me?” said Hedy.

“Yes?”

“I am very tired. I think I sleep now.”

It was posed as a statement rather than a question. “Of course,” said Gertie. “But what about supper? I was going to toast us some crumpets.”

Either Hedy didn’t care for crumpets or she didn’t know what they were, as she answered without hesitation. “I am not hungry.”

“Oh,” said Gertie. “Well, if you’re sure.”

Hedy nodded. “But please wait,” she said, reaching into her backpack. Hedy pulled out an envelope and a small brown paper-wrapped parcel tied with red string. She handed both to Gertie. “My mother send a letter and ein Geschenk—a gift for you.”

Gertie unwrapped the parcel and pulled out a plum-colored hardback book. “Kinder und Haus Märchen?” she read, looking to Hedy for help with her pronunciation.

“Maer-chen,” corrected Hedy. “Gesammelt durch die Brüder Grimm.”

“Oh. It’s a book of Grimm’s folktales. How wonderful.”

Hedy nodded. “My mother thought you like, as she likes books too.”

Gertie held the volume to her chest. “Thank you. That is really very kind. I might suggest to Betty that she chooses this for our next book club. Perhaps you would like to go along, although we’ll probably have to read it in English.”

Gertie gave a brief chuckle. Hedy said nothing and clasped her hands together, watching Gertie, clearly willing her to leave.