The Air Raid Book Club(45)
Chapter 12
Swerve me? The path to my fixed purpose is laid with iron rails, whereon my soul is grooved to run.
—Herman Melville, Moby-Dick
Christmas Day arrived crisp and clear without the usual peal of church bells but with a welcome lull in the bombing. Gertie had barely marked the festivities after Harry died and neither she nor Hedy had felt the inclination to celebrate the year before, but this year was different. Everything had changed and Gertie was compelled to make an effort, whilst Hedy was keen to embrace new traditions. Else Fischer was a Christian, and so Hedy had been used to observing certain traditions such as putting up a tree and singing carols. They decorated the house with holly from the garden and hung the glass baubles and tinsel, which Gertie had found in an old box on top of the wardrobe, on the tree.
“It’s perfect, Gertie,” said Hedy, standing back to admire their handiwork. Gertie knew she was thinking of home. The telegrams still arrived most weeks, but twenty-five words could only say so much. They had hoped that Sam might have been granted leave over Christmas, but he had written the week before to report that it was impossible. Gertie wasn’t surprised. Whenever she heard the planes droning overhead, her thoughts immediately flew to Sam and his fellow airmen, and a silent prayer flew with them.
She was unused to entertaining in great numbers, and yet today she would be serving dinner for six. Charles was coming and Mrs. Constantine, and after a conversation with Elizabeth Chambers, she had invited her and Billy too. Uncle Thomas had graciously declined her invitation on the basis that he “disliked Christmas intensely,” preferring the company of Dickens in both book and cat form.
Gertie couldn’t remember the last time she’d cooked for so many people. She was glad that her vegetable crops had been successful that year. She had plenty of potatoes and carrots, and even managed to acquire a chicken to roast.
Charles was the first to arrive. “Something smells good, Gertie,” he said as she took his coat and led him into the living room. He greeted Hedy like an old friend, and the two sat chatting companionably while Christmas carols echoed softly from the gramophone.
Mrs. Constantine arrived next. She handed over a bottle of sherry with a wink. “Something to keep out the cold.”
Gertie was pouring glasses for them all when a knock at the door signaled the arrival of Billy and his mother. The little boy stood on the doorstep holding up a model spitfire for her to admire. “Happy Christmas, Gertie Bingham.”
“Happy Christmas, young man. Was that a gift from Father Christmas by any chance?”
Billy nodded in delight. “And I got a bar of chocolate, a walnut, and an orange. But it was funny because the orange didn’t have any peel on it.”
“That’s because I used it in the mixture for this,” whispered Elizabeth, handing over a blue-striped basin with a cloth-tied top.
Gertie laughed. “Thank you, dear. It was good of you to make the pudding.”
As they sat down for dinner, Gertie looked around at the faces of the people in this unusual gathering. If you had told her two years previously that she would be celebrating Christmas with an exiled Russian aristocrat, a Jewish refugee, and a five-year-old boy, she would never have believed it. And yet, she couldn’t imagine anywhere she’d rather be. Of course, she dearly wished that Harry were by her side, along with her parents and brother, but that was no longer the reality, and in this topsy-turvy war-ravaged world, you had to hold on to the ones who were still with you. Each person sitting at this table was without someone dear to them. Charles had lost his best friend, Billy and Elizabeth were without the boy’s father, Mrs. Constantine had no family at all, and Hedy—dear Hedy—she was caught in that dreadful no-man’s-land of constantly waiting and hoping for news. As she watched her laugh at something Billy said, while Charles and Mrs. Constantine discussed Russian literature and Elizabeth reached out a hand to tousle her son’s hair, Gertie realized she was happy. There was no telling what tonight or tomorrow would bring, but in the glow of this moment, she felt nothing but joy.
She rose to her feet and held up her glass. “I would like to propose a toast,” she said. “To friends and loved ones old and new, absent and present, but forever in our hearts. Happy Christmas.”
“Happy Christmas!” they chorused.
The moment was interrupted by a knock at the door.
“Excuse me,” said Gertie. The woman standing on the doorstep was a stranger, but there was something about her dark brown eyes that seemed familiar to Gertie. She was dressed in a smart red wool coat with matching hat and a fur stole over her shoulders.
“I’m most terribly sorry to bother you,” she said, “but I was wondering if you knew of the whereabouts of Elizabeth Chambers.”
“Mother?” said Elizabeth, appearing at Gertie’s shoulder. “What on earth are you doing here?”
“Oh, Elizabeth, I had to see you.”
“Grandmama!” cried Billy, bolting down the hallway into her arms. “I got a model spitfire!”
“Oh, my dear heart,” said the woman, clutching him to her as tears formed in her eyes. “I’m so happy to see you.”
“Would you care to come in?” asked Gertie.
“Oh, well, that would be rather—”
“No. It’s all right. We can say what we need to on the doorstep,” said Elizabeth, folding her arms.