The Air Raid Book Club(71)

“Miss Farthing. Please!” scolded Margery.

“Sorry, Mrs. Fortescue.”

“You see I was a bit confused,” said Ethel slowly.

“How so?” asked Gertie.

“Well, there were so many characters, and they all had the same name.”

“There’s Catherine Earnshaw, and she has a daughter called Cathy,” said Cynthia, sitting up straighter in her chair. She had become a regular contributor to their book club discussions, and Gertie was invariably grateful for her vast literary knowledge.

“Is she the one who loves Heathcliff?”

“No. It’s Catherine who loves Heathcliff.”

“Oh, and so is Cathy their daughter?”

“No. Catherine marries Edgar Linton. Cathy is their daughter.”

“I see. So Heathcliff doesn’t marry?”

“He does. He marries Edgar’s sister, Isabella Linton, and they have a son called Linton Heathcliff. He marries Cathy.”

Ethel’s brow was knitted into the deepest frown as she struggled to keep up. “So Heathcliff does marry Cathy?”

Cynthia threw a pleading look toward the others.

“It’s Heathcliff’s son who marries Catherine’s daughter, but then his son dies and she marries Hareton Earnshaw,” explained Hedy.

“And who on earth is he?”

“He’s the son of Catherine’s brother, Hindley.”

Ethel threw up her hands. “It’s too complicated. Why couldn’t the author give them different names like Jim or Peg or Ethel?”

Hedy laughed. “I’m not sure, but did you enjoy it?”

“Oh yes,” said Ethel. “It was a super yarn.”

Gertie smiled to herself as she listened to their chat. When Charles asked her to take in a child all those years ago, she never could have imagined how it would transform her life. Theirs was a relationship carved from necessity that had bloomed into a bond of true friendship.

The night she shared her guilt over Harry’s death, Hedy had offered her arms and held her close as she wept. Gertie hadn’t felt such comfort since her mother was alive. It was as if love was holding her in the palm of its hand.

She knew that she would never have had the courage to take on the challenges of this war without Hedy: to fall and rise again, to support their community, to offer relief and comfort. Gertie had come to realize that wars weren’t fought by generals and politicians. They were fought by armies of ordinary people battling, struggling, and holding one another up as they pushed onward. Ordinary people living through extraordinary times, making a difference through small endeavors and vast courage. It was Margery and her legion of knitters, Gerald and his ARP clan, and Bingham Books offering escape through the power of stories.

As Gertie returned home with Hedy and Elizabeth a while later, an icy wind nipped at their ears. Gertie wrapped her scarf more tightly around her neck and glanced up at the banks of white clouds with a shiver. “I wonder if we’ll have snow for Christmas.”

“We always had snow in Munich,” said Hedy with a wistful air.

“A white Christmas, like in the song,” said Elizabeth. “Speaking of songs, are either of you tempted to perform in the revue?”

“No fear, but I am looking forward to hearing Margery sing,” said Gertie.

“I’m sure Billy would love to do some magic,” said Elizabeth.

“He should,” said Hedy. “His disappearing coin trick is very impressive.”

As they rounded the corner onto their street, Elizabeth stopped in her tracks.

“Are you all right, dear?” asked Gertie.

“That’s my father,” she said, nodding toward the shiny black Daimler parked outside her house.

As they approached, a chauffeur appeared from the front. He didn’t acknowledge any of the women as he held open the door for his employer. The figure who emerged from the car moved with the confidence of a man who was used to people obeying his will. With his neatly combed gray hair and dark mustache, he reminded Gertie a little of Neville Chamberlain. “Elizabeth,” he said with a curt nod.

“Hello, Father.”

“Where is the boy?”

Elizabeth narrowed her eyes. “By ‘boy,’ I take it you mean your grandson Billy.”

Her father’s gaze was stony. “You and the boy need to come home at once. Chivers will help you pack.” He nodded at the chauffeur, who turned toward the house.

“We’re not going anywhere,” said Elizabeth.

Her father glanced toward Gertie and Hedy. “Perhaps we could have this discussion somewhere more private.”

“There is no discussion to be had, Father. Now if you will excuse me, I need to get on with some chores before I collect Billy from school.” Elizabeth turned her back and started to walk up the garden path.

“Your mother is ill.” There was a slight tremble to his voice as he said this.

Elizabeth froze, her face still fixed toward the house. “What’s the matter?”

“I will not discuss this in public, Elizabeth.”

She turned briefly. “Then we will not discuss it at all.”

Gertie touched her gently on the arm. “Why don’t we go inside with your father? It’s chilly out here. I can make us all some tea.”