The Air Raid Book Club(91)
They quickly fell into a routine. Hedy would feed Else as soon as she woke, Sam would leave for work, and Gertie would tend to the household tasks and breakfast with Hedy while the baby slept. If Else was fractious, Gertie would take her for a walk and marvel at the way the sound of the sea would soothe her into slumber. The three of them spent joyful days in the garden or on the beach, taking pleasure in watching Else grow. Her first smile. Her first chuckle. The way she grabbed Gertie’s finger and refused to let go. The way she gazed at Hedy as if she were the only person in the world. Gertie had the strongest sense that she was exactly where she was supposed to be.
She spoke to Margery once a week on a Tuesday at precisely six o’clock. “I have a proposition for you, Gertie,” said her friend a few months after Else was born.
“Oh yes,” said Gertie with a rising sense of dread. Margery’s propositions invariably led to wherever Margery needed them to go.
“Gerald and I would like to buy your house.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Your house, dear. It’s perfect. Since Cynthia has married, I’m rattling around this old place like a marble in a drainpipe, and Gerald has always admired your garden.”
“I see. And do I have any say in the matter?”
Margery sighed. “Gertie, are you honestly going to tell me that you plan to return here and leave Hedy and the baby behind?”
“Well. I don’t know.”
“Precisely. As I said, it’s a proposal, but I think we all know it’s for the best.”
“I’ll give it some thought.”
“You do that. Give my love to that divine family, won’t you? Cheerio, Gertie.”
“Cheerio, Margery.”
Gertie first saw the man at the far end of the beach but didn’t think anything of it. She was walking with Else while Hedy took a nap. The baby was teething, her gums red raw, and it had been a long night. Now, thanks to a miracle balm gifted to them by the wondrous Nelly Crabb, the baby was asleep, and Gertie was enjoying an early-morning stroll. She paused to take in the view, inhaling fresh salty sea air as the seagulls ducked and wheeled overhead, following a fishing trawler heading inland. The bulky clouds that had blanketed the sky when she woke were starting to lift, revealing the first glimmers of sun. Since moving here, Gertie had come to the conclusion that along with the heady scent of books, the best aromas were the sweetly intoxicating smell of a baby’s head and an invigorating breath of sea air.
She turned her gaze to the far end of the beach and noticed the man walking toward her. It was difficult to discern his age at that distance, but he had a slightly wild air about him, with a headful of curly hair and a broad, bushy beard. Gertie’s heart beat faster as she noticed him make a beeline for her. Instinctively, she placed a protective arm around the baby before walking quickly in the opposite direction. There’s nothing to fear, she told herself. You’re so close to home. Glancing over her shoulder, she noticed him quicken his step in response to her movement. Gertie panicked. She began to hurry up the beach toward the path leading to the house.
“Please! Wait!” called the man.
Gertie didn’t look back. She picked up her pace as soon as she reached the verge, pulling Else close. The path was narrow, flanked on either side by overhanging cow parsley and arrow grass, making it difficult for Gertie to hurry, and with Else in her arms, she certainly didn’t want to run.
“Please,” cried the man as he reached the path. “I only want to talk to you.”
There was something about his voice that made Gertie stop. He spoke English with a German accent. She spun ’round, doing her best to invoke the domineering tones of Margery Travers as she addressed him. “What do you want?” she demanded.
The man approached her breathlessly. Beneath his beard and baggy clothes, she discerned a slight frame and sallow complexion. He regarded her with desperate eyes that at once seemed familiar. “Do you know where Hedy Fischer lives?” he asked.
A thrill of recognition squeezed Gertie’s heart. “You’re Arno.”
The man raised his eyebrows in astonishment before a thought struck him. “You’re Gertie Bingham.” Gertie nodded. His eyes traveled from her face to the baby in her arms. “And this is . . . ?” His voice trailed to a whisper.
Gertie held out the baby for him to see. “This is Else.”
Arno yelped with a mixture of soaring happiness and deep heartache. He clutched his chest and gazed at the baby’s face. “Can you take me to Hedy? Bitte?” he whispered, as if not daring to believe that this might be possible.
Gertie led him along the path and stopped outside the garden gate that led to the house. Arno stared at her for a moment. “Go and knock,” she said. “I’ll stay here.”
He gave a brief nod before making his way to the front step. Gertie watched as he rang the bell and waited. When Hedy opened the door, she froze at the sight of him. Brother and sister stared at each other in silence, unable to believe that it was real. Then Hedy rushed forward, pulling her brother into her arms, and they collapsed to the ground in a reunion that was alive with joy, sorrow, and love.
As they sat around the kitchen table later, Gertie noticed a new spark in Hedy’s eyes. She nestled close to her brother and hung on his every word as if fearful that he might disappear again at any second. “When did you last see Mama and Papa?”