“I’m sorry, Audrey,” Eve said softly. “I truly am. Your parents didn’t deserve children like you and Alfie. . . . But I’ve made a new life here for Robbie and me. I didn’t steal it from you. I only took what you threw away when you decided to stay at Wellingford Hall.”
“But if I had known—”
Eve slammed her hand down on the porcelain table, making Audrey jump. “I can think of a lot of different choices I would have made if I’d known the future! Now it’s too late. We—” She halted as Robbie breezed through the back door, his face and tummy smeared with the dripping remains of his purple Popsicle.
“Can I have another one, Mommy?”
Eve rose as if unaware of what she was doing and fetched another Popsicle from the freezer, peeling off the paper. “Take it outside, love.”
Robbie flashed Audrey a huge grin before leaving with his prize. He seemed like such a happy child, so contented, so . . . at home. Audrey’s heart broke for her own son. Fight for him! a voice inside her said. Fight for what’s rightfully his! And yours! She had learned all about fighting during the war.
Eve sat down again and drew a breath. “Suppose it was the other way around, Audrey. Suppose I suddenly appeared at Wellingford Hall and announced that Alfie was Robbie’s father, that Robbie was the rightful heir, and I told you to get out. Would you and your son cheerfully step aside for us and move away, just like that?” She snapped her fingers. “You would never move out for Robbie and me, and you know it! You were happy when we finally left.”
Audrey didn’t want to argue. She simply wanted . . . what? A home? A family? She wanted what Eve Dawson had. Hadn’t that been true all of her life? “What do you suggest we do?” Audrey asked.
“I suggest that you and your son go back home to England so I can get on with the new life I’ve made here.”
Audrey closed her eyes. She could think of no reply. None at all. Fight! For Bobby’s sake! the voice said again. Only softer this time.
LONDON, SEPTEMBER 1939
Eve threaded her way through the mobbed train station searching for Alfie, her stomach a fist of anxiety. His height alone should make him easy to spot, along with his thick amber hair and noble profile. The mere sight of his lazy grin never failed to make her breath catch in her throat. But uniformed soldiers crowded the station, all dressed exactly like Alfie. Spotting him would be like finding one particular sheep in an entire flock.
The children added to the melee, thousands of them squirming in endless queues. Solemn-faced children, clutching hands and suitcases, their gas masks tied in cardboard boxes around their necks, name tags pinned to their shabby coats. Government posters and leaflets picturing the horrors of the anticipated bombings blanketed London, persuading worried parents to evacuate their children to the countryside for safety. Most of the poor little things were leaving home for the first time, taking the first train ride of their lives. Eve gulped as she remembered leaving her home in the village and walking the long gravel road to Wellingford Hall.
And the mothers . . . Eve couldn’t bear to look at the children’s mums, standing so bravely as they said goodbye, holding back their own tears to give their children courage. She couldn’t imagine the impossible choice they faced—sending their toddlers and schoolchildren far away to live with strangers, or risk seeing them blown to pieces by Nazi bombs. London was a prime target, capital of the vast British Empire, the nation’s largest port, center of transportation and industry.
England was at war. Again. A mere twenty-one years after the first war—the span of Eve’s life. It wasn’t supposed to happen. The agreement reached in Munich a year ago had assured her and everyone else that it wouldn’t happen. The war that killed her daddy was called “the war to end all wars.” He’d given his life so Eve and Mum never had to experience the horror of another one. And so that Eve would never relive her parents’ story—saying a tearful goodbye to the soldier she loved as he headed off to fight. No, none of this was supposed to happen. But it had.
One of the children on the platform let out a wail, quickly setting off a chain reaction of cries like air-raid sirens throughout the station. The no-nonsense chaperones in their sturdy shoes and tweed skirts set about silencing the tears with brusque assurances that the children would love the countryside. Yes, they would soon see.
Eve checked the time on her wristwatch, a farewell present from Alfie. Where was he? She spotted a knot of men in drab-green uniforms on the next platform and moved toward them. The fist of worry punched her in the gut again as she remembered last night. What if he wouldn’t acknowledge her or speak to her, wouldn’t accept her feeble apologies? She remembered Mum’s warnings. Hadn’t Eve feared all along that this would happen?