“Let’s take your grandmother back to our flat,” Eve said. “This is no place for her.”
“No, you go home, Eve. I’ll take Granny to the school and wait to hear from my parents. If the Ford factory was hit . . .” She couldn’t finish.
“Oh, Iris! Let me stay and help you. What can I do?”
“Nothing. There’s nothing anyone can do. Go home and make sure your mum is safe.”
She was. The area of London where the town house was located hadn’t been damaged. Eve fell into Mum’s arms, unable to find words to describe what she’d endured on her endless night in the East End. Mum let her weep, then drew her a hot bath. Eve thought of Iris as she soaked in the tub, and of all the people who no longer had bathtubs. Or running water. Or gas to boil a pot of tea. It took a long time for Eve to stop shaking.
“I don’t think anyone ever imagined this,” Eve said later as she sat in Mum’s room, cradling a cup of hot tea. “If the soldiers on the battlefront endured this horror during the first war, it’s no wonder they came home shocked and broken. Now the battlefront is here, in our own streets. Every one of us is a soldier. But how do we fight back?”
“Don’t worry about that right now,” Mum said. “It’s Sunday morning, and we should go to church and thank God for sparing your life last night. We’ll pray for Iris and her family, too.”
Eve closed her eyes as tears spilled down her face. “I don’t know if I can face God. I’m still so angry. You didn’t see what happened in the East End last night.”
“Try to get some sleep. We’ll talk when I get back.”
Eve did manage to fall asleep in Mum’s bed for a few hours, but nightmarish visions filled her dreams. They didn’t spring from her imagination like most nightmares, but from what she’d seen and experienced. When she awoke, Mum had Eve’s breakfast on a tray. “Tildy made you eggs and toast. Everyone downstairs is thanking God you’re all right.”
“I’m going to volunteer for the Auxiliary Fire Service,” Eve said as she ate. “I watched them work yesterday, and I want to help.”
“Oh, Eve. You’re not big enough or strong enough to handle heavy fire hoses. I would be worried sick about you. You’re all I have!”
“Well, I can’t just cower inside a shelter until the war ends. I felt so trapped sitting there! The fire service must have other jobs I can do besides handle a hose.”
“Pray about it. Please, love. I know you’re angry with God, but talk to Him. This isn’t a good time to walk away from Him.”
Tears filled Eve’s eyes as she looked up at Granny Maud’s picture of the Good Shepherd. It had comforted her as a child. She had trusted Him. But where was He now? How could He allow this terrible war to happen?
Eve spent the afternoon with her mum, and they ate a light supper downstairs with the other servants. The horror Eve had endured slowly began to fade. She might be able to close her eyes tonight without seeing flames and rubble or the image of the mother cradling her dead child. “I should go,” she finally said. “I need to get back to my flat before the blackout.” She stood by the back door, preparing to leave, when the air-raid siren began its terrible wail, rising in pitch with a wobbling scream. Fear rippled through Eve. Ten minutes.
“Oh, God, help us,” Mum breathed. “Eve! Get in the Anderson shelter with the others. I’ll run upstairs and help Lady Rosamunde.”
“No, don’t leave me!” Eve said, clinging to her.
Mum pushed her toward the door. “Go with the others, love. I’ll be there in a minute.”
Nine minutes. The evening air made her shiver as she followed the other servants outside. The shelter was so tiny, an underground hole designed for six adults. Her heart pounded with panic at the thought of being buried alive. She had to bend over to crawl inside. It smelled of damp earth and worms. Eve and the others sat on ledges across from each other, knees touching, a jumble of arms and legs. Waiting.
Five minutes. Half the time had passed by now. Above the sound of the siren, the taunting drone of enemy airplanes rumbled. Where was Mum? Hurry! Please, hurry! Eve was about to leap up and run back inside the town house to find her when the flap opened and Mum crawled inside, breathless. Eve made room for her, gripping her hand as she sat down.
“Where’s Lady Rosamunde?” the housekeeper asked.
“She wouldn’t come. She said she refused to be buried alive in a nasty hole before she’s dead. I hated leaving her there all alone, but . . .”