Gertie knew it was ridiculous to be affronted by this insult to her nation’s favorite drink, but for some reason it touched a nerve. “Go to your room!” she cried.
“I go!” shouted Hedy, storming from the room and stomping up the stairs. “And I don’t want any supper!”
“I wasn’t going to make anything for you anyway,” called Gertie, realizing how petulant she sounded. She took a deep breath. Her body was still trembling. Hemingway blinked at his mistress, his eyes darting toward the door. “Oh, go along then, Hemingway. Don’t stay on my account.”
He scooted after Hedy, leaving Gertie feeling more alone than ever. She thumbed away the tears that sprang to her eyes.
“You are being ridiculous,” she told herself. “Why do you care what this girl thinks? She’s just a child, for heaven’s sake, and she’s missing her family. Don’t take on so.”
Gertie did her best to shake off this feeling as she set about preparing supper. She carried her bread and cheese into the living room, deciding to listen to the news while she ate. She sat up straighter when, on the stroke of six o’clock, the announcer spoke: Here is the Second News, and this is Alvar Lidell reading it. He went on to tell her in clipped, precise tones that the prime minister was promising a full investigation into the sinking of HMS Thetis in Liverpool. This was followed by a report about the ongoing success of the King and Queen’s trip to the United States. Apparently, His Majesty had risen to the challenge when offered a hot dog by the First Lady, Mrs. Eleanor Roosevelt, during a visit to the White House.
Gertie heard a floorboard creak behind her and spied Hedy listening at the door with Hemingway beside her. She could see the longing in her expression, the desperation for news of home and family.
“Don’t stand there making a draft,” said Gertie. “You can come in and listen properly if you would like.”
Hedy crept in and sat on the stool nearest the gramophone with Hemingway lying at her feet. She scratched the dog’s head as they listened together in silence. “Will there be a war?” she asked, stealing a glance toward Gertie as the broadcast ended.
Gertie folded her hands in her lap, wishing she could provide an answer. In truth, she didn’t know but sensed she needed to offer something. “I hope not. I don’t think anyone wants war.”
“I think Hitler does,” said Hedy, staring at the rug. “And I think he will not rest until he gets it.”
Gertie was surprised by her insight. She didn’t sound like a child anymore. “Then we must pray that Hitler can be stopped.”
“Do you believe in God?”
The question caught her off guard. It was an unusual one for a child to ask an adult, but it was exactly the kind of thing she used to ask her mother. She considered how Lilian might have answered. Gertie’s parents had raised their children in the Christian tradition, but there had been little attentiveness to their faith aside from church at Christmas and Easter. “Not especially. Do you?”
“We are Jewish, but we are not practicing,” said Hedy. “It is hard to believe in a God who allows his people to suffer.”
“Yes,” said Gertie. “I suppose it is.”
Hedy looked up. “I am sorry for what I say earlier, Mrs. Bingham.”
“It’s all right, dear. So am I. We all say things we don’t mean sometimes. And you know, I think it’s high time you called me Gertie, don’t you? Mrs. Bingham is so formal.”
Hedy gave a small nod.
“And, Hedy?”
“Yes?”
“There’s bread and cheese in the kitchen if you’re hungry. Help yourself.”
“Thank you, Mrs. B— Gertie.”
Gertie watched as Hemingway settled himself on the rug and let out a huge sigh. “My thoughts precisely,” she told him.
A few days later, Gertie returned home to an empty house. It was a little after four thirty, and she was surprised that Hedy hadn’t returned home from school.
“Where’s your best friend, eh, boy?” she asked Hemingway, who seemed as bewildered by her lateness as Gertie. “She’s probably dawdling and chatting with Audrey.”
Shortly before five o’clock, there was a knock at the door. Gertie moved forward to open it. “There you are! We thought you’d got lost. Oh.” She paused in her greeting at the sight of a shamefaced Hedy standing beside Miss Crow, whose face was puce with indignation.
In Gertie’s experience, human beings often mellowed with age. This had not been the case with Philomena Crow. She had become even more damning in her judgment and keen to offer this judgment to anyone who crossed her path. Gertie often wondered if she and Miss Snipp could perhaps be distant cousins or even twins, separated at birth.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Bingham.” She managed to utter these words in an accusing tone, as if Gertie were responsible for all the ills of the world. She was holding a bamboo-handled dark brown umbrella that reminded Gertie of a truncheon.
“Good afternoon, Miss Crow. Is everything all right?”
“No. Everything is not all right,” said the woman in a forceful tone. Gertie noticed Mrs. Herbert’s net curtains twitch in the front room of the house across the road.
“Perhaps we could continue this conversation indoors. Can I offer you some tea?”
“No, thank you,” said the woman, stepping in front of Hedy onto the threshold. “This won’t take long.”
“Very well. Come along, Hedy. Let’s go into the living room.”
Miss Crow refused her offer of a seat, preferring to stand as she held court. “This child knocked on my door this afternoon with an impudent request,” she said, pointing an accusing finger at Hedy.
“Is this true, Hedy?” asked Gertie.
“Of course it’s true,” cried Miss Crow. “Are you accusing me of lying?”
“No, not at all. I just want to know the full story.” She turned to Hedy. “Did you knock on Miss Crow’s door?”
Hedy gave a barely discernible nod.
“And why did you do that?”
“She wants me to take in the rest of her family,” said Miss Crow. “She knocked on my neighbor’s door as well. And goodness knows how many others. Is it not enough that we’ve taken in all these children without having their parents here too? There’s barely enough houses and jobs to go ’round as it is without us having to give them away to these people.”
Gertie rose slowly to her feet as a ball of rage started to uncurl inside her. “‘These people’？” she said. “What exactly do you mean by that?”
Miss Crow narrowed her eyes. “You know.”
“No,” said Gertie. “I do not know. That is why I asked.” Her voice, like her anger, was sharp and clear like cut glass.
“Well, if you don’t know, you’re more of a fool than I thought. I wondered what on earth you were doing taking in a German after the Great War, but now you seem to want to offer refuge to half the Jews in Europe.”
Fury poured lavalike through Gertie’s veins. “And what, may I ask, would be wrong with that? Would you rather we stood by while an entire race of people is persecuted?” Gertie could feel Hedy’s eyes on her. It spurred her on.