Larger Font   Reset Font Size   Smaller Font  

At the Water's Edge

Sara Gruen


  Perhaps Anna had misunderstood. Perhaps Ellis and Hank had just gone on a day trip. Perhaps they were finding a new hotel.

  I heard footsteps in the hallway, and from the sound of doors opening and shutting and water running at the end of the hall, I gathered Anna was making up the other rooms. A few minutes after she went back downstairs I heard--and felt--a door close. I went to the window and watched her ride down the street on a dark bicycle with a big wicker basket, her coattails billowing behind her.

  Chapter Eleven

  I found myself gripping the windowsill, light-headed and weak. The feeling came over me without warning--my brow was suddenly pricked by sweat, and I realized I was going to either faint or be sick. At first I thought it was a reaction to the pill, then recognized it as hunger. The showdown with Old Donnie the night before had left me unable to do anything but pick at my dinner, and other than the egg and few slices of potato Anna had given me the previous day, I'd eaten virtually nothing since we'd left the States.

  I'd felt this way before, in my early teen years, and knew that if I didn't eat something very soon I'd collapse. Because there wasn't even anyone around to find me, I had no choice but to go to the kitchen and scrounge. I would find the drawer porridge and take just a small slice, the slice intended for my breakfast, to mitigate my crime as much as possible.

  Halfway down the stairs, I was hit by the aroma of roasting meat. It smelled so good my mouth watered, and it almost brought me to tears--Anna had made it very clear what my diet would consist of until I produced a ration book.

  The front room was empty, so I slipped behind the bar. I was pretty sure I was alone in the building but paused at the doorway anyway, listening for signs of life. I heard nothing and went through.

  The kitchen was larger than I expected, as well as bright. The walls were whitewashed, and the doors and window trim were cornflower blue. Copper pots, pans, and ladles hung from hooks over a sturdy table in the center of the room. A large black stove emanated a gorgeous amount of heat, as well as the heavenly aroma. There was a pantry on one side of the room, and in the opposite wall--quite literally--was a bed. It was completely recessed, with paneled wooden doors that slid on a track. They were currently open, showing bedclothes much more neatly arranged than my own. I supposed it was where Mr. Ross slept.

  I marveled at the contents of the pantry--jar upon jar of preserved red cabbage, pickled beetroot, gherkins, marmalade, loganberry preserves, Oxo cubes, Polo and Worcestershire sauces, baskets of onions, turnips, and potatoes, enormous earthenware jugs of vinegar with spouts, canisters labeled TEA, RAISINS, and SUGAR--it went on and on, and I could see even more behind the glass doors of cupboards.

  It was the basket of apples I couldn't resist. A bushel basket, full to overflowing. Most of the apples were individually wrapped in newspaper, but a few lay exposed on top, shiny, round, and beautiful. I felt like Snow White, or maybe even Eve; but all thoughts of virtue and drawer porridge fell away when I laid eyes on that fruit.

  I was in the act of lifting one to my lips when a female voice spoke from behind me.

  "Find what you're looking for?"

  I jumped and spun around, simultaneously dropping my hand and curling my wrist, hiding the apple behind my thigh.

  Meg was standing just inside the back door, wearing a thick olive-colored coat and matching cap. She had a cardboard box labeled ANTI-GAS RESPIRATOR slung over her shoulder by a length of string, which she set on a chair by the door. She put her hands on her hips and looked at me.

  "Can I help you with something?"

  "No, thank you. I was just..."

  I swallowed hard and clutched the apple.

  Her eyes ran down the length of my arm. Then she looked me in the face. After a pause of three or four beats she turned around and took off her coat, laying it over the back of the chair. "When you have a minute, Angus wants me to show you the Anderson shelter."

  She removed her cap and fiddled with her hairpins, keeping her back to me. I realized she was giving me time to either pocket or return the apple.

  I leaned into the pantry and placed it gently on top of the others. "Shall I get my coat?"

  "You can if you want, but I'm not taking mine. We won't be but a minute," she said. "He just wants you to know where it is so you can find it in the dark. The Blackout, you know. Can't even use a torch to cross the yard. Although to be fair, using a torch during an air raid would probably not be the very best idea."

  Despite the pill, my heart tripped.

  --

  The Anderson shelter was out back, beyond a large vegetable garden. Except for a few rows of sturdy cabbages and chard, the garden was covered in straw.

  The shelter looked like an enormous discarded tin can, half-swallowed in dirt and sporting a thin layer of anemic sod. Moss clung to the sides, and a thick piece of burlap hung over the opening.

  "So here it is," said Meg, lifting the flap. "You can go in if you like, but there's not much to see. Just remember there are a couple of steps down and two bunks at the back. We've got torches and bedding, in case we have to spend the night. Keep your coat and shoes handy. Bedding or not, you'll be wanting them. I've got a siren suit myself. You pull it on over everything, zip it up, and off you go. Have you got any clothing coupons left?"

  I shook my head wordlessly.

  "Well, never mind. I can get my hands on a pattern if you want to make one, although you'd have to come up with the material."

  Although it was just past four, the sky had turned the jeweled blue of twilight, and I shivered in a sudden gust of wind.

  "That's that then," said Meg. "Let's get inside."

  She headed back, walking quickly. I broke into a jog to catch up.

  "Make sure you come down for dinner tonight," she said. "We've a lovely haunch."

  "I can't have any," I said, utterly miserable. "I haven't got a ration book."

  "You needn't worry. It's venison."

  "Venison isn't rationed?" Hope sprang up like a bird taking flight.

  "They can't ration what they don't know about," Meg said, "and Angus isn't one to let people starve."

  "You don't mean he poached it?" I was aghast the second the words rolled off my tongue.

  "I said no such thing," Meg said emphatically. "But even if he did--which I did not imply in any way--the taking of a deer is a righteous theft. He used to be the gamekeeper at Craig Gairbh, you know."

  "Why did he leave?"

  "He joined up. And of course, by the time he came back, the old laird had offered up the house and grounds to the military for the duration of the war. His son was killed, and the laird thought that was the least he could do, since he was too old to fight himself. He was a real warrior himself, back in the day. So for the moment, there's no need for a gamekeeper. At any rate, the only difference between then and now is the title."

  "Was he the gamekeeper in 'thirty-four?" I asked.

  She glanced over her shoulder and cocked an eyebrow. "That he was."

  Which meant he had been there for all of the Colonel's shenanigans, and making it all the more remarkable that he was letting me stay.

  When we reached the building, Meg held the door open and let me go in first.

  "It wasn't my idea," I said weakly. "I mean, the name thing."

  "Oh, aye," Meg replied, nodding. "From what I gather, your husband doesn't consult you about a number of things. I don't suppose you'll help with the Blackout curtains, will you? Only it's getting dark already and I haven't even started the neeps and tatties."

  "Sure," I said. Although I was taken aback, it didn't even occur to me to say no.

  "Make sure they're nice and tight. Even a sliver of light will get us a fine. Or bombed." She glanced at my face and laughed. "It's just gallows humor."

  "Yes, of course," I said, turning to leave.

  "Wait a minute."

  She went to the pantry and came back, lifting my right hand and planting an apple in it.

  I stared at
it, nearly speechless with gratitude. "Thank you."

  She picked up my other hand and inspected my nails. "You look like you've been lifting tatties. I'll fix that for you tomorrow. 'Beauty is your Duty,' you know. Keep the fellows' spirits up. And what's going on under that scarf of yours, anyway?"

  "Nothing good," I said, clutching the apple so tightly I pierced its skin. "Maybe you could show me how to set my hair with rags sometime."

  "Certainly. If you can stand sleeping on them, you can use my rollers." She looked at me critically and nodded. "You have a natural head for victory curls. Go on then--I have to finish up dinner, as well as make myself presentable."

  --

  I ate the apple down to a tiny nubbin, leaving the stem and seeds hanging by a fibrous ribbon of core, but it didn't make so much as a dent in my hunger. I hated the idea of going down to dinner on my own, but since Ellis and Hank had left me no choice, I did.

  The barstools and tables were taken up by the same men as the night before (with the notable exception of Old Donnie), but this time none of them paid any attention when I joined Conall by the fire. Almost immediately, Meg set an enormous plate of food in front of me.

  The venison roast was well done, brown through and through, and served with rowanberry jelly and an ample heap of mashed potatoes and turnips.

  I was dizzy with food-lust. I glanced around to make sure there was still no one looking, then ate. It was a struggle to keep to a civilized speed.

  The dog, who was once again lying between the end of the couch and the fire, watched with intense interest until I scraped the plate clean, then heaved a disappointed sigh. I'd wanted to slip him a couple of tiny bits while I was eating, but Mr. Ross was behind the bar and occasionally glanced over. He did not strike me as the type to spoil a dog, and I was trying to be unobtrusive. I didn't want to do anything to make him change his mind about letting me stay.

  When Meg came for my plate, she brought a glass of beer, telling me it would "build my blood." I'd never had beer before--our crowd considered it lowbrow--and I sipped it with apprehension. It was not unpleasant, and contributed to the warm glow I felt from finally having a full stomach.

  It was the only thing I felt warm about. Every time the door opened, I couldn't help looking, hoping it was Ellis and Hank, but it never was, and I began to accept that they really had left me without two nickels to rub together, no ration book, and no explanation.

  --

  I wasn't trying to eavesdrop, but since I was alone, I couldn't help overhearing bits and pieces of conversation.

  The young men who occupied the tables belonged to a military lumberjack unit, the Canadian Forestry Corps, which had been deployed to supply the British army's endless need for wood, and Meg--who, in the name of duty, had donned a swing skirt, painted her lips red, and once again drawn lines up the backs of her legs--worked with them during the day. The local men were older, several of them bearing obvious scars and injuries, presumably from the Great War. They sat on stools at the bar chatting with each other and paying no attention whatsoever to either the Canadian lumberjacks or me.

  At ten minutes to nine, Meg turned on the wireless to let the tubes warm up. When the chimes of Big Ben announced the nightly broadcast, everyone fell silent.

  The Red Army was advancing in south Poland despite intense fighting and were now only fifty-five miles from German soil. In one battle alone, they had killed more than three thousand German soldiers and destroyed forty-one of their tanks. In Budapest, during three days of fighting, they had captured 360 blocks of buildings and taken forty-seven hundred prisoners. On all fronts, 147 German tanks had been destroyed and sixty of their planes shot down. And in four days Franklin D. Roosevelt would be sworn into office for the fourth time.

  Despite undisputed progress on the Front, my satiated contentment collapsed into unfathomable depression.

  In Philadelphia, the war had seemed a million miles away. It was certainly discussed and debated, but it was essentially an academic exercise, conducted over cocktails, or lunch at the club. It felt like theoretical men fighting a theoretical war, and after Ellis was excluded from service we avoided the topic altogether out of concern for his feelings.

  Experiencing the U-boat attack and witnessing the terrible injuries of the men who'd been pulled from the sea's flaming surface had thoroughly shredded any sense of detachment I might have had, but I was still having trouble comprehending the notion of three thousand dead in a single afternoon--and that was just enemy soldiers. I'd heard of death counts at least that large many times over during the course of the war, but until that moment, while sitting in a room full of uniformed men and aged veterans, I don't think I truly understood the human toll.

  --

  In bed, with my hair in Meg's rollers and my face slathered in cold cream, I had a sudden longing for Ellis, which was utterly ludicrous given that he was directly responsible for my current dilemma. Then I realized that homesickness was the real culprit. The mention of President Roosevelt had set it off.

  I wanted to be in my bedroom in Philadelphia, before New Year's Eve, before any of this. I wanted to be safe, even if it meant enduring countless more years of Edith Stone Hyde.

  Instead, I was alone in a building full of strangers in a foreign country--during a war, no less. If I disappeared, I doubted anyone would notice, never mind care. At home, at least my mother-in-law would notice if I disappeared--she might rejoice, but she'd notice.

  I thought of Violet, and wondered if she hated me before realizing that yes, of course she hated me. All she'd know was that I'd been brought along and she'd been left behind. I wondered what she'd think if she knew I'd trade places with her in an instant.

  It then dawned on me that if Hank really hadn't told Violet about our so-called adventure, the only person on earth who knew where we were was Freddie. When Ellis's parents eventually investigated, they'd see that Ellis had emptied his bank account and that we'd left most of our belongings in storage at the hotel, but then the trail would grow cold.

  If Hank and Ellis never came back, it was absolutely true that no one would notice if I disappeared.

  Chapter Twelve

  Anna was mopping when I got downstairs the next morning. Without a word, she leaned the mop against the wall and went through to the kitchen. Breakfast was a piece of gray, mealy toast and another cup of tea made from recycled leaves, unceremoniously delivered.

  Since I didn't have anything else to do, I brought a book down to read by the fire, a murder mystery called Died in the Wool. The title had seemed a lark when I packed it for the trip, but judging from Anna's expression, she didn't agree.

  After I settled into the chair, she mopped all around me, sloshing the gray water noisily in the bucket and wringing the rope mop quite clearly as a substitute for my neck. Finally, she rolled up the carpet so she could clean directly in front of me, all but asking me to lift my feet.

  It was almost a relief when she planted her hands on her hips and said, "Surely you're not going to waste another day?"

  I closed my book and waited.

  "Here's Meg and me both working at least sixteen hours a day, her at the sawmill, me at the croft, and then taking turns catering to the likes of you, and there's you spending your days lolling about by the fire waiting for your meals to be brought and your bed to be made."

  I moved my mouth, but nothing came out.

  "Why don't you knit some socks for the soldiers, or at least blanket squares?" she asked accusingly.

  "I can't. I don't know how to knit."

  "Well, that's a surprise."

  I set the book on the table. "Anna, I don't know what you want me to do."

  "There's a war going on, but apparently it's all fun and games for you lot. I can't imagine what you're even doing here."

  Neither could I.

  When Anna went back to mopping, I got my coat.

  --

  After finding the post office and enduring withering looks from the postman, w
hose fiery and unruly brows looked like caterpillars glued to his face, I sent the following telegram:

  DR ERNEST PENNYPACKER 56 FRONT STREET, PHILADELPHIA PA

  DEAREST PAPA HAVE MADE AWFUL MISTAKE STOP AM IN SCOTTISH HIGHLANDS MUST GET OUT STOP CANNOT BEAR OCEAN AGAIN PLEASE SEND AIRPLANE STOP I NEED YOU STOP YOUR DEVOTED DAUGHTER

  The postman was even less impressed after I realized I had no way to pay him.

  As soon as I left the post office, I began to wonder if I'd done the right thing. I hoped so, because the thing was certainly done.

  When Ellis returned, I knew he would try to talk me out of going, but since he and Hank seemed intent on leaving me behind anyway, I couldn't see why they shouldn't leave me all the way behind, in the States. I supposed the only reason they'd brought me along in the first place was that Ellis couldn't afford to stash me anywhere else.

  --

  I couldn't go back to the inn until I was sure Anna had left, so I wandered around the village trying to find the loch.

  The village consisted mostly of row houses and a few freestanding cottages surrounded by stone walls. There were only three stores, and stark reminders of the war everywhere: posters advising to "Make-Do and Mend" along with "Dig for Victory Now!" were plastered on the walls of the Public Hall, and the lone telephone booth--bright red and looking like it was plucked straight from a postcard--was shored up on three sides by sandbags. A group of fast, tiny planes came out of nowhere, zooming overhead in formation and causing me to shriek and duck into a doorway. The only reason I knew we weren't under attack was that the villagers paid no more attention to the planes than they did to me. Not a single person made eye contact with me. I wondered if they all knew I was the Colonel's daughter-in-law.

  I came to a school. As I gazed at the children in the playground, I realized that every one of them, as well as all the adults on the street, had a cardboard box like Meg's slung over one shoulder by a piece of string. I thought of Anna's comment about mustard gas and felt suddenly naked.

  Most sobering was the graveyard, which contained family stones with the freshly carved names of young men. There weren't many different surnames, and many of the names were identical. I counted three Hector McKenzies and four Donald Frasers, and wondered how many of the latter were connected to the Fraser Arms. Probably all of them, if you went back far enough. Old Philadelphia suddenly didn't seem so old.