Beyond the Shadow of War Read online

  “Another bee in your bonnet? At least I’m not bare-legged like you and Anya.” She turned to Phillip, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Tell us, lieutenant. Do Yanks look at a woman’s bare legs and assume she’s ‘available’?”

  Phillip blanched, sitting up straighter. “I’m, uh … I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Oh, don’t play coy with me, Lieutenant.” She gave his shoulder a pinch then twirled around again.”

  Sybil dropped her head in her hands. “Gigi, will you just sit down and stop embarrassing yourself.”

  “Who says I’m embarrassed?” Gigi knelt before Sybil, lifting her skirt as she did so, just enough to show off her nylons as she tossed a flirty wink to Powell. “Syb, honey, you need to relax. No sense getting your knickers all in a twist. We’re not living in the Victorian age anymore.” She leaned in and placed a loud kiss on Sybil’s cheek then took her seat again. “Well, Lieutenant?”

  He hesitated a moment then shrugged. “Yes. I have heard some of our men on occasion say something along those lines. It’s just that we’re all used to women wearing nylons back home, and I suppose that’s why so many of us‌—‌them‌—‌keep a supply handy. Girls like nylons, Yanks like seeing them in nylons. I suppose it’s just one of those wartime customs.” He paused for a moment then chuckled.

  Gigi smirked. “What?”

  “No, it’s nothing‌—‌”

  “Yes, it is. What’s so funny?”

  The lieutenant’s face tinged with a blush as he tried again to brush it off.

  “Out with it!” Gigi insisted.

  “Okay, fine. I just remembered the first time I heard a buddy of mine complain about the gravy stains on his uniform. He’d been dancing the jitterbug all evening with an English girl.” He tried not to laugh but couldn’t seem to help himself.

  Gigi giggled, and Sybil joined her.

  Anya didn’t have a clue. “Gravy stains? Will someone please tell me what’s so funny?”

  When their laughter ebbed, Sybil explained. “A proper English girl does not go out with a young man without wearing her nylons. But they became so scarce during the war that some girls took to more … creative methods to fake the appearance of nylons.”

  Gigi stamped out her cigarette in an ashtray. “I found their methods ridiculous, but some girls would literally paint their legs with a tinted tanning cream. Or even worse, they’d actually smear their legs with gravy, then have a friend draw a black line down the back of their legs.”

  Anya scoffed. “You’re not serious, are you?”

  “I’m afraid she’s right.” Phillip laughed again and raised his arms to stretch. “My friend was a terrific dancer, and boy was he furious when he saw all those stains all over his uniform.”

  Sybil leaned her head back. “Oh, the things we do for love.”

  When the laughter waned, Gigi glanced back at Phillip and pointed a long, manicured finger at him. “We haven’t been properly introduced. I’m Gigi. Phillip, is it?”

  Anya glanced at the large diamond on Gigi’s left hand which apparently meant nothing to her. She wondered if Jack had any idea of his wife’s proclivity to “go off the rails,” as they called it here.

  Sybil elbowed the lieutenant. “Phillip, forgive me for not introducing my other flatmate, Anya McClain.”

  “Oh, yes, of course. I knew I recognized you, Mrs. McClain. I processed your file the day you first visited the embassy, as I recall. It’s nice to see you again.”

  “I remember you too, Lieutenant.”

  “Please, just call me Phillip.”

  Gigi wasted no time. “So, Phillip, how is it that all our husbands are back in America, and yet you are still here?”

  “Because it’s my job to make sure all you war brides get transported across the Atlantic to join your husbands.” He glanced back at Sybil. “We still have a lot of work to do before they send the rest of us home.”

  Gigi straightened. “We all attended the protest at your embassy last week, though a lot of good it did. If you ask me, no one seems to have a clue what they’re doing.”

  “Yes, I was watching from my office window,” he said. “You all had a huge turnout, several hundred of you, and even more that evening at Caxton Hall. They estimated several thousand came that night to hear Lieutenant Commander Agar address the problem.” Powell leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Actually, I thought it shed some light on the problems we’re facing, primarily the question of transportation to the U.S. We’re doing our best to work with the British, but it’s going to take at least another month or more to commission the ships we need.”

  “We keep hearing there’s a breakdown in communication between the American commission sent over to sort it all out and their British counterparts,” Sybil said. “It seems to me everyone’s talking, but nothing’s happening.”

  “I’m sure it seems that way, and to be honest, that’s the nature of diplomacy. Lots of talk and not much action. But in fairness, the end of the war requires a massive amount of government interaction, and unfortunately, war brides aren’t the priority. I wish I could offer some hope to you, but it’s a colossal undertaking, as I’m sure you know.”

  Anya pressed on. “We keep hearing that all the Americans back in the States think every single American serviceman should be returned home before they’ll start transporting us. I understand why they feel that way, but I was appalled to read that many American women think of us as tramps who’ve stolen their men. Is that true, Lieutenant?”

  He smiled. “It’s Phillip, remember? But no, I don’t think that kind of rhetoric is widespread. That said, there is quite a resentment among the British men here that American servicemen have somehow snatched all the eligible British women, so I guess it goes both ways. But that’s the nature of war and its aftermath. A lot of misperceptions.”

  Gigi waved her hand, dismissing the conversation. “Enough of all that. Phillip, tell us how you know our Sybil?”

  Phillip blinked and leaned back in his chair. “We met a few weeks ago at Rainbow Corner. Obviously, I’ve seen her working there before, but we’d never talked. Until recently, anyway.”

  Sybil shook her head with a smile. “He’s quite the gentleman by not telling you how we met. I spilled a full tray of Cokes, and Phillip was kind enough to come to my rescue.”

  Gigi smiled. “Ah, fancy that. Such a kind fellow helping a damsel in distress.”

  A matronly nurse approached them. “Friends of Kate Miller?”

  Sybil stood. “Yes, we are. How’s she doing?”

  “Quite well, as a matter of fact. She just gave birth to a little girl and asked me to let you know.”

  Anya joined them. “Already?”

  “But she only just arrived!” Gigi said, snuffing out her cigarette.

  “Yes, and if you’ve done this as long as I have, you learn that babies come when they’re ready. I’ll be returning to Mrs. Miller now. I’ll let you know when she’s moved to the maternity ward.” She turned and padded quietly down the hall.

  Anya stared after her. “I can’t believe it.” She looked up at the clock on the wall. “Kate’s first contraction started less than four hours ago. I thought it usually took hours and hours to deliver.”

  Powell shook his head with a smile. “I guess there’s no rhyme or reason why one takes a day or two while others just pop right out.”

  “Is that so?” Gigi’s brow creased. “Are we to assume you have children, Phillip?”

  “No, ma’am, but I’m the oldest in a family with six kids, so I know a thing or two about babies.”

  “A baby girl.” Sybil sighed happily, resting her hands on her abdomen again. “Is there anything sweeter? Isn’t it wonderful? After all these years of war, we’re finally learning how to be happy again.”

  Anya couldn’t help sharing the joy of the moment, wishing with all her heart that Sybil was right.

  30

  November 1945

  With Kate
and her baby’s return home, a renewed spirit of hope seemed to flourish in the London flat. Sybil and Anya took turns tending to little Jocelyn, eager to rock or feed or bathe her whenever Kate needed rest.

  Gigi kept her distance, always offering clever excuses for her lack of attention to the baby. Anya suspected it wasn’t a dislike of babies per se, but rather a simple case of not knowing anything about them or even how to hold them. They tried to teach her, but she always pressed a quick kiss on Jocelyn’s cheek, murmured a fond goodbye, then left the house again.

  By contrast, Anya loved cradling the baby in her arms and marveling at her ten perfect fingers tipped with ten tiny nails. She loved the baby’s scent fresh from a bath, the innocent curiosity in her little eyes, and the way her small oval mouth made sucking motions as she slept.

  It was only these times, when everyone else slept, and she had little Jocelyn all to herself, that Anya allowed herself to dream of one day holding her own baby.

  Will she have Danny’s easy smile? Will she have my eyes? My hair? Will she love to laugh like her father? Or have a more serious nature like mine? Or if we have a son, will he have Danny’s strong jawline? Or a complexion like mine?

  These stolen moments always made her miss Danny, more than she thought humanly possible. From the beginning, their relationship had never been easy. She wondered again if they were destined to be apart forever, never having more than a few weeks or months together. It’s why she rarely allowed herself to dream, because the pattern of their life together was no pattern at all. And yet, with her eyes still fixed on the precious baby sleeping in her arms, Anya recognized the smallest glimmer of hope the little one had given her.

  It was a start.

  In early December, Sybil arranged for one of the photographers at the Rainbow to come to the flat and take pictures of Kate and little Joss, as they now called her, to send Joe. The talented photographer was a delight to work with; easygoing and quite gifted at staging more natural poses of the new mother and her daughter. Sybil decided they should all have individual pictures made to send their husbands in America, as well as a group photograph. They scurried around helping each other pick out their most flattering attire. Gigi insisted Sybil and Anya shake their hair free from the snoods they’d all grown so accustomed to wearing.

  Gigi snapped her fingers at Sybil and motioned for her to sit, then proceeded to use her arsenal of soot and charcoal to highlight Sybil’s facial features.

  “I will never get used to wearing make-up,” Sybil complained. “Jack was always buying it for me, but I don’t like the feel of it against my skin. We never wore it before the war, then the Yanks came, expecting all of us to look like their Hollywood stars back home. And here we are, still painting our faces to keep them happy.”

  “You just don’t know how to wear it.” Gigi dusted Sybil’s face with powder. “You need the touch of an expert like me. There.” She handed Sybil a mirror. “Take a look, but first get up so Anya can have a seat.”

  Anya stiffened. “No, I’m not wearing any of that on my face.”

  Gigi parked a fist on her hip. “Trust me. You need it. You look positively ashen. You don’t want Danny to see your photograph and think you’re all washed out like an old dish rag. Sit.”

  Anya folded her arms across her chest. “No.”

  The blonde narrowed her eyes for a moment, then shrugged. “Fine. But don’t blame me if he starts to wander. Didn’t you tell me he’s back in university? Why, he’s probably surrounded by pretty young girls every‌—‌”

  “Gigi, leave her alone.” Sybil set the hand mirror on the dresser then hooked her arm through Anya’s. “Ignore her. Otherwise, she’ll have all of us looking like a bunch of strumpets.”

  The photographs were ready a few days later, all of them fabulous. Those of Kate and Joss would surely warm Joe’s heart, and the ones of the baby with her chubby cheeks and sweet smile were truly angelic. Gazing at the pictures, Anya thought Kate was prettier than any of those Hollywood stars on the big screen. And yet, there was also something so beautifully wholesome about her.

  Though Sybil’s abdomen was discreetly hidden from the camera’s eye, she seemed to glow in her photograph. Anya could easily imagine her as royalty; a princess living at Buckingham Palace waiting to give birth to an heir to the throne. Jack would be thrilled to receive the picture, such a lovely likeness of his English bride.

  Anya had never liked having her picture taken, but she was pleasantly surprised by the genuine happiness on her face in her photograph. Neither stilted nor somber in some awkward pose, she marveled at the smile on her face, almost unfamiliar with it. She had obviously gained some weight since Danny left, most of it while working at the pub. She hoped he would be pleased to see her looking healthier.

  And while she had refused Gigi’s lavish help with make-up, Anya liked the subtle dash of red lipstick Sybil had suggested. She often wondered why all the English girls wore such bright-red lipstick until Sybil explained it as a sign of British patriotism, often called “the red badge of courage.” That made sense. And even though the photographs were black and white, she had to admit the darkened tint on her lips helped her smile stand out.

  As for the group picture, Sybil said it best. “We look like the four-and-a-half musketeers,” even though Joss had slept through most of the session. Anya loved the picture and wanted to keep a framed copy on her nightstand.

  She and Sybil found some pretty frames at a small shop around the corner. While there, Anya discovered a Christmas ornament with a tintype image of London’s Big Ben on one side, and the dome of St. Paul’s on the other. She thought it the perfect gift for Danny’s family, and carefully wrapped it before tucking it inside the box with her framed photograph to post to America.

  As the brisk winter days passed, they settled into an easy schedule, always making sure at least one of them was home to help Kate. Sybil cut back on her hours at the Rainbow; a timely decision since fewer Americans remained in London. Anya thought her friend looked quite fatigued of late and tried to convince her to quit working altogether. Sybil remained adamant, saying the job helped pass the time.

  Thankfully, Gigi seemed to have an endless flow of cash from her husband Paul in California. She insisted on paying the rent in full each month and kept the pantry well stocked, explaining Paul’s insistence that she take care of them all. Anya couldn’t help wondering if Paul suspected his wife might be cheating on him, thinking he could buy her faithfulness. Or perhaps it was Gigi’s way of buying their discretion since all of them knew how often she’d been unfaithful?

  Anya couldn’t imagine living such a lie.

  Or maybe she could. Wasn’t she living one herself? Nothing as scandalous as adultery, but hadn’t her father always taught that a lie was a lie, whether committed or omitted? Hadn’t he often preached about “the slippery slope” of mistruths? Had Gigi’s deceitful habits begun with a series of little white lies in order to save face?

  Anya shook off the thoughts. She would tell Danny the real reason she had to leave Framlingham. She would. Someday.

  By mid-December, the wait for news about the war bride ships had become excruciating. Anya received another letter from Danny’s mother. Betty had been so faithful to write, three or four letters a month, though Anya found it increasingly difficult to respond to her ever-cheerful notes. The latest letter, dated earlier in November, told of the family’s upcoming plans for Thanksgiving and how much they had hoped she could have celebrated the traditional American holiday with them. Instead, they would look forward to Christmas, confident Anya would surely be there to open gifts around the tree with them. She asked if Anya had any favorite Dutch Christmas cookies she might teach her to make, and expressed how much she was looking forward to sharing many happy hours in the kitchen baking with her two daughters-in-law.

  And, as she always did, Betty mentioned her constant prayers for God to “open the way to bring you home to us, however He might do so.”

  A
nya read the letter three times the day it arrived, wishing the words on the page would lift her spirits. Not a single war bride ship had sailed, nor had she or any of her flatmates been notified about a pending date. The disappointment grew with each passing day.

  Danny’s letters came less often. She wasn’t worried or surprised since he’d taken a part-time job working at the campus library. Between that, his classes and studies, and occasional shifts at the theater, he stayed busy. In his last letter, he mentioned meeting a fellow veteran who also worked at the library and attended classes. Danny wrote how sorry he felt for the guy who’d been in a Japanese prisoner of war camp for more than two years before the war ended.

  As I’ve gotten to know Lee, I was reminded how blessed I was to make it home with a sound mind. He battles depression and has horrific nightmares. His injuries may not be physical, but the emotional damage is severe. I’m actually surprised he’s able to work and study at all. Poor guy. I’m trying to be a friend to him. I’m not sure what else I can do to help.

  Anya understood the emotional scars all too well, which is why she worked so hard to suppress them. She remembered Danny’s letter about his father’s war experience and how it had molded him into the gruff man he is today, still haunted by those memories all these years later. She would not let this war dominate her life. Not now, and certainly not when she arrived in America to begin her life with Danny. She paid careful attention to the words she wrote him, careful to sanitize any trace of fear or angst she might be experiencing. Hadn’t she vowed to stop all the self-pity? She remembered the day she walked back to the pub in Framlingham when she promised herself to master her emotions before crossing the ocean.

  No more tears. No more gloomy thoughts. No more sadness.

  But with all that transpired, she’d nearly forgotten that vow. She closed her eyes and remembered how good the optimism had felt that day, and promised herself once more to live in a realm of hope and not despair.

  Still, the weeks dragged on. Helping out at Rainbow Corner had helped, though the number of American servicemen seemed to dwindle more each day. There was talk of closing London’s most famous Red Cross club, most likely sometime after the first of the year. But Anya needed to work to keep her spirits up and found that even the most menial tasks helped pass the time. Just a week before Christmas, Anya was downstairs working behind the counter at Dunker’s Den when she heard a familiar voice.