Beyond a Misty Shore (23 page)

She frowned, thinking about Maria, who was still eating her heart out for Hans Bonhoeffer from whom there had still been no word. She continued to urge her sister to forget him,
to go out with other young men, if not Ben Seddon whom Maria was trying to keep at arm’s length. Her sister did go out quite a lot, usually with her friend Mavis, and Sophie knew she was never short of partners at the dances she went to, but Maria stubbornly refused all offers to be taken out by her admirers.

The wind tore at Sophie’s beret and she pulled it further down over her forehead and wrapped her scarf more securely around her neck. Winter had come with a vengeance; it was bitterly cold, she thought. She knew Frank was home and she wondered if, after months spent in the tropics, he felt the cold more keenly. That was something else that hadn’t changed, she mused sadly. She still loved him, and even though she saw little of him she missed him. Yet she had to try to suppress those feelings and it was so hard. Only to Arthur did she confide how unhappy she was at times and how lonely. It was strange that even though she was surrounded by people there were times when she felt so alone and Arthur understood that. No mention had ever been made about his past since that August day.

Christmas was again approaching; December was almost upon them and she remembered how enjoyable last Christmas had been for them all, even Frank, thanks in part to Mrs Sayle’s goose. She sighed, things were slowly getting better – very slowly – but no doubt she would have to prevail upon Maude Sayle’s generosity again this year for she was planning a real ‘family’ meal, mindful of the many lonely and miserable Christmases Arthur and Hetty must have spent. She was
determined that this year was definitely going to be very different for them both.

When she arrived home it was to find she had a visitor: her aunt was sitting with Hetty by the fire in the living room drinking tea.

‘It’s very early for a visit, Aunty Lizzie, is something wrong?’ For a moment she thought that Lizzie had come to impart some news of Frank, hopefully nothing bad.

Lizzie beamed at her. ‘I thought I’d come down first thing to tell you the news.’

Sophie looked interested. ‘It’s something good, judging by the look on your face.’

‘Our Katie and Matt Seddon are going to get engaged at Christmas; he’s been saving up for the ring. He came round last night to see Jim, asked him proper, like, for his permission to marry her, seeing as she’s only eighteen.’

‘Oh, I’m delighted for Katie,’ Sophie cried. She was but she wondered how his brother Ben would take the news, since he had still not given up on Maria.

‘So, we’ve decided to have a bit of a family get-together for them. Nothing fancy, mind, it being Christmas, and it’s going to be as hard to get stuff this year as it was last. But we’d like you all to come on Christmas Night for a drink to celebrate.’

‘Won’t it be a bit crowded with Matt’s family and yours without us as well?’ Sophie asked as Hetty poured her a cup of tea. She was still thinking of Ben and Maria.

‘And Martha and Pat and young Robbie – Frank won’t be
home for Christmas this year so Martha told me – but we’ll manage, Sophie. It will only be for a couple of hours. You will come, Miss Foster? And Mr Chatsworth too?’

Hetty smiled, although she looked a little dubious, while Sophie felt a pang of regret that Frank would be away. It would have been wonderful to have spent a couple of hours in his company even surrounded by family and friends. It was better than not seeing him at all before he sailed again.

‘We’d be delighted to, Mrs Quine, just for an hour, and I’m sure I can speak for Arthur as well,’ Hetty replied courteously.

‘Where is Mr Chatsworth?’ Lizzie asked.

‘Gone out for his morning constitutional. He likes to take a brisk walk first thing and usually buys his newspaper on the way back,’ Hetty informed her.

‘He must be mad in this weather. There’s a real “lazy” wind coming off the river this morning. It cuts right through you instead of going around you.’ Lizzie shivered as she sipped her tea.

Hetty smiled again. ‘You do have some quaint sayings, Mrs Quine.’

Lizzie nodded and then looked thoughtful. ‘You remember last year, Sophie, how you got the kids to write to Santa?’

‘I do, it kept them quiet for ages,’ Sophie replied, thinking of the hours Frank had spent making the fort and the dolls’ house.

‘Well, our Billy was so delighted that he got what he asked for that he’s already started writing again and this year he
wants a scooter no less! Where that lad gets these ideas from I don’t know. Has Bella said what she wants?’

Sophie shook her head. ‘Not yet but no doubt we’ll hear soon enough. I’ll keep my eyes and ears open for a secondhand scooter, Aunty Lizzie.’

‘You’re a good girl, Sophie,’ Lizzie said, getting to her feet. ‘Well, I’d better get back; those dishes won’t wash themselves – more’s the pity. Oh, I nearly forgot.’ Lizzie delved into her pocket. ‘This came to our house in the post yesterday. It’s for Maria. It’s got a Manx stamp on it but it can’t be from your mam.’

Sophie took it from her, scanning the handwriting. It wasn’t from Sarah and she wondered who on the island was writing to her sister. One of her friends perhaps?

As Sophie saw her aunt out Hetty thought how much she was looking forward to Christmas this year. Sophie had said they would have a big tree in the dining room for there was plenty of room for it in there and that she and Bella would make the decorations to go on it. She was going to try to get some tinsel too. It would look very good when they had their Christmas lunch. They would decorate the hall and this room as well; there was never a shortage of holly. Sophie had already started hoarding items of food for the occasion and she’d said that Bella’s face on Christmas morning was well worth the very early start to the day. Yes, Christmas this year would be so different to the usual rather cheerless and lonely days she’d spent over the years, especially since Ada had died. She would have to start to think about gifts for everyone,
something else that was a new experience for her, and of course there would have to be an engagement present for Katie Quine, propriety demanded it even if she didn’t attend the ‘get-together’. The invitation had been extended and the girl could not be slighted. She’d discuss it all with both Sophie and Arthur, she thought happily.

All day the letter intrigued Sophie. No one, apart from their mother, ever wrote to Maria and whoever it was didn’t know that they’d been living in Laurel Road for months. Nor could they have got Lizzie’s address from Sarah for her mam would have told them they’d moved. She’d examined it carefully but there was no clue in the handwriting. The envelope itself was a cheap one, the sort you could buy anywhere, and it was postmarked ‘Peel’ two days ago. Eventually she’d sighed and told herself she would just have to wait until Maria got in from work to enlighten her.

Bella had come home from school saying she had a sore throat and indeed Sophie thought she also had a temperature and so all thoughts of Maria’s letter disappeared in her concern for her child. It wasn’t until she’d got Bella settled in bed after giving her half an aspirin, followed with a mug of honey dissolved in hot water, that she even gave the letter another thought.

‘I wouldn’t send her to school tomorrow, Sophie, if she’s still feeling like this, it’s so cold,’ Hetty advised, looking concerned as Sophie came back downstairs.

‘I won’t. If she’s no better I’ll take her to the doctor.’ Catching sight of the envelope propped up on the mantelpiece
she picked it up and handed it to her sister. ‘Oh, Maria, Aunty Lizzie brought this round this morning, it was delivered to their house.’

Maria looked puzzled. She hadn’t noticed it and Hetty had been so full of the news of Katie’s forthcoming engagement that she hadn’t mentioned a letter. She opened it, noting the stamp and wondering who on earth it was from, and then she uttered a cry of delight. ‘Sophie! Oh, Sophie, it’s from Hans! I knew he’d write; I just
knew
he would!’

‘
Hans!
’ Sophie echoed, feeling stunned. ‘But how . . . who did he get Aunty Lizzie’s address from? Mam wouldn’t have given it to him.’

Maria was quickly scanning the lines of small, cramped handwriting that covered the single page. ‘From Mrs Sayle. He went to see her, to ask for work and to ask about me. She had the address because of the goose last year. He . . . he says he didn’t go to see Mam because he knew she didn’t approve and . . . oh, Sophie, he came back to the island to be with me and he . . . he says he’s coming to Liverpool just as soon as he can save up the fare for the ferry. It took every penny he had to get back to the island and the journey took him three months, but Mrs Sayle has given him work and is letting him stay in one of the outbuildings . . .’ Maria hugged the single sheet of paper to her and closed her eyes, sheer joy surging through her. She’d prayed so hard for this day. He hadn’t forgotten her – far from it – he’d travelled for three long months across Europe to be with her and soon . . . ‘I’ll send him the ferry fare, Sophie!’

Sophie had gathered her wits. ‘Wait, Maria. You have to think hard about this.’

‘What is there to think about, Sophie?’ Maria’s eyes were shining and sadly Sophie realised she’d never seen her sister look so happy.

Both Hetty and Arthur were looking at Maria with avid curiosity; neither of them knew about Hans Bonhoeffer, and Sophie knew explanations were expected. She wondered how they would both react.

‘Come into the workroom with me and we’ll talk about this,’ she urged and then turning to Arthur and the old lady she promised she would enlighten them later on.

‘All I can think about is the fact that he came back for me, Sophie.
He came back for me
. And he’s just a few hours’ sail away!’ Maria cried as Sophie pushed her gently down in a chair and took her hands.

‘Maria, he was lucky Maude Sayle took him in and has given him work, but she
knows
him. She knows his background and that he was an internee. Who will employ him here in Liverpool? He’s Austrian and who will believe he left before the war started? This city is still in ruins; so many innocent people were killed in the Blitz – no one will give him work. It could even be dangerous for him, Maria. People would blame him, they’d say he was German and where would he stay? He’d never find anyone who would give him lodgings.’

Tears had come into Maria’s eyes; couldn’t Sophie understand that she loved him and that he loved her? That
he’d spent every penny he had and travelled the long miles through war-ravaged countries to be with her? ‘Couldn’t he stay here, with us? We know he isn’t German, that he wasn’t to blame for . . . for everything that’s happened.’

‘Maria, how could I ask Hetty to take him in? She and her sister spent hours down in the cellar, terrified they’d be blown to bits, and Arthur’s only brother was killed in the Great War. People have long memories. People won’t believe he isn’t German. Oh, think, Maria,
think
!’

Maria was frantic. ‘I . . . I can’t write and tell him not to come across, Sophie. He’s travelled so far and suffered the Lord alone knows what hardships and I want to be with him. I love him so much, Sophie, surely you can understand how I feel? I’ve never given up hope he’d come back.’

Sophie nodded; she did know how her sister felt: in her heart she wouldn’t give up hope that one day she and Frank could be together. But Maria couldn’t expect Hetty to take Hans in, and she had to make Maria see that he would be met with hostility and maybe even violence in this city.

‘Write and tell him . . . tell him . . . you’ll go over to see him, this weekend – weather permitting. You’ll have to get Saturday off. I can’t stop you from seeing him; it wouldn’t be fair to either of you, but try to explain the situation to him, Maria. He can’t come here,’ Sophie urged. She’d write to her mother tonight and try to explain but she could see no future at all for her sister with Hans Bonhoeffer. He was a penniless exile who could offer her nothing, not even a decent roof over her head, and whose very appearance, speech and
manners would attract hostility. There was no future for him in Liverpool and no work for Maria in Peel. She just hoped her mother could talk some sense into Maria – but she very much doubted it. And she must ask her not to mention the fact that she had written. In her present state of mind Maria would see it as a betrayal.

She left a still tearful Maria to write to him and went back into the living room, wondering how she was to break this news to Arthur and Hetty.

‘Is everything all right, Sophie?’ Arthur asked, noting her expression.

She shook her head. ‘That letter was from someone I hoped Maria would never hear from again.’

‘A young man? An
unsuitable
young man?’ Hetty asked, looking anxious.

‘Yes. Oh, he’s not unsuitable in many ways. He’s a hard worker, he isn’t rough or ignorant, he’s polite and well mannered, honest and he has few vices—’

‘Then what on earth is wrong with him?’ Arthur interrupted.

‘He was an internee on the island during the war. His name is Hans Bonhoeffer,’ Sophie replied.

‘Oh, Lord above! He . . . he’s
German
!’ Hetty exclaimed, her hand going to her throat.

‘No. No, he’s Austrian. He left Austria with his family when the Nazis took over. They hated everything Hitler stood for; they were farmers and so they settled in Kent but were brought to the island when war broke out.’

Arthur said nothing; he was mulling it all over in his mind. ‘And apart from his nationality, what do you think of him, Sophie?’ he asked at length.

‘On the occasions I met him I . . . I liked him. As I said, he was polite and well mannered and Mrs Sayle spoke well of him. He worked on the Sayles’ farm during the day although he went back to Peveril Camp at night. That’s where Maria met him; they worked together. She was in the Land Army. But there can be no future for them and I’ve told her that many times. Mam did too.’

‘Your mother knew about their . . . relationship?’ Hetty asked, still getting over the shock.

‘Yes, but he never came to the house. Maria only saw him at work, he wasn’t allowed the freedom to roam about at will, so to speak. But during the summer months and particularly at harvest they worked long hours together. At the end of the war he and his family were repatriated and we thought that would be the end of everything but he’s made his way back to the island and is trying to save the ferry fare to come across.’