Beyond a Misty Shore (24 page)

Arthur shook his head gravely. ‘He’ll be lynched, Sophie, if he does. It’s too soon – far too soon for people to even try to forgive, even though he had no part in any of it.’

‘I’ve told her that but I can’t stop her from seeing him, so I’ve suggested she go over at the weekend. I’m going to write to Mam, explaining, and hope she can do something, say
something
, but . . .’

‘Oh, I hope she can prevail, Sophie. It’s all so . . . unfortunate and distressing,’ Hetty said nervously, feeling that a
dark cloud had suddenly appeared on the horizon, casting a shadow over their quiet life and the anticipation of a happy Christmas.

Sophie nodded. It was distressing indeed and particularly for Maria and Hans and she could see no solution at all, at least not one that wouldn’t bring pain and heartbreak for them both.

A
LL THE PASSENGERS ON
the
Lady of Man
were very relieved when the ferry at last entered the harbour at Douglas that cold, grey, stormy morning. It had been a very rough and consequently slow crossing and there had been quite a few who had thought of the fate of the passengers and crew of the
Ellan Vannin
, the little Steam Packet ferry that had sunk in Liverpool Bay earlier in the century on just such a December crossing.

Maria had not been one of them. Although she hadn’t been sick, she had felt wretched and had fretted at the slowness of the crossing. It meant that the time she would have to spend with Hans would be shorter for she had to return to Liverpool tomorrow – weather permitting, of course. If the wind didn’t drop, or what was worse, got even
stronger, then the ferry wouldn’t sail, and she had to be in work on Monday morning.

She got the bus from the quayside. In her letter she had told him not to make the journey to Douglas to meet her, he had his work to do; nor could he afford to waste money on the fare. She had intended to go home first, to see her mother and tidy herself up and then she would walk up to Sayles’ Farm, but now time was so precious that she resolved to go to Maude Sayle’s first.

As the bus made its way slowly along the road to Peel her heart began to beat faster. It wouldn’t be long now before she would once again be in his arms and she had waited so long for that moment, never giving up hope that it would one day happen. She had had plenty of time to think about everything Sophie had said and she had very reluctantly come to the conclusion that her sister was right. It hadn’t been easy to admit to herself that there would be no work and no home for Hans in Liverpool, and there might even be the threat of violence, but how was she to tell him that after he’d travelled so far and sacrificed so much?

At last the bus topped the rise of the hill and the little fishing port was visible below them: the narrow streets and lanes with the rows of stone cottages and Michael Street with its shops, all running down to the harbour and the causeway to St Patrick’s Isle with its ruined castle and church. Gone was the barbed wire from the beach and promenade; the houses along Peveril Road, which had been cordoned off and secured and had served as the internment camp, were now
once more occupied by their pre-war residents. She was home and soon, oh, very soon she would be with him again.

She got off before the bus began its descent into the village and, drawing her coat closer to her, her head bent against the wind, she began to walk along the road, turning off into a narrow lane flanked by high hedges of old gorse bushes, that led to the farm. She had walked up this lane so many times in the past, she thought, and in all the seasons of the year, but never with as much love in her heart.

With her head still bent she was so engrossed in her thoughts she didn’t see him at first. He was standing at the top of the lane, waiting: a tall, slim figure in an old army greatcoat that was too big for him and torn in places, the wind whipping his blond hair across his face. The anxious look disappeared from his face and his blue eyes lit up as he caught sight of the petite, dark-haired girl clutching a small case who rounded the bend in the lane.

‘Maria! My Maria! I have been waiting for you!’

She looked up and stopped, joy flooded her face, she dropped her case and then she was running.

‘Oh, Hans! Hans! I’ve waited so long for this moment!’ He gathered her into his arms and held her tightly and she could feel his heart beating, almost as fast as her own.

‘All the night, I lay awake listening to the wind and I worried for you, Maria. I worried for the boat, that it would not come safely to the island and then this morning, you did not come . . .’

‘I came as quickly as I could, Hans. I’ve missed you so
much—’ His lips cut off her words and it was quite a while before they drew apart. She reached up and gently touched his right cheek. There was a scar running down it that hadn’t been there last time she’d seen him. ‘You’ve been hurt.’

He smiled down at her. ‘It is well now. Everything is well now that I am here and you, too, are here.’

They walked back to retrieve her case and then they retraced their steps, his arm tightly around her shoulders.

‘Mrs Sayle is good to me. She gives me work and food and a place to sleep and, best of all, she gives me your address.’

Maria smiled up at him. He was still the Hans she knew and loved but there were subtle changes. He was thinner, his skin was no longer the healthy tanned colour it had been, there were tiny lines of fatigue or anxiety at the corners of his eyes and there was the scar.

Maude Sayle was waiting at the door of the farmhouse as they walked into the yard.

‘I told him you’d be later coming up here with the weather so bad, but he’s fussed and fretted all morning just the same. Come on inside with you both, there’s a pot of tea made.’

The kitchen was warm and as clean and tidy as it had always been, Maria thought as, thankfully, she sat at the table while Mrs Sayle poured the tea. She couldn’t take her eyes off Hans as he hung the old coat up on a hook behind the door and then sat down beside her.

‘I take it you’ve not been to see your mam yet, Maria?’ the older woman said, nodding in the direction of Maria’s case.

‘No, the ferry was so late I came straight here. I’ll go down after I’ve had the tea but I
had
to see Hans, you do understand?’

The woman nodded. ‘I do,’ she said flatly. ‘Well now, I’ll leave you for a while, there’s eggs to collect,’ she added tactfully. It was the least she could do, she thought. They’d both travelled so far to see each other again; she knew and liked them both and they had a lot of difficulties to overcome without her adding to them.

‘I’ve missed you so much but I never gave up hope that you would write and then just a few days ago I got your letter.’

‘I missed you, too, my Maria but I did write. I wrote many times before I left Austria, but sadly I think the letters were lost.’

‘Was it really awful, the journey, Hans?’ Maria asked, reaching out to take his hand.

He nodded as he held her small hand tightly in his. ‘Everywhere there is ruin and poverty, such poverty, Maria. My country is . . . is . . . I have not the words to tell you, but when we returned it was not how we remembered. I could not stay, I tried, but I could not stay without you. There was nothing left in Austria for me. I had little money, so I tried to find work but there is such hardship . . .’ He frowned, his eyes clouding at the memories of towns and cities in ruins; people displaced, wandering with their remaining possessions along roads and villages looking for work or their lost, scattered or deceased families. The lack of even basic foods, amenities and
transportation. Europe was a devastated continent, its people demoralised and disorientated.

‘Who hurt you, Hans?’ Maria asked quietly, sensing the hardships he’d endured on the journey. It was more than she could bear to think of him trudging the long miles in all weathers without money or food or shelter.

‘There is still much trouble, Maria, for anyone who looks and speaks German.’ He looked down at her hand and his grip on it tightened. He would never tell her of the humiliations he’d suffered. Cursed, spat at, beaten and slashed with a knife. He had been lucky to escape with his life that time. It had been useless to try to explain that he’d had no part in it, that he’d been interned for six years on a tiny island off the coast of England, his native tongue was German. It was a journey he wanted to forget, a part of his life he wanted to put behind him.

Maria knew he had given her the opening she needed. ‘That’s why I came to the island to see you, Hans. If . . . if you come to Liverpool there will be more trouble for you. Oh, Hans, I’m so sorry, I really am. I want nothing more than for us to be together but . . . but no one will give you a job, or even somewhere to stay. We knew the city had suffered badly with the bombings, but until we got there we didn’t know just
how
badly. Food and many other things are still rationed.’

He shook his head slowly. ‘Then what are we to do, Maria? I came back because I love you, I want to marry you. I . . . I had hope we could start a new life together, put
everything from our minds. The people of Peel do not hate me, do not blame me or curse me for what I am . . .’

His words were like a knife in her heart. She desperately wanted to marry him and start the new life he wanted but it wasn’t possible in Liverpool, not yet, not for a long, long time.

‘Hans, the people here know you; they know you and your family were here for the war years. They know it wasn’t you but the Luftwaffe who dropped the bombs that killed innocent people, but the people of Liverpool don’t.’ She struggled to find the words to help him understand for she could see how hurt and disappointed he was. ‘I love you and I want to marry you but there wouldn’t be a job for me here on the island. But you have work and a home – of sorts – here. I . . . I’ll come over as often as I can, until . . . until we can sort something out, I promise.’

He looked at her bleakly. It had been the dream of returning here to her, to a life together, that had kept him going throughout that terrible journey. ‘But it will not be often, I think.’

She tried to smile. ‘No, Hans, it will not be as often as we both would like, but it will be better than not seeing you at all.’ Reluctantly she stood up as Maude Sayle bustled in carrying a large basket filled with straw and a dozen brown eggs.

‘I’d better go down and see Mam, she’ll be getting worried.’ Maria turned to Hans. ‘When you have finished your work will you come down to Mam’s cottage? I want you to meet her. Come for your supper.’

Maude Sayle nodded her agreement. It was about time Sarah Kinnin met the lad for it was obvious to her that he was here on the island to stay and despite his straitened circumstances had hopes of Maria.

Sarah too had realised that with the weather the ferry would be late in and when there had been no sign of Maria she deduced that her daughter had gone straight to Maude Sayle’s. She had read Sophie’s letter three times and had given the matter a lot of thought; she concurred with her eldest daughter that there was no future for Maria with Hans Bonhoeffer. It had surprised her to learn that the lad had come back to the island; she hadn’t heard, which was strange in a community as small and as close as this. It had also surprised her to realise that Maria had never given up hope of him returning. Indeed Sophie had said she loved him; Maria wouldn’t even look at anyone else.

Sarah sat down after stoking up the fire and stared into the flames. Sophie had asked her to try to talk some sense into Maria, but what could she say that Sophie hadn’t already said and obviously all to no avail?

A draught from the door caused the smoke from the fire to billow into the room and Sarah turned. ‘Maria, you’re home at last,’ she said, getting to her feet.

Maria hugged her. ‘I went up to the farm first, Mam. I’m sorry if you were worried about me.’

Sarah nodded, thinking Maria looked well. Cold and
windswept but well. ‘I realised that’s where you’d gone. And . . . and you saw him?’

‘I did. Oh, Mam, he had a terrible journey and he’s been hurt and I know there are things he isn’t telling me or can’t find the right words to tell me.’

Sarah sank down again in the old bentwood rocker. ‘Oh, what am I going to do with you, girl? I want you to be happy, to have a good life . . .’

Maria knelt down beside her and took her hand. Her mam was looking older and tired, she thought. She’d had a difficult life; she still worked hard helping to auction the catches and keep a home going. ‘I know you do, Mam, but I want to spend my life with Hans, is that so terrible? I love him, he wants to marry me and he’s a good person. He works hard, he’s kind and honest – ask Mrs Sayle.’

Sarah shook her head sadly. Maria was young; there was more to a good marriage than just being in love. ‘Be practical, girl. He earns a labourer’s wage, you’ll have no wage at all and you can’t start out living in one of Maude Sayle’s barns and I . . . I can’t afford to keep you both. It’s hard enough making ends meet now.’

‘I know that, Mam. Oh, I don’t know what we’ll do, I’ll just have to hope that in time he can get something better. I’ve promised him I’ll come over as often as I can but that it won’t be easy. I have to work Saturdays and I only get a half-day on Wednesday, but he can’t come to Liverpool. It’s not safe for him and he’ll not get work or lodgings. I . . . I’ve asked him to come down here, Mam, for his supper. I want you to meet him.’