For All Our Tomorrows (28 page)

Joyce hadn’t seen or heard from her husband in over eighteen months yet was determined to find him. ‘We got married soon as I fell pregnant and he never has seen little Barry here. Got himself wounded and conveniently shipped home to the US of A, but the bugger can’t escape me that way. The child is his and he can bloody well take care of it, and me an’ all. What else have I got to live on? I’ve no family of me own. I’m a bleedin orphan, me.’

‘What if you can’t find him?’

‘I’ve got his address in Minnesota. I’ll find him all right, and I have my marriage lines to prove we’re his responsibility now. Stop crying, Barry, for God’s sake. You’ll see yer daddy soon. Oh, you hold him for me a minute, will ya. I have to go and pea.’

Bette was yet again left alone with the baby and sat staring at it, trying to decide how she would feel if this were her own child. Would she love it to bits, or be glad to leave it with strangers as Joyce did? She touched her stomach, prodded it here and there but could feel nothing. How would she feel when the baby was born? She was hurting so much inside over losing Barney, Bette couldn’t find space in her heart to care about her child.

 
Two hours later when the baby’s mother still hadn’t reappeared, he started to cry from hunger. Gingerly, Bette picked him up, holding him awkwardly aloft as the poor mite was dripping wet.

She changed him into a dry and less foul smelling nappy, gave him his supper, although she couldn’t face any herself, and put him down to sleep. Poor soul, it wasn’t the baby’s fault that he had a useless, uncaring mother. Bette felt sorry for the little chap. Perhaps he would be better off with this unknown GI father, but she’d give anything to be a fly on the wall when the couple met up again. Somehow she didn’t think Joyce would be getting too warm a welcome.

Some of the other girls had children with them too, others were pregnant and going out to meet husbands who had been demobilised, as she was. Except that she and Chad hadn’t actually tied the knot yet. Nor had he given her a ring. Nevertheless, Bette thought of herself as engaged and called him her fiancé, deliberately putting out of her mind the fact that she’d only recently been bragging to Sara that she was engaged to Barney, and that he was about to buy her a ring.

It seemed ironic in a way; two lovers and still no ring. But that was a small concern, compared to some of the women.

One had been told that her husband was dying and that she mustn’t come as she wouldn’t be allowed in and most likely sent to Ellis Island. She’d come anyway, desperate to see him one last time. Another girl, little more than twenty-one and heavily pregnant, admitted she’d been told by her husband that he’d gone back to his old girl friend but she’d convinced herself that once he saw her again, he’d come back to her.

‘What will you do in a strange country if he doesn’t?’ Bette asked her, appalled.

The girl had no answer.

Lying beside the baby, rocked by the boat and drifting quietly into sleep, Bette thought that perhaps she was the lucky one, all things considered. At least she had the comfort of knowing that Chad loved and wanted her. She missed Barney, would always love him, but everything would turn out fine, she was quite sure of it. She resolved to be optimistic for hadn’t this been her dream for so long? A new country, a new life, a new husband. Despite the difficulties of her situation, she couldn’t help but feel excited.

At least Chad would be pleased to see her.

There was no welcome for the freight carrier as it berthed unnoticed among a dozen other similar vessels. It had travelled back to the US largely empty, save for the women, returning to its home port for its next load of munitions, basic supplies and food. They’d been instructed to stay below until after the ship had docked, crowded together with their pitifully few possessions and fretful children, in one stuffy room, so were deprived the pleasure of standing at the rails to take in their first sight of land as it approached. They were not allowed to marvel at New York’s famous skyline or the Statue of Liberty, save for what they glimpsed out of a tiny porthole.

The women’s first view of their new country was when a member of the crew came to let them out and ushered them secretly down a gangway set up at the stern of the ship. Some of the babies were crying, but there was no one to hear, it being night and with no one about. There was nothing in fact to see but stacks of boxes on the docks waiting to be loaded on board once the ship had been cleaned and checked ready for its return voyage.

The most amazing thing of all to these women was that despite it being night-time, there were lights everywhere.

‘Christ, no blackout,’ said Joyce. ‘What a bloody treat.’

There’d been great excitement beforehand, hair washed and curled, best dresses dragged from suitcases and crumples smoothed out, lipstick applied. Every woman present wanted to look their best. Bette was no exception, even though she knew she wouldn’t be meeting up with Chad until the following day.

Before that, she faced a long train journey south and her first task was to the find the railway station, and the right train, which suddenly seemed an overwhelmingly difficult task.

Fortunately there were one or two others in the same situation, which was a comfort since there were no Red Cross officials to help these war-brides who had entered the country illegally. But then nor would there be any medical check-ups, no interrogation about status, or paperwork to process, and no hot supper waiting for them either. For the first time since the journey began, Bette felt a pang of hunger, though that could have been purely a pang of nervousness.

Bette stood with the other women, blinking in the glare of lights, wondering what was to happen next, then noticed a group of men approaching out of the shadows. Fear stabbed in her, sharp and strong. Had they been discovered? Would she be put back on board and sent home, without even having seen Chad?

And then she heard the squeals and whoops of joy. Some of the girls’ husbands had come to meet their wives, found their way to this quiet corner of the docks. They elbowed one another aside, seeking a familiar face, and when they found it, reunion in many cases was ecstatic. The women wept in their arms, babies were cuddled, there were tender hugs and passionate kisses. Bette looked on and marvelled with tears in her eyes. How could one not be moved by such a sight?

True, there were one or two who enjoyed a less than enthusiastic reunion and there were other women, like herself, and like Joyce, for whom there was no one. One girl just stood there crying and was eventually led away back to the ship, to be returned home like an unwanted parcel. The rest picked up their suitcase, gathered up straying children, and followed the crew member who had volunteered to take them to the station. Bette could only hope that when this long, unknown journey finally ended, there would be a welcome for her too.

The women had a long wait at the station before the train finally left, by which time Bette was exhausted. She’d had problems changing her money and buying a ticket, which cost five dollars, far more than she’d bargained for, plus some food for the journey which would apparently take an entire day.

She felt tired, dirty, hungry, exhilarated and afraid, all at the same time, emotionally unstable before even the train left the station. It was all so strange, so different.

The member of the crew who’d accompanied them to the station had given careful instructions on procedure, including that they make sure they got into the right “car”. This had puzzled Bette at first, until she realised he was referring to the rail carriage, or compartment. The ones at the back would be uncoupled and dropped off early in the journey, so you had to make sure you got into the right one. But clearly, even the language was going to present problems.

At least she wasn’t alone. Several of the women had banded together and their little group began to attract some attention. Quite out of the blue, a flashbulb went off. Someone had taken a photograph and suddenly they were surrounded by the press, who’d apparently got wind of their arrival and started firing questions at them.

‘Are you all war-brides?’

‘Where are you meeting your husbands?’

‘Do you reckon they’ll be pleased to see you?’

‘What do you say to folks who accuse war-brides of depriving the wounded of their rightful place on the transport that brought you here?’

‘Is that kid your husband’s?’

‘Quick, let’s get on board,’ Bette cried, seeing one poor girl reduced to tears and another in danger of socking one journalist in the mouth if he didn’t shut up. Pulling open the nearest “car” door, they all rushed on board, falling over each other in their anxiety to escape the melee of reporters gathering on the platform, and find themselves a seat.

Their undignified arrival alerted the other passengers who craned their necks around to see what all the fuss was about, then started chatting to them.

‘Are you folks from Canada?’ was generally the opening remark.

Once they learned the women were from Britain, had come out to join their GI husbands, they took them and their precarious situation to heart. The warmth and welcome of the other passengers made the journey bearable, as they shared their food, bullied the train guard into warming babies’ bottles and supplying them with beds or blankets, even if they hadn’t paid for one, and helped to reunite the women with their baggage.

Even so, the journey seemed to go on forever, with frequent stops along the way when the train would stand at an empty platform in the middle of nowhere, waiting and waiting until finally one lone person might turn up and get on board, and then it would lurch into movement and go on its way again. Or the guard would grow bored with waiting and set off anyway, without anyone getting on. On a few occasions, passengers were allowed off to enjoy a breath of fresh air and a bit of exercise, but Bette was always anxious not to wander too far, in case the train should set off without her.

When hot meals were brought round, she would surreptitiously and repeatedly count her dollars and cents, trying to work out what the coins were worth and whether she could afford to buy herself anything. More often than not she contented herself with a cup of hot coffee. After all, a day’s starvation wouldn’t hurt and there’d be plenty of food once she reached South Carolina, her new home.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

For the first time in her life, Sara told Hugh a bare-faced lie. She told him that she was going to visit her aunt Marjorie in Penzance. She did have an aunt of that name who lived in the town although Sara sincerely hoped the old lady would not be called upon to prove her recalcitrant niece’s presence, as she was well past eighty, quite deaf and a strict Methodist.

‘Aunt Marjorie hasn’t been well and there’s little point in Sadie going, she’d be hopeless, yet a member of the family should visit and check on her from time to time, see that she has the care and attention she needs.’ Sara hated herself as she spun the web tighter.

If only Bette were here. It would be so much easier as they could have gone off on a jaunt together and Hugh would have been none the wiser. This was a much more dangerous plan, yet one she was determined to carry out, however much he might frown at her. She couldn’t seem to help herself.

The prospect of one night alone with Charlie seemed too good to be true. Magical.

She went to St. Austell, where nobody knew her, and bought herself a pretty new nightdress, not too frivolous or sexy, since she must wear it afterwards and needed to be careful not to make Hugh suspicious. But at least it would be something to remind her of their one, glorious night together.

She felt shivery, sick with anticipation. What would he think when he saw her in it, and in the flesh? Would he still find her attractive? She was no young girl coming to her lover with a firm young body. She was twenty-six, with two children for heaven’s sake. Her stomach was no longer as flat as it might be, and these were surely wrinkles at the corners of her eyes, although Bette had always insisted on calling them laughter lines.

‘Oh, Bette, what am I doing?’

The plan was for Sara to meet Charlie on the train on Friday evening. She would get on at Par, and he would join the train at St Austell and they would travel together to Penzance. That way she had the ticket to show Hugh. She might even call in briefly upon Aunt Marjorie, just to be on the safe side.
 

Before then, however, she had a whole week to get through, a week in which she must appear absolutely normal, as normal as life could be between them. Sara prayed for Hugh to be called out on one of his regular ops but, perversely, he was home every day, never going further than around Fowey itself.

Sara rushed about, as usual, taking the children to school each morning then dashing back home to cook breakfast for Hugh, spoiling him, anxious to keep him happy. ‘You wouldn’t believe how I had to bribe the butcher to get this bit of bacon for you. But you deserve it, a breakfast fit for a king, for my brave soldier,’ and she placed it proudly before him.

He scowled down at the plate. ‘No egg?’

‘You know we are only allowed one each per week and I save for them for the children.’

‘You can give them yours, but I’ll have mine fried tomorrow, thank you very much. I need the energy, Sara, you surely realise that.’

‘Yes, of course, I’m sorry.’