Eudora is ruffled but for some reason does as she is told. There is no sign of Rose as she leaves the house, so Eudora decides to seize the opportunity. Her mother has probably forbidden it, and besides, Eudora would prefer to make this trip alone.
She is only a few yards along the street when she hears Rose calling, “Eudora! Wait up—I’m coming!”
Eudora knows pretending not to hear is futile. She pauses to wait for the little girl to catch up. They walk along in silence, Rose hopscotching from paving stone to paving stone.
“When I was a little girl, my father used to tell me to avoid the cracks in the pavement otherwise the bears would get me,” says Eudora.
“That’s funny,” says Rose.
They reach the post office to find a small queue with Stanley Marcham holding court at the front. He is laughing at something the man behind the counter has said. Eudora isn’t surprised. She had him down as a joker as soon as she saw him. As he turns to leave, Eudora pretends to be interested in a display of jiffy bags. Stanley spots them nonetheless.
“Hello there,” he says.
“Mmm,” replies Eudora.
“Hello there,” echoes Rose.
“Is this your granddaughter then?” he asks, eyes sparkling at Rose.
“Good heavens, no,” says Eudora.
“We’re friends,” declares Rose.
Eudora is astonished. “Are we?”
“Aren’t we?” asks Rose.
“Of course you are. And how lucky you are too,” says Stanley.
“I’m Rose, by the way,” she says, holding out her hand.
Stanley takes it with a smile. “And I’m Stanley. Very pleased to make your acquaintance, Rose.”
Rose giggles.
Eudora has reached the front of the queue. “Excuse me,” she says, moving forward to the counter, irritated by their easy chatter.
“Bye, Stanley,” calls Rose over her shoulder before turning back to Eudora. “He was nice.”
“Mmm. Airmail to Switzerland, please,” Eudora tells the man. She notices he doesn’t joke with her. In fact, she can’t ever remember having had a conversation with him.
“Have you ever tried these?” asks Rose, plucking a bag of sweets from the display in front of the counter.
Eudora squints at the packet. “Haribo Cherries. No, I haven’t.”
“You should. They’re really nice.”
The man sticks a stamp and an airmail label to the envelope, placing it in the large gray sack behind him. “Anything else?”
No. Just this date with destiny, thank you, thinks Eudora.
She glances down at Rose. Her gaze is so open, as if she’s seeing the whole world for the first time. “May I have these too, please?” she says, picking up the sweets and showing them to the man. He flashes a grin at Rose and smiles at Eudora.
“That’s £7.79 in total, please.”
Eudora hands over a ten-pound note and carefully counts the change back into her purse. As they leave the post office, she hands Rose the sweets.
Rose stares up at her. “Thank you, Eudora.” The little girl opens the packet and offers it to her. “Try one.”
Eudora can’t get her fingers inside, so Rose carefully cups her hand and tips a sweet into her palm. Eudora is struck by the novel sensation of this child’s soft, warm touch. She puts the sweet into her mouth and is amazed. The flavor of cherry is strong and rather wonderful. “Thank you, Rose.”
“No, Eudora. Thank you.”
“Mind your backs, ladies,” says a voice. Eudora turns to see a postman hauling the large gray sack of letters and parcels he’s collected from the post office toward his waiting van. She watches as he flings it inside, pulls the door shut, and races off to his next stop. It’s a reassuring sight. The deed is done. All she can do now is wait.
1944
Quay Cottage, Cliff Road, Waldringfield, Suffolk
“Again, Dora,” demanded the small girl.
Eudora smiled and lifted the rickety wooden swing seat carefully to avoid the risk of splinters. “Ready?”
“Ready!”
Eudora let go, feeling heady with love as the air was filled with her sister’s ticklish laughter. The oak tree’s branches creaked as the swing flew back and forth and she felt the dappled sunlight kiss her face through whispering leaves. Eudora remembered being pushed on this swing by her father. She sent up a silent prayer for his safe return. His last letter had sounded positive.
I miss you, my darlings. I hope to be home soon.
Hope. That perfect word. Eudora embraced it like a talisman.
“Higher! Higher! Higher!”
Stella was a demanding child, but Eudora didn’t mind. She doted on her younger sibling, relishing the fact that her mother entrusted Stella to her care. Eudora also remembered the promise she’d made to her father before he left. It was as constant as the beating of her own heart.
Stella’s cries were increasing in pitch and intensity now. Her laughter had a piercing, hysterical edge. Eudora wondered if it might be wise to stop.
“Shall we take a break, Stella? Go inside and have a drink? It’s very hot out here.”
“Noooo, Dora! Noooo! Again! Again! Again!” shrieked Stella.
“What on earth is all this racket?”
Eudora winced at the sight of her mother, neck flushed scarlet, storming toward them, tea towel in hand. Some girls’ mothers completed their outfits with neck scarves or pearls. Eudora’s mother’s accessory of choice was a tea towel.
“Sorry, Mummy. We were just playing,” said Eudora. In this time of war, she took her role as peacekeeper very seriously. She was sure Mr. Churchill would approve.
Beatrice Honeysett eyed her daughters. Eudora noticed a softness around her mother’s eyes when her gaze was fixed on her, but it hardened as she turned her attention to Stella. She pointed a finger toward her youngest child.
“I don’t want to hear any fuss or shrieking from you, young lady. Don’t you know there’s a war on?”
Stella jutted out her chin and stared at her mother. Beatrice’s eyes narrowed at this gesture of open defiance, her breathing intensifying as she studied the child’s face. Eudora’s eyes flicked from one to the other and noticed her mother shrink slightly at Stella’s knife-sharp gaze—clear blue and as open as the wide Suffolk skies, a carbon copy of their father’s. Beatrice’s sadness quickly gave way to anger. Her fist tightened its grip on the tea towel as she began to whip it toward Stella.
“Wicked, wicked girl!” she cried.
Instead of inciting fear and shame as it might have done in Eudora, Stella squealed with mocking laughter, dodging both the tea towel and her mother’s fury, darting away toward the far end of the garden. Beatrice lurched forward, ready to follow, but Eudora caught hold of her.
“It’s all right, Mummy. It’s all right. I’ll look after her. You go and rest for a while. It’s so hot. We’re all just too hot.”
Beatrice’s eyes swam with tears as they fixed on her eldest daughter’s face. Eudora saw a never-ending pit of sorrow in that gaze. It frightened her.
I need you to be very brave and look after Mummy . . .
Eudora breathed in fresh courage from the memory as she searched for the right words. “It’s all right, Mummy. Daddy will be home soon. We can go back to London and everything will be all right.”