The Chase: A Novel (40 page)

“You didn’t change.”

She remained in her uniform. “Eddy. . .” she began, wringing her hands.

He just looked at her. A beam of moonlight illuminated one side of his face.

“I. . . I. . . I hate doing this—”

“You should have told me right away,” he said abruptly. “But I still don’t believe it.” He was harsh.

Rachel was confused. “What are you talking about?”

“Joshua Friedman.”

She gasped in surprise.

He peered more closely at her. “Isn’t that what you were going to say? That you can’t see me because of your fiancé?”

“We’re not engaged,” she managed. “I meant to tell you, but. . .” She stopped.

“But what?”

She said truthfully, “It just didn’t seem to matter.”

“I don’t understand. Lionel said the two of you have an understanding, and that you will get married after the war.”

Lionel! Rachel found herself taking his arm. “Lionel likes to make trouble, I think. I . . . it’s not Joshua.”

“What? What do you mean?”

She wished she could see him better. “It’s Papa,” she cried. “He’s forbidden me to see you ever again!”

Eddy stared, and then, before she knew it, she was in his arms. He was not wearing his sling, she realized. “Do you love Joshua Friedman?” he asked.

“No,” she returned, hardly able to breathe.

“Are you supposed to marry him?”

“Papa wants it,” she said honestly, becoming acutely aware of how impossibly good it felt to be held this way, in his strong embrace.

“I think I see. You didn’t tell me about him.” His gaze was searching hers.

“When we were together, I forgot about him,” she whispered.

Slowly, he began to smile. “Do you love me, Rachel?”

She bit her lip and slowly nodded. “God help me, I do.”

His smile broadened, and he swept her up against his chest—which was astonishing in its hardness—and covered her mouth with his.

Rachel was electrified; and then his lips were asking hers to open, and they did, and his tongue was inside her mouth, and she was amazed, and she felt as if they were spiraling way up into space, far above the clouds and the earth.

Eddy broke the kiss. He stroked her hair. “No more Joshua,” he said. “You’re my girl now.”

For one instant, elation swept her even farther above the atmosphere—perhaps to heaven itself—and then she came back to earth with a thud. “Eddy. No. There’s Papa,” she said.

“God,” he said.

“I have never disobeyed him in my life,” Rachel whispered, still in the circle of Eddy’s arms. “I have never broken his trust.”

He studied her. “Do you want to stay on base?”

Rachel nodded, since she didn’t have permission to leave.

He slid his arm around her and they walked back through the gates, Eddy showing his ID as they did so. “We have to talk about this, Rachel,” he said. “You can’t be Daddy’s little girl forever.”

“It’s not so simple,” Rachel returned, at once ecstatic and miserable. “Even now, I am betraying Papa by being with you.”

He halted and cupped her face in his hands. “Look. Where there is a will, there is a way.”

Rachel tried to smile. “I want to believe you.”

“Then believe, Rachel.”

She searched his eyes and she believed. Rachel nodded and smiled.

Relief filled his gaze. “How about a coffee in the canteen?”

Rachel knew what he meant by “canteen,” and she nodded. “The NAAFI is to our right,” she said.

They headed that way, walking past several large barracks and several groups of airmen and WAAFs. “I happen to be a catch,” Eddy said with a smile. “I come from a good family, I have a good job, a solid future. Maybe in time your father will come to see me in a different light.”

Rachel didn’t think so. “What did you do before the war?” She realized she didn’t even know how old he was. “How old are you, Eddy?”

He laughed. “I’m twenty-two, Angel.” He hesitated. “This is off the record, hon. Okay?”

She blinked at him. “You mean what you are telling me is a secret?” His slang was endearing.

“Well, we don’t need to advertise, because it might affect my relationships in the squadron. I’m squad leader, Rach. The guys look up to me. There can’t be any doubt. When you’re flying against the sun, you have to trust your wing-mates completely—one hundred and ten percent.”

“I understand,” she said, wondering where this would lead.

“I graduated from NYU a year ago—a year early, in fact. I skipped a year in high school,” he added. “I have a B.A. in political science.”

“NYU,” Rachel said. “Is that a university in New York?”

“Yeah. It’s a pretty good school.” He shrugged. “My family doesn’t have money. We’re like your family, hardworking, decent. I got a partial scholarship and I worked a part-time job to get through. And I had some help from Uncle Sam.”

“The government?”

“As a sophomore, I was recruited by the FBI,” he said. “They helped pay the bills.”

Rachel stared at him.

“Of course, I quit the bureau when I decided to fight Hitler.” He smiled at her. “But my old job’s waiting for me when I get home.”

Rachel didn’t know very much about the FBI, but she knew it was some kind of investigative government agency. She didn’t know whether to be proud of him or afraid for him. “Is it a dangerous job?” she asked carefully.

He was pulling a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. He offered her one. Rachel declined—she didn’t smoke. “Do you mind?” he asked.

“No.”

He lit up. “Hon, after this war, my answer’s got to be no.”

Rachel studied him. She wasn’t reassured. “You like danger,” she suddenly said. “You like living on the edge.”

He slid his arm around her as they continued to walk. “Would it bother you terribly if I said yes?”

She hesitated, thinking about it. “No. It’s who you are. It’s part of what makes you so exciting.”

“I like that,” he said, and he tossed his cigarette aside, but only so he could sweep her into his arms for a very long and even more thorough kiss. Rachel was shaking and boneless by the time he was done.

“Wow,” Eddy said.

Rachel smiled. “Can I second that?”

He laughed. Suddenly he gave her a look. “Hey, what are you reading?”

“What?”

He repeated the question.

“I’m reading Somerset Maugham,” she said with puzzlement.

“No Tolstoy?”

What was this about?
Rachel wondered. “I’ve read
Anna Karenina
three times.”

Now he smiled. Then his expression changed. “Rachel, about your cousin Lionel,” he began. “He seems a bit strange and—” He was cut off.

Somewhere not far away, a series of huge explosions sounded.

Eddy pushed Rachel to the side of the building, covering her body with his. In unison, they turned to locate the origin of the sound. Beyond the base, somewhere to the southeast, the night was on fire—the sky red and aglow—illuminating the skyline of London and St. Paul’s tall spire. More explosions sounded, one after another, and as it struck Rachel just what was happening, they saw the sky brighten again and again, the circle of fire expanding. Air-raid sirens began screaming.

“They’re bombing London,” Eddy said, stunned. “The frigging Gerries are bombing the city!”

Rachel stood immobilized with disbelief as the sirens continued to scream belatedly, and as more explosions thundered, ripping apart the night.

CHAPTER 18

London had been attacked.
What was worse, the news traveled like wildfire, and by the time Rachel was dismissed, she knew that the areas where the bombs had hit included her own neighborhood. Rumor had it that the old church at Cripplegate had been destroyed. Other neighborhoods had been attacked as well—Islington, Finchley, Stepney, Tottenham, and Bethnal Green.

Rachel hitched a ride in a supply truck that was passing through London. She was no longer in shock, but she was afraid. She kept reminding herself that the odds of her own home having been struck were low. But all she could think of was Hannah and Papa, who would have been in their beds last night when the bombs fell. And what if Sarah had decided to go home last night?

She squeezed her eyes closed. Many children had been evacuated to the safer area of the countryside early in the war. Some had returned, not liking it, others had stayed in their foster families. She, Papa, and Sarah had decided that Hannah could stay in the city. Now she was determined to see her little sister placed in a safe home.

She was so afraid
.

Rachel stared out of her window. The effects of the bombing were everywhere. She saw the rubble of crumbled buildings and stores as the supply truck passed through Islington. Pubs and cafés had been hit and destroyed. Fires still burned in places, although sporadically; the fire squads and AFS had put out all of the larger infernos. Rescue squads were working the rubble, and ambulances were parked haphazardly by the bombed-out sectors, awaiting the arrival of the wounded and the dead. In certain areas soldiers patrolled and checked ID, in others, the Home Guard. And at every site of devastation, civilians were apparent, men too old to be in the Guard, women too old to be in the ATF or so young they had babies in their arms, and boys and girls too old to have been evacuated outside of the city. Some loitered; others were digging through the rubble to help the overtaxed rescue squads.

“I can swing by your house, Rachel, if you like,” Sergeant Thomas said.

“That would be great,” Rachel whispered.

“Damn Nazis,” he said.

Ten minutes later the truck was cruising past the synagogue on Whitechapel High Street. Amazingly, the tiny, beautiful temple where Hannah went to school, and where she and her family worshiped, was still erect. The buildings on either side of it were demolished.

“I’ll get out here,” Rachel said.

She wasn’t even aware of the truck stopping, saying good-bye, or getting out of the cab. Rescue workers were going through the rubble with a “sniffer.” A dozen civilians watched, gentile and Jew alike. An old grocery truck converted into an ambulance was parked at the curb, awaiting victims; a warden was directing the traffic around it. A housewife with the WVS was handing tired workers cups of tea from a makeshift stand.

“Rachel?”

At the sound of Sarah’s voice, she jerked and saw her sister sitting in the ambulance. She was the driver, and another woman Rachel knew, Felicia, sat beside her in the passenger seat. They were both in their navy blue ATF uniforms. Rachel ran over to the cab and gripped the door, as Sarah had her window rolled down.

Sarah stepped out, and they embraced briefly but hard. “Are you all right?” Sarah asked. She appeared exhausted. There were circles beneath her eyes, and her cheeks were very pale.

Rachel nodded. She wondered if she was as red-eyed as her sister. “Papa and Hannah? Have you seen them? Are they all right?”

“They’re fine. Our block is fine. The Goldbergs were hit, Rachel. The roof collapsed, the house was entirely destroyed. Rescue squads are there now, trying to dig the Goldbergs out.” Sarah’s voice broke on the last note.

Rachel managed to digest the news about their neighbors, who lived two blocks away. They were an elderly couple, with married children who had moved away. “They’re both missing?” she whispered.

Sarah nodded, then said viciously, “Hitler swore he’d never bomb the city! Damn those bloody Nazis!”

Rachel had to close her eyes, and the sisters clung together again.

“How was it last night at Command HQ?” Sarah asked hoarsely. Tears had filled her eyes.

Rachel hesitated, then gave her a look that she knew Sarah understood. She had confided in Sarah when she was transferred into the Y unit. Very low, she said, “There’s a new code word. We are working around the clock to figure out what it signifies.”

Sarah nodded. “You will figure it out. We are the best of the best.” She smiled bravely at Rachel, then her smile crumbled. “It’s been non-stop since midnight. It seems like there’s no end to the wounded, although right now we’re pulling out more corpses than anything else.”

Rachel took her hand and squeezed it.

The ARP warden suddenly came up to them. “That’s it, Sarah. Everyone’s accounted for. No bodies here.” He was grim, and like Sarah, he appeared dirty and exhausted. Rachel saw that the crews were breaking up.

Sarah jumped back into the cab of the ambulance. “I have to go.” The radio within the cab was crackling, and Felicia picked it up.

Rachel froze. “Sarah? Today is Shabbat.”

Sarah turned on the ignition. “God will forgive me,” she said.

Rachel realized what was happening and gasped, “But Papa won’t!”

Sarah shot her a grim and tired smile, backing away from the curb. Rachel had no choice but to step aside as the ambulance roared past her. She was aghast.

No one was at home. It was almost six o’clock—they still had two good hours before sundown. On a normal day, their dinner would be simmering on the stove, as no cooking was allowed once the sun set. But there was nothing on the stove now.

Rachel could guess where Hannah and Papa were. Still a bit shocked that Sarah had chosen to completely break with tradition, she hurried outside and around the block. The scene of devastation at the Goldbergs’ was every bit as terrible as she had imagined. Their house had been reduced to dust, rubble, and pieces of charred and scorched wood. As Rachel approached, she saw Mrs. Goldberg being carried into an ambulance on a stretcher. She was alive; her eyes were open and she was trying to speak.

Papa was with her, accompanying the gurney on its way to the waiting ambulance. He was trying to soothe her.

Rachel scanned the scene and located Hannah behind a small card table that contained a Soyer Boiler and several thermoses. She was working with a WVS volunteer, offering tea and lemonade to the various workers. Rachel smiled a little at the sight of her urchin sister, and she ran over to hug her.

Rachel stroked her unruly hair. “I am so relieved that you and Papa are all right,” Rachel said. “I could hardly think of anything else all night and all day!”

“Don’t cry, Rachel,” Hannah said, tugging on her hand. “It was just one of those nasty bombs. From now on, Papa said we’ll sleep in the shelter.” A year and a half ago they had put an Anderson shelter in their backyard, but they had never used it, as it was so cramped and uncomfortable.