The Chase: A Novel (41 page)

Rachel sniffed and nodded, holding back her tears with an effort as Papa came over. She took one look at him and knew something was wrong. “Papa?”

“Let’s go home,” he said with a sigh. His overalls were covered with dirt and dust. There was even a bloodstain on one thigh. “It’s over, Rachel-lay, and we have Friday-night dinner to make.”

“Can I stay and help Millie clean up?” Hannah asked.

Rachel guessed that Millie was the woman with the WVS. Papa nodded, and Hannah ran back to the woman, who was packing up her things on the tea stand.

Papa took Rachel’s hand. Her heart began to beat with unease as she looked at his grim profile. He said, not looking at her, “Saul is dead.”

Rachel was stunned. She could hardly think. She had always known the Goldbergs, and now Saul Goldberg was dead . . . killed by a German bomb.

They had been at war for almost a year, but until the summer, it had been a “phony” war, and until now all of the fighting had been in the air or out at sea. In fact, the ones who had been dying were the pilots, and as horrible as that was, the only pilot she knew was Eddy. There had been very few civilian casualties thus far.

For the first time since Britain had gone to war, Rachel knew someone who had died. The war had finally come home.

They walked home in silence.

In the kitchen they methodically began to put together a meal. Papa took lard and soup bones out of the icebox, while Rachel went into the garden for carrots and string beans. When she returned to the kitchen, Papa said, setting a kettle to boil, “Sarah is late. It’s almost seven.”

Rachel did not look at him, but every muscle in her body tensed as she went into the pantry for an onion, potatoes, and flour. She said, “Sarah is working tonight.”

Papa faced her as she came out. “If Sarah does not come home tonight, she will never be welcome in this house again.”

“Papa!” Rachel dropped the potatoes on the kitchen table, or perhaps she threw them down. “It’s a war, Papa. God will forgive her,” she cried, using Sarah’s own words. “Why can’t you?”

Papa’s face was set. “Because my daughter is a whore.” He looked ready to cry.

Rachel froze. Had she just heard what she thought she had?

Papa turned back to the stove. His shoulders were shaking.

Rachel ran to him. “How could you say such a thing? Sarah is beautiful and brave, Papa. More women should be like her!”

He did not look at her. “Do you take me for a fool, Rachel?” he asked wearily.

Rachel did not know what to do. In fact, she wasn’t even certain that Sarah was a virgin, so she did not dare get into that. She said, “Please allow Sarah to save the lives of Hitler’s innocent victims tonight. Please.”

Papa did not answer. He was peeling carrots, the skins flying wildly across the kitchen counter.

“Please, Papa. For me.”

He stiffened and his hands stilled. And he nodded.

Rachel sagged against the counter, flooded with relief. She said a prayer of thanks to God, for surely, this once, he had been listening.

The telephone rang.

It was automatic—both Rachel and Papa looked at the clock on the wall, as the phone could not be answered once the sun went down. It was seven-fifteen. Rachel raced to the phone to answer it, already knowing who it was.

“Eddy,” she cried, realizing too late that Papa was present.

“Rachel. Are you okay?” he asked quickly.

“Of course, I’m fine!”

“Is your family okay?”

“Yes, we’re fine. And you?”

“Thank God,” he said, relief evident in his tone. “I called the base the moment I had a chance, and they said you’d gone home, and I was afraid something had happened to your family.”

Love filled her chest, making it almost impossible to breathe. But in the next breath, she had an inkling, one she did not like, not at all. “Tell me you’re not flying?”

“Honey, I had to go up. A fractured wrist isn’t going to stop me. My squadron wasn’t going up without me, Rach. I’m the squad leader.”

“So now your wrist is fractured?” she said, aghast.

“Well, it’s hairline, which means it’s no big deal. Take heart. By the time we got up, the Gerries were halfway across the channel. We couldn’t catch them, and you know we’re a lot faster than they are.”

Rachel wanted to beg him to stay on the ground until his wrist had healed. Papa said, “Rachel. Today is Shabbat.” There was tremendous censure in his tone.

“Eddy, this is a bad time for us to talk. It’s a holy day.”

“I understand,” he said, and he hesitated.

There was something about his silence that filled her with dread. “What is it?” she asked quickly.

“Damn. Rachel . . . my squadron’s being transferred to the south. We leave tomorrow.”

“What?” Rachel reeled as if struck. “Transferred—where? Why?”

“The war is heating up. Hitler attacked London, Rach. Innocent people were killed last night. Customers leaving the cinema. Men and women leaving the pubs. This was an attack upon innocent civilians, not factories or airfields or munitions or supplies. We’re being moved closer to the action.”

“Where are they transferring you?” Rachel whispered, unable to fight the anguish. They had only just met. They had only begun to fall in love. They needed more time. Just a little more time . . .

“Tangmere.”

“Tangmere?” Rachel echoed. Tangmere was in the south. It wasn’t far from Portsmouth. It was so far away from her . . . .

“Rachel, we have dinner to make,” Papa said sternly.

Rachel didn’t even look at him. She was frantic now. She turned her back on her father. “But when will I see you again?” she asked. “You’re leaving
tomorrow
?”

“Rachel, I will find a way. It might be a few weeks, but as soon as I have the chance, I’ll take a leave and come up to London. I promise.”

Terror overcame her. He would forget about her. Find someone else. Or worse, he would be hurt, killed, and she would never see him again.

He was flying with a fractured wrist.

“Eddy, you don’t have to do this. Your wrist—”

His tone changed. “We’re short of pilots, and you know it.”

She did know it. “I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want you to worry,” he said, his tone easing. “Not about me and not about us.” Then he added, a smile in his voice, “I’m in charge of all the worrying around here.”

Rachel had to smile a little, but she couldn’t speak.

“I have to go, and I know I’m holding you up. I’ll write as soon as I get settled in. And I’ll call.”

He would write. He would call. Rachel felt tears sliding down her cheeks. She knew she should not be so selfish, this was war. But she remained terrified that she had lost him when she had discovered him only a few days ago.

“Rachel, are you there?”

“Yes,” she managed.

“I love you,” he said. There was no hesitation.

She didn’t hesitate, either. “I love you, too.” And she knew Eddy was smiling as he hung up.

Rachel gripped the phone to her breast. It was as if he had already gone.

But he hadn’t left. He wasn’t leaving until the morning.

There was always tonight
.

But it was Shabbat. Rachel hung up the phone, and there was no internal debate. There was no choice. Slowly, she turned.

“So I’ve lost you, too,” Papa said, his eyes finding and holding hers.

“No, Papa. You haven’t lost me, and you never will.” Rachel went to him and kissed his cheek. “Let’s finish making dinner,” she said.

Rachel walked the distance from the underground station to the entrance to Biggin Hill. It was late, and there were no vehicles on the road for her to get a lift. It had taken her nearly two hours to get to her destination—it was almost midnight. She hadn’t realized that this air station was so far from London. On the map it seemed much closer.

The base was, of course, blacked out. It loomed ahead of her, indistinct and shadowy. The gates were closed. Security guards stood in front of them, two vague human shadows. Another guard would be seated in the security booth behind the closed gates, but Rachel could distinguish only the booth and not the soldier inside. As Rachel approached, she heard planes overhead. She looked up. A squadron was taking off. Against a panoply of stars, the dark silhouettes gleamed silver, streaking up into the night.

Eddy could be in one of those planes. On the other hand, his squadron was being transferred in the morning—he wouldn’t fly now unless it was an emergency and most of 11 Group was scrambling.

The two guards eyed her and shone a flashlight on her briefly as she paused before them. She wasn’t in her uniform, so they did not mistake her for one of their own WAAFs. “Can we help you, miss?”

This was the hard part, Rachel knew. She swallowed down her apprehension—she had come this far, defying both Papa and God to do so—she could not back down now. “Would you please tell Eddy Marshall that I’m here?”

The guards looked at each other. “Do you have a pass?”

Rachel shook her head.

They looked at each other, slyly now. “So you want to see Hawk, eh?”

“Please,” she said imploringly. “He’s being transferred tomorrow. If he hasn’t scrambled, he’ll see me, I know he will.”

The guard looked doubtful. His buddy jabbed him. “She seems upset, Frank. Might as well give him a ring.”

“Thank you,” Rachel said.

Ten minutes later, as she stood outside the closed gates, Eddy appeared, hurrying toward her from the other side, clad in trousers and a bomber jacket. He was carrying a small penlight, shining it downward. “Rachel!” He broke into a run. “Open the damn gates,” he shouted.

The guards hurried to obey, pushing open the big wire gates. Eddy caught her in both arms, crushing her to his chest, in spite of the sling he was once again wearing. Rachel held on to him as if her life depended on it.

He set her back an inch or so, so he could look down at her face. “I don’t know what possessed you, but I love you for it,” he said. “I really missed you.” And he kissed her for a long time.

The guards cheered and whistled.

Being in his arms again felt like the best thing that had ever happened to her.

“Damn,” Eddy said, appearing flushed as he broke off the kiss.

Rachel was flustered, out of breath. “I had to come. I missed you, too.”

“But it’s Shabbat,” he said, peering at her closely in the dark. “I did some reading . . . it’s a big deal. You’ve broken the law or something.”

“It’s a covenant with God. I think he’ll understand,” Rachel murmured, as they remained thigh to thigh and chest to chest.

Eddy just stared at her. Then he took her hand and kissed it. “I am glad you did this, Rachel.”

“Me, too.” And she was. Because she was so afraid of what the war might bring. This time there not only hadn’t been any choice, there hadn’t been any conflict, either. But she would not lie to Papa.

It was as if he read her mind. They started walking along the road, away from the entrance to Biggin Hill. “What will you tell your father?”

“The truth.” She hesitated. He was already heartbroken over Sarah, and now he would be over her as well. “Let’s not talk about Papa now. Please. We have this one night.”

“I am in complete agreement,” he said. “But there’ll be more nights, Rachel. More nights and more days.”

Rachel prayed that he was right. She had never been a pessimist before. Her worry frightened her now. “You’re wearing your sling.”

“It hurts a bit,” he admitted.

“How many sorties did you fly today?” she asked, trying not to be critical.

He hesitated, as if debating whether or not he should tell her the truth. “Six.”

“Eddy,” she whispered, dismayed. But the squadrons were all flying round the clock.

“Honey, what can I do? My men need me. They’re exhausted, demoralized. We’ve lost so many pilots,” he said, lowering his voice to a whisper. Suddenly he stopped and faced her. “The Luftwaffe just seem to keep on coming, their numbers just don’t seem to be diminishing. My boys need a break. But they’re not going to get one. I can’t stay down.”

It was the first time she had ever heard fatigue, frustration, even anguish, in his tone. “Are you scared up there?” she whispered.

He smiled a little. “You know what they say—only fools feel no fear.”

“I’m so proud of you,” she said, more than meaning it.

“I’m proud of you, too.”

They smiled at each other and leaned on the split-rail fence of the property they were standing on. A farmhouse seemed to be in the distance. Rachel could hear the bell of a cow. Eddy slid off his jacket, tossing it over the railing.

“Can I smoke?” he asked.

“You never have to ask,” Rachel said, not quite sure she meant it.

He laughed. “Angel, I will always ask.” He lit up and inhaled deeply. “You know, it was a mistake.”

“What was a mistake?” She was so happy that they were together. She also leaned on the rail, not caring if she tore her pale pink cardigan.

“The bombing of London. Two of the Luftwaffe pilots lost their way, can you believe it?” He leaned more heavily on the fence. “And they were running out of fuel, of course.” Everyone knew that the German bombers only had about ten minutes at most of flying time once they reached the British coast.

“They had no choice but to drop their bombs, lighten up, and race for home. What crap,” Eddy said with heat. Then he looked at her. “I curse too much, don’t I?”

“It’s all right,” Rachel said softly.

Eddy lapsed into silence. Rachel didn’t mind. She could hear crickets singing now, and one of the cows sighing. The breeze was soft, warm, almost balmy. It was a beautiful night.

If only this moment would last forever
, she thought.

“How well do you know your cousin?” Eddie suddenly asked, stubbing his cigarette out on the railing.

Rachel started. “Lionel? Not well. I’ve spoken to him only a dozen times in my entire life.”

“Why? Because his family is a bunch of snobs and your family is Jewish?” Eddie asked.

Rachel blinked. “Yes, that’s exactly why.”

“Have you ever seen his photography?” he asked.

“His what?” She was surprised by the question.