Tracie Peterson (42 page)

“Often we allow the things of this world to overwhelm us,” Sylvia agreed. Her voice sounded sad, almost regretful. “What changed your heart?”

“God did. Tonight I was supposed to trade food for parachute silk.”

“What happened?” Sylvia asked softly.

Clara waited for a feeling of regret to come over her and when it didn’t, she smiled. “I had the food, but I gave it away. I knew God wanted me to see that there were more important things. I couldn’t stand the fact that my dress was more important than starving children. I couldn’t believe the way I was acting.”

“You sound as though something quite important happened.”

“It did. Jeanine and I were headed with our food to one of the local bases. A man there was supposed to trade us. He was shipping out and found out they were going to miss Christmas dinner, so he promised me parachute silk if I would bring him a Christmas feast.” Clara smiled at Sylvia’s obvious interest. “I had the food donated by a couple of navy lieutenants who felt particularly generous. But then Jeanine and I saw these little children on the way out of town. Not one of them could have been over ten or twelve. They were heading down to the docks to beg food and such from the soldiers who were down there loading or waiting to load. I couldn’t stand it. At first I just wanted Jeanine to drive off before I changed my mind. I told her we didn’t have much time and I encouraged her to leave them.”

Sylvia dabbed her lips with a napkin. “You can’t hope to save the world.”

“That’s what I told myself. In fact, I reminded myself of that over and over, but I knew I could help these hungry children—at least for the time being. I had Jeanine turn back and I gave them the food. Sylvia, I have never felt better about any choice I’ve ever made. I know it was the right thing to do. I’m only sorry it took me more than a single thought to do it.”

“We all have to learn our lessons in life,” Sylvia replied. “Some are easy lessons. Some come very hard.”

“You sound as if you speak from experience,” Clara said, hoping the older woman would talk about herself.

“I do, indeed,” Sylvia admitted. “I lost my husband a dozen years ago after a battle with pneumonia. He was very important to me, but I didn’t realize it until after he was gone. I was too caught up in the society of good company and the things of this world. When my son joined the army and was later appointed a position of some importance in India, I suddenly realized how little time I’d spent with my
children. He was gone and it was understood that visits would be few and far between. I was left here with my daughter, Meredith, and I realized that I could spend the time doing for myself or doing for her. I chose the latter. I wish I had chosen that path much earlier in life.”

“I know what you mean,” Clara said, wishing now that she and Michael would have married while still in the States. “I don’t mean to pry, but it was said that your daughter had died. Can you talk about it?”

Sylvia gave her a sad little smile. “It hurts so much to think of her passing, yet talking about her is a joy. Meredith was much like you. She was happy and in love and planning a beautiful wedding to a man I completely approved of. I had taken her to London in order to gather a trousseau. We had a marvelous time shopping in spite of the war. You must remember, it was still fairly early and the heavy bombing of London and other cities had not yet come. Our last evening in London, I sent Meredith back to our flat while I went to dinner with friends. While at dinner, bombs began falling on London. The explosions were terrible and the fires and destruction were such as to leave us all quite stunned.” She fell silent for several moments.

“I don’t even remember how I made it back to the flat that night. I do remember the sight of the rubble that had once been my home. Meredith had died when bombs destroyed the entire block of flats.”

“I’m terribly sorry,” Clara said, not able to comprehend the horror of returning home to find your child dead.

Sylvia nodded. “It was a bleak time, to be certain. God was my only sustaining element. He kept me going when I had no will of my own.”

“He’s like that,” Clara said softly. “I know I’ve not had to suffer anywhere near your loss, but His love has seen me through many bad times. I know that after Michael is sent to Europe, God will still be my rock of support.”

“It is a fearsome time to endure,” Sylvia replied.

“There’s such a feeling of desperation among both soldiers and civilians. I see it whenever I’m out on the town or among the troops. I hear it in their voices and see it in their eyes. I wish I could share
something more than doughnuts and coffee. I wish I could give them peace of heart and mind.”

“It would be wonderful if such things as peace and love could be handed out like doughnuts,” Sylvia agreed.

“If they could,” Clara replied, “we’d never see an end to our day.”

“This message came for you while you were at Sylvia’s,” Jeanine said as Clara came into the room.

Exhausted but feeling marvelous from her respite with the older Englishwoman, Clara took up the note, read it, then relayed the message to Jeanine. “Michael says we’re to be married tomorrow evening. He can’t get here before then. He wants me to pick the place and be ready. He’s bringing the base chaplain with him.” She grinned over the note at Jeanine. “Sounds like an army sergeant giving out orders instead of a sweet-tempered doctor.”

“Just think, after tomorrow you’ll be Mrs. Michael Shepherd,” Jeanine said romantically. “Oh, that reminds me. We’re going to have a cake. It won’t be big, but we’re going to have one.”

Clara felt blessed by her friend’s concern and attentiveness. “Jeanine, you are so sweet to arrange a cake.”

“That’s not all. Madeline wants to arrange your hair, and Darlene said you may borrow her cream-colored suit. It isn’t a wedding gown, but it’s as close as we could come. Darlene is also going to try to find some hothouse flowers for the ceremony.”

Clara felt her eyes dampen. “You are all so kind to me.”

Jeanine smiled and put her arm around Clara. “So where are we having this soirée?”

“Mrs. Clarke has offered her home,” Clara said. “I hadn’t really given any thought as to where we might marry, but tonight over dinner she suggested we come there. She wants to throw us a party afterward. She told me to invite everyone.”

“Wonderful! What a grand time. We’ll party all night.”

“Not me,” Clara said, her thoughts drifting to a night spent in Michael’s arms. “I have plans.”

Christmas Eve dawned cloudy and cold. The gloomy overcast might have dimmed the spirits of a less-determined woman, but Clara didn’t care. She felt overwhelmed with joy at the prospect of marrying the man she loved. How good God had been to work through all the details for her.

Humming Christmas carols and thinking of how it might be back home, Clara was unprepared when Jeanine burst into the room. “Look what I found downstairs.”

“What is it?” Clara questioned, seeing several small boxes and envelopes atop a larger box. “Oh!” she squealed in recognition. “It’s mail!” For weeks Clara had received no mail at all. Anna Nelson had told her this was typical, but it certainly did nothing to bolster Clara’s spirits.

“These are all for you,” Jeanine declared. “I’ll bet there are Christmas presents in the boxes.”

Clara laughed and pointed her friend to the bed. “Let’s open them and see.”

The two young women giggled like schoolgirls as Clara tore into the largest box. “Oh, look! My mother remembered! Peanut butter and crackers. Oh, how marvelous.” Clara pulled the items from the box and continued the search. “And cookies and look, Jeanine!” She held up a box of candy. “Chocolates!”

“I’ve died and gone to heaven,” Jeanine replied.

“She has three presents in here that she says I should wait until Christmas morning to open,” Clara said, looking at a brief note that had accompanied the box. “But I can’t wait.” She grinned mischievously at Jeanine. “Besides, it says, I
should
wait. Not that I have to wait.”

Jeanine giggled. “Open them!”

Clara ripped at the paper covering the largest of the three gifts. Inside, Clara found a white box and opened it to reveal a hand-embroidered white nightgown. “Oh, would you look at this!” Clara held it up against her and gently touched the delicate embroidery. “My mother made this. I just know it.”

“It’s wonderful and perfect timing too,” Jeanine said, grinning. “You can use this for your honeymoon.”

“Not that there’s going to be much time for one,” Clara said wistfully. “I wish I could wake up and find that we’re all safe back home in Longview. I wish this war was nothing more than a bad dream, but I know it can’t be so.”

Jeanine patted her arm reassuringly. “I can’t help but believe everything will be all right. It just has that feel to it.”

Clara hoped her friend was right. She wanted to believe that Michael would be safe and that even if he left as planned, he would soon rejoin her.

Jeanine eyed the nightgown thoughtfully and lightly fingered the material. “Too bad it’s so thin or you could just get married in this.”

Clara laughed. “Oh, and wouldn’t my mother be delighted at that prospect.”

Jeanine shrugged. “It was just a thought. So open the next package.”

Clara put aside the gown and nodded. The next package contained soft white slippers. “These will help to ward off the cold,” she said, holding them up.

“Did your mother make those as well?”

“Looks like it,” Clara said, noting the duplicated embroidery on the footwear.

“So what’s in the next one?”

Clara opened the next package and found a bottle of her favorite perfume. “Well, my Christmas is complete. I got everything I wanted.”

“Including Michael,” Jeanine teased.

Clara smiled. “Especially Michael.”

Clara went through the other mail. There were odds and ends of notes and Christmas wishes from home. Her grandparents had sent lace-edged handkerchiefs, and her sister Natalie had sent her a photograph of her family and a stationery set. There was film for the camera from her aunt and uncle who lived in California and a book of poetry from an old girlfriend back home who figured Clara was probably bored to tears being stuck in war-torn England. Clara smiled at the thought of boredom. There was never much time to be anything but tired and overwhelmed.

“I have the dress,” Darlene said, popping into the room carrying a cream-colored suit.

Clara put her mail aside and eyed the outfit. It was a simple wool
suit with a snug bodice that flared out at the waist. The skirt was straight and would be just a bit short, as Clara had at least two inches on Darlene. It wasn’t what she had hoped for, but it would suffice.

“Thank you, Darlene. I appreciate having something to wear other than my Class A’s.”

“And look what she has for the wedding night,” Jeanine teased, holding up the white gown.

“Oooh,” Darlene exclaimed. “That’s beautiful. Wherever did you get it?”

“My mother sent it for Christmas. I’m pretty sure she made it.”

“Tell her to make me one too,” Darlene said, hanging the suit in Clara’s closet before coming over for a closer inspection.

“Oh, good, you’re all in here,” Madeline said, coming through the door. “I have this picture of Rita Hayworth. I think we should fix your hair like this for the wedding.”

After that, the focus was clearly on getting Clara ready for the event of her life. Anna Nelson appeared only briefly to offer her blessing and to release all four girls to spend the day with Mrs. Clarke. They thanked her profusely, and Clara even received a small gift of sonnets from her supervisor.

“It’s just a little gift for your wedding,” Anna said, trying hard not to become overly sentimental. “Now, go on with you. All of you.”

The girls gathered up their things and hurried over to Mrs. Clarke’s with such abandonment and joy that the war was nearly forgotten.

“Oh, ladies, do come inside. You’ll catch your death of cold out here,” Sylvia said as she opened the door for them. It was unusual to find Sylvia answering her own door. “I just happened to see you coming down the lane. What a merry group of maids you make.”

“We’ve come to prepare Clara for her wedding,” Jeanine announced.