A shiver rippled the hairs on his arms. ‘Their homes have been bombed?’
Marching forward, she said, ‘Most of London has been hit by bombs. Most of England.’
Dale didn’t have a response for that. Couldn’t have said the bombing was over either. If Hitler had his way, it wouldn’t be over until there was nothing left of London. Of England. Of most of the world.
They had rounded the building again. While woods had been the backdrop of the garden on the other two sides, this side showed the Nissen huts, tents and other structures of the base. For a moment he’d almost forgotten they’d been walking around the huge headquarter building. A few months ago, it had been an all girls’ school. The transformation had taken place, but it still seemed odd to imagine that not so long ago, rather than hundreds of soldiers, the grounds had been covered with giggling girls.
News of the war had filled the papers and airways back home, but until he’d arrived, seen the destruction firsthand, he’d been detached from the actual tragedy that was taking place in certain spots of the world. Those over here, like Kathryn, hadn’t been. They’d been living it. Still were.
They walked in silence along that side of the building, all the way to the corner and then around the front towards where her bicycle stood.
A B-25 was coming in for a landing, the one he’d worked on earlier and sent the pilot out to put it to the test. New equipment and instructions arrived regularly and it was his job to try out new ideas on various planes, report to others what worked and what didn’t. Most of it had to do with conserving fuel. The planes needed to fly a considerable distance and back, and every drop of fuel counted.
The ground beneath them rumbled. He was used to that and the noise, but to others, the roar of those engines was considered deafening.
Although she’d tucked her chin to her chest and was cringing at the noise, Kathryn watched as the bomber touched down and then rolled up the runway.
‘That’s the same plane that—’
‘Yes, it is,’ he admitted.
She lifted her chin. ‘Do you fly those?’
‘Mainly, I work on them,’ he answered. ‘But that also means I’ll fly them when I have to. The pilot flying that one is Rooster Robins. He was at the school with me today.’ He left out the part that Rooster had been flying it the other day, too, and that the pilot knew nothing about the mishap.
‘Passing out chewing gum.’ The pinch of her lips was back, saying she didn’t approve.
‘We hoped it would make the kids listen. Our Commander received word of Air Raid Wardens in London catching children, mainly young boys, collecting shrapnel, shell caps and fins, and all sorts of other pieces of bombs. One report said a pair of brothers had a complete incendiary bomb hidden in their outhouse. Groups of us went out to all of the schools within a thirty-mile radius today to warn the children to stay away from any shrapnel. That every piece is dangerous. We sent warning letters home with all of the students, instructing every adult to use caution, too.’
‘And you sent this home,’ she said, once again handing him the envelope.
He’d had Marilyn type up the letter, thinking if it looked official, Kathryn, or at least Norman, would accept the money. A good sort, and always willing to help, Marilyn was also trying to locate Ralph for him.
‘I can’t take it, Miss Winslow,’ he said. ‘I’ve already told you that. Buy the children some more chewing gum with it, or other candy, they were excited with the pieces we passed out.’
* * *
Kathryn squeezed the envelope harder. He had to take it. She didn’t want his money. Didn’t want anything to do with him. She was flustered, too. Both by her behaviour—walking the garden path with him should not have happened—and by his actions. Asking all those questions about her and the children. She shouldn’t have answered those questions. And he shouldn’t have told her about loving rain. No one loves rain. Furthermore, it was easier not to like him when she knew nothing about him, other than he was just a man. One of many.
Pulling her thoughts back to where they belonged, she said, ‘There are no other sweets to be purchased, Mr Johnson. The only people with such luxuries are you American soldiers.’
‘Then buy something else they need. There has to be something—’
He stopped in order to turn around at someone shouting, ‘Sarge!’
‘Excuse me,’ he said, turning to her before turning about again and jogging over to meet the man running towards them. The same one who’d been driving the Jeep the other day.
Warning bells went off inside her as she noted other men quickly gathering around Dale. He pointed in several directions, as if giving orders before he and the man she recognised started walking towards her.
‘Corporal Sanders will give you a ride—’
‘What’s happened?’ Kathryn interrupted.
‘Nothing for you to worry about,’ he said. ‘Corporal, get her bike.’
Her heart was in her throat. ‘Is it the Germans?’
‘No, Miss Winslow, it’s not the Germans, it has nothing to do with them, but I need to go.’ He gestured towards the other man already wheeling her bike across the pavement. ‘Corporal Sanders will give you a ride home.’ He then touched the brim of his hat. ‘Good day.’
She didn’t have time to say more, he was already running towards another car park that held several Jeeps and lorries. Others were running, too, jumping in the vehicles.
Before she had time to contemplate what she should do, a Jeep pulled up next to her. She shook her head. ‘I don’t need a ride.’
‘Sarge said to give you a ride home and I can’t disobey a direct order. Name’s Rusty Sanders. Corporal Rusty Sanders. Go ahead and climb in, I already have your bike in the back.’
The young man had found a way to make her bicycle fit behind the seats. Sort of. The front tyre hung halfway out of the Jeep, but it appeared secure enough not to fall out.
She tucked the envelope she was still clutching into her pocket while nodding towards a line of vehicles already exiting the base. ‘What’s happening?’
‘Rooster, that’s one of the pilots,’ Corporal Sanders said, ‘saw a barn on fire when he was coming in for landing.’
‘A barn? Near here?’ She climbed into the Jeep. ‘Whose?’
‘Don’t know. It’s not too far away. Sarge is taking a unit out to help put it out.’ Pointing towards the vehicles, Sanders said, ‘Those are water-tank trucks. They are always ready to go put out a fire.’
‘Why?’
‘In case a plane crashes or a bomb goes off.’
Pressing a hand against her racing heart, she asked, ‘Was the barn bombed?’
‘No, there haven’t been any bombs dropped around here. Won’t be either.’
She grasped the edge of the Jeep when he shifted into gear and speeded up, and held on with all her might until the jerking motions smoothed out and allowed her to relax a bit.
‘Where is it? The barn the pilot saw on fire?’
‘Sounds like it must be over by the pub.’
Her heart leaped to her throat. Widow Whitcomb’s barn was near Oscar and Ed’s pub. Two billeted children were currently staying with her. Brothers who were close to Little George and Phillip’s ages. ‘Take me there.’
‘Ma’am, miss, I couldn’t—’
‘Yes,