He glanced her way and then, after scratching the side of his head, said, ‘I’m going to be in trouble either way.’
‘No, you won’t be, I’ll see to that.’ She had no idea how she’d go about doing that, but she had to see if the billeted children living with Mrs Whitcomb needed help. The widow hadn’t been happy about being required to take in children and had already sent away several others for misbehaviour.
* * *
Upon arriving at the pub, Kathryn wasn’t worried about Corporal Sanders being in trouble, it was the two boys she saw being put in another Jeep. She climbed over the edge of Jeep and ran towards them. ‘Are they hurt?’
‘Sarge says the burns aren’t bad, but the old woman refused for them to be seen by a doctor, so I’m taking them to be checked out by a medic at the base,’ a soldier said.
The barn, still on fire, was in the field behind the pub. Mrs Whitcomb was standing near one of the lorries, clearly yelling at the man who stood on top of it spraying water on the ground. Dale stood next to her, shaking his head, also clearly telling the man spraying the ground to listen to him, not her. Until Corporal Sanders stepped up beside them, then Dale spun around and though he was a distance away, Kathryn felt the moment his eyes landed on her.
She turned back and stepped closer to the Jeep in order to examine the boys. They were both dark with soot and their hands had red welts.
‘We tried to put out the fire,’ the younger boy said solemnly.
‘I can tell,’ she answered while reaching into her pocket for a handkerchief. After wrapping it around one of the largest blisters on the older boy’s hand, she said, ‘That was very brave of you.’
‘Mrs Whitcomb didn’t think so,’ the younger one said. ‘She said we can’t come back.’
‘We don’t want to go back,’ the older boy said.
Kathryn offered them each a reassuring smile. ‘Don’t worry about any of that,’ she said, making a mental note to call the billeting officer.
‘Excuse me,’ the soldier now behind the wheel of the Jeep said, ‘but Sarge told me to hurry.’
A quick glance over her shoulder said the ‘Sarge’ was walking towards her. Along with Corporal Sanders. ‘Then go.’ Slipping her hand into her pocket again, this time she withdrew the envelope she’d felt while pulling out the handkerchief. ‘Please deliver this to the base as well.’
The soldier took the envelope and drove away, and Kathryn drew a deep breath before turning about. Without waiting for Dale to comment on Corporal Sanders bringing her here, she said, ‘Why aren’t you putting out the fire? You’re just spraying the ground.’
‘It was already too far gone by the time we arrived,’ Dale replied. ‘We’ll keep the fire from spreading and then clean up the debris. Corporal Sanders will now give you a ride home.’
She hadn’t followed his last order and wouldn’t this time either. ‘I do not need a ride. When I’m ready to return home, I shall ride my bike.’ Head up, she spun around and walked towards the pub to call the billeting officer.
21st of May, 1942
Dear Diary,
I heard the boys’ burns are healing fine and that they are doing well now living with the Butlers. No one knows how Mrs Whitcomb’s barn caught fire, but everyone is talking about how the fire would have spread if not for the soldiers. Especially Sergeant Johnson. I am thankful the soldiers were able to keep the fire from spreading and that the young brothers are no longer with Mrs Whitcomb, but I’m not singing praise. I find I have a great desire to remind the locals that we took care of each other before the Americans built the base and will do so again after they leave, but have managed to keep it to myself. No matter how difficult it may be, I must remain diplomatic.
However, I do find satisfaction in the fact I won when it came Sergeant Johnson and his money. I dare say I’m a bit surprised he gave in so easily and have concluded he must be angered that he didn’t get his way this time because I have not seen him since the day of the fire. Which of course is fine. I have no desire to see him again.
On her knees, pulling tiny weeds just poking out of the ground, Kathryn couldn’t stop herself from glancing up when the sky rumbled. Not one, but five planes were coming towards them. How could something so large glide through the sky? It seemed impossible. So impossible, she couldn’t stop thinking about them. Some things did that. Stuck in her brain, making her try to figure out what it was about them that she disliked. She made no mention of them, though. Under no circumstance did she want to appear interested in anything associated with the base. Not even to satisfy her own curiosity.
It was a Saturday, so the girls were helping in the garden and the boys were seeing to the animals. They’d all stopped to stare up at the planes growing closer. Just as Kathryn was about to instruct them to return to their chores, the first plane flew directly over the farm. At first, she’d thought she was seeing things, until a moment later, when she realised something was dropping from the sky. She couldn’t recognise what the tiny specks were, but they were falling directly at them.
Fear overtook her so quickly, she momentarily froze. Then, hooking Doreen around the waist with one hand, she grabbed Patricia’s hand with the other. ‘Run! Run for the bomb shelter!’
Fumbling with the gate as the planes continued to fly overhead, she screeched as something hit her head. It didn’t hurt, but fearing the next one, she gathered Doreen and Patricia close and crouched over the top of both of them, trying to protect them. Save them.
When nothing else hit her, she grabbed both girls and hurried though the gate. The other girls were on the path, as was Charlotte.
‘Hurry,’ Kathryn shouted as terror still raced over her. ‘Run!’
‘Why?’ Charlotte asked.
With her heart pounding, Kathryn attempted to usher them all towards the house. It would be shorter going through it than around it to the shelter. ‘The planes!’ Not exactly sure how to describe the dangers, she said, ‘The—the shrapnel, the—the things falling from the sky. Bombs.’
‘There aren’t any bombs,’ Charlotte said. ‘Those were American planes.’
Frustrated and scared, Kathryn couldn’t stop from shouting, ‘There are things falling from them! Shrapnel!’
‘That’s not shrapnel!’
‘It’s sweets!’
She wasn’t sure who said what, but spun to where the boys were running around the house.
‘They dropped sweets for us! Lots of it!’
Kathryn’s heart was still pounding, but an icy shiver had her lowering both Doreen and Patricia on to the porch. Her arms ached from holding the girls, but it was the fear that had encompassed her that had her trembling. The children were running about, picking up things.
‘Stop! Don’t touch anything!’
‘Kathryn, dear—’
‘Didn’t you read the letter they brought home?’ she interrupted Charlotte. ‘Anything falling from the sky is dangerous.’
‘Of course I read that letter. But as I said, those were American planes. Not German ones.’ Charlotte took something from one of the children and held it out. ‘It’s just sweets. Truly it is.’
Kathryn’s fear turned into anger as she plucked the single piece of gum, wrapped in shiny foil. ‘Chewing gum?’ Her mind seemed to turn a complete somersault. ‘Gum!’