Remembrance Day (35 page)

The shades in the house were down to keep the house cool. She was dying for a smoke but knew that would not be fitting. How on earth was she going to survive here?

‘Have you heard any more about your son?’ she asked.

‘Only what your daughter has been able to tell us. She’s been diligent in keeping us in the picture. He’ll have to learn to use his left hand, of course,’ said Rose.

‘When are they coming back home?’ she added. There was such a tension in the air and she didn’t know what to say next.

‘That we don’t know, Selma,’ said the man quietly, and it was the way he said her name that made her look at him more closely. His hair was bleached white. His beard reddish, his cheeks lined with the sun, but his voice echoed in her head for a second. It wasn’t a pure American accent; there
was an English vowel or two caught in his speech. Then she recalled he’d gone to Sharland School. Why had she forgotten about that? It was an important connection.

‘I gather you’re a Yorkshire tyke,’ she smiled. ‘You went to the public school in my village.’

‘I was born in London…but I did go there and I lived not far from the forge,’ he replied.

‘I’m sorry, I don’t recall any Wests…’

‘I wasn’t always known by that name,’ he replied, staring at her. ‘You don’t recognise me, do you, Selma, or shall I say, Selima?’

Still, the penny didn’t drop as she looked at him blankly.

‘Stop teasing her,Charles!’said Rose.‘Mrs Barr,you knew my husband many years ago. Your mother was a friend of his mother, Lady Hester Cantrell.’

‘Angus? Not Angus Cantrell? I don’t believe it after all these years! We wondered where you were, and you’ve been hiding away here.’ She looked at him again. This was not the haughty young man she recalled, but that was over twenty years ago. ‘I hear she’s passed away. She was kind to my mother.’ How could this man be a Cantrell? On the other side of the world. How odd.

‘Your mother was kindness itself to her in her latter years,’ he replied.

‘And you are well now?’ she said, suddenly recalling his fits as a boy.

‘Never better. This life suits me. It took a bit of getting used to at first, but Rose and her family made me very welcome.’ He smiled at his wife and Selma could see the affection between them.

‘I must be dreaming this…of all the people in all the world.’ Should she break up these cosy reminiscences?
Why should they be sitting there so smugly? Just the sound of that Cantrell name fired up her anger. ‘I suppose you heard what happened to my brothers. Your mother must have told you the circumstances of Frank’s death. It seems to be common knowledge. He was never a coward or a deserter, but your family did him no favours.’ There it was, blurted out, the anger stored in her heart for so long. What else could she say, even though she was their guest?

‘I know,’ said Angus. ‘He was a brave man in the end.’

There was something in the way he was looking at her that puzzled her. ‘I don’t understand…’

‘My mother and I did correspond for a while. I just wanted to clear the air between us all. You still don’t recognise me, do you?’

Now he was confusing her. She looked at his wife, who shook her head and left the table. ‘Excuse me, I must get on with our dinner…I think what’s said now is better said between you both alone,’ she whispered as she put her hand on his shoulder.

What on earth was going on?

‘Selma, you still think I’m Angus.’ He spoke softly while lifting his forelock of straw hair to reveal his brow. ‘So where’s the injuries, the stitches that came when I dived and hit the rock?’ His brow was smooth and pale under the flaxen hair.

Her heart missed a beat and she looked at him again. ‘Guy?’she spluttered,her face flushing.‘What are you doing here? You should be dead and buried!’ She stood up to leave but he grabbed her wrist. ‘What game are you playing with me?’

‘I am dead and buried. My brother made sure of that
when he stole my uniform and took my place all those years ago.’

‘Let me go. I don’t believe you. It can’t be you…you let my brother die for the want of a good word from you. You couldn’t be bothered to turn up. You brought me here on false pretences to make excuses. How dare you insult me! I’m leaving right now!’

‘Don’t go, Selma! I promise as God is my witness and I shall have to answer to Him on the Day of Judgment, it wasn’t me. Hear me out, I beg of you. It has lain so heavy on my conscience. I beg you hear me out before you leave.’

Selma sat down, shaking at the sight of him.

‘My mother played her part only too well,’ he continued. ‘It suited her purposes to let Angus pose as me but it all went too far. I was trapped in the house, sick, and I didn’t know what had happened until it was far too late. Then I fled from what was done, as far away as I could. There was nothing I could do after that. How could I expose my brother or betray my family’s honour?’

‘Your silence betrayed
mine.
Even one word from you and he would have lived,’ she cried. ‘You left him to die alone.’

‘How could I have known what was happening at the time until it was too late to change anything? It was a bad year for executions. The generals were wanting to quell any thoughts of mutiny in the ranks. They were heavy-handed and overruled so many pleas for leniency, but when I found out I wrote to Angus and left him in no doubt of what he had done. Mother did the same. Angus was many things: stupid, ignorant, full of gung-ho. He made a terrible mistake and it haunted him. I think he was too ashamed to survive after that…If you don’t duck when mortars explode
around you, the end will come soon enough. If you volunteer for suicide missions…We can’t turn back what happened then. I only wish I could.’

‘So, you hid yourself out here in comfort. I don’t understand. I’m not staying here to listen to more of your excuses. You let me think you were dead, not even a hint to me. You crept away. If I’d known I’d have helped you to escape. I was your friend.’

‘I thought it was better to leave. You’d been sent away and I was confused and angry with everyone. Don’t blame just Angus, blame the cruelty of war that takes a man to the brink of his sanity and beyond until his spirit is broken. What was done to Frank and many others was by the rulebook, by the letter of military law.

‘Surely you realise now that whoever spoke harsh words to you at the forge wasn’t me. It was my mother’s infernal interference yet again. She wanted you out of my life once she knew…’ He paused. ‘I did what I thought was best. I wandered the earth in a drunken stupor for years before I found this haven. When I came to Springville, I became who you see before you: a farmer and man of the Mennonite faith. It has been a good life. I thought I could put it all behind me and then my son chooses to enlist against my wishes and history repeats itself. Don’t you think it’s strange? Now Charlie has paid a price for that enthusiasm as I once did. He needs my help, not my disapproval now.’

Selma could see the tears glistening in those blue eyes. How could she have ever mistaken him for Angus? She felt so confused, not knowing whether to stay or leave.

‘Don’t you think it’s strange that these two young ones’ve found each other across the continent, and in England of all places? There’s a sort of justice for us in that, I’m thinking.
What was denied us? The freedom to love where you find it, despite class, religion and nation. Theirs is this new world. Surely their love and happiness are all that matter now?’ he pleaded.

Selma tried to concentrate on his words but she was shattered by this discovery. He must have known for months who Sharland was, and all this time they had said nothing. She shook her head, unconvinced.

‘Don’t you think they should be told this story and know what bigotry and misunderstanding and the cruelty of war did to us and our families?’ Guy continued. ‘Charlie will have found out all too soon, as I did in the trenches. We have to give them our support no matter what the consequences are for ourselves. If you withdraw because of me, then they’ll have to take sides. It’s so hard when you have to split your loyalties, believe me. I know the price I have paid for doing that. If families can’t agree, what hope is there of everlasting peace between nations?’

Selma shook her head, still not convinced and unable to speak for shock.

Guy reached out for her hand. ‘Please forgive me this deception. If I’d told you, would you have come? I wanted to unburden all this to you in private. How would you have felt if we’d met for the first time in public?’

She looked at him. ‘I don’t think I’d have recognised you if you hadn’t said my full name like that. Why did you have to enlighten me?’

‘Have I changed so much? You haven’t,’ he said.

She ignored his compliment. ‘You seem to have found some measure of peace here. I’m not sure I ever will. I’m too angry at what happened to Frank.’

‘Then put that anger to good use like Hester did. She
battled on about that monument. There still isn’t one in Sharland or ever will be until this matter is resolved.’

‘Don’t preach to me, Guy. It doesn’t suit you,’ she snapped. How dare he tell her what to do!

‘I’m not preaching—don’t be so sensitive—I’m just making a suggestion. Come and let’s join Rose on the porch. She’s trying to be discreet. I do so want you to like her. Without her I’d have been dead long ago. We may come from different sides of the country but you and I love our kids, wayward or not. Better for us to pull together than apart. You and I were always good friends.’ He smiled and she saw that grinning face of long ago. It was hard to stay sulking.

They sat in silence, each trying to think of something to lighten the heaviness of what had been said. Selma kept trying to go over Guy’s story and make sense of it all: all their family secrets out in the open. She felt so exhausted by the journey and now by this amazing revelation.

It would be so easy to pack her bag and stomp off to LA in high dudgeon, never speaking to the West family again. She could slant everything so as to make Shari take sides against them, put her side of the story in such a way that Charlie’s parents would be elbowed out of the room into the shadows, but was that fair? How did that help Frank’s lost cause?

It was Rose who broke the deafening silence. ‘How do you intend to celebrate the newlyweds’ return when it happens? We will find it difficult under the circumstances…Mixed marriages are not condoned by our Church but they do happen,’ she said, looking up at her husband with a smile.

Guy was quick to butt in, smiling, ‘But there are ways,
Rose. Other members have found ways. Love finds a way…’ He really was quite the preacher man, Selma mused, not like the old Guy at all.

‘I was thinking, how do we all intend to celebrate, together? That’s why I came. I don’t know how you folks do things round here,’ Selma said.

‘Like everyone else: a bit of a hoedown, a feast of shared offerings and a singsong in the barn,’ Rose replied. ‘Would that suit?’

‘That would suit fine as long as there was a bit of liquor on tap for some of my friends,’ Selma added.

‘We can put it in the yard for those who choose to imbibe,’ Guy was quick to answer.

‘But judging from Shari’s letters, maybe they’ll want time alone to themselves before Charlie’s ready for public scrutiny. Injuries can be exhausting.’

Rose smiled.‘Dorothy’s already started asking if he’ll have a hook on his hand.’

‘It’ll be a nine-day wonder and then they’ll forget. I’ll give her a talking-to,’ said Guy.

‘No, you won’t. She’s just being curious,’ Rose snapped at him.

Selma watched their light-hearted banter with a smile and a sigh. This was how it should be in real family life, talking things over in the cool of the day after a mighty fine supper.

Here was Guy, the once love of her life sitting contented on a porch with a perky little wife in drab clothes. And here was she, feeling none of the old passion and envy or bitterness. How strange that her anger was evaporating like snow in sunshine. The two of them had been forced apart by life’s experiences into different worlds. His had narrowed
and hers had widened. Their shared memories were frozen in the distant past. Neither of them could thaw them now, nor wanted to. The only thing she did envy was that he had found a safe haven in his stormy life. When was she ever going to find one for herself?

September 1945

Charlie wasn’t looking forward to the visit home. He’d had a polite note saying that they would be waiting for him on 20 September, and trusting he would bring his wife to meet the family. They hoped his wound was healing well and that he wasn’t too exhausted by the journey back across the Atlantic. He’d tried to prepare Shari for any awkwardness, explaining that he’d not be welcome within the Church community and that they must expect a very quiet homecoming with no special ceremony.

Shari had smiled and said that nothing mattered except they were together. She had resigned her post and came back as soon as she could, making plans for when he went into rehabilitation later in California at the end of the leave.

Now that victory was secured against Japan they could celebrate the end of the war properly with flags and bunting and victory parades in New York.

How would Charlie make out? His attempts to build up his left hand were making slow progress, but he was assured that, given special training, he’d be as good as new.

Charlie knew he’d never be as good as new. The shine
was off his apple. He’d seen too much slaughter and madness. He’d seen the best and worst in human beings, lost too many buddies, but now it was time for a fresh start—once he got over facing his parents’ disapproval. He wouldn’t be shunned by them, but treated with polite distance, and he loved Shari too much to want to make her feel uncomfortable. It would be a short visit.

As they were driving back across the state along the turnpike, he suddenly called out, ‘Pull over! I’m not sure I want to put you through this. It won’t be easy, so let’s make an excuse and give it a miss.’

Shari drew up by the kerb to give him one of her piercing black-eyed stares. ‘I never took you for a coward. They will want to see you, and your sisters will be upset. I’m dying to see where you live. I don’t care if they make me wait in this car all afternoon,we’re going there.You’ve done nothing to be ashamed of. You chose your opinion over theirs. Where I come from that’s called free will. They are entitled to believe what is true for them, and we are free to do the same. Nobody in this world has all of The Truth. My pa was Roman Catholic, my mother was strict chapel, the Grunwalds were Jews, your parents are Mennonites. This is America—we have to live alongside each other and see the good in each other, not insist you must believe what I believe. The spirit of Love is in all faiths and none, I think.’ She hesitated, flushing up, seeing the look on his face. ‘Does that make any sense?’

‘You do say the most beautiful things, Sharland West. You make it all sound so simple. I wish it were, but I’m scared. I love them and I hate having let them down.’

‘Don’t you think they might be feeling just the same?
Trust me, love will find a way through this, I promise.’ She started up the car again. ‘Do I have to leave the Ford at the end of the drive? Will they allow an engine on their land?’

‘We do have a tractor,’ Charlie laughed when they reached Springville. He noticed the yellow ribbons tied around the tree trunks: someone else was coming home, a regular soldier from a regular home where they celebrated his return in the regular Texan way.

As they drove ever closer to his house the ribbons were still there and as they turned into the drive there were flags flying. What on earth was going on?

‘Look up there,’ shouted Shari. ‘Someone’s put out a “Welcome Home” banner.’

‘This isn’t their way,’ he gulped, confused now.

‘But it’s ours!’ said Shari, laughing.

‘You knew about this?’

‘Just a little. My mom and my auntie had a hand in this, I’m thinking. Lisa loves a party.’

‘Your mom’s here?’ This was getting stranger and stranger.

‘Of course. You don’t think she’d miss out on a party too?’

‘She’s visited here already?’

‘Oh, yes. There’s quite a story there.’

Charlie was shaking. This couldn’t be happening. The Wests didn’t mix with many English or make a fuss of soldiers. Then he saw his parents waiting on the porch, dressed formally but not in Sunday black, and his sisters were waving. There was patchwork bunting all round the porch. There were old schoolfriends and neighbours, and two women smiling, who must be part of Shari’s family.

‘Good to see you, son,’ said his mother with her arms open to him, and his father was smiling. ‘It’s been a long time coming…but you’ve been spared.’

Shari’s mother looked up and then looked at his pa. ‘I don’t believe it, Guy. It’s like seeing a chip off the old block and no mistake. He looks just like you did!’

Guy? Who was the guy?’

Shari was tugging his stump end. ‘All in good time. You’ll never believe it when they tell you their story. Hollywood couldn’t make this up!’

‘Come in, Sharland,’ said Rose. ‘You’re just how I imagined you to be only prettier…Welcome to our family.’

‘They’ve got quite a party lined up for you both,’ Selma whispered in his ear. ‘The Wests and the Barrs; quite a combination, don’t you think, young man? Forty years in the making,’ Selma was laughing. ‘From the Old World to the New and back…a special relationship through two world wars and a depression…but nothing gets in the way of true love,’ she added. ‘Welcome back.’