LUC MET NIKI as she got off the train. At her first sight of him, looking terribly handsome and fit, Niki dissolved into happy tears.
“Hey, hey, none of that!” he ordered in a strict voice. “This is supposed to be a joyous reunion. Besides, you’re getting my brand-new uniform all damp.” The sound of his familiar laugh soon dried Niki’s eyes, and when he tucked her arm through his, she had to almost run to keep up with his long-legged stride.
They went to lunch, then walked together along the streets. London was jammed with other young people, mostly all in uniform. Niki felt proud and happy in hers and to be with such a good-looking companion in his American Air Corps uniform.
Luc had tickets to a music hall performance featuring the popular English songstress Vera Lyn. They listened to her melodious rendition of several sentimental ballads, all of which received resounding applause and even standing ovations from the enthusiastic crowd composed mostly of service men and women. Romantic songs like “I Can’t Begin to Tell You,” “It Had to Be You,” “Always,” sent tingles all through Niki. Somehow they all reminded her of Paul and that special time together at Birchfields. She wondered where he was now and if he ever thought of her. She glanced at Luc, wondering if there was any special romantic interest in his life. Up until now he had never had one girlfriend very long. Luc just seemed to be enjoying the show, not looking nostalgic or wistful. However, girls had always been crazy about him, especially Niki’s Mayfield friends. Casting another glance at Luc’s handsome profile, Niki decided that English girls would no doubt have the same reaction.
After the show, they went to supper at an Italian restaurant, then on to a club, where they danced on a floor the size of a postage stamp. It was after two when Luc took Niki to the hotel where he had somehow managed to get her a room, before he returned to the officers’ club where he was billeted.
The next day, Niki took full advantage of the luxury of a long bath with no time limit posted on the door. She didn’t even have to scrub the tub afterward, as she did at the dorm. Luc was in the lobby, waiting for her so they could spend the day sightseeing.
The last afternoon, before Luc put her on the train to go back, he suggested that they go to Saint Paul’s Cathedral. “Uncle Jeff has always talked about the Holman Hunt painting The Light of the World that hangs there. He said it is magnificent, one of the best examples of the Pre-Raphaelite artists’ work.”
Niki had never known too much about painting. Of course, she knew that Scotty Cameron’s half brother, Jeff Montrose, was a well-known artist. But she had never been particularly interested in art. But that afternoon something happened.
In the shadowy interior the painting seemed luminous, as though lit by an ethereal light. The figure of Christ, realistically rendered, stood with one hand holding a lantern, the other hand knocking at a closed door.
Niki, accustomed to portrayals of Christ on Sunday school flannel boards or distant stained-glass windows, whispered, “I don’t understand. What is it supposed to mean?”
Luc explained in a quiet voice, “The door is supposed to represent the human heart. If you’ll notice, there is no latch. Hunt meant to say that it has to be opened from within.”
After Luc moved on, exploring other aisles of the church, Niki remained standing before the painting, profoundly moved by it. It was different from anything she had seen or felt before in her life. It was as if she stood on the other side of that door on which Christ was knocking. All her life, and particularly recently, it seemed to her she had been knocking on closed doors. Trying to find out who she was, where she came from, where she truly belonged. She understood what it felt like to be refused entrance. All at once she was reminded of her own indifference to spiritual things. Of course she had gone to church; Tante had always made sure she and Luc attended regularly. But it hadn’t really meant that much to her. She thought of the nuns at the orphanage. They had devoted their whole lives to children and women abandoned by society. She thought of Aunt Kitty, who dedicated herself to making people aware of the horrors of war. Niki realized that most of the time, she had been wrapped up in her own self-centeredness. She hadn’t really prayed about finding her true parents. After all, God knew who they were and where. But Niki realized she hadn’t diligently sought his help.
She realized she didn’t really know how to go about seeking him. But as she stood there, something stirred within her. The simple words sprang into her mind spontaneously: Show me how to open that door. I want you to come in.
What seemed to come in was some kind of inner voice: “When you know who you are, I will show you what to do.” Niki stiffened, glanced around. Had someone spoken? What followed was a kind of peace, an assurance that her spontaneous prayer had been heard and an answer had come.
That was it. A few minutes later Luc joined her, saying they had better scout up a taxi to get to the station so she didn’t miss her train. Everything snapped back to the present. The experience was over, yet something lingered in Niki that she was determined not to lose.
Mad confusion reigned at the huge train station. Throngs of travelers, scores of uniformed men of all services and ranks, were shoulder-to-shoulder with civilians, among them women and children seeing their loved ones off. Luc, holding Niki tightly by the arm, shoved their way through to where she would have to board. Shortness of time turned their parting to a hasty good-bye.
On the station platform, Luc gave her a bear hug and steered her into one of the already crowded compartments crammed with service men and women. “Thanks, Luc, for a wonderful time!” Niki shouted over the noise. Suddenly her throat felt choked. When would they see each other again? The reality of the war suddenly struck her. But Luc’s voice was firm, optimistic, as he yelled back, “Maybe we’ll see each other at Birchfields next. In the meantime, take care. And Happy New Year!” That’s right, Niki thought, it is a new year Nineteen forty-three. What would it bring? Peace?
Bumping back to WRENS headquarters on the crowded, hot, smoky, stuffy train, the magic time in London with Luc seemed like a dream.
For the most part they had been cheerful. They hadn’t talked of anything serious; they had laughed a lot. Now Niki wondered if maybe they should have talked of more important things—how they felt about each other, about home, about Tante and Uncle Kip, about poor, shackled France and what was happening to England.
By the time she reached her destination, it was after mid-night. There had been many stops, scheduled and unscheduled, along the way. Once the train had been stopped, the passengers evacuated, because of an air-raid alarm. The attack hadn’t come, but they’d had to wait, huddled in a small airless shelter until the all clear was sounded. Back on the train, they had racketed down the tracks. To her amazement Niki fell asleep and awoke with a jerk when the train came to a screeching stop.
Plodding upstairs to her quarters, she found her roommates asleep. As she stumbled her way along in the dark, her arrival evoked sleepy grumbles. Trying not to trip over the rug, Niki made her way through the pile of dumped belongings that the last one in had dropped in the middle of the room, before falling exhausted into her own bunk.