London, 1940
A gust of wind scattered twigs along the sidewalk, then swirled around the ladder as Ann Heydon stepped on the first rung and inched her way toward the top. “I don’t like heights,” she muttered as her stomach churned, “but Grandpa can’t climb up here to do this.” She grasped the ladder with her left hand and stretched as far as she could to wipe dirt from the sign on her grandfather’s shop. Her weight shifted, and the ladder began to tilt. “Oh, no!” she cried out as she and the ladder headed for the sidewalk.
“Taking flying lessons?” Below, hands steadied the ladder and helped her to the ground.
She looked up into the face of Peter Austin and felt the dreaded blush creep over her. “Oh no, sir. The shop sign was dirty so I climbed up to clean it, but the ladder slipped, and I …” She stopped in embarrassment as he chuckled at her rambling.
“After you’ve risked life and limb up there, the least I can do is check the results.” He stepped back to inspect her work. “You did a great job!” The sign again clearly identified her grandfather’s establishment:
WORTHINGTON’S BOOKSHOP
BOOK REPAIRS AND RARE EDITIONS
NIGEL WORTHINGTON, PROPRIETOR
“That’s a relief! I never want to climb up there again!” Ann collected her cleaning supplies and smiled. “You haven’t been by the shop for a while, Mr. Austin. You must keep busy with that book you’re writing, or is it those literature classes you teach at the university?”
“A bit of both, I’m afraid.” He shook his finger at her, a teasing glint in his eyes. “But how many times do I have to remind you? My name’s Peter. After all, we’re fellow Americans here in jolly old London. ‘Mr. Austin’ makes me feel too old.” He wagged his eyebrows at her. “Unless you’re trying to tell me something….”
She fought to keep the red from her face. “No, of course I’m not. You’re not old, but I’m used to calling teachers by their more formal names. I know you’re not my teacher, but you do teach at the university and—”
“Hold it!” He burst out laughing. “Don’t be so serious. It’s 1940. The world’s not that formal anymore. It may be falling apart around us, but that’s even more reason to enjoy it while we can.” He picked up the ladder. “I’m here to see your grandfather about a book. I’ll take this in for you.”
Ann let out her breath and collapsed against the shop as a woman stepped out of her gift shop next door and bustled over.
“Are you all right, dearie?” Mrs. Chumley stopped in front of her and peered over her glasses.
Ann brushed off her cardigan sweater. “I’m fine—at least physically. I’m not so sure about the rest of me.”
Her neighbor planted her hands on her ample hips. “I saw that handsome young man rescue you. It was so romantic!”
Ann sighed. “I know I’m a dunce when it comes to men, Mrs. Chumley, but why does that man always leave me in a dither? I’m foolish to think he could be interested in a plain Jane like me. After all, he’s tall, dark, and handsome, a writer, and a professor, but …” She twirled the empty bucket in her hands.
Mrs. Chumley folded her plump arms across her chest. “And who says you’re a plain Jane?”
“I have mirrors, Mrs. Chumley. I don’t look like the girls who make themselves up the way movie stars do. No pompadour. No long red nails. Mousy-colored hair. I’m just a plain Jane who’s more at home with books than people.”
Mrs. Chumley shook her head until her bright red curls bobbed on their dark roots. “So you think you need to look like a movie star to get a good man. I don’t look like none of them, but my Albert says I’m classy.” She gave her hair a pat. “And I do have a sense of style, if I may say so myself.”
Ann looked at her neighbor’s orange dress and bright red hair and stifled a chuckle. “But you—”
“Let me finish, dearie. Those women may look all fancy, but they’re probably pretty stuck on themselves, if you ask me. Maybe your young man has better taste, like my Albert. Think about it.” A woman approached her store, and she hurried away.
As Ann turned, Peter stepped out of her grandfather’s shop, waved, and walked briskly toward the bus stop. With a sigh, she entered the store, her heart thumping. There were no customers, so she was startled when suddenly a raucous voice screamed and ranted from the workroom at the back of the building. When it paused, a crowd roared, “Sieg heil! Sieg heil! Sieg heil!” She knew her grandfather was glued to his radio, and she gave a shudder as the harangue continued. She didn’t understand German, but from the sound of Hitler’s voice, she knew he wasn’t saying anything good. As she picked up a feather duster, the voice disappeared and her grandfather approached the counter, bristling with anger.
“There’s no hope of a peace treaty?” she ventured.
He spread his hands on the counter and stood silently a moment. “No, my dear, Hitler is a liar who thinks he can grab whatever he wants.” He gave a snort. “He talks about peace; then in the past two years, he’s taken the Rhineland, Austria, Czechoslovakia, and Poland. In April he invaded Norway and Denmark, and now a month later he’s taken Belgium, Holland, and Luxembourg with that Blitzkrieg of his.” He shook his white head slowly and pounded his fist on the counter. “And mark my word. By the end of June, he’ll have France. How long ’til we’re not safe here in London?”
Ann watched the pain in her grandfather’s face as he recited the litany of Hitler’s conquests. She braced herself for what she knew was coming next.
“We’ve talked about this before, Ann. You must go back to America. It’s not safe here.” His voice was firm. “You have to leave while you can still get out.”
Ann moved the feather duster back and forth over the counter. “I won’t leave you over here alone, Grandpa, and that’s final. Besides, why should I run away? You’ve always assured me God’s with us.”
He sighed and rubbed his hands together slowly. “And that He is, my dear, but He also gave us brains and expects us to use them. We’re not to act foolishly and wait for Him to bail us out.” He picked a book off the counter and returned it to a shelf.
“England’s my home country, Ann. Those years I spent in America as a young man were wonderful, but it wasn’t home.” His face took on a nostalgic look. “That’s where I met your grandmother. She returned home with me, and we lived here all those years. But when our daughter grew up, she wanted to see America, so across the ocean she went. When she met your father there, she decided to stay, and you were born American. So, we each have our homeland.” He looked at her with a sad smile.
“But, Grandpa, there’s tradition. I have to find the love of my life in another country as you and Mom did. Don’t send me away now. Please. Wait to see what happens. Maybe this war will be over soon. Hitler can’t take over the whole world!”
He shook his head. “You understand so little of what’s going on. We’ll talk about this again. I have a book to repair; I’ll be in the workroom.”
Ann leaned on the counter and stared out the window. “I won’t leave Grandpa,” she muttered, “and I can’t lose my chance to have the great adventure of my life and find the man of my dreams. After all, I’m twenty-five years old already. Nothing will make me give up and go home!”