Peter Austin leaned back in the chair and rubbed his neck, enjoying the warmth of the sun’s rays streaming through the windows of his flat. He sighed and tapped his pencil on the manuscript before him. He needed to do more research for his book on England in the Middle Ages, but with the country at war, it was no longer a matter of if he went home but when.
He twirled the pencil between his fingers. At the rate students were leaving school to help the war effort, he wouldn’t have enough people in his classes to keep teaching here much longer. He should collect the information for his book and do the writing back home in America.
He walked to the window and stared out at the city he’d come to love. He could feel its history and tradition all around him. If he left now, how many valuable books and documents would be sacrificed to finance the Nazi cause or be destroyed when war came to London? He couldn’t desert his colleagues and the efforts they were making to preserve things that couldn’t be replaced.
Another image, this one soft and sweet, floated through his mind. He loved the way Ann’s face turned pink at the least little thing, and he chuckled at her tendency to ramble when she was flustered, but once they began discussing books, she was relaxed and fun. Then he’d turn around and she’d start acting so … well, so strange—almost as if she really didn’t like him. If he went home, he’d never know why she kept popping into his mind.
He walked back to the desk and stared at the manuscript. He was stuck without the material Nigel had ordered for him. If he stopped by the bookstore, it might be in—and maybe he’d have a chance to talk to Ann. He grabbed his tweed jacket and headed for the bus stop.
Customers were in and out of the bookstore all morning, and it was midafternoon before Ann climbed the steps to the upstairs apartment she shared with her grandfather to make a list of groceries she hoped to buy. Planning meals had become a challenge with so many items either rationed or in short supply. She put the list in her purse and hurried down the stairs, poking her head into the workroom. “I’m going shopping, Grandpa. I’ll stop by the bakery to see if Mrs. Wilson saved you any sweets.”
He nodded and turned back to his work.
She stepped outside and slowed her pace, taking a deep breath and enjoying the warble of birds and fragrance of late spring blossoms that brought a touch of home to a country girl in the big city. She glanced up to check a street sign only to find it gone. Signposts and street names had been taken down to confuse German forces should they invade the country, more evidence that life wasn’t normal these days.
She turned the corner and faced the inevitable line. With shortages, lines grew long as people waited in hopes of purchasing the items they needed. Somehow the wait seemed more tolerable when she thought of them as queues. She smiled to herself at the English expression.
Back on the sidewalk with her purchases, her ration books tucked in her purse, the air took on a sudden chill as she stared at sandbags piled high to form a protective wall in front of the post office and the bank. The city was changing from a place of adventure to one of uncertainty. She gave a shudder.
She needed a few moments to refresh her spirits, so she headed for an area of the park across the street adjacent to St. Andrew’s churchyard. The park seemed eerily quiet now. No children played and shouted. A year ago, most of them had been sent to homes in northern England, where they would be safer should the Germans attack. Women were working up to sixty hours a week in the war industry.
Ann entered a sheltered corner near the churchyard, set her packages down, and plopped on a bench that offered a view of green grass and flowers. The rest of the park was marred by trenches dug to serve as quick shelters if German planes attacked, but in this corner, irises bloomed in shades of purple and lavender, and dandelions brought bits of sunshine to the lawn. At least here in her sanctuary the world seemed the same.
“Is this seat taken?”
“Oh!” Startled, Ann looked up to see Peter smiling at her. She shook her head and tried not to blush as he settled down on the bench beside her.
“I often stop here on my way to the bookshop. I’m pleased we have the same tastes.” He paused and sniffed the air. “Hmm, speaking of tastes, either I smell something tasty, or you have very unusual perfume. You’ve been searching out some sweets, I believe.” He leaned over and sniffed the bag she had set beside her.
“No, it’s my new perfume,” she teased as she put her hand on the bag. “I’d never tell you if I had goodies in there. I’ve seen how you and Grandpa devour a tin of biscuits!” She moved the bag to the other side of her.
“Oh, ho, trying to sound English, are we? That smells like my favorite cookies to me!” He tried to reach around her for the sack. “I’ll take a look to be sure. Scarce as sweets are these days, I may have to walk you home to protect them.”
“Oh, no, you don’t!” Ann grinned and slapped at his hand. “Mrs. Wilson has a soft spot for Grandpa and saves him treats whenever she can. If I let you see them, there won’t be anything left!” She put her hand on the bag.
Peter hung his head and gave a dejected sigh, then winked at her. “It’s good to see you relax and have a little fun.”
The smile quickly left her face. “There’s something wrong with me? How can you be so cheery when the world’s falling apart, Mr. Austin? When I came over here, I didn’t expect this.” She looked down at her hands. “I know that sounds selfish when countries are being overrun by the Nazis, but I loved it here so much the way things were.”
Peter leaned back and crossed his legs. He looked over at her and spoke quietly. “I do understand, Ann. Don’t forget; I’ve come to love England, too. I’m not through with my research, so I try to hang on a little longer. I love my work, and I like the friends I’ve made here, especially two in a little bookshop I frequent.” He patted her hand and gave her a lopsided grin.
Ann could feel the color rise in her face and took a deep breath. “Seriously, Peter, do you think Germany will attack London?”
He reached down to pick a blade of grass and twisted it between his fingers. “The signs are all around, Ann, and they’re not hopeful. We’re under a blackout every night. Street signs are gone. Think how long it’s been since you’ve heard a church bell. Headlights have to be covered so no light shows at night.” He looked over at her. “I don’t want to frighten you, but you need to be aware of what’s going on.”
Ann nodded without looking at him. Her fingers played with the top of the bag.
“You do know what’s happening at Dunkirk, don’t you?” His tone was somber.
“Some. I guess I try to ignore as much as I can. As if that will make it go away, I suppose.” She shrugged.
He paused a moment. “Ann, the Germans are taking France. They’ve pushed the French and English forces to the coastal areas around Dunkirk, right across the English Channel from us. The troops are trying to defend themselves, but they won’t last. There’s a big operation underway to evacuate them. Fishermen in their boats and men in every kind of vessel that will float are risking their lives to bring these men home.”
“But the channel separates us from the continent. Hasn’t that always been a good protection?”
Peter slapped his hand against his forehead. “You do wear blinders! Today’s wars aren’t like those of years ago, Ann. You read a lot. You should know that. Planes can fly over the English Channel in twenty minutes, and guns fire long distances today. France thought its Maginot Line of defense fortifications would protect them from the Nazis, but those concrete bunkers and the wooded hill country of the Ardennes were nothing to Germany’s planes and tanks. By the end of June, France will no longer be free, and that’s only a few weeks away. Then we’ll be looking right across that channel at German troops and planes.”
“If you’re trying to make me feel selfish and ignorant, it’s working. I know wishing won’t make things the way I want—”
Suddenly the piercing wail of an air-raid siren drowned out her words. Peter grabbed her hand as she reached to pick up the groceries. “Leave everything,” he shouted above the noise. “We need to get in the church!” They ran to the small old building and pulled the door open. The interior was dim and cool, but as their eyes adjusted, they could see people sitting here and there in the pews with their heads bowed.
A side door opened, and the vicar hurried into the sanctuary. “Follow me to the basement,” he called out. “You’ll be safer down there.” He held the door while people rushed past him. Ann and Peter were halfway down the aisle when the all-clear signal sounded. A sigh of relief passed through the church as people came back into the sanctuary and stopped to gather items they had left in the pews.
Peter followed Ann from the church, still holding her hand as she tried to stop trembling. “Are you all right?” He looked at her with concern. “It was probably just a drill.”
She nodded, enjoying the security in Peter’s hand covering hers.
“After we pick up your groceries, I’ll walk you back to the shop.” He led her to the bench where they had left her packages. He was loading his arms when she reached over to grab the bag with her grandfather’s sweets. “Hey, don’t you trust me?” He looked at her, crestfallen.
Ann shook her head. “Not on your life. That would be like asking the fox to give the chicken a lift home. I’m carrying these, Mr. Austin!”
Peter chuckled. “I guess I’ll have to consider your company my sweet treat for the day then.” He shifted the bags of groceries and grinned at her, and she felt her cheeks flush.
The breeze was soft as they walked along the sidewalk. Lofty chestnut trees arched over the walk, leaving it dappled with sunshine. Ann looked up at the sturdy branches. “Just think of the stories they could tell.”
Peter’s eyes followed her gaze. “They’ve survived for many years. That’s a hopeful sign.”
Ann watched the changing patterns of the shadows on the sidewalk. “When I sat in the park, everything was so peaceful and beautiful that I had one of my now moments—like I was completely in the present and it would never change. It was so real.” She smiled sheepishly. “That probably sounds stupid.”
Peter stopped at the curb and glanced down the street before starting across. He smiled at her. “Not at all. I’ve always thought you had poetry in your soul.”
Ann stepped onto the sidewalk and looked up at the sky. “It doesn’t happen often, but sometimes the moment seems to spread and connect with other times in my life when I’ve had that same feeling. Then they run together, and it becomes so real the rest of the world fades and becomes unreal. I’d like to stay in that moment forever.” She laughed softly. “Grandpa would say it’s a little taste of heaven.” Embarrassed at revealing so much of herself, she concentrated on the displays in the shop windows with their diminishing supplies of watches and clocks, fabrics and clothes.
Suddenly Peter grabbed her elbow and pointed to a notice. “Look—a poetry reading! Would you like to go? I said you have poetry in your soul, so how can you refuse?” He grinned at her.
She hesitated, wondering if he was teasing or really asking for a date. “I, uh, well, I—”
“You don’t have to go, but I thought we’d both enjoy it. If it’s no good, we can take a walk or do something else.” Peter looked at her, uncertainty on his face.
She took a deep breath and smiled. “I’d like that.”
“Good. We’ll call it a date then.” He gave her a smile, and her heart raced.
As they approached the shop, a short, middle-aged man stood on the sidewalk staring at the building. “Are you looking for something?” she asked when they walked up to him.
He gave them a quick glance. “I see this is the shop of Mr. Worthington. He’s known far and wide for the rare and valuable books he’s able to procure for his customers. No one else has his connections.” He spoke briskly with the touch of an accent she couldn’t place.
Ann felt uncomfortable, but knowing she needed to be polite to a potential customer, she took a deep breath. “Is there something I can help you with, sir? I work at the shop; Mr. Worthington’s my grandfather.”
The man continued to inspect the building. “I’m told Mr. Worthington’s ancestry goes back to persons of position in Germany. Rare books must run in the family.” One side of his mouth turned up in more of a smirk than a smile.
Peter shifted the packages. “Come inside, sir. We’ll get Mr. Worthington for you.”
“Another day, I think.” The man glanced at his watch. “I just wanted to know where to come when it’s time.” He tipped his hat and hurried away.
“An odd man,” Ann remarked as she opened the shop door. After a trying afternoon, the comforting smell of old books wrapped around her, giving her a sense of warmth and security. She motioned toward the counter. “Leave the groceries there. I’ll put them away.”
Footsteps approached from the back of the shop, and her grandfather hurried into the room. “My good friend, I was hoping you’d come by. I’ve gotten in some books you’ll want to see.”
Peter placed the packages on the counter and smiled at Ann. “I enjoyed our afternoon. Don’t forget our date.”
Ann returned the smile and turned to pick up the groceries, hoping he couldn’t hear her heart pounding. She couldn’t believe it! Peter hadn’t made fun of her when she shared her special feelings, and he’d even asked her for a date!