THOUGH HE WAS NEARLY BURSTING TO TELL SOMEONE about how he had stowed away in the locker while enemy planes flew overhead, he knew both his mum and his father would keep him back the next trip. So he said nothing.
As the night went on, Alec learned more about the growing threat of war. One of the guests, a Mr. Sharpley, had arrived that day from London. With his booming voice and his precious news about the war, Mr. Sharpley was difficult to ignore. "The news in London is grim," he began. "Rumor is that the Germans have our boys boxed in, forcing them up into northern France." He belched loudly as he reached across the table for the potatoes. "Churchill's got trouble for sure. Word is that the Royal Air Force can provide some bombing cover for our boys, but they can't get them out of France."
"But how do we know what's even going on?" Alec's father shot back. "The BBC just keeps saying the same thing. They say our boys are moving through France toward Belgium, trying to push the Germans back across the borders. I don't understand it. If what you're saying is true, why don't we know?"
"Aye, that's what I say," the man agreed. "But if the rumors are true, our boys are going to be facing dark days in the next few weeks. We've got most of the British army sitting over there in France. England is defenseless without them. We could be next; everything rests with Churchill."
At the mention of the prime minister, Alec's father's chair creaked as he pushed back from the table. "You're saying England's survival rests with Churchill? I've no faith in him. He's made too many blunders in the past, and now he controls our boys and our fate. I don't like any of it."
Alec watched his mum as she picked at her supper. Occasionally, she stole a look at Alec while he cleared the table and refilled the teapot. And he saw her squirm at the harshness in her husband's voice and the reality of Mr. Sharpley's news. For weeks, Alec had seen her fears increasing. But the children being sent away and the news about the stranded troops were before them all now. Alec knew that his mum was worried most about him. He felt guilty now for having mocked the Anderson shelter. She had wanted it for his protection. He didn't want to hurt her with his plans to snoop around the castle and uncover news about Thomas and the others. In her sad face, he saw surrender.
Alec tried to look busy, but Mr. Sharpley's words captured his attention. Though the dailies and the BBC were not saying so, Douglas and Mr. Sharpley had declared the same news: The British army was in trouble in France.
While he cleared the table and washed the dishes, Alec tried to stay calm, but the silver and teacups clinked as his unsteady hands stored things in their places. The news about France made him want to sprint up to the castle that moment. Yet he was helpless to do anything with his mum and his father only a few feet away. Still, he would stick to his plan and return to the White Horse the next night. He didn't know whether he'd have any more success than the first time, but he had to try.
He worked steadily, filling the larder with tins of salmon and peaches that he had collected the day before with their ration cards. Aga had moved to the large table in the kitchen, scrubbing its bleached and scarred surface. With a sigh, she sat in a chair and rested her feet on the bottom rail of the table.
As he moved around the kitchen, Alec hoped Aga would not start up again with her topic from the night before. If he said any more, she would badger him until he told her everything. He wanted no row with her, and he was tired of lying. But he could not ignore her sniffling and sighing as she sat waiting for him to finish.
"What's wrong, Aga? Are you ill?" Alec whispered.
"No, Alec boy." Aga sniffled. "I'm not ill. I'm just so worried about the news tonight. Makes me think of the Great War. Makes me worry about all those lads and about your cousin Thomas."
Alec couldn't comfort her. He'd seen Aga sad before, but never so weepy. Even when he had teased her that day while wearing the gas mask, he had eventually been able to pull a brief smile from her. But tonight was different. The darkness from outside had crept into the kitchen.
"Do you think they know the trouble they're in, Aga?"
"Alec, that's the thought that bothers me most. That they might be sitting there in France, thinking they're sure to rout the Jerries, and they don't know they're actually trapped."
Alec pushed the thought out of his mind. If he allowed himself to worry, he would not keep a clear head for his mission tomorrow. No, he had to finish up his chores and ignore Aga's words.
Later, in his room, he pulled his chair near the fireplace and set his journal on his lap. He needed to write about the German fighters, but he fixed his eyes on the burning embers. Then he sketched the German cross he'd seen on the planes and quickly scratched through Hitler's mark.
He scribbled some notes about his day. He wanted to remember the flyover. But afraid his parents might sneak a look, he wrote in code—2GF over the EC May IS, no bbs. That was enough to remind him what had happened—two German fighters over the English Channel, no bombs. Then he thought of Eva: A silly girl named Eva crossed my path twice today. She's nice, but too pushy. I have no time for her now. He closed the book, stuffed it back into its new hiding place in the closet, and stretched out on his bed to think through his plan once again.
Alec found the Britannia deserted the next morning. Believing he was just early, he sat down on the wooden planks and stared out into the Channel. Unlike the day before, this day was cloudy; he could see only a few yards beyond the pier.
No chance to spot planes today. He dangled his feet over the edge of the dock and gazed at the Britannia's bow. The smell below him was a mixture of rust and rotting seaweed and old wood. "Even the docks smell like death," he said aloud.
"What's that ye say?" Douglas bellowed as he stepped up behind Alec. "Ye wouldn't be talkin' to yerself, now, would ye, boy? Yesterday's scare make ye a bit addled?"
"No, no," Alec stammered, caught off guard by Douglas's sudden arrival. "No, I was just thinking about this sea life. Thinking about how one day I want to be a first mate like you, and then later own my own ship like Captain Cairns."
"Ye, lad?" Douglas roared. "Ye be a skipper? Now, that's cheeky of ye, boy. Thinkin' a lad like yerself with fair skin and smooth 'ands could one day skipper a ship. Ye don't 'ave what it takes to fight the sea, boy. Ye might 'ave the desire, but ye don't have the 'ardness that the sea demands. Yer too tied to the land and your family up the hill. Ye've got to be willin' to give that up, to live lonely most of the days. That's not ye, boy."
"But I could do it," Alec argued. "I know I'm still young, but I'm learning from you and the captain. I want to be free of that other life. I want to live like you."
Douglas turned away. Then he put his rough hand on Alec's shoulder and spoke Alec's name for the first time. "No, Alec," Douglas argued, "ye don't ever want to be like me. Aah'm a worthless shipmate who drinks too much and cares no thin for no one else. Aah spend every night alone, and aah squander everythin aah earn. This life of mine is wasted. Go ome to yer family and make somethin better of yerself."
Alec had not seen this side of Douglas before. Looking at him now, Alec wondered about Douglas and his home. How had he never thought about where Douglas went when he left the pub at night? Where did he go? Alec leaned over and slipped one of ropes from around its mooring stake. "So, where is home for you?"
"Home? That's where we all should be today," the voice said, but it belonged to the captain, not Douglas. Douglas stood up and straightened his shoulders as if to say to Alec, "We're not speaking of this again." Then he snatched up his rucksack and waited for the captain's orders.
"We're not going out today," Captain Cairns announced. "After yesterday's brush with the Jerries, I want to stay docked and sit tight today. Not sure what to expect, but we need to keep close to shore until we get news about what we should do. Some say the war's turning against us. Not safe to head out. So you both are free to go. Come back in the morning and we'll run a load of wire to Ramsgate if things are clear."
Douglas grumbled as he stepped off the boat and started toward town. "Can't be doin' this often, Cap'n. Work's too light as it is. Aah need steady work."
"Aye, Douglas," the captain agreed. "I don't want to think we're done because of this rotten war, but those roaming Jerries made everyone nervous. We've got to wait for more news before we carry on. Come back tomorrow."
Douglas strode up the dock and onto shore. Alec remained, watching the ripples in the water.
"Sonny, lad, did you not hear me? We're docked today. Run on home."
"Aye, I heard you, Captain. I just don't want to go home yet. I've nothing to do but help Aga at the inn and listen to my dad complain about Churchill and the war. So I'd rather wait a bit."
"He's being a father, lad," the captain said as he sat down next to Alec, who was still holding the loose rope. "He's afraid for you and for England. We all are. The Jerries are moving fast through Europe."
"But they're bad for everyone—for you, too. And you don't act like him. You're worried, too, but you don't go on about Churchill. I'm tired of that. I won't stay with it long. I'm done with school, and I can pick my own life."
The captain was silent for several minutes. "He's no different than any father with a lad he doesn't want to lose. He's afraid for you, Alec. Don't mistake his fear for hate. He cares only about you and your mum and your safety. He just doesn't know how to say it. But when you get older, you'll understand better."
Alec wanted to believe the captain. He knew his father was worse now because of the war. Maybe his father did deserve another chance. Maybe the next move was for Alec to talk to him, tell him that he respected him. But it wouldn't help. His father would just grunt and walk away.
As if reading Alec's thoughts, the captain spoke again. "He's had a rough time himself, you know, that father of yours. His hatred of Churchill goes far back—to the Great War in 1916. He has reason to be angry."
Alec was confused. "How do you know?"
"I was there.... We were there together. In the Dardanelles—during the Great War. I was there when your dad—when sonny—finished his time, when they brought most of his men back in bags or on stretchers. Your father, he was angry at the foolishness that killed his men ... wept over each lad. Couldn't even talk about what had happened, though the rest of us already knew."
"Knew what? What are you telling me, Captain? That my father was an officer? Under Churchill's command?"
"Churchill's plan," the captain continued, "was for the Brits to forge through the Dardanelles passage, cut off one of the prime shipping routes. Then we'd be in a better position to fight the Turks and Russians. Except the planning was poor, and execution worse. The Turks were waiting. Many of our lads were cut down before they got thirty yards in. Your father was a sergeant in charge of one division. He could only watch as his boys fell, sprawled all over the beach. He came home angry and blamed Churchill. So did others. After that blunder, Churchill was relieved of his command. But many, like your father, still think he has not paid. Seeing Churchill now as prime minister stirs up some painful memories."
His father? A sergeant? Weeping for his men? Alec had never even seen him cry; he didn't think his father could. Alec tried to imagine him different from the father he had known over the years.
Slapping Alec on the back, the captain stood up and took the mooring line from him.
"Here, I'll give you a hand," Alec volunteered.
"No, lad. I'm just going to poke around the ship a bit and then head on up myself. Go along and enjoy the day. We've not many quiet ones left, what with the war so close."
"Do you think we're close, Captain? A guest at the inn last night was going on about our troops in northern France. He says they're trapped, that the German panzers are pushing them toward the sea. Says we'll lose them all if England doesn't do something."
The captain hesitated. "Aye, I've heard the same myself. We sent our lads over to help France and Belgium, and both countries are in trouble. Some blokes say that without help from outside, our boys will be lost to the Jerries. Don't know what to think, but I know I'd do anything to help those boys. The problem's the Channel. It's rough waters out there, and they say there's well over two hundred thousand lads stranded in France. Impossible odds, I'd say. Impossible."
"Two hundred thousand? What will they do? What can we do?"
"I don't know, sonny. But Churchill's been through war. I just hope he's up to the charge."
"Aye," Alec said. "I hope so, too. Will and the others, and my cousin Thomas, are all over there. My aunt and uncle couldn't bear to lose Thomas. Not after losing—"Alec stopped short of using Georgie's name. Although the captain knew of the drowning, Alec didn't want to say more. "But," he continued, "we can't just sit here and wait for the Jerries to overrun our army. We need to do something."
"And we will, Alec. I know we will. I just don't know the plan. For now, all we can do is wait—and pray for a miracle, I suppose."
"A miracle," Alec scoffed. "Who believes in miracles?" Alec was thinking again about Georgie. He had wanted a miracle in the water that night with Georgie. And when Georgie was gone, he had wanted to be gone, too. But no miracles had come for him.
"Miracles come carefully, Alec boy," the captain reflected. "They are delicate and unexpected, and they come when absolutely nothing else can make the matter right. That's what makes them miracles."
"You talk as if you've seen one, Captain," Alec said.
"Aye, I saw one—saw it in the Dardanelles. I know your father had a different experience, but I saw something else in that battle in 1916. A bunch of us were stranded. Hunkered down in trenches and bombarded by enemy fire. We thought we'd been abandoned. Then—miraculously—these lads from Australia, of all places, fought their way through to us and saved every one of us British blokes left in our division. Even carried our wounded to safety. A miracle. It was nothing less than that for me. That's why I believe in them. And you, lad, you need to believe, too. Otherwise, when it comes, you'll miss the miracle. And no one's promised even one, much less more."
The captain stood still, his pipe steaming in the morning air, and he looked beyond the ship to the water. Alec was silent. Then the captain stepped back, twisting the rope around its mooring and tugging hard to tighten it.
Alec would have liked to stay. The captain's words had calmed him—unlike the talk at the inn or the post office. But Captain Cairns had ordered him home once already, and he needed to obey. He stood up on the dock and grabbed his gear, and snapping a quick salute, he called out, "Tomorrow, Captain," and started up the hill.
He hesitated at the corner where he would turn for home. His family would never know that he was not working the docks today. He could wander about Dover—take some time for himself. But Aga had been pretty upset by Mr. Sharpley's words the night before. She could use his help. So he hurried on and entered the kitchen just as Aga plopped down on her stool.
"No work today with the captain, Alec boy?" Aga asked, startled by the sound of the back door.
"No, no work today. Or at least, no work at the docks. Captain said I could have the day off. So I'll be around if you need me."
"Oh, Alec," Aga answered. "Why don't you just enjoy the day? A lad your age needs his own time. I have a few errands you can do, but I'll not look for you before supper."
"Give me the list and I'll do the errands now," Alec said, and waited while Aga scribbled a few lines, handed him the ration cards, and sent him on his way.
Relieved that he had something to do near the shops, Alec scurried out the door before his father caught him home and gave him more chores. He had his own errands to run today. In fact, his first stop after the post office would be Lawton's Jewelry, where he'd seen the cross. The captain had been generous with his last pay, so Alec had the money to buy the gift for his mum. Aga wanted him to stop at the market as well, and he thought he would go back to the newsagent's stand and pick up that Beano comic if it was still there. The farther he walked, the lighter he felt. A day to himself—he needed it. Besides, he still had some thinking to do. He hadn't forgotten about the White Horse. He already knew the route the man would take. This time, he would be ready.
Alec ambled along the sidewalk as he headed toward the heart of the town. The day was still cloudy, but he didn't care. All he wanted today was time to himself. He had earned it, and he wasn't going to feel guilty about avoiding his father. If Aga didn't tell him, Alec could be gone all day with his father thinking he was off on the ship. Yes, the day was just what he needed. He had plenty of time.
And then he turned the corner and saw the girl, Eva.