The Orphan’s Last Goodbye, page 8
Chapter Thirteen
After they had spoken about her future, her uncle insisted he would talk to Stanley about wiring her a sum of money when she arrived in Canada. He had saved it for her cousin, his son, who had been killed in action. He wanted Kitty to have it to help set up her new life.
Kitty was touched when Doreen gave her a small package.
‘Don’t open it now or we’ll both be in tears again. It’s just a little something to build your heirloom chest,’ she said.
With their blessing to go, and a promise to return if Canada did not provide the life she hoped for, Kitty went to bed. She lay back and thought about life as a child in the house, and gave thanks for her uncle and aunt. Doreen could never replace her aunt, but she certainly had a place in Kitty’s heart.
The following day was painful. The goodbye hugs were long.
‘Right, I have work to do. Have a safe journey, my girl, and don’t forget to write. I’m off, Dor.’ He pecked his wife on the cheek and patted Kitty’s as he walked past her. Choked with emotion, Kitty tried hard to hold back the tears. Doreen was crying enough for them all.
‘I’ll make sure he has his favourite supper. He’ll be all right. Now, don’t miss your bus, dear.’ Doreen hugged her again, and Kitty took a moment to inhale her step-aunt’s violet perfume. A woman she barely knew, but would always be grateful for. She had a big heart and it was obvious she loved Kitty’s uncle.
Kitty took a bus to Dovercourt Bay station, and placed her bags with the left luggage porter. She visited a florist, made a purchase, walked the hill to the seafront and along the promenade, where she placed the flowers on the water in memory of her family. She took a moment to stand beside the old lighthouse where she and Michael had once kissed. The warm, gentle breeze stroked her cheeks and dried her tears. A walk up the incline to Dovercourt Park gave her a view of the promenade below, and as she looked across the water, watching the flowers drift out on the tide, planes flew overhead, casting shadows on the blue-grey sea.
A farewell flypast could not have been planned any better than that moment. She stood a while and watched them dip and dive across the water. There was no fear, no running for cover as in the past, and, as she looked about, she noticed others were watching the pilots in awe as well.
There was a long way to go, but life was moving forward and away from the horrors of what was now known as World War Two. She watched a group of boys fling their arms wide and run around the green, pretending to be planes. Instead of using the firing gun sounds, they laughed and whooped loudly in joy. Two young women waved their handkerchiefs in the air, and an older man stood saluting, his back straight and his shoulders broad. Kitty guessed he had fought against the enemy in the Great War.
She also stood in gratitude until she could no longer see the planes on the horizon. She walked on, taking in the views across to Felixstowe, past the stone lookout and the Stone Pier, then continued into Harwich town. Kitty smiled hello at anyone who gave her the time of day, and passed the many public houses where the fishermen gathered after their hard work at sea. She watched from the Ha’penny Pier; the post-war clean-up was still taking place, and nothing would be the same again. All they could do was hope that everyone would pull together and that world peace would bring sense and prosperity to a shattered world.
At peace with herself, and seeing that all was well in her hometown, Kitty took from her pocket the package Doreen had given her and tugged the twine free. Inside the box was a silver bracelet. A simple delicate chain, which fitted around her wrist and caught the sunlight as she twisted her arm. It was a thoughtful and precious gift.
Eventually, it was time to take the train back to London, then on to Durham. Thankful that she would not endure such a painful parting again, Kitty clung onto her small case as if it held gold bars. It was heavy but precious, and she was not going to leave it behind. Her treasures would travel with her. When Stanley met her at Durham station, he did not mention the extra case or the weight. He asked a few questions about her trip, the health of her uncle and Doreen, and hoped she did not meet too many obstacles when she told them she was emigrating.
Kitty liked that about Stanley: he understood the need to let her grieve leaving her family, and would find the right time to boost her back into life.
At the orphanage, the atmosphere was lively – as always – with children and staff preparing for bedtime. Unlike state-run orphanages, the rules here were not strict, allowing the children’s laughter to fill the air. For Kitty, observing their playful antics and the staff’s warm responses brought her joy, as it demonstrated that happiness had returned to the children’s lives, giving the place a sense of home rather than just an institution.
Stanley asked one of Daphne’s adopted sons to take Kitty’s bags to her room and ushered Kitty into his private sitting room.
‘The boys have thrived with Daphne taking them under her wing,’ Kitty commented as she closed the door, ‘much like the Gaskin brothers when I first came here. They were a cheeky pair, now they’re moving into adulthood, and there’s nothing they don’t know about farming. They were lucky with their adopted parents. I love receiving their letters.’
‘That pair of scallywags kept us on our toes, but they have grown into fine young men. I am glad they still keep in touch. I have to ask, how are you, Kitty? You were quiet in the car.’ Kitty heard the concern in Stanley’s voice. She shrugged.
‘I’m sad when I think of the goodbyes I have made, as they might be my last. I intend to commit to Canada, and my uncle, well, he’s not getting any younger,’ she replied.
Stanley went to the drinks cabinet, took out two crystal glasses, poured a generous measure of brandy into each and handed one to her.
‘Drink; it will help you sleep. You’re doing the right thing, but you are allowed to be sad, too. Tomorrow, we’ve an appointment for our medical card, and then we must collect your passport. I also have an appointment with a solicitor in Durham. This is to ensure that if anything happens to me, you are protected and financially secure.’ Stanley raised his glass.
Kitty looked at him in surprise.
‘I am not your responsibility, Stanley. I am Michael’s wife. I appreciate – no, more than appreciate – your help, but you cannot spend your money on me,’ she said with passion.
Stanley leaned back in his chair, shook his head at her and then leaned forward, keeping eye contact.
‘Jenny would want me to do this for you. She was fond of you, as I am, and it’s played on my mind. I owe you a lot since you moved my bed around at the hospital, encouraging me to walk and giving me the incentive to live again. Without you, I would not be as able and independent. Let me do this for you. I have no children, wife or siblings. But you’re like a sister to me – just like we told Mrs Charlesworth, only it’s not a lie – I do think a lot of you and want you to inherit my worldly goods.’ He spoke with conviction. ‘All I ask is that you give me a decent burial when the time comes.’
‘Enough! We have to live first,’ Kitty almost shouted, his words frightening her.
‘You’re right. I can’t wait to see your face when we land,’ Stanley replied, and his laugh lightened the mood. ‘The first official passengers will fly next month, in August. My friends are now pilots for the airlines, transporting them – and us. We’re on the trial trip for one of them.’
Kitty knew Stanley well enough to recognise when he chose to change the subject; there was no point in continuing the discussion. His mind was made up, and nothing she said would change it. She refrained from mentioning that he might meet someone in Canada and want to leave them his legacy, knowing he would argue that it was unlikely to happen. Instead, she joined him in the new conversation about their upcoming trip.
‘I am nervous, but excited at the same time. I’m putting my trust in him – and you. What am I doing, Stanley?’ she said with a giggle.
She still could not believe that in a matter of days she would be inside a plane looking down on the world.
‘You, my dear, are going to find Michael and live happily ever after. If that doesn’t work out, you will have a comfortable life exploring Canada with me by your side. That’s what you’re going to do,’ Stanley said. They spent the rest of the evening discussing what might happen once they landed in their new country.
In her bedroom, Kitty laid out her clothes. She had several dresses that were heavy with their underskirts, and decided to leave them for Daphne and the other ladies to alter them for the children. She lifted out her mother’s beret and set it to one side. She would wear it with pride when she landed in Canada.
She unwrapped a photograph and gazed at her parents, the handsome couple smiling at the camera holding hands. Her mother’s belly was rounded, and Kitty guessed she was the child inside. Her aunt had often told her she had inherited her father’s eyes and her mother’s heart-shaped face, and now she could see it was true.
Although the photo was black and white, she could see they both had the same hair shade and knew it was the same as hers, thanks to her aunt. It saddened her that this picture had not been part of her life until her last visit home, but she understood how difficult it must have been for her uncle. The two brothers had been very close, and he was heartbroken over his loss. Her aunt and uncle probably tucked the photograph away in the case and forgot about it. Bringing Kitty and her cousin up was their priority. Then, when their son was killed, his photograph was the one they focused on. She had promised to send her uncle one of her in Canada, and wondered if it would replace her wedding photograph on his mantlepiece. He was angry with Michael, despite her asking him not to jump to conclusions and to remember she had played a part in their separation.
‘Well, Mum and Dad, I am taking you on the journey of my lifetime. I am confused, frightened and sad, but I will hold onto courage and hope with you and Stanley by my side.’ She kissed the image.
It was sad that she did not have a photograph of her baby brother, but she had a nugget of a memory when they let her hold him soon after his birth. She had never known him as a brother, just as a baby who appeared at breakfast one morning. He was gone from her life just as quickly as he arrived. At five, she had not understood death or loss. She did understand confusion and sadness. It had taken a lot of patience on her aunt’s part to help her through those feelings. When her cousin died, her aunt was torn up with her own grief, and Kitty had to deal with her own sadness as best she could. It felt as if she had lost another brother. The loss of her aunt was another traumatic moment for Kitty and she wished she had her aunt’s voice of wisdom whispering in her ear as she wondered whether she was doing the right thing in going to Canada.
She closed the small suitcase, zipped the new valise Daphne had given her and stored them with her kitbag. Everything was in place. The formalities of the following day would make it official, and Kitty would learn more about her husband’s country and begin an unexpected adventure.
Chapter Fourteen
While she pottered around her bedroom, Kitty thought back to the conversation she had had earlier with Stanley and how she had been worried about not knowing what would be at the other end of their flight.
In his usual reassuring way, he had reminded her that they were born not knowing what the world they had arrived in was like, so it would be a learning curve for them both. They must remember not to forget one another’s needs and expectations, in order to make the path smooth for them both.
A letter from her uncle sat on her dresser. It was marked in capital letters that it was not to be opened until she had arrived in Canada. Writing letters was not like him, so she suspected it would be an emotional read. She was tempted to open it beforehand, but she did not want to break her promise to her uncle, so she put it in her handbag’s side pocket – out of sight, out of mind.
Was that how it was with Michael? She was out of his sight, so it was easier for him to put her out of his mind. It disappointed her that he had not written. All post would have been redirected from their home to Stanley’s, but nothing had arrived. She had written to him every day, expressing her emotions at the moment of writing, describing the process she was going through in order to find him, and what she wanted to explain to him when she did. Not having anywhere to send them, she tied them together and kept them in her suitcase. One day, she hoped to give them to him, along with an apology for being so hot-headed and putting their marriage in a dire situation. She knew he had played his part by walking out, but if she apologised, and he realised that he meant so much to her that she had given up her life in Great Britain to be with him, they might have a chance to start afresh.
From downstairs, the trill of the telephone in the hallway made her jump. She listened for children calling out, disturbed in their sleep, but all she heard were footsteps and muttering from one of the orphanage staff. Kitty glanced at her clock; it was ten forty-five.
Who on earth would be telephoning at this time of night?
She listened to Stanley’s muffled voice as he spoke down the telephone. He did not call out for anyone or put the telephone down, so she guessed it was private to him and had nothing to do with a new influx of orphans. Knowing she was not needed to help with anything, she readied herself for bed.
Kitty undressed, washed the heat from her skin and slipped into her cotton nightdress. She went to the window to enjoy the cooler air. Stars and the moon shone against a navy sky, and she stood wondering if Michael was also looking at the moon, and thinking of her. During the war, when they were apart, their letters often mentioned looking at the moon at a particular time and sending love to one another through the stars. She closed her eyes and let a tear trickle down her cheek before batting it away, but others flowed. It would be easy to cry away her days and sob through the night, but she had to remain focused and in control. Her emotional state was fragile, but her heart was strong and her mind determined.
Downstairs went quiet, and Kitty settled into bed, leaving the curtains open. She could still see the stars and focused on a formation close to the moon. Soon her eyelids felt heavy, and she gave in to sleep.
About an hour later, a noise disturbed her, and the sound of a car on the gravel drive startled her awake. She slipped out of bed and peered down. A figure stood looking up at the sky before facing the front door, where a light blazed across the driveway. She couldn’t make out who it was – not even if they were male or female. Kitty thought back to the war, when the light would never have happened – or, if it had, a member of the Home Guard or police would have soon called for it to be turned off.
The outline of Stanley holding out his hand suggested that one of his old colleagues or a friend had come with a message or to stay overnight. She watched as Stanley ushered them indoors.
She listened for voices in the hallway, but heard nothing and guessed they had gone into the large sitting room at the back of the house. When Stanley couldn’t sleep, he often sat in there reading. Climbing into bed, Kitty fell back to sleep until the cockerel and other birds called out the start of the following day.
Rousing herself, Kitty remembered Stanley’s late-night visitor and wondered if another guest would be at the breakfast table. Instead of keeping her dressing gown on to go down and help Daphne and the others prepare the children’s food as she often did, she dressed herself in one of the few dresses she had held back, then slipped quietly downstairs to the kitchen.
‘Morning, Daphne, another warm night,’ she said as she tied a pinafore around her dress.
‘’Twas that,’ Daphne replied, stirring a large pot of porridge. Kitty smiled: come sun or snow, Daphne always insisted porridge was the best start to the day for the young children.
‘I wonder if they have porridge in Canada,’ she said suddenly.
Daphne stopped stirring and looked at her in amusement.
‘Ee bairn, I think they must. Many Scots are living there now, and they would insist on it. You can’t get through the day without a bowl of porridge, a sprinkle of salt and sugar, and warm milk,’ she said, her face serious.
Kitty tried not to smile; the thought of a row of Scottish men and women demanding porridge oats was enough to give her a cartoon vision.
‘It’s oats. Canada must grow oats,’ she said.
‘I wonder how many other things they might not have that I enjoy,’ Kitty sighed. ‘I hope they have—’ She jumped when a female voice cut in from behind her.
‘Oh, they will have plenty of exciting things for you to find – there’s a whole different world out there.’
She swung around and came face to face with her friend Jo.
‘Jo, what are you doing here?’ Kitty exclaimed as she looked her up and down in amazement. ‘You look incredible, wonderful.’
Joan Norfolk looked more feminine than she had ever seen. Car-greased overalls or uniforms were all she’d seen Jo wear over the years. This Jo wore a black skirt suit and white blouse. Her hair was longer and pulled back into a neat bun. She also wore coral lipstick and mascara. The new image was a surprise, but Kitty could see her dear nursing friend had not lost her mischievous grin.
Kitty went to hug her, but to her surprise Jo took a step back, then tapped her jacket and moved it to one side before embracing Kitty.
‘Gun. Sorry, I forgot it was there. I’m so used to nodding off between shifts with it in my pocket,’ she whispered out of Daphne’s earshot.
Kitty looked at her, puzzled. ‘Gun?’ she asked. Jo shook her head as Daphne moved around the kitchen.
‘A fleeting visit, I’m afraid – official bodyguard duties for a VIP in London, hence the new fancy uniform. I can’t say much more except that I now work in a new, important security role. I telephoned to speak to you, and Stanley briefed me on what had happened. I have twenty-four hours off, but must return in good time to fly home.’
