Kate's War, page 1
PRAISE FOR KATE’S WAR
“. . . engagingly written historical drama.”
—Kirkus Reviews
“With its well-developed characters, evocative writing, and exploration of universal themes, Kate’s War is likely to resonate with fans of historical fiction and anyone seeking a moving story of love and resilience during tumultuous times.”
—Readers’ Favorite, 5-star review
“Kate’s War, the story of a quiet English girl living a quiet life just outside London in the late 1930s, becomes the story of a life made larger and deeper in the run-up to the beginning of WWII. As in Henley’s two previous novels, the creative life of main characters battles with the demands of daily life, and Kate’s singing and teaching of music acts as a foil against the trauma of persecution and war. Henley’s rich creation of pre-war England and the resilience of ordinary people called to become extraordinary make this well-written novel a wonderful read.”
—Barbara Stark-Neman, author of Even in Darkness and Hard Cider.
“Like a fledgling songbird, Kate Murphy makes several attempts to flee the nest before she soars. A mesmerizing and heartfelt narrative of a young woman’s inner and outer battles at the cusp of WWII just south of London. Another wonderful read from award-winning author Linda Stewart Henley. Highly recommended.”
—Ashley E. Sweeney, author of Eliza Waite.
“Kate’s War not only illuminates a forgotten part of World War II history, it’s also a beautiful story about a young woman finding her way, one that builds to a gripping and exciting ending. In this fast-paced story of strength, humanity, love, and perseverance, Henley paints a drama-filled portrait of a family’s struggles at the onset of World War II. Filled with emotional wealth, Kate’s War is a moving and revealing story.”
—Laurie Buchanan, author of the Sean McPherson novels.
“While reading Kate’s War, I enjoyed moving among a set of approachable characters in a world defined by the details of historical place, popular culture, language, music, and social traditions while bound by duty to family and country. Their burdens, joys, and disappointments become palpable as each passing month the exigencies of war disrupt their lives. A delightful read all the way to the exciting climax.”
—Gary R. Hudak, MD, American Board of Psychiatry and Neurology
PRAISE FOR WATERBURY WINTER
“Henley’s book is a thoroughly lovely and strangely compelling character study of a man haunted by guilt and regret who endeavors to make a new life for himself . . . This is a novel to be savored. It is warm-hearted without being saccharine and abundant with grief and hope.”
—The US Review of Books
“. . . the author excels at expressing the book’s larger themes through dialogue about nostalgia and youth. Overall, the book creates a suspenseful journey for characters—and readers—trying to navigate life’s big questions. A reflective, witty, and fun story that elegantly crosses genres and addresses intriguing themes.”
—Kirkus Reviews
“Waterbury Winter is a heartwarming story that will captivate you until the very end with its romance, mystery, and characters that readers will want to watch grow and develop. Readers will enjoy a tale that has you believing in finding the strength to better yourself and realize that your life doesn’t have to be perfect to be wonderful.”
—Literary Titan
PRAISE FOR ESTELLE
“For avid readers of historical fiction, this book possesses an added, almost supernatural, narrative magic. The alternating historical and personal points of view balance well, fueling the sense that many of the female characters, despite nearly a century of separation, are practically one at certain points. Engaging and swift-paced, nuanced and intricate, this book is sure to delight history and art lovers alike while serving as a strong introduction to readers new to the historical fiction genre.”
—The US Review of Books
“A beautifully mesmerizing debut novel set in New Orleans that will haunt readers long after the very last page is read.”
—Chanticleer Reviews
“A promising debut . . . Henley brings New Orleans to life as she braids two intriguing stories—Edgar Degas’ art and dalliance with Marguerite and Anne’s treasure hunt into Degas’s poorly-known early history.”
–Historical Novel Society Review
Copyright © 2024, Linda Henley
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, digital scanning, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, please address She Writes Press.
Published 2024
Printed in the United States of America
Print ISBN: 978-1-64742-614-9
E-ISBN: 978-1-64742-615-6
Library of Congress Control Number: 2023915780
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Interior Design by Kiran Spees
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
For my father
Gordon Thallon Stewart
1919 - 2016
CHAPTER 1
Sunday, September 3, 1939
The day broke gently, misty and still, but promised nothing gentle for Kate. The plans she would announce to the family that morning would not please them, especially her mother. She lingered in bed for a few more minutes while the morning sun struggled to emerge, piercing the crack between the curtains. Then she got up and tore the window coverings open and squinted at the familiar gleam of railway tracks as they disappeared around the curve towards London. She would miss the sight, but not the sound, of trains hurtling past just a stone’s throw from the house. Kate straightened her shoulders: she would go, even though leaving would unsettle her parents, deplete her paycheck, and demolish her savings. Her heart quickened at the thrill of the adventure ahead. Now she had only to let go of her doubts, fling them outside, and allow them to evaporate like steam from the passing trains.
She turned her attention to the Red Admiral butterfly perched on the windowsill. It drew its wings together, hiding their brilliant colours, then flexed and flared into the sky. Its beauty brought memories of the nickname her sister Clare had teasingly given her when they were children. Caterpillar. Because, despite her dearest wishes, Kate couldn’t fly.
But now she could. The time had come to leave her Carshalton home, take a flat closer to London with her friend Sybil, and wing into her own life. All it takes is courage, she said to herself. She took a deep breath and with a quick gesture tidied her unruly hair. She would tell her parents this very day. This very minute. She pulled on a dressing gown and sped downstairs.
She found her family clustered in the living room, surprising at that time of day. Her mother still wore her grey church-going dress and shoes. Ryan, lounging in his striped football jersey, looked sleepy. How would they react when she told them her news? She opened her mouth to speak, but her father Sean held up a finger to silence her while he switched on the wireless. It crackled into life, and moments later the broadcast began. Neville Chamberlain made the announcement in his halting old-man voice.
“This country is at war with Germany.”
Kate collapsed into the nearest chair. What she most feared was happening. War. In her lifetime.
“Oh Sean!” her mother gasped, reaching for her husband’s arm. “Not again—”
“Hush, Mary Grace,” he said, turning up the volume.
The Prime Minister continued, urging parents to save their children from harm in vulnerable cities by participating in an evacuation plan called Operation Pied Piper. He ended the broadcast, saying more information would be forthcoming about this and how to prepare.
Kate’s thoughts whirled while the family remained huddled around the wireless listening to the news without moving a muscle. Even though it was not a surprise, it was sobering to face the certainty of war. A few seconds later, Ryan stretched his legs, and Kate caught his eye.
“Thank God you’re too young to be a soldier,” she said, breaking the silence. Then, looking at her father, she asked, “Will you have to serve, Dad?”
“Probably not at first, anyway,” Sean said. “We’ll learn more soon. The king’s address comes on at six.”
Dread gripped Kate’s heart. But many young men will fight and die.
“I’ll make a pot of tea and some sandwiches,” Mary Grace said, her thin voice breaking, eyes brimming with tears. Kate rose to help.
Each member of the family sat quietly eating their lunch, engrossed in their own thoughts. They resorted to various activities to pass the time until the king’s speech. Mary Grace cleaned the kitchen, and Sean and Ryan left to play football. Kate went for a long walk. With each footstep, she became more certain that this was not the time to announce her departure from home.
At six o’clock, the family gathered again in the living room to listen to King George. Kate moved closer to the wireless to hear.
“In this grave hour,” the king began, “perhaps the most fateful in our history . . .”
Is this really happening? Fateful? Now? When I’ve laid such careful plans? Kate thought with horror.
“. . . for the second time in the lives of most of us, we are at war.”
Kate’s attention wandered as she tried to absorb the full meaning of the words. The king spoke slowly, with hesitation. It was common knowledge that he suffered from a speech impediment, and Kate was well aware of the difficult task before him. She related to this, and held her breath in sympathy. As the king continued, his voice strengthened with confidence, and she relaxed. She appreciated his efforts to inspire courage in a jittery nation. She listened more intently.
“. . . For the sake of all that we ourselves hold dear, and of the world order and peace, it is unthinkable that we should refuse to meet the challenge.”
Kate groaned inwardly as she understood the implications for herself. I must give up my own challenge in the interest of world order and peace. She scrutinised the long faces of her family. Everyone sat transfixed, unblinking. There was no way she could leave home just now. Her spirits plummeted.
“. . . with God’s help, we shall prevail.”
Sean reached over and flicked off the wireless.
“Let’s hope so,” he said glumly.
Kate groped for something to say. “For a stutterer, I’d say it was a good speech,” she said at last. As she uttered the words, the ghost of an idea flitted through her head. Perhaps there was hope for her yet.
Mary Grace glared at her. “That’s not the point. That it’s a good speech isn’t important. We’re at war again. Don’t you know what that means?” She wrung her hands, her face stricken. “We must all stay together to get through it.”
Thinking that as usual her mother lacked sensitivity to a long-standing problem, Kate wanted to defend herself, to explain that she understood only too well her mother’s fears about the war, but the sudden blare of air raid sirens drowned her out. She clapped her ears in fright and squeezed her eyes shut as the unearthly sounds wailed up and down the scale. When the noise ceased, Sean cautiously opened the front door. Neighbours leaned from windows, and shouts of “Blimey, are the blighters bombing us already?” and “Bloody hell!” erupted along the street. Kate attempted to push past her father, but he caught her arm.
“Don’t go out. We don’t know what’s happening yet. We must stay inside and wait for instructions.”
Kate reluctantly withdrew as the reality of the situation gripped her. Her country was at war, and her dreams and ambitions could be dashed to a million pieces. The devastation, the utter hopelessness and cruelty of war, would be here, in England. The all-clear siren sounded, one long, sustained note signaling the end of the air raid alarm. She clapped her hands to her ears again, knowing that it signaled the beginning of a new and inescapable kind of alarm. However would she adjust, as adjust she must?
CHAPTER 2
September 1939
They drew the blackout curtains tight each evening, but life continued eerily as usual. Kate was happy to retreat to her part-time job teaching singing at St. Bridget’s School for Girls. From work, she phoned her best friend Sybil to commiserate about the end of their plans for a flat together. Each day Kate arrived home to the sound of her mother’s heavy sobbing in the kitchen as she grieved at the onset of another war. Kate sympathised, but couldn’t bear witnessing the red eyes, sunken cheeks, and shuddering shoulders. Most days Kate slipped into the house quietly and stole up the stairs to her room.
At the end of the week on Friday, she wanted to sit at her piano. She needed to practice and craved the calming effect music always had on her. But she didn’t dare. She knew her mother hated the constant repetition of passages that didn’t always sound musical, and Kate didn’t want to add to the tension in the household. She sighed and threw her satchel on the bed, kicked her shoes off, and lay down. An hour remained before tea time at four, and she would stay out of the kitchen until then. She stared at the ceiling, her mind restless, until a knock disturbed her thoughts.
“Can I come in?”
She pulled herself up, opened the door to Ryan, and fell back on the bed. He shut the door and sat down beside her. She mussed his hair. At thirteen, he was too old to cuddle with any more. He’d grown tall and lanky, and his voice sometimes cracked, switching from a boy’s high pitch to a new deeper tone. His dark hair flopped around his ears, and his brown eyes snapped with anger.
“She’s at it again. I wish she’d stop. She’s so dramatic.”
“I know. I hate it, too, but I try to understand. She’s our mum guarding her chicks, just like your old pet hen, remember? She clucked and chased her babies around the garden, and scolded them when they ran too far.”
“I understand all that. But Hickory was a chicken and didn’t know any better.”
“Look, everyone’s on edge these days. They’re saying the threat of an invasion by Germany is real. And we live on the outskirts of London, so that puts us at risk for bombing. The government wants to protect the children. That’s you!”
“I’m not a child,” he snorted, “and I don’t mind getting out of the house. It’s so depressing these days, with Mum afraid, and the bomb shelters, blackouts, and talk of air raids. You know about the Operation Pied Piper thing. I’d like to go to the countryside where there’s more space. My school mates feel the same.”
“Are any of them leaving?”
“Not yet. Billy might soon.”
“Where will he go?”
“They haven’t told him. Everything’s a secret. At school they gave us all a sign-up letter to bring home today. That’s what got Mum going again. The envelope said ‘From His Majesty’s Government. Urgent.’ She broke down and cried buckets.”
“You didn’t tell her you want to leave home, did you?”
He shook his head. “Not yet.”
Kate nodded and gave him a feeble smile.
“That’s best. We need to let things settle down for a bit. I’d think Dad’s not against the idea of evacuation, and Mum may come around in time.”
“You have all the luck. You can make your own decisions. Don’t you want to get out of here?”
Kate grimaced. “Come on, Ryan, how can I justify both of us taking off?” Especially now Clare’s married, she thought. “Mum wants to keep the family together,” she continued. “If you go, I stay.”
“But you’re twenty! You don’t have to live at home anymore. If I were you, I wouldn’t hang around for a minute. I’m going to leave school next year anyway.”
“Fine, if that’s your decision. No one’s going to stop you from growing up.” She mussed his hair again. “And I’ll miss you, too, little brother, when you do.”
He grinned. “Aw. Let’s arm wrestle.”
They made right angles of their arms on the bed and clasped hands. Kate presented her stronger left arm. For a few minutes they swayed one way, then the other, until Ryan tightened his grip and slammed his sister’s forearm onto the mattress.
“You’re strong, for a girl,” he said.
“You forget I’m a swimmer, or used to be.”
“Hmm. Like Mum. Hard to imagine now.”
It was hard to imagine. At his age, the former Mary Grace O’Donnell had been a competitive swimmer. She learned to swim in the sea near her parents’ home in Sussex, in Selsey, on the South coast, fearlessly plunging into the water at all times of the year. She had taught Kate early during summer visits there, but by the time Ryan was old enough the family no longer spent holidays in Selsey, or anywhere. Things changed for the family, and Mary Grace, no longer challenging herself to confront white-crested waves, lost her powerful arm muscles. How sad, Kate thought, that her mother’s now softer body did nothing to soothe her constantly skittish mind.
“I wish I could swim as well as you,” Ryan said. “Maybe you can coach me.”
