October 31st was a glum day for me. The British do not celebrate Halloween, reserving their autumn celebration for November 5th, Guy Fawkes Night, a commemoration of the discovery of a plot to blow up the Houses of Parliament. The British make merry by building bonfires, which are fun, but I missed having little kids come to the door for their trick or treat. In Minooka, where everyone knew everyone else, neighbors demanded a “trick” before they put any goody in your bag. My sisters and I would sing a song, and when we were finished, after accounting for my brother’s whereabouts, we held out an old pillowcase and were rewarded with a piece of candy or an apple.
If my mood wasn’t gloomy enough, London was experiencing its first major fog of the season. It wasn’t the city’s famous “pea soup,” but it was thick enough to look like a set for a Jack the Ripper movie.
I was hoping someone would be at the house because, for the past two days, I had been all alone. Even Geoff would do, and as it turned out, he would have to. I went into the morning room and plopped down on the chair opposite to him. He offered to give up his chair, which was closer to the fire, but I didn’t feel like moving. I hadn’t even taken off my coat.
“Have you been in Brussels?” I asked.
“No, worse. I’ve been closeted in a conference room with Dutch, Belgian, French, British, and American representatives, none of whom speak a common language.”
“Americans speak English, Geoff.”
“Debatable.” I let out a loud sigh. It was going to be one of those nights.
“I went down to see Lily, and as it turns out, my mother and father were there. Lily was in false labor, and my mother rang the alarm bell because the baby would be too early. When it comes to Iris or Lily, all that is required is a phone call for my father to rush to their side. There have been royal births with fewer attendants.”
I had figured out that when Geoff was in a really bad mood, it usually had something to do with his father. The few times I had seen Rand and Geoff together, the atmosphere had been tense. Geoff, who could rarely keep his mouth shut for more than a few minutes, said almost nothing. There was also a physical change. Geoff abandoned his stooped posture for one that would have passed muster at Sandhurst.
“I don’t think it’s unusual for a parent to favor children of the opposite sex,” I said, yawning. “It certainly was true in my house. If my brother hadn’t been under my mother’s protection, my father would have killed him.”
“It’s not a matter of favoritism.”
“Then what is it?” I asked, getting my handkerchief out of my purse. For the next four months, because of inadequate heat, my nose would run constantly. There was also the possibility I was getting another cold. And I wasn’t alone. Because of a poor diet, many Britons were either sick or getting over being sick.
“I didn’t play rugby. I didn’t go to Sandhurst. I was never in combat. As far as he’s concerned, I don’t do manly things. He thinks I’m a twerp.”
I didn’t know Rand well enough to know what he thought about anything, but Geoff’s reasoning seemed all wrong to me.
“With all that your father went through after losing his eye, I can’t imagine he would have wanted his son to be in combat. I’m sure he thought you were in enough danger where you were.”
“Maggie, remember, I was in intelligence. Little danger there.”
“Really? I know my classmate, Jimmy Barrett, is buried in Belgium because an artillery shell exploded in a mess tent. He was supposedly behind the front lines and not in danger. Your father saw enough of war to know you could have been killed by an artillery shell or a sniper. Look at the Battle of the Bulge. How many men serving behind the lines were killed or taken prisoner when the Germans broke through?
“Since meeting your father, I’ve read up on the battle at Passendaele. You’ll have a hard time convincing me that your father would want you to go through anything remotely like that. And as for you being a twerp, why don’t you stop acting like one? You are intelligent, interesting, and talented, but you act as if life is one big bore.” And after blowing my nose, I finished, “And stop slouching.”
“You’re slouching,” was all Geoff said.
“But I’m slouching because I’m cold and tired. You slouch because you’re playing defense.”
“And your degree is in psychology, I presume?” I could tell he was annoyed.
Standing up, I said, “No, it’s simpler than that. Any father who would want to see his son in the thick of battle shouldn’t be a father. It’s none of my business, but I think you and your father should sit down and talk. You might surprise each other.”
Geoff surprised me when he told me to sit down. Without asking, he poured a brandy for me. When I had arrived in England, I had never had a drink of hard liquor. As I took the glass from his hand, I realized how much I had changed.
“Yes, I agree. My father would not wish his experience in battle on anyone’s son. However, you haven’t seen him when he’s talking to someone who has been in combat. Of particular interest to him is the Italian campaign because he was against it.”
“So, basically, what you’re saying is, your father talks to people who can confirm he was right when he said the Italian campaign shouldn’t have been fought at all. It may show him as being proud and lording it over those who got it wrong, but it doesn’t show a thirst for blood and guts, especially your blood and guts.”
I decided to change the subject in an effort to turn down the temperature. The relationship that was developing between Geoff and me was very much along the lines of the one I had with my brother. We were constantly sparring.
“Why was your father in the European theater anyway considering he was born and raised in India?”
“Dad is deeply attached to India and its people, but he’s also a realist. There was no way Britain was going to be able to keep India in the Empire, so he thought we should concentrate on Germany and let the Indians take care of India, and the same for Burma. It really was the forgotten war, and the CBI was the worst theater in which to fight. If someone received orders for Burma, it was assumed they would be killed, wounded, or sicken or die of disease. Both my father and Jack had severe attacks of malaria while living in India, so they had first-hand experience with the disease part of the equation. When Michael received his orders, well, you can imagine what everyone was thinking. I don’t know what happened to Michael in Burma, but it’s obvious that something did because he lost more than two stone, and there’s something wrong with his left arm.”
“Why do you say that?” I asked. I hadn’t noticed anything.
“We spent a lot of time together in India. Michael is ambidextrous, but he’s always favored his left hand. At dinner, we were always bumping elbows. It was a game we had. Now, he’s doing much more with his right hand. It’s really obvious in his letters. His handwriting is abominable, and it wasn’t when we were in India.”
I agreed with Geoff about the handwriting. Considering his education, his penmanship looked as if it was being written by someone who was just learning how to write cursive.
“Other than being in the hospital because of a parasite he had picked up,” I said, “Michael hasn’t said anything to his parents about being injured or wounded.”
“My God, he wouldn’t! When Jack learnt that Michael had orders for Burma, he almost fell apart, although I’m not supposed to know about that. He was already worried near to death about James being in the mixer in Italy, but at least Michael was safe at the air base in Lincolnshire. Then the news came about Burma.
“After the Japanese surrender, Michael would have been eligible for home leave. Instead, he went straight from Burma to Australia and from there to Malta. Very suspicious to my mind. Beth and Jack didn’t see him until he went to James’s wedding in Italy. He was even thinner then than he is now. He tried to put the best face on it, but, my God, you couldn’t help but notice the weight loss and the circles under his eyes. Beth was really shaken. Anyway, when the party got going, Michael had a great time, and despite his appearance, his spirits seemed to be in top form. I went up to Crofton Wood last Christmas, and other than being ready to get back to civilian life, he didn’t have any complaints.”
The same was true of Rob. Before the war, his plans had been to teach math at the local high school, not to navigate a B-17 bomber. Up to that point, I had avoided talking about Rob because of Geoff’s wisecracks, but I had since learned how to steer the conversation in such a way that it kept his smart-aleck remarks to a minimum. I summarized Rob’s service, his thirty missions over Germany, and his inability to adjust to a peacetime society.
“I’m not sure what you’re asking here,” Geoff said. “I can’t answer for Rob, but if you are asking if Michael is carrying around some terrible burden because of the war, I’m pretty confident in saying ‘no.’”
“Why? You hardly ever see him.”
“In India, the Crowells had a head servant named Kavi, who instructed us in the martial arts. It involved a lot of kicking and fighting with sticks, but there was also an emphasis on meditation and yoga. James and I loved the fighting part, but we weren’t all that keen on meditating. Not so Michael. He wanted to learn everything Kavi could teach him. I don’t know if he can still do it, but he was once able to put his legs behind his head. Mike was the calmest chap I’ve ever known, and a lot of it was due to his training with Kavi. What I’m trying to say is that if something bad happened to him, and there’s a good chance something did, then he would have dealt with it head-on.” Almost as an afterthought, Geoff added, “As to your relationship with Rob, I’d give it a miss.”
“Why?” I asked, surprised.
“First, I don’t believe your problems with Rob have very much to do with the war. From the little you’ve told me, Rob’s not acting out of the norm. Most people who have seen horrible things and can’t deal with them, do something to blot them out. Usually, it’s drink. But I knew one fellow who took up tennis because it kept him busy, and he couldn’t concentrate on anything else. He’s got a smashing backhand now.”
“And secondly?” It was amazing how easily he got off track.
“Let me put it this way, if you were my girlfriend, I wouldn’t have returned to the States without you or, if I absolutely had to return to the States, I would have made arrangements for you to follow. He didn’t do either of those things. I’d forget about him and concentrate on me.”
“You must be joking,” I said, laughing.
“Why not? I’m handsome, intelligent, well educated. I have a good job with a promising future. I draw quarterly on a trust fund set up by my Burden grandparents. There’s more. Shall I go on?”
“Geoff, I wouldn’t be good for you at all,” I said in a more serious tone in case he wasn’t kidding. “You need a girl who won’t put up with your nonsense. Someone like my sister Sadie.”
“Is Sadie as pretty as you are?” Geoff acted as if he was really interested.
“Prettier. But she’s tough. If it’s on her mind, you’ll hear about it. She’s the only one who ever had the courage to talk back to my grandfather, and he hasn’t said a word to her since.”
Thinking about my sister, it reminded me of how much I missed all of my family, and with the holidays coming, I was beginning to think it was time to go home. It was too late to get home by Thanksgiving. But if I started making plans immediately, I could give my boss sufficient notice, so that I could be in Minooka by Christmas. The hardest thing would be to leave the Crowells, and now the Alcotts, but without Rob, I was beginning to feel like a woman without a country.