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  Above her the leaves flickered. She stretched her arm out and brushed them with her fingers. This river was so pretty, she thought. Gradually the gentle plash of the water and the mild rocking of the boat soothed her into an exhausted sleep.

  It wasn’t till she turned over to adjust her pillow that she realized that she didn’t have one, and neither was she in her bedroom at the Omsks’. She was lying in a boat on a river somewhere in Devon, and the reason she was lying there was because she was angry with her mother. She thought back to how her mother had bounded across the garden to answer that emergency call, and she realized that it was dumb to be so mad at her. After all, if her mother fixed the ambulance, it might save someone’s life. She gave a sigh. Why couldn’t she save someone’s life in a more hygienic way, though, like being a nurse or something?

  She sat up. A slight breeze was moving through the leaves, and it was beginning to grow cool. Her anger had subsided, and the swim and the sleep had refreshed her. She felt ravenous. What she wouldn’t have given for a plateful of baked beans and hamburgers, followed by an ice-cream soda! But then, she thought, pioneers didn’t have hamburgers and ice-cream soda. And pioneers also didn’t have showers when they wanted, or refrigerators or washing-machines. They had to be inventive. If she was lonely and she wanted a buddy, she’d have to go out and find one. Forget about her mother and Charlie. Boy, he got up her nose. She was on her own, in the wilderness.

  ‘Think pioneer,’ she muttered.

  She slipped back into her clothes, untied the rope and pushed one oar against the bank to ease the dinghy into the deeper part of the river. Even as the oars scraped against her sore hands, she thought ‘pioneer’ and that made her feel proud.

  ‘Row, row, row jour boat

  Gently down the stream,’

  she sang,

  ‘Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily,

  Life is but a dream.’

  When she got back to Beatie’s, she’d write lots of letters. Here she’d been waiting for letters from America, and she hadn’t sent any off herself.

  She’d write to Janey, and the Fitzes, and to Aunt Hannah and Uncle Bruno and the girls, and a private one to Skeet, and one to her Girl Scout captain to read to the troop, and one to Miss Jenkins, her art teacher.

  Just the thought of them all made her feel good. Too bad she didn’t have a fishing rod – then she could have caught some fish and brought them back to the house for tea. For tea! That sounded so English. Like she was in a movie.

  She realized that she must have rowed a good distance in her temper, for the journey back seemed much longer. She had no idea what time it was. It was difficult to tell in England. The night crept up so slow. She let the oars rest against the sides and drifted for a moment. The palms of her hands were pink and blistered.

  ‘They’ll toughen up,’ she said in her pioneer voice, and she grabbed the oars firmly and began whisking the boat swiftly past the banks.

  As the trees began to clear, she knew that she would soon see the jetty. She pulled a little more slowly on the oars. Even though it wasn’t yet dark, the sky had grown dull, and there were lights on in the house. Hanging from a clothes-line were the two pairs of blackout curtains. Rusty stared guiltily at them. Beatie must have hung them up herself. She glanced back at the jetty and began rowing towards it.

  As the boat slid alongside it, she grabbed one of the wooden posts and flung the rope around it, knotting it quickly. She was about to clamber out when she noticed a girl striding briskly across the garden. Her short wavy hair fell untidily from a side parting. Below a shabby blouse, a pair of worn blue corduroy slacks was rolled up to her knees.

  Rusty guessed from the size of the girl that she must be about eleven. She waved. ‘Hi!’

  The girl frowned and strode very fimly in her direction. Rusty could see that she was angry.

  She stopped abruptly on the jetty, her bare feet apart, her hands on her hips. ‘I must say,’ she yelled, ‘you’ve got a bloody nerve!’

  7

  ‘Your boat!’ said Rusty, astounded. ‘I thought it belonged to the house.’

  ‘Well, it doesn’t. It belongs to me. Beatie lets me keep it here.’

  ‘I didn’t know.’

  ‘Well, you know now.’

  Rusty scrambled up to the jetty. She was almost a head taller than the girl.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I had no idea.’

  The girl scowled and turned on her heel.

  Rusty ran after her. ‘Hey, what more can I say? It’s a swell boat.’ The girl attempted to shrug off a smile. ‘I’d be mad too if someone just went off in it,’ Rusty said.

  ‘Yes. Well,’ said the girl. She caught sight of Rusty’s hands, took hold of one and turned it palm upwards. ‘Ouch!’ she said.

  ‘Yeah. I haven’t been rowing for a while. They’ll harden up again with more practice.’ She paused. ‘I guess I won’t be getting that practice now, though.’

  The girl began walking towards the house. ‘We’ll see,’ she said.

  ‘That’d be great if you’d let me,’ said Rusty.

  The girl swung round. ‘Not on your own, though.’

  ‘The two of us, you mean?’

  ‘Perhaps.’

  ‘That’d be even better.’

  ‘I said perhaps.’

  ‘Sure.’

  The girl looked steadily into Rusty’s eyes and then took in her brightly coloured blouse, shorts, and sandals. When Rusty stopped at the conservatory door, she went on walking.

  ‘Say,’ said Rusty, ‘won’t you come in?’

  ‘I’ve been waiting “in” since lunchtime.’

  ‘I didn’t know. No one told me.’

  ‘Anyway, I think you have a reception committee waiting for you.’

  ‘A reception committee?’

  ‘You’re in for a bollocking.’

  Rusty wasn’t too sure what a bollocking was, but she guessed that it wasn’t too pleasant. As the girl turned away, Rusty caught her arm.

  ‘My name’s Rusty. What’s yours?’

  ‘Elizabeth, but most people call me Beth.’

  ‘Sure is nice to meet you. Sorry I made you mad.’

  Beth shrugged.

  ‘Be seeing you,’ said Rusty.

  She watched Beth pick up her bicycle. Although it was an old one, it seemed much lighter than the ones in the States. Beth hopped on to the machine and pedalled swiftly around the corner.

  It was deathly quiet in the house. Rusty felt as though she should tiptoe. As she stepped into the hallway, she saw that the living-room door was ajar. She walked up to it and eased it open.

  Her mother was standing by the empty fireplace. Beatie was seated in the armchair. No one spoke.

  ‘Hi,’ said Rusty quietly.

  Rusty’s mother looked pale.

  ‘I hope you have an explanation, Virginia,’ she said tightly.

  Beatie gazed sympathetically at Rusty.

  ‘Uh-huh,’ said Rusty. ‘I had no idea the boat belonged to someone else. I’ve apologized to her.’

  ‘Who did you think it belonged to?’

  Rusty glanced at Beatie. ‘I thought it was yours.’

  ‘I see,’ said Peggy. ‘And are you in the habit of borrowing people’s belongings without asking?’

  ‘Uh-uh,’ said Rusty, shaking her head. ‘I just didn’t think. I just...’ She wanted to say, ‘I was just so mad that you went away,’ but the words stayed at the back of her throat. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Are you also in the habit of going off on your own without asking permission?’

  Rusty was puzzled. ‘Sure I am. I can take care of myself. Sometimes I tell people where I’m going. But no one was around.’

  ‘What about Beatie?’

  Rusty looked at Beatie. ‘I guess I should have told you.’

  Before Beatie could speak, Rusty’s mother stepped forward.

  ‘Virginia, in future you don’t tell either Beatie or myself where you are going. You as
k permission.’

  ‘Ask permission?’

  ‘Yes. Do you understand?’

  Rusty swallowed. ‘Uh-huh.’

  ‘Have you any idea the worry you’ve caused?’

  ‘There’s no need to worry. I can handle a boat just fine.’

  ‘Don’t answer back.’

  As another silence sucked the air out of the room, Beatie took in Rusty’s dishevelled, damp red hair and penetrating green eyes. Her face was flushed with anger. She stood upright, unco wed. Peggy stared at her and lit a cigarette.

  ‘I think bed without supper is In order,’ she said quietly.

  ‘But Peggy,’ said Beatie, ‘the girl hasn’t had any lunch.’

  ‘She would have had lunch if she hadn’t decided to go off on her own.’

  ‘I coulda gone to the beach and I didn’t because I said I’d work on the curtains,’ yelled Rusty. ‘And so did you and you broke your word!’

  ‘Virginia,’ said her mother. ‘That is enough. You will go to your room.’

  ‘That’s not fair. You haven’t heard my side of it.’

  ‘You obviously think yourself more important than people who need medical help.’

  ‘I never said that.’

  ‘I told you it was an emergency. There has been a war on here, you know.’ She drew in sharply on her cigarette. ‘There still is in Japan.’ She turned hurriedly away. ‘Just be grateful you’re alive.’

  Rusty caught Beatie’s glance. Beatie gave her a nod. The nod seemed to say, ‘Leave it for now.’

  Rusty headed for the door. She refused to be beaten. If she let herself collapse in the middle, she’d just howl. She’d walk tall. Chest and chin raised, she made her way up the stairs to the bathroom. Even in the privacy of the washroom, she held her head high. She filled the sink with water and lowered her blistered hands into it. ‘Boy, does that hurt,’ she muttered, gritting her teeth.

  Washing her hair made them sting even more. She was glad she’d taken the boat down the river. As soon as she was in bed, she’d lie back and think about it and pretend she was still there.

  For a moment she thought of all the letters she had planned to write. She couldn’t vrite any tonight. It would upset the Omsks too much to know how unhappy she felt, and she couldn’t lie to them. She’d been handling rowing boats since she was eight years old. What was wrong with her going off in one?

  ‘I guess I should have asked first, though,’ she murmured.

  She wrapped a towel round herself and slipped out on to the landing.

  She had no sooner put her pyjamas on than the window rattled and it began raining. Suddenly, in her narrow bed, she felt as though she was in prison. She buried her head in her hands and thought ‘pioneer’ as hard as she could.

  Footsteps came hurrying up the stairs, followed by whispers. It was Beatie, Ivy and her mother. She heard the clang of the buckets and bowls out on the landing and sat up, defiant, waiting for them to enter, but the door never opened and the footsteps continued downstairs.

  Outside, a car drew up. Rusty got out of bed and stood on the chair by the window. It was Mitch. In two days he and Ivy would be married.

  She slid down on to the chair. The wedding preparations seemed awfully dull. There had been no shower, where everyone brought gifts for the future bride. Rusty drew her knees up and hugged them. Jinkie’s shower had been the best. Aunt Hannah had made beautiful dresses for them all. Hers was a pale-yellow organdie. It flared and flounced out from the waist. Rusty liked to dress up, although she had to admit that it was always a relief when she could peel a dress off and get back into her jeans. Maybe she was two people: Virginia and Rusty. The Virginia part would float around in long gowns like Scarlett O’Hara in Gone With The Wind, and the Rusty side would disappear into the woods with Skeet. She closed her eyes tightly. She could see Jinkie with her blonde hair and tall willowy figure, sitting in the rocker on the back porch. It was summer. Aunt Hannah had made little lanterns, which she had placed on tiny tables. White moths had fluttered and bumped themselves against the screen. She remembered asking, ‘Why is it called a shower?’ ‘I guess,’ Aunt Hannah had said, ‘it’s because people shower you with gifts.’

  Jinkie had looked so happy. All the time up to the wedding, the house had vibrated with excited voices. And then Jinkie would sometimes get all pink and flustered and burst into tears and say, ‘I don’t want to get married after all,’ and Aunt Hannah would put her arm around her and they would disappear into Jinkie’s room, and Rusty would sit on the stairs outside, not eavesdropping exactly, but just because she knew something important was going on in there, and that it had to do with growing up.

  Sometimes, after Rusty had her own room, Aunt Hannah would sit on the bed and they would talk about all kinds of things. How Rusty was worried that her maths teacher didn’t like her, or about a quarrel she’d had with Janey, or what she was going to do when she grew up. When they talked about that, Aunt Hannah would sometimes look sad and start stroking her hair. Now she knew why. It was because Aunt Hannah knew she wouldn’t see her grown up.

  ‘Gee whiz,’ she said, feeling the tears roaring into her nose and throat. She pressed her forehead into the wall in an effort to control herself.

  From the garden came the sound of Ivy’s laughter. Rusty climbed back on the chair and peered out. Mitch, who was holding an enormous piece of canvas tarpaulin over her head, was escorting her to the jeep.

  Downstairs, the telephone rang. She jumped down and tiptoed out of the room on to the landing. Within minutes the dining-room door had opened, and Beatie and her mother were in the hallway.

  ‘At least take an umbrella,’ Beatie said.

  ‘I won’t be able to hold it.’

  ‘Yes, but someone else will, and it’ll keep your head and the engine dry.’

  ‘Yes, that’s true. It’s a fearful nuisance, really. Still, at least it’ll take my mind off everything.’

  ‘Of course it will, dear. It’s a horrifying business, I know, but it’ll mean there’ll soon be peace.’

  ‘Oh, I wish I could believe you, but now that they’ve invented a bomb like this, it’ll mean lots of other countries will want to have one, too.’ She sounded awfully sad. ‘And what if they invent one that’s worse?’

  ‘Go and attend to that car,’ said Beatie. ‘I’ll have a nice hot bath ready for you when you come back.’

  ‘Now, don’t go waiting up for me.’

  ‘Oh, go on with you.’

  Avoiding the drips from the ceiling, Rusty found a dry spot on the floorboards and sat and listened to the front door opening and closing.

  ‘Bread and cheese do you?’ said Beatie up the stairs. Rusty froze. ‘It’s all right,’ Beatie continued. ‘I know you’re eavesdropping. I’m afraid it’ll have to be powdered milk. You’ve had your ration for today, but I’ll flavour it with a bit of cocoa-powder and saccharin. All right?’

  Rusty leaned over the banister and grinned sheepishly. Beatie was standing at the foot of the hallway stairs, looking up.

  That’d be swell. Shall I come get it?’

  ‘No. Your mother said I wasn’t to let you out of bed as soon as her back was turned. She didn’t say anything about not feeding you, though.’

  As soon as Rusty heard Beatie’s step on the landing, she flung open the door and took the tray from her hands. On it was a plate with two pieces of toast with melted cheese, a large pear, and a tin mug with hot brown liquid in it.

  She sat on the bed and put the tray on her knees. ‘Thanks,’ she said.

  ‘May I come in?’ said Beatie.

  ‘Take a seat,’ said Rusty, moving up.

  She was about to take a bite from the toast, but stopped.

  ‘I’m sorry about making everyone upset. I’m used to going off by myself, or with friends, exploring and everything, but I shoulda asked about the boat, I know that.’

  Beatie placed a hand on hers.

  ‘Your mother doesn’t know that you can look after you
rself. Remember, you left her at the age of seven. And you did come back rather late.’

  ‘I know it. I just couldn’t tell how late it was. I didn’t have my watch. In Connecticut when it gets to be night, it gets dark. Going to bed when it’s still light here is weird.’

  Beatie nodded. ‘You wait till the winter. It gets dark more quickly then.’ She paused. ‘Your mother was also upset by today’s news. Another of those atom bombs has been dropped in Japan on a city called Nagasaki. They say the last one killed eighty thousand people.’

  ‘Eighty thousand!’ Rusty gave a low whistle.

  ‘And even the survivors are suffering because of the radiation from the bomb.’

  ‘But we’re at war with Japan. Doesn’t she want us to win?’

  ‘Of course she does, but this is the most devastating bomb that’s ever been used. Your mother saw what the V2S did to the people in London and the South. That’s why it’s shaken her so badly.’

  ‘I didn’t know she was in London.’

  ‘Yes. She was one of the W.V.S. volunteers who went up last year.’

  ‘I guess I had it lucky in the States,’ said Rusty guiltily.

  ‘Anyone who’s alive is damned lucky,’ Beatie said, ruffling her hair. ‘And your hair is soaking! Hand me that towel.’

  She pressed Rusty’s head down.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Making you a turban.’

  ‘That’s what Jinkie used to do when she washed her hair. Alice’s and Kathryn’s hair is short, so they just let it dry by itself.’

  Beatie placed the towel over her head and twisted it. ‘Lift your head up, chatterbox.’

  As Rusty did so, she folded the towel back. ‘There, you look like the Queen of Sheba.’ Rusty grinned. ‘Now eat!’

  The following two days were filled with preparations for the wedding. Ivy was the centre of attention, and it was obvious from the faces of the women who visited Beatie’s house with their home-made food and presents that everyone was pleased for her. However, Rusty was quick to pick up, from odd remarks, that although G.I.s were made welcome in England, marrying one of them was a very different matter.