A Home in the Country Page 4

  ‘Keep your eyes out for a lady in a blue coat,’ he told us. ‘That’s how you’ll know who she is, your new stepmom. Her and another woman, uh …’ he consulted a slip of paper, ‘… a Mrs Bennings are s’posed to meet you here.’

  A blue coat? I didn’t want to look for any kind of coat. Especially not one being worn by my new stepmom. It was much more interesting to look at my feet and wonder why, in spite of my reluctance to go places I did not want to go, they always took me there anyway?

  ‘She must have forgotten,’ I heard James say after what seemed an age. ‘There’s not a single blue coat anywhere.’

  I felt such a rush of relief I had to hold on extra tight to Harvey’s hand while I looked up to see for myself.

  ‘He’s right,’ I told Harvey gleefully. ‘See, no blue coats. Not one. So can we … um…. Well, what if … I mean, would it be all right if we came to live at your house? We’d be ever so good.’

  Before he could answer, a tall, anxious-looking woman wearing a black coat came hurrying towards us, talking in what came across as fragments over the hiss and rumble of trains pulling in and out of the platforms to either side of us.

  ‘… Bennings … ’ her mouth jabbered. ‘… Kids … British … Late … Couldn’t come … Sorry … Really … I … Harvey?’

  ‘Yes, ma’am,’ Harvey said, sounding calm and reassuring after the woman’s babble. ‘I be Harvey.’

  With an effort the woman pulled herself together. ‘I’m Mrs Bennings. From Foster Care Services?’ She attempted a smile. ‘And you two? Why, you must be James and Sarah! All the way from England. My goodness! Well, um … welcome! Your foster mother, Mrs Slater, she couldn’t get into town after all so we’ll just jump in my car right now and I’ll drive you out there.’

  She turned to Harvey, ‘Thank you,’ she said. Then, ‘Children, thank Harvey for taking such good care of you. That’s it. Shake hands. And now say goodbye. Sarah, let go of Harvey’s hand…. Let go this minute! Harvey has to go back to work now. I said, Let go!’

  I couldn’t see anything through my tears, couldn’t talk over the lump in my throat. All I could do was cling fast to Harvey’s warm and friendly hand, feeling with an odd certainty that nothing good could possibly lie ahead.

  Harvey leaned down to my level. ‘I gots to go now, honey,’ he said in his kindly way. ‘But don’t fret. War’s gonna be over any day now. Might could be I’ll get to take care of you on your way back home.’ Disentangling his hand he gave my shoulder a squeeze and hurried away.

  James, it turned out, had very little memory of our journey to our new home in Mrs Bennings’ car. But I did. I remembered that she didn’t pause for breath once as she directed a porter to load our suitcases in the trunk, ushered us into the back seat, climbed into the driver’s seat herself, and we set off on what soon began to feel like the length of our journey across the Atlantic.

  ‘You’re very lucky little things, yes, sir!’ she exclaimed repeatedly. ‘Just think! A few days ago I was at my wits’ end trying to figure out what to do with you. Just going crazy knowing I had to find you a place to live. And look at you now! On your way to a real home at last. A fine Catholic home in the country, if you please. Just think about that!

  ‘I wish I could have grown up on a farm in the country,’ she went on with a sigh. ‘A real farm with cows and pigs and chickens and ducks and fresh vegetables straight from the yard to make me grow up big and strong, Yes, sir!’

  Why did she keep saying, ‘Yes, sir,’ the way she did, I wondered? It made me feel that if I turned quickly I might catch sight of an otherwise invisible man who needed constant reassurance.

  ‘There’s hundreds – maybe make that thousands – of kids right here in the United States who’d trade their back teeth to change places with you two, yes, sir!’ Mrs Bennings rattled on. ‘Growing up in a city is a terrible thing nowadays. Too crowded! Too hot! Too cold! Ask me and I’ll tell you because I know. I live in one.’

  I could see parts of her face in the rearview mirror as she spoke. Mostly I saw her mouth and sometimes her eyes when she tilted her head to glance in the mirror to see if she was being listened to.

  ‘I’ll tell you what,’ the mouth confided. ‘If I had more wonderful people like the Slaters my job would be a whole lot easier, yes, sir! Why, I wouldn’t have a care in the world. Not a-one. Did you know Mrs Slater raised four fine kids of her own?’

  Her eyes took the place of her mouth in the mirror and they were looking straight at me. I knew I was expected to answer but the lump in my throat had once again grown too big to swallow. I shook my head instead.

  Mrs Bennings frowned. Oh, dear, a shaking head was not what she wanted. I didn’t know what to do next so I gave up and looked out the window.

  James, white-faced and blank-eyed, had been staring out of his window since we got in the stuffy car. He wasn’t listening to Mrs Bennings at all. I doubted he even knew she was talking.

  Mrs Bennings’ mouth-in-the-mirror asked, ‘What do you think Mrs Slater’s own fine kids are doing right now? Take a guess.’

  I tried to think what Mrs Slater’s fine kids could be doing but really, how could I when the stupid woman had not told me if they were boys or girls or even how old they were?

  ‘All four of them are in the armed services, that’s what!’ Mrs Bennings said, accompanying her words with a toss of her head as though being in the armed services was a very important place to be. Was it? In England everybody was in the armed services unless they were too old like my father. I tried to smile at the eyes in the mirror.

  Mrs Bennings nodded, pleased I was at least paying attention. ‘I bet you didn’t even know we had armed services over here being we don’t have a war going on, huh?

  ‘And does Mrs Slater sit back now and take it easy? No, sir! Now she takes in foster kids. She’s already taken in some of my worst cases and now she’s helping your country out taking in you refugee kids. She’s a fine upstanding American, wouldn’t you say?’

  She half turned in her seat, looking at me, nodding her head, wanting me to agree with her, but I wasn’t quite sure what an upstanding woman was.

  Mrs Bennings turned back to face the road and I saw the back of her neck staining red. ‘In America,’ she hissed, ‘we expect children to speak when they are spoken to.’

  She nodded to herself and straightened in her seat. ‘Let’s understand right here, right now, how important it is you two realize just how lucky you are. We’ve got needy kids right here in the United States you know, and you don’t see us shipping them off overseas. So I expect you both to smile. Are you smiling? That’s better.

  ‘Now, where was I? The other kids…. Let me see, there’s Danny and Cathy and they’re brother and sister. Danny must be seven now so that makes Cathy, eight. Then there’s Andy and he’s six so his little sister, uh … Sally I think her name is, must be going on five. So! Won’t that be fun? All of them right around your ages.’

  James made a small sound aimed at the back of Mrs Bennings’ head as though there was something he would like to know and I held my breath, hoping it would be something a grown-up would ask – something that would put to rest my worries about the foster parents ahead.

  Mrs Bennings had heard the sound and was leaning forward, her face close to the mirror, eyes expectant, as though her interest alone could coax words from him. ‘Yes?’ she encouraged. ‘Yes?’

  James started slowly. ‘I was wondering…. Well … do you know if any of the children – I mean the kids – you were telling us about … do you know if any of them have bicycles? The two-wheel kind, I mean.’

  Mrs Bennings’ eyes went round in amazement and the car swerved. ‘A bicycle!’ she gasped. ‘German bombers blowing England right off the map and him darn near homeless and all he’s got going on in his head is two-wheel bicycles!’

  She started talking to the windshield then, asking it, ‘Did you hear that? Don’t that just beat all? I find him a fine home in the country, a C
atholic home in the country, mind, with homegrown food and healthy fresh air and kids his own age and all he’s got going on in his head are two-wheel bicycles!’

  Her eyes in the mirror sought James. ‘I don’t know,’ she shrugged. ‘You couldn’t ride one even if they all have two-wheel bicycles. In America a farm means fields and woods and barns and chickens and cows and dirt roads and no sidewalks. There’s no place out there to ride a bicycle!’ She went on shaking her head and frowning and making little clucking noises but at least she stopped talking and that was one thing less to think about when there was already so much else to sort through: cows and chickens and pigs, the amazing Mrs Slater, the other kids we were going to love because they were right around our age.

  Mrs Bennings sighed and rolled her eyes. ‘We’ll be there any minute now. Just over the next hill if I’m not mistaken. It’s just a dirt road turn-off you see, and with no rain in weeks and all the dust, it will be easy to miss so you’ll have to help me out.’

  It was my turn to roll my eyes then, thinking, there she goes again, expecting us to know things, help her, when we don’t even know where we are.

  But then I had a sudden memory of leaving the ship and Alf, then the train and dear old Harvey and now, as ridiculous as this Mrs Bennings woman was, I knew I’d rather go on riding in the back seat of her car till the war was over than face the foster parents ahead.

  There came a sudden screech of brakes, a scream from Mrs Bennings, and we were going in reverse. James and I had both tumbled to the floor but Mrs Bennings hadn’t noticed. She was too busy talking. ‘Isn’t this exciting? I bet Mrs Slater is counting the minutes. I told her about twelve so we’re only a little over an hour late. Wait till you taste her cooking. Yum! Yum! Everything home grown and homemade. You two are most definitely the luckiest little kids in this whole entire world.’

  We, the lucky little kids, crawled back in our seats and looked out the windows. We were driving through thick woods and thick dust and it was very bumpy.

  ‘My, but it’s dry out here, isn’t it?’ Mrs Bennings exclaimed. ‘I told you they haven’t had rain in weeks. Keep looking up ahead now and you’ll soon see the house. I do believe the trees are thinning…. Yes! There! Look! Your wonderful, wonderful new home.’

  She brought the car to a stop in front of split-rail fencing nailed between several trees. There was no gate in the fence and I wondered how people were meant to get in and out.

  Through the slowly settling dust we could make out a tall, narrow, brown-shingled house at the end of a dried-up lawn. A porch ran across the front of the house and down one side. From the other side a narrow, elevated cement path streaked towards the fence we were in front of where it stopped abruptly, as though taken aback by the massive trees behind us.

  ‘Is this the country?’ I asked, thinking if it was, I couldn’t understand why everyone made such a fuss.

  In the front seat, Mrs Bennings was busy smacking her nose with a powder puff. She paused long enough to say, ‘Sarah, if this isn’t the country, then I’d just like for you to tell me what is.’

  ‘In England,’ I said, ‘this would be called woods.’

  ‘What you need to get through your head, Miss Sarah, is that England isn’t your home anymore, is it?’

  I would have liked to tell her that if anyone had bothered to ask me, it would be, but Mrs Bennings was already talking again. ‘Come along now, time to get your suitcases out of the trunk. I’d think you’d be glad to get out and stretch your legs. I know I sure am.’

  I took my case reluctantly, as though by accepting it I was accepting my situation when, in reality, I longed to drop it, kick it, and say, ‘Never mind. I shan’t be staying,’ but just then James nudged me and, with a sideways glance, indicated a short, dumpy woman walking towards us along the cement path from the direction of the house, one hand up shading her eyes the better to see us. We both knew it could only be the amazing Mrs Slater.

  My heart lurched and we both looked away quickly knowing instantly that, just as Mummy had been quite wrong in extolling the charms of Escort and the ship, she had been equally wrong about this foster mother. For even from a distance we could see this was not the dear, sweet, kind person that she had so cheerfully envisioned for us.

  Mrs Slater’s appearance alone told us she was quite the opposite. She wore a big, unfriendly frown on her forehead, ugly wire-rimmed glasses on her nose, and a faded, shapeless, navy and white print dress. Her stockings were rolled down to mid-calf and a pair of unlaced men’s shoes adorned her feet. Her wispy, greying hair was twisted into a bun on the back of her head.

  A wave of fear surged through us both and delayed car sickness flooded me, making my legs feel weak and shaky. I longed for someone familiar to cling to: Mummy … Alf … Harvey…. Oh, just anyone.

  I sagged against the car and everything blurred. My car-sickness had caught up with me in earnest and I started to vomit. It went everywhere.

  ‘Oh, my God!’ Mrs Bennings shrieked. ‘She’s ruined my shoes. James! James, look away! Get a-hold of yourself, boy! Don’t you dare start in, too!’

  Stepping out of her shoes she stumbled towards Mrs Slater, her voice changing to a moan. ‘Agnes! Oh, Agnes, you aren’t going to believe these two. All this way and hardly a word out of either one of them and now this! At least she saved it till she got out of the car. Couldn’t have taken driving all the way back to town with that stink in the back seat.’

  Taking me by the elbow, Mrs Bennings pulled me away from the car, lined James up beside me and, stepping back, arms stretched wide, head tilted to one side like the statue of the angel in our English church, bowed. ‘Agnes, dear, meet your new additions, James and Sarah.’

  Agnes stepped down from the cement path, losing several of her scant inches in the process, and looking dumpier than ever. By bending at the waist and inserting her bulk through the rails of the fence, she demonstrated one possible procedure for entering and exiting her property.

  Standing before us, lips smiling but eyes suspicious in her sweat-beaded face, she said, ‘I want you should call me Mother.’ Following that with a sniff and navigating the fence in the same manner as before but going in the opposite direction, she added, ‘You’re late. We’ve been waitin’ on you. Come on up the house now, meet the other kids.’

  FOUR

  Following Agnes’ demonstration, Mrs Bennings navigated the fence in the same manner but, in what he now remembers as a feeble attempt at independence, James chose to climb over it. Doubtless seeking my own independence and seeing that the fence only extended to three trees, I simply walked around the end one and fell into step behind James on the narrow cement path on its other side.

  With Agnes leading the way, we walked past the front porch and along the side of the house to the last door on our right, which opened into the kitchen.

  ‘Get your noses out them picture books, kids,’ Agnes ordered, opening the squealing screen door.

  Four skinny, dusty-looking, barefoot little kids, all dressed alike in tattered overalls, their sex apparent only by the shaved heads of the boys, were sitting on a bench against one wall. Setting aside their unopened books they stared up at us.

  Pointing to each in turn and barking out their names as her finger moved along the line, Agnes addressed them as though they were army recruits, ‘Danny, Cathy, Sally, Andy, these two new ones is called, uh….’

  ‘James and Sarah,’ coached Mrs Bennings.

  ‘Yeah,’ Agnes said. ‘That’s right. James and Sarah.’ Turning to Mrs Bennings, she said, ‘Go ahead and leave them suitcases right there in my office for now,’ she nodded towards a small adjoining room, ‘and come dig in. Like I said, you’re late.’

  ‘Oh, Agnes … ’ Mrs Bennings faltered, setting down the suitcases as directed and massaging her fingers, ‘… first I think a trip to the uh … toilet for all of us. Such a long drive…. Over two hours….’

  From the scowl on her face it was clear Agnes wasn’t happy with tha
t idea. ‘I still ain’t got runnin’ water,’ she complained. ‘But,’ she brightened, ‘I got me a new cement walkway makes it easier gettin’ out there now. Cathy, take and show ’em.’

  Cathy, who was smaller than me and very pretty with the kind of long, golden braids I had always dreamed of, led Mrs Bennings, James and me, again in single file, outside to a little shed next to a chicken run where dozens of chickens were crowded into a small patch of shade. Cathy stopped and pointed to the door of the little shed.

  Mrs Bennings stepped forward and pushed it open and I could see what looked like a wooden bench with two side-by-side holes cut in it. Such awful smells came through the open door I felt sick all over again.

  ‘Look, Sarah,’ Mrs Bennings chirped, ‘it’s an old timey two-seater so we can go together. James, you’ll have to wait.’

  With a hasty shake of my head, I declined the invitation and Mrs Bennings braved the stench alone. The Cathy girl looked at James, ‘If you just need to pee, you can go upside the wall like Danny and Andy does if you want,’ she suggested.

  We both stared at her. Did she mean he should unbutton his trousers and just aim for the side of the shed? When James didn’t move, Cathy rolled her eyes. ‘Go round back then if you don’t want me lookin’,’ she glowered. ‘Je-sus!’

  James hesitated and then disappeared around the back of the shed but I knew he couldn’t have done anything because he wasn’t gone long enough to even unbutton his trousers, never mind button them back up.

  Back in the kitchen, Mrs Bennings walked around the table clapping her hands and screeching about all the wonderful, wonderful, home-grown, home-cooked food and suddenly both James and I were glad she did talk so much. It kept Agnes from asking us about the bombs and the ration books in England. And from telling us how lucky we were to be there, safe at last, in her ghastly house.

  ‘Sit! Eat!’ Agnes commanded.

  Nobody had to tell the four resident kids to eat. From the moment they sat down they didn’t stop and really, I thought they were quite disgusting. I couldn’t really tell what the little Sally girl sitting next to me looked like because her straight, brown hair was falling over her face, but I could see her mouth in profile through that curtain of hair and she had so much food in it the poor little thing couldn’t close it.