Miss Fuller fussed with her gray curls. “I—well, it’s still vital—”
A mother in a shapeless brown dress swatted Miss Fuller’s words away. “I won’t send my Nellie off again. They made her sleep on the floor after she wet the bed. Called her names, they did.”
Aleida’s hands tensed in her lap. How was Theo being treated, wherever he was?
“Please listen, ladies.” Miss Fuller’s spindly fingers shook as she made a patting motion.
The jeering intensified.
Miss Fuller was supposed to be persuading the mothers of the East End to evacuate their children yet again, Miss Granville’s usual job, but Miss Granville wasn’t available. Just as well, because her upper-crust condescension would have grated even more than Miss Fuller’s middle-class condescension.
Miss Granville had ordered Aleida not to open her mouth, lest her foreign accent lead to open hostility.
“My Bobby liked the country life.” A woman shook back scraggly blond hair.
Miss Fuller stretched taller and smiled.
“Liked it too much.” The blonde crossed her arms. “Why can’t I have a pony, he says. Why don’t we have grass and roses? Why don’t we have milk and pudding every day? Your lot ruined him. He’ll never have things like that. He won’t.”
The evacuees and their mothers faced problems Aleida had never considered. She’d taken the job to search for Theo, but maybe she was there for another reason too.
Behind the strident voices beat hurting hearts. Hearts that loved their children, that missed their children when they were apart.
“You don’t understand how dangerous the situation is,” Miss Fuller said.
Aleida’s mouth went taut. The woman couldn’t have chosen a worse set of words.
The mother in the brown dress swatted even harder. “And you don’t understand us at all.”
Miss Fuller’s narrow face buckled. If she burst into tears, all was lost.
She was correct about the danger though. In the past few days, the Germans had switched from bombing ships to bombing airfields. The invasion would come soon, and when it did, London would be a horrific place for children. As Rotterdam had been in May.
If only they knew.
Something stirred in Aleida’s veins and down to her legs. She approached the lectern. “May I speak?” she whispered to Miss Fuller.
“Miss Granville said—”
“I can’t make it worse, can I?”
Miss Fuller’s thin shoulders settled down a notch. “No, you can’t.” She backed away.
In silence, Aleida studied the thirty-five women. Two were storming out the door. Silence did its work and quieted the women into curiosity.
Without smiling, Aleida gave a nod of greeting. “My name is Aleida Martens, and I came from the Netherlands in May. I didn’t stay long enough to see bombs fall on my country, but they did fall. Hundreds of men, women, and children were killed. While we were fleeing, my husband was killed by a German plane. That pilot didn’t care that my husband wasn’t a soldier. And I—I was separated from my son. My three-year-old boy. I don’t know where he is.”
Her throat clogged, and she took a moment to compose herself.
In the audience, women covered their mouths. Eyes widened.
Aleida hauled in a rough breath. “Before the Germans came, if I’d had the chance to send Theo into the English countryside, I would have. Even if he were lonely, at least he’d be safe. I’d know where he was. You ladies—you’ve been given that chance. I beg you to send your children to safety before the bombs start falling.”
Silence returned, heavy and momentous, and Aleida let it weigh on them. Then she stepped to the table with the registration sheet, where Miss Fuller joined her.
Not all the women signed up, but some did.
Afterward, Aleida and Miss Fuller took the District Line from Stepney Green to Charing Cross Station, where they parted.
