‘And she will,’ Clara pointed out gently. ‘There’s a family out there somewhere desperate to adopt or foster a baby.’
‘Do you have any idea how many orphaned kids there are from the bombings still waiting for a family?’ Harry asked Clara. ‘I do. Believe me, that baby girl will be in an institution for months and months.’ Harry looked at them individually, imploring them to understand. ‘She might have nourishment, but will she have love?’
‘Harry,’ Beth said, disbelievingly. ‘Do you realise what you’re asking of Joyce? She can’t do it on her own.’
‘She won’t,’ he replied, turning to look at Joyce.
‘We can do this together. Wemustdo this. For Adela.’
He reached for her hand, his voice low and feverish. ‘Please, Joyce,’ he whispered. ‘It’s not as barmy as it sounds. I can’t think of anyone else I’d rather raise a child with.’
He sunk down onto one knee. The air in the library turned electric.
‘I wanted to do this in a special moment, but events have overtaken me.’
Harry gulped and looked nervous under the scrutiny of so many women.
‘Come on, Harding, get it together.’ He scrubbed his face, drew in a deep breath.
‘I love you, Joyce Kindred. I think I loved you the moment I first saw you run past me into a burning house.’ He grinned, his eyes crinkling at the edges. ‘I remember thinking of all the reckless, daft things to do, but then I realised why. You were acting on instinct to rescue a friend. And I guess, that’s what I’m doing now.’
Something inside her folded as she gazed at his stubborn chin, those silver eyes, so clear and focused. She loved him back. Of that, she was sure. But the enormity of what he was asking her!
‘Marriageandparenthood,’ she replied, trying to keep her voice steady. ‘All in one go? Harry, that’s alotof commitment.’
He shrugged. ‘True, but we have alotof love to give.’
And in that moment, Joyce knew he was right. They had both witnessed incalculable, unfathomable loss over the past seven months. Innocent human lives stolen away by savagery and evil. They had the chance to create a beautiful, albeit unconventional family, and help a desperate friend in the process. Maybe, in the midst of so much madness, it really was that simple.
‘Harry,’ she whispered. ‘I will. I will marry you.’
22
Joyce
London, April 1941
‘Libertatem per Lectio’
Bulletin No. 24
Friends, I arrived home from Devon to a most unusual request. The crew of a Royal Navy frigate stationed in Plymouth Harbour is in desperate need of a good diversion. Who should find herself rowing a boatload of ‘whodunnits’ (sailors’ catnip, apparently) across the harbour, but yours truly.
If people can’t get to the books, I shall take books to the people – by rowing boat!
Yours (with splinters in her palm), Evelyn x
Seven days later, Joyce, Harry and the baby left Devon after the fastest wartime wedding even seen in the county, with only the Secret Society in attendance, none of them quite able to believe what was unfolding. They had set in motion a chain of events for which Joyce could only pray history would not judge her harshly.
Before Joyce and Harry departed, they had hatched what they hoped was a workable plan. Annie had promised to take Adela in and care for her until she had recovered from the birth, then take her on as a library assistant until the war was over and she could return to Poland to search for her family. Every member of the group would check in on her whenever they got leave. Knowing Adela would be well cared for by the Secret Society was some comfort, even though the parting had been bittersweet.
‘One more thing,’ Joyce had asked Adela, just before they had left her in Annie’s cosy kitchen, a hot-water bottle hugged to her tummy.
‘What would you like to call her? Maybe after your mother?’ A suggestion to which Adela had shaken her head.
‘In Judaism it is bad luck for a living person to have a baby named after them,’ before her voice had dropped to a whisper. ‘And I have to believe that she is alive. That all my family are still alive. These decisions are yours now to make. I ask only one last thing of you.’
‘Anything.’
