Once he ascertains that I am unharmed, my father is so grateful that he invites Rum for dinner the following night. I will cook, of course. And the night after. And the night after that. Each day, Rum brings a book with him. We read it aloud and discuss it. My father does not say that he thinks books are silly, for that would be rude to our guest. In truth, I think he comes to enjoy the stories as much as I do.
Within the month, we are married, and seven months later, I bring into the world a lovely baby girl, a bit early but very healthy. As soon as she finishes nursing, my husband (who is now the proprietor of the bookseller’s stall, because the previous proprietress, Kendra, had a family emergency which, she said, compelled her to leave Bavaria, possibly never to return) plucks her from me. He holds her close, bouncing upon the balls of his feet to calm her. “Dear baby girl,” he says, “dear baby girl.”
“You are good with babies,” I say, a bit surprised. We are living at my father’s house, for he is old and would be lonely if I left. So I have to raise my voice to be heard over the rushing water from outside.
He grins, and though the baby, whom we named Gretchen, is still asleep, he continues to rock and bounce her. “Yes, at the foundling home, I often took care of the babies. It was the closest I came to having a brother or sister.” He pulls Gretchen close and kisses the top of her head.
“My darling,” I say, “I am so sorry she—”
“Do not say it.” He clasps his hand around Gretchen’s head as if covering her little ears. “Gretchen is mine, mine and yours, the first family I have ever had.”
I smile. “I was going to say I am sorry you had to be up all night, waiting for her to arrive.”
We both know that is not what I had planned to say, but he nods, accepting it.
“Father and I are your family too.”
“You are.” He places the baby on the bed beside me, then lies down with her between us. “This is what happiness feels like, I suppose.”
Outside, the water races toward the mill. I know that, a few miles down the river, there lives a prince. I wonder if he thinks about us or is curious about my disappearance.
But I don’t wonder for long.
“Yes, darling,” I say. “This is it.”
And we fall asleep listening to the water, steady and unchanging, going on forever.
PART 3
Kendra Speaks
I traveled by train, then by ship, to London. Every day of that voyage, I searched for more clues as to James’s whereabouts. My plan, if I found nothing else before I arrived, no street, no flat, was simply to sit on a bench on the banks of the Thames, staring at the Tower of London, hoping he would walk by. And then we would take a walk along the Thames together. It would be so romantic, the romance I had dreamed about all the time we were apart. The romance I had never had, never in so many years.
I was rather girlish in my na?veté. I realize it now. But I was so excited to see him!
But I did find something else, one night as I lay in my bunk, staring into the mirror. I saw him with a woman. They were walking in a park, or perhaps it was her garden. She was a prettyish thing, perhaps twenty, with bright blond hair, and he presented her with a bouquet of flowers he’d gathered. She held it out in front of her, like a bride. He laughed and kissed her.
“It won’t be long,” he said. “Next week.”
“Thank goodness,” she said. “So no one will know.” She looked down at her stomach.
“I would have married you anyway. I did not think I would ever again meet someone I wished to marry.”
“After your lost love.” She pronounced lost love in an annoying, singsong way, as if she ridiculed the idea of it. Of me! “I know.” She giggled a bit. Annoying creature.
He kissed her again. “You have finally made me forget her.”
Forget me? I could watch no longer. I hated her. But, really, I had no reason to hate her. She’d done nothing wrong. It was James. He had said he would wait for me. He’d said that. But he’d lied. Or he’d given up, which was even worse. To wait all this time only to give up on the very eve of our reunion!
I wanted to throw the mirror into the North Sea. I waited for you, James! I waited ever so long! Was I not worth waiting for? It had only been a hundred and twenty years!
What if I was not the one he was waiting for at all? What if it was this woman, whose name I found was Lucy, all along? He certainly married her quickly enough. I had been staring at him for years, and I had seen no such Lucy in all that time!
But, instead of sitting in London with my broken heart, I decided to see the world. I spent a great deal of my time at sea, on the Birkenhead, the Lusitania, the Titanic, the Morro Castle. Ships I boarded tended to fare poorly. But I was not on the Lancastria, one of the greatest naval tragedies in history. I knew someone who was, though. I met him when I was in London, a hundred years after I lost James for the second time.
1
In the Darkness
London, 1941
“Shake a leg, Ethel. We don’t want to be late.”
“I don’t want to go at all,” my older sister Ethel said, staring at the wadded-up stocking in her hand.