Chapter 24 Clara
CHAPTER 24? CLARA
London, England
Wynnie stood quiet and still next to me, her cheeks glowing where I’d scrubbed her face with a washcloth in the small bathroom. We’d bathed as best we could, leaving the cloth and towels stained dark and smeared with soot. I piled them in the bathtub, and we dressed. I wore the only pair of slacks I’d brought with a pale blue sweater, and Wynnie had on a wool dress and tights.
“We are headed to the country,” I’d soothed her. “It’s going to be an adventure, and everything is going to be fine.”
My voice held false cheer, and she heard it. We made our way downstairs to find Charlie and Moira in the kitchen.
The lamp on the sideboard sent spears of light through the murky air. It was midday, no later than noon, and yet it appeared to be twilight outside, headed quickly toward night. Moira bustled about the warm, oak-cloaked kitchen, wrapping sandwiches and cheese in parchment paper. In her black uniform and white apron, she looked like she’d stepped out of a Jane Austen novel.
Charlie was dressed now in tweed pants and a thick gray sweater, his face clean-shaven, his hair sending droplets of water onto the pine floors. Wynnie and I didn’t wash our hair—I was afraid that heading into the chill with wet hair would clamp her lungs down.
The wireless radio droned from the corner of the kitchen.
“Scotland Yard has instructed not to leave your house unless necessary… Traffic delayed… Cars abandoned on the road due to fog and ice… Birds falling from the sky…”
“Turn that off,” Charlie said to Moira. “Please.”
Moira hustled to the wireless, and in her feverous rush, she turned the sound up instead of down, the news blaring into the kitchen.
“ Train crash…”
We startled. Wynnie put her hands over her ears and Moira twisted the knob the opposite way, and we plunged into a quiet that was as eerie as the damning news. Then she handed him a basket. “I’ve packed food for you and the ladies.”
“It is also for you. You’ll come with us.” Charlie turned to me. “I’ve already put my bags in the car and told Mum that we are coming,” he told me. “Is everyone ready?”
“Yes.” I pointed to our bag.
He lifted a brown bottle and silver spoon from the side table. “Okay, let’s give Wynnie a dose of Liquifura, and that might hold her. Dr. Maycombe said it would help as we leave the city.” He poured the viscous liquid into the spoon and held it out to Wynnie.
She looked to me, and I nodded. Wynnie closed her eyes and swallowed and then shuddered. “Disgusting.”
A noxious smell permeated the air, something of garlic and rotten socks left in the rain.
Charlie lifted our valise. “I’ll sort this for you.” Then he leaned down and picked up the satchel, handed it to me. “Now you carry this.”
I slipped the bottle of Liquifura into the valise. We bowed our heads and lifted our scarves over our noses and mouths to make our way to the detached garage that Charlie told us was once a horse stable. We entered the space through a side door and Charlie slammed it behind him.
A pale blue Beetleback Vanguard sat in the middle of the garage, its pointed nose and wide-set headlights straddling a silver grille. Inside, crimson leather glowed from the two rows of seats. Charlie opened the trunk and tossed in my small valise with the meds and our clothes. I held tight to the satchel and my purse.
He shuffled around to a shelf and retrieved a lantern and matches. “We’ll need this when we get to the streets. Clara, hold on to them?”
I threw the satchel and my purse onto the back-seat floorboards and took the lantern and matches from his hands. Then Wynnie and I slid onto the long bench seat in the back, the plush leather cool beneath us.
Charlie opened the driver’s-side door and nodded to the other side of the car. “Climb in, Moira.”
Moira ran to the passenger side.
Charlie slid open the garage door and the fog seeped in, tobacco-stained and thick. Charlie moved to the driver’s side, climbed in, and slammed the door shut, so the car shook. He set his hands on the leather-wrapped steering wheel and exhaled in one long breath before starting the car. He seemed to be talking to himself when he said, “It’s usually a five-hour drive, and I have a full tank of petrol.”
Wynnie smelled of garlic and soot and soap. I took deep breaths all the way to the bottom of my lungs as if I could breathe for her.
Charlie eased the car out of the garage and onto the side street. “It’s worse than I thought,” he said. He stopped the car, although we’d only traveled a few feet. “Someone needs to walk in front of the car with the lantern. Even the headlights aren’t enough.”
“I’ll do it,” Moira said. “Please let me help.”
“No!” I sat straight up, knowing that this was mine to do. The knot of determination inside me, the place that the important parts of me formed around, spoke for me now. I was going to help us find our way out of this.
Over the seat I handed Charlie the lantern; he flicked a match and lit the wick. I climbed out of the back seat and pulled my scarf over my nose and mouth.
“Mama?” Wynnie reached for my hand, and I kissed her forehead before I stepped out. I held out the lantern and walked slowly ahead as Charlie followed. Cars in front slowed us down, and horns honked to little use.
I drew on the pool of strength that I’d been filling with a resolute ability to do what was needed since the day Wynnie was born. I would walk to the ends of England to save her, to keep us safe. I emptied my mind of all doubt, of all fatigue, and the low buzz of fear eased as I walked step-by-step at the edge of a road to guide us.
All around me were abandoned cars and trucks, shattered bikes, dead birds, and the crumpled detritus of an automobile wreck: a shattered side mirror, a bent bumper, and broken glass. Still, I walked and lit the road for Charlie. My arm ached and my hand cramped and I didn’t waver. The flame licked at the edge of the glass and fought with the green fog for dominance.
After how long I didn’t know, Charlie stopped the car and climbed out. He came to me and took the lantern. I dropped my arm and shook out my hand to return blood flow to it.
“Clara, you can let Moira do this now.”
“No. It’s mine to do.” I slid the scarf from my nose and mouth, tasted the damp wool on my lips.
He rubbed soot from my cheek with his thumb and I held my hand over his for a moment. “It’s going to be okay,” I said.
He nodded and cleared his throat. “Yes. But we can’t stay on the main road anymore. There are too many wrecked and abandoned cars,” he said. “Up ahead you will see a sign for Kilburn. Follow it and guide us to the left and we’ll go into the back roads.”
“That’s the very long way,” Moira called out from the front seat, her head hanging out of the window.
Charlie turned. “Close the window!” Then he looked to me. “It will be longer, but I know it will be clearer than this. Are you okay, Clara? You can have Moira do this.”
Wynnie was burrowed into the back seat, watching me. I walked to the rear of the car and pressed my hand to the window, waiting for her to get her hand on mine.
“No, I’m good,” I told Charlie. “You get in, let’s go.”