The Girl Back Home: Love-in-War, #2

By Susan Leona Fisher

It's September, 1938, and war is coming. Seventeen-year-old Emily Flannigan faces separation from everyone and everything she knows and loves when she travels alone across the Atlantic to the safe haven of America. Her adventure begins with a lost suitcase— and meeting Howard Mortimer, the handsome young man who comes to her aid. Emily may be missing school, but her education continues apace as she becomes a reluctant pin-up girl, befriends shady women, and takes on the care of a friend's abandoned baby.

Howard Mortimer, a British Naval Reservist, finds he cannot stop thinking about his "suitcase girl" and wondering if she is safe. Through loss and adventure, her picture and letters keep him from succumbing to loneliness. A chance meeting in America during the war cements Emily's hold on his heart, but it isn't until peace is declared that they will meet again. How can Howard find a way to overcome the obstacles Emily seems to be putting in the path of their future?

A mysterious painting, a final bequest, and the story of Emily's own heritage will either bring her and Howard together or forever keep them apart.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Susan Fisher
• Release date: Jan 15, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201128494

Susan Leona Fisher

Susan Leona Fisher began writing fiction on her retirement, having been a technical/academic writer in her former working life. She was born in London and now lives in the Yorkshire Dales, having lived in various places in between, due to  her clergyman husband’s various postings. Her route to publication was via the New Writers’ Scheme run by the Romantic Novelists’ Association, of which she is a member. She has written 20 historical romances in settings ranging from the ever-popular Regency period to the Second World War. One of them, A Master of Litigation, made the final for historical romance in the Romantic Novel Awards 2018. She has also written several contemporary romances and one non-fiction biography.

Book preview

Chapter 1

September 1938, Liverpool

So here they were in Liverpool. The first leg of the long trek was done. Emily got stiffly to her feet and grasped the handle of her case. It was hard to manoeuvre out of the compartment and along the corridor without knocking it into someone’s legs. She certainly had a few bruises on her own. Down on the platform it was a lot cooler and the cavernous station canopy echoed with noise, while the air was acrid with smoky steam. Stepping to one side for a moment, behind one of the metal pillars, she wedged the case safely between her ankles to put on her coat.

It was under her arm, still rolled up into the makeshift pillow that had provided some comfort during the tedious journey. She shook out the crumpled gabardine and shoved her arms into the sleeves. It was no good feeling cross, but she couldn’t help it. The new term began two weeks ago and her friends would be at school, their own coats now hung in the sixth form cloakroom. There’s no point in worrying about all I’m missing, she decided. I’ll be miserable forever. With a sigh, she tightened the belt, glad of the warm liner Mum had insisted on fitting. Picking up the case, she re-joined the steadily moving tide of people pouring like an overflowing bottle from the station’s mouth.

The streets hummed with vehicles going at pedestrian pace, punctuated by horn beeps from impatient drivers. She screwed up her nose at the smell of pungent motor fumes combined with the reek of rotten vegetables from some nearby market stalls. A woman paused to haggle for some end-of-the-day bargains while her two children had a kind of snowball fight with some rotten apples lying on the ground. At least somebody was finding amusement in this forced march.

It was good to be away from that stuffy train and able to stretch her legs. The Third Class compartments had been crowded, with a lot more tickets sold than there were seats. People had sat on the floor or on their bags, while others had stood in the corridors. It had been an expedition to get to the toilet and she’d only done so once, trying not to breathe the foetid air of the tiny cubicle. Inevitably, her place was quickly taken by someone else and she’d sat on her case the rest of the way.

The whole world seemed to be heading for Liverpool and most were going to the docks, like her. It was only a matter of weeks ago Mum and Dad had told her what they’d planned. She’d argued against it almost up to the day of departure.

But it’s much better if I stay here so we’re all together. There might not be a war for ages, or not at all.

We’re not the only ones making plans, Dad had said. There’s little doubt.

Emily had also discussed it with her best friend from school, Pam.

I’ve got an auntie in Devon, Pam had said. Me and my little brother will go there if there’s a war. Haven’t you got relatives in the countryside somewhere you could go to instead? America seems a long way.

My mum came from Derbyshire, but I don’t know where. We’ve never visited anyone there.

It was no good. They wouldn’t change their minds. Even dearest Granddad agreed with the plan. He’d spoken to her privately one evening when Mum and Dad had been out at one of their labour meetings. You’ve heard about what Hitler’s said to be doing, haven’t you, Em?

We talked about it at school. There’ve been attacks on Jews, that’s why they’re trying to get out of Germany.

Yes. And that, my girl, is really why your ma and pa want you to go to my Cousin Charlotte, ’tis the truth of it. Me darlin’ Sarah, your Nanna, she was born a Cohen, you know that. A wonder it was her old man let me wed her. First time anyone in the family had gone outside the faith. If the Germans manage to invade England, it’s likely he’ll slap the same restrictions on Jews here. Emily had stared at him and he’d stared back. At last she understood.

What about Dad? He’s more Jewish than I am, Emily said.

He’ll not leave, you know that.

It doesn’t feel right that I’m going to.

He’d wrapped his old arms about her then. Ah, me darling girl, you’re but a child still. We must keep you safe.

"But I’m almost seventeen, old enough to be out at work. If there is a war I want to do my bit."

I know you do, my sweet colleen. And you will be, by keeping safe and well and ready to rebuild our war-torn country if the worst does happen. It won’t all be fought in the fields of France this time, I can tell you.

She’d not said any more after that.

It was Dad who’d escorted her to Euston station this morning to get the train north. Theirs had been one of many partings that day. Be brave, Em, Dad had told her. We’ll write you lots of letters to tell you what’s happening. And you write back to us. You’ll have so many interesting things to tell us about America. I’d love to be coming with you.

He’d waited by the window until the train chugged out and had limped along beside it for a few yards, waving and shaping his lips into what was probably supposed to be a smile but looked more like a grimace of pain. His bad leg was from an injury he’d got in the Great War. Mum had been at the Western Front, too. They never spoke about it except the story of how they met at the field hospital. Accounts in history books couldn’t tell you how awful it must have been. Emily didn’t want to make this journey, but understood why they were so afraid and wanted her safe. Dad had looked so forlorn and she’d watched his receding figure as long as possible, her face pressed against the glass.

As the train got up speed she felt a sinking in her tummy and a tightness across her chest. This must be what a baby bird felt like when the parent bird tipped it out of the nest for its first flight. Mum had been almost hard about it. You’ll be fine, Emily, you’re almost seventeen, just a year younger than me when I left home for good and went to serve on the Western Front, as you know. You’ve got that tough Glendale blood running in your veins. Mum rarely talked about her origins and there were no relations on that side of the family. Emily only had her Granddad and her parents, and now she was going far away from them for goodness knows how long. She didn’t feel tough at all.

For a moment she’d been eight years old again, face pressed up against the neighbour’s window, watching for Mum, Dad, and Granddad and wondering whether they’d bring Nanna back from the hospital with them. They hadn’t of course, and it had been some time before understanding dawned as to exactly where the sombrely clad adults had been that day. For some weeks afterwards, on waking, she’d run eagerly from her little box room to the kitchen. But there’d been no Nanna at the sink or stove in that familiar cotton overall dotted with colourful flowers. Emily had learnt her colours pointing baby fingers at those flowers. Instead, there was only an empty space, like the one she carried inside herself to this day.

Nanna had been the one who’d given the cuddles, read the bedtime stories, praised Emily’s childish paintings and been the one constant in those early years, while Mum and Dad attended their evening meetings, caught up in politics, with little time for their young daughter. It had been Nanna who would draw their attention to something she’d done, and Emily had learned quite young that the peck on the cheek or pat on the head and the well done, Emily only happened at Nanna’s prompting.

It would be so easy to cry now, as then, but Emily resolved not to give way to tears, however lonely she felt and however difficult it might become. This was another circumstance to be endured, like the bullying and teasing when she’d first gone to school. Having an Irish surname and living above a Jewish shop gave the other children, or really their bigoted parents, two reasons to have a go at her, and wearing thick spectacles didn’t help. She’d never told them at home. Since going to the high school she had made one or two good friends like Pam. School. How long will it be before I can complete my education, she wondered. It was as if the needle had been lifted from the record that was her life, so although it seemed to be going on there was no sound coming out of it. It just went silently and monotonously round in circles, each day to be filled somehow until she could come home again and pick up normal life, like Billie Holiday’s song last year, There’s a lull in my life. Lost in thought and with the tune in her head, Emily allowed herself to be swept along by the crowd.

* * * *

Howard Mortimer sighed with relief as the train pulled into Liverpool. He caught his sister-in-law Isobel’s eye and saw she felt the same. Her daughter, Annabelle, had been fractious the entire trip, and none of his attempts at diversion with toys or cuddles had helped. Let’s wait a moment for the crowd to disperse. There’s plenty of time. I’ll have to reclaim the trunk from the baggage car first then we’ll try and find a cab.

He watched Isobel, looking pale and fraught, as she struggled to get a less than co-operative Annabelle into her coat. What a contrast the toddler made, with those glowing pink cheeks and that sturdy little body. She was a bold and outgoing child who’d probably cope with this enforced exile a lot better than her mother.

Howard recalled the phone call a few weeks ago that had led to him taking this working Monday off to escort the two of them to catch their boat. That had been a Monday too, and he’d just got in from work.

Howard—Lionel. His elder brother was always clipped in his way of talking. Lionel didn’t go in for social niceties.

Hello, big bro’, how are you?

In something of a quandary I hoped you could help with.

How so? Howard asked, wondering what was coming next. Lionel rarely contacted him just for the pleasure of saying hello.

I’m back at sea next week, and Father’s not long behind me. The thing is, we’ve managed to book Isobel and Annabelle on a liner to Boston on September twelfth. Lionel had followed their father into the Royal Navy, forever cementing his place as the favoured first-born son.

Can’t Mother see them off? Howard asked, trying to keep the frustration out of his tone.

Difficult, old chap. It’s sailing from Liverpool.

Oh. It wasn’t hard to see where this was leading.

Can you do it? Lionel asked.

Yes, all right. Howard moved the mouthpiece away for a moment so as not to transmit his sigh. Can they get themselves to London without my help? He’d have to take at least a day off work, which would not be popular as a relatively new and young member of staff who’d only just returned from annual leave. Lionel didn’t always think of other people having lives of their own.

I’m sure they can, if you could meet them at Paddington? We’ll liaise on times.

There was no help for it, Howard supposed. Right.

You’ll not be far behind, yourself, you know. There’s talk of calling up all reservists imminently.

So I gather. Hope all goes well for you, Lionel.

Thanks, and I’m very grateful for your help with this.

Howard broke out of his reverie to find young Annabelle staring up at him. Off choo-choo, now? she asked.

He stood and took her hand. Yes, let’s. Big step to go down first, you ready?

* * * *

Emily brought her attention back to the present as the volume of chatter increased and the crowd’s pace slowed. She could smell the sea. A few locals were observing the passing crowd. She heard a comment from one of them—Another lot running away, then. It made her glance down in shame, for that was exactly what they were doing. She noticed her shiny black shoes had been turned a dull grey from the dust kicked up by all the marching feet and then blown around in the breeze.

Emily could see the other travellers were as weary as she was, except for the children, who grew increasingly excited as they passed under the high overhead rail line and the docks came into view. They craned their necks and pointed at the enormous liner that must be theirs, and some of the mums picked up the little ones to get a better look. It stood tall, with rows of portholes along the side and several floors rising above the deck, like a floating hotel. Someone trod on the back of Emily’s heel, as the crowd came to a standstill and they all bunched together. It didn’t help that various cabs and chauffeur-driven limousines were bleeping their horns as they tried to get their passengers and baggage as near as possible.

A woman beside Emily raised her eyes heavenward. "Tch, they’ll be in first class, no doubt, and expect to be first in the queue as well."

Above the noisy crowd, a man’s voice was trying to call them to order. He held a megaphone, but it didn’t help much. There was still a lot of jostling. Line up, please, and have your papers ready, then we’ll get you through quicker... No pushing from the back there.

People were rummaging in bags and pockets to find their tickets and Emily got hers ready too. At last she passed through to the dockside. It was lined with massive brick warehouses, and all along the quay the wharf men were shouting, trying to make themselves heard above the grind of machinery, amidst swinging cranes manipulating cargo nets on or off boats.

Emily was about halfway across the expanse of concrete when a small child toddled past her, then tripped over and landed on her tummy, hands and legs outspread, right at Emily’s feet. Thank goodness the child had not hit her head. She couldn’t be on her own, she must’ve run from her mother or nurse. Emily crouched down and a pair of bright eyes, blue flecked with gold and round in alarm, looked up at her, lips quivering in preparation for a good cry.

That’s a funny place to lie down, Emily said. I used to have a cot when I was your size, with my teddy bear in it.

The child looked puzzled for a moment. Cot...teddy... she mimicked, forgetting the tears, as Emily put a hand either side of her little body to lift her up.

Let’s get you on your feet again and brush off the dirt.

Bwush, said the child as baby hands joined in with Emily’s, dusting down the front of a double-breasted blue wool coat, making her woollen mittens dance on the end of the strings that hung from the sleeves. The little matching hat with ear muffs had gone slightly awry and Emily straightened it up.

Now I wonder where your Mummy is...

Mama, the child murmured as she stretched up one hand to the pair of silk-clad legs beside them.

Mama was seriously displeased, and reprimanded her daughter in a very aristocratic-sounding voice. Annabelle, you naughty little girl, running off like that. I told you to keep hold of my hand. You’ll have to be carried now. She bent and picked up the child, who squealed in objection and continued to stare at Emily, clearly reluctant to leave a newfound playmate. But the little mischief had no choice. Mama held on tightly, the child leaning out over her shoulder, hands outstretched as if trying to dive away from her mother’s hold.

Emily, still on her haunches, gave a little wave, and the child smiled back and stopped fidgeting for a moment. Emily watched them until they blended in with the people now boarding the ship. The mother hadn’t noticed how Emily had helped the child, but someone else had.

Thank you. It was kind of you to help, said a man’s voice.

Emily swivelled round and found a friendly, smiling face, topped with a fedora, looking down from above a large trunk balanced on the sack trolley he was holding. She put her hands to her knees and stood, dusting down her mack where it had trailed on the ground. Seeing more of the man, it was clear he wasn’t a porter, in his dark grey pinstripe suit under a smart charcoal overcoat, which matched the hat. He stood a head taller than her, and she looked up into blue eyes flecked with golden brown, just like the little girl’s. He must be the toddler’s father, even if he did look a bit young.

She’s very sweet, Emily said.

Not so as you’d notice in the past several hours, he responded with a wry smile. She’s not too fond of long train journeys.

She has my sympathy. It was quite hot and stuffy. I don’t recall seeing this little family, she thought, at the same moment guessing they must have been in first class, although this man didn’t sound quite as posh as his wife.

Yes, and the temptation of this wide open space was obviously irresistible. She’s not had much fresh air or exercise all day. Well, I best try and catch them up without running anyone down.

It’s certainly a big trunk, she commented as he tipped the trolley handles ready to move on.

Indeed. I firmly believe there’s a kitchen sink in there somewhere, though it’s been resolutely denied. Thank you once more. He gave that lovely dimpled smile again before setting the trolley in motion.

Emily turned to pick up her suitcase. It had been just beside her when she’d bent down to help the child, but it wasn’t there now.

Chapter 2

Emily glanced around in a panic. Oh no...my luggage...it’s gone!

The little girl’s dad heard her and stopped at once. He stood the trolley upright and stepped her way, his expression now one of concern. What does it look like?

Just a small brown leather case, quite battered and old. She traced the shape in the air to show him. Despite her earlier resolution, she could feel her eyes smarting with unshed tears.

The man obviously noticed and said, Could you stand guard over the trunk, so it doesn’t go the same way? I’ll ask at the gate if they’ve seen anything or stopped anyone. Will you be all right?

Yes...it’s so kind of you. Her voice sounded wobbly even to her own ears.

Least I can do, it’s no trouble. There’s plenty of time. He gave her one more quite concerned look and set off for the gate.

Emily’s lips quivered, so she pressed them firmly together, swallowed hard a couple of times and took a deep breath. It would be so babyish to cry. She followed the progress of the man’s hat through the crowd until he paused and removed it to speak to one or two people. His hair was brown, rather than fair like his wife and daughter. At the gate he talked with the officials, one of whom shook his head. What a start to my journey, she thought, with a sinking feeling. And she was getting in people’s way standing here.

Taking shelter behind the trunk, Emily read the labels on its side. The family’s name was Mortimer. She glanced back at the gate and saw Mr Mortimer returning with a uniformed man beside him. Am I to be escorted somewhere, she wondered. Will they even let me on the ship with no luggage? She felt quite sick for a moment. What will Mum and Dad say if I turn up back at home? But no, the official turned out to be a porter, and Mr Mortimer instructed him where to take the trunk, slipping him a few coins.

He turned his attention back to her, and his frown and the set of his mouth must mean there was nothing good to report. From what I could gather, a young chap carrying a case that sounds like yours recently left the dock area. A few people noticed him because he was going in the opposite direction to everyone else, but no one stopped him. They’re circulating a description but I’m really sorry, I don’t think there’s much hope of getting it back.

Thank you for trying.

What about your papers, passport and so own? I hope they weren’t in the case.

No, thank goodness. Dad insisted I wear this small bag round my waist. She patted her middle.

How very sensible, especially in the circumstances. You’re not travelling alone are you?

Yes.

He looked surprised at that. Well I’m sure you’re not the first person this has happened to. The purser should be able to help. They usually have a stock of lost property on a ship of this size, things passengers have left behind. It so happens Mr McBain is an old friend of the family. I’ll take you to meet him. Come on.

She fell into step beside him. That’s really kind, thank you.

* * * *

Howard Mortimer was a practical, organised young man. It was not his style to allow himself to be diverted, especially as he had booked on the evening train to take him back south. But this girl had assisted little Annabelle, so he owed her something, and she was a pleasure to help. She looked so young in that navy school mackintosh, tightly belted around a frame that was still slim despite the money belt that apparently lay hidden beneath it—inappropriately young to be travelling alone, he considered. That long dark hair braided around her head beneath the woollen beret, with those unbecoming round wire glasses, gave her an earnest, studious demeanour. But the girl impressed him. Despite clearly being upset, she was coping with this situation with considerable maturity. Some young women would be crying hysterically by now.

He led the way up one of the gangplanks. So is it Canada or the States you’re heading for? he asked over his shoulder.

Oh, the United States. I’m to stay with a cousin just outside Boston.

And have you sailed before?

Does a rowing boat on a boating lake count?

Howard noticed her voice was less shaky, and when he glanced round he saw the hint of a smile. Good, she was recovering. He answered in like vein. Definitely. I’ll tell Mr McBain he can count on your skill as an oarswoman when the engines conk out in the middle of the Atlantic.

As they turned onto the deck, the girl put a hand to the rail and glanced over the side of the ship. They’d have to be quite long oars, she pronounced in an earnest tone of voice before succumbing to a giggle.

Or you’d have to grow considerably longer arms, Howard rejoined. He liked her attitude.

He opened a door, removed his hat and indicated she should precede him. As she stepped over the ledge into the glass-walled corridor, he caught the tail end of her smile. Beneath her unflattering disguise she was a pretty girl.

Just along here, he told her. The corridor opened into a lobby outside the purser’s office and several other passengers were waiting there. Excuse me, he told them, bit of an emergency, sorry to jump the queue. If you just hang on here a minute, he told the girl, I’ll have a word first. He went straight to the door, knocked and opened it.

Could you wait with the others a— McBain glanced up. Oh, Howard, come in for a minute, close the door behind you. The poor man looked slightly harassed from what Howard could see above the several piles of papers on the desk. McBain stood and they shook hands. Nice to see you. I wondered if I might when I spotted Isobel’s name on the passenger manifest. I believe Lionel’s at sea again.

Good to see you too. Yes, somewhere in the Far East, I think. And Father’s just gone off again.

Yes, I saw him last month. Well, I must get on, Howard, masses to do. McBain indicated the papers on his desk. Thanks for dropping in.

Of course, and I’m sorry, but I’m going to add to your burden. A young woman, a schoolgirl in fact, had her case stolen on the quay. She can’t be more than fourteen, I wouldn’t think, and travelling alone. Can you help her?

There’s at least one every trip. Why they don’t take more care? McBain shook his head in evident annoyance.

It wasn’t exactly her fault, in fact. Shall I get her in? Howard opened the door, giving the man no choice in the matter.

Of course, I’m sure we can help with a few basics.

Howard spoke to the girl. Come in. This is Mr McBain.

It’s very kind of you to help me, sir, the girl said.

Not at all, my dear, all part of what I’m here for. McBain opened his desk drawer and produced a key. I’ve got one or two people waiting to see me, Howard. Would you be so kind as to escort the young lady to my Aladdin’s Cave of treasures just a bit further down the corridor on the left? Please take what you need.

The store was effectively a large walk-in cupboard, and Howard watched the girl select a very modest number of items, holding them up against her to check the size. She reached the shelf of underwear, at which point he tactfully turned his back, but then she giggled and he looked to see why. He found her holding up the most enormous pair of bloomers, in a peachy satin with lacy edges.

She’d got one finger catching them against her waist and the other stretching the item out to more than double the width of her own slender frame. Do you think they charged her double the price of the ticket for weighing down the ship rather more than average? she asked, still smiling.

Not to mention the food she must’ve tucked away, he responded, and overloading the bunks. I wonder how many she broke.

Maybe they starved her for the whole voyage to lighten the load, so she left them behind ’cos they didn’t fit her anymore. She put the oversized item back on the shelf and rolled one of the skirts around the rest of the things she’d selected. I think that’s about all, thanks.

Right. I’ll lock up. There’s a shop selling things like toothbrushes and...er...other things you might need. She looked slightly embarrassed for a moment, presumably realising what he meant by other things.

Good, thanks.

May I wish you a pleasant voyage? I must go and say my goodbyes and get going.

You’re not sailing, then?

Not this time, no. He handed her the key. Could you return this to Mr McBain?

Of course. She looked at him, her dark brown eyes magnified slightly by the glasses. Thank you so much for your help, Mr Mortimer, and sorry to have held you up. Goodbye... And I’m sixteen, by the way.

So she’d heard his every word even above the buzz of conversation outside the purser’s office. She must have sharp hearing. And she was bright enough to have worked out his name. How did she do that, he wondered?

She extended her hand. Goodbye, he replied as he shook it. I hope everything goes smoothly for the rest of your voyage. She possessed a lot of poise for someone so young.

Howard went to find Isobel and Annabelle to make his farewells. He had about an hour before his train, and he smiled, thinking of what awaited him in London. He’d