Page 22 of Strangers in Time
I NDEPENDENCE D AY
I… I CAN’T THINK WHAT happened,” said Mrs. Pride. “Perhaps your father had to travel out of town? And he obviously doesn’t know that you’re home, or else I’m sure he would have written or phoned. And I don’t know how to reach him.”
Molly stared at Mrs. Pride as though she were deliberately speaking in a foreign tongue. They were in the kitchen, and Mrs. Pride had just set down a plate of breakfast and a cup of powdered milk in front of Molly.
And by the woman’s helpless expression it seemed to Molly that her nanny knew this farce had to end sooner rather than later.
She added nervously, perhaps reacting to the stony look on Molly’s face, “Now, I know you must be disappointed and frustrated. I would be if I were you. But the war has… has changed so much.”
“Granted, but I’ve been home now for well over a week and I still haven’t seen him once. I’m beginning to believe that, like Mother, he no longer lives here.”
“This is his home , Molly,” Mrs. Pride retorted indignantly.
“Then you would think he would actually make use of it,” she snapped back.
“As I said, the… the war has changed many things.”
“Where does he work?”
Mrs. Pride smiled anxiously. “I told you that, Molly.”
“Yes, yes, I know, the Ministry of Food, but where exactly?”
“Oh, I’m not sure. Many different offices and the like, I suppose. That’s why I have no way to contact him. It’s quite large. I would imagine all the ministries are enormous. Look at the Exchequer. Or the Ministry of Pensions.” She added in a huff, “Though I doubt there’s many about anymore with pensions. Hold on to one’s wages with both hands, I say.”
“But what about Mummy? I want to see her. Today.”
“I expect you do. But she’s in Cornwall and we can’t just nip off to Cornwall, can we? Now, eat your breakfast before it gets cold. There’re many hereabouts who don’t bother to sit at the table because there’s nothing to eat once they get there.”
A clearly flustered Mrs. Pride bustled off before Molly could ask another question.
Molly looked at her plate of food. There was one powdered egg, a single slice of brown toast with a dollop of margarine, a tiny slice of some sort of meat, and a morsel of cheddar.
She buttered the toast, ate it and the egg and meat and cheese, and drank her powdered milk, which tasted nothing like actual milk. Once she was done, she felt something she never had experienced before coming home: hunger.
This also made her think of Charlie Matters. He might be one that didn’t sit at the table because there was nothing to eat, as Mrs. Pride had said. The coin that still rested in her pocket? He really had earned it, and perhaps he could use it to buy some food. But she had no idea where he lived. Or whom he lived with. Maybe no one. The war had turned many children into orphans.
And at least right now I apparently have no mother and father, either.
She took out the half crown and fingered it. Then she put on her hat, coat, and gloves, and told Mrs. Pride that she was going for a walk.
“Do you think that wise?” her old nanny said.
“I think it wiser than waiting here for my father not to show up.”
“Molly, dear, I really must protest.”
“Yes, Mrs. Pride, I imagine you must. Goodbye.”
Molly closed the door behind her, gave a sweeping look around, and got her bearings. She was heading to Covent Garden. It wasn’t that far, and it was a lovely morning with no bombs falling. And, she mused, during a world war, why waste such a glorious opportunity for some adventure?