(Photo by Chad Greiter on Unsplash)
Shanklin, England 1942
Lucy watched as her mother opened the telegram with trembling hands. Two tears ran down her normally controlled features as she struggled to open the thick envelope.
“What does it say, Mum? Is everything all right?” Thirteen-year-old Lucy reached forward and gripped her mother’s arm.
“Oh, my word!” Her eyes scanned the paper, and she gasped.
Lucy’s heart lurched. “Did something happen?”
“He-he’s safe. He says he’s well.” Mum sank into the chair in the hall, sobbing. “He says: ‘I am well. Sorry to worry you. Days are long, but I will be home when I can. Love you all.’”
Lucy hugged her mother, and a tear dribbled down her cheek as well. It had been months since her father was home. They hadn’t heard from him in nearly two months, and they couldn’t help but fear the worst.
Every night she’d cried herself to sleep. Nightmares of the war taking her father haunted her. But he was too rugged, too strong, and too resilient to die—at least that’s what she told herself. Now, she smiled with relief. He was safe.
“Madam?” Betsy, one of the house servants, stood in the hall.
“Yes, Betsy?” Mum sat up quickly, wiping away the last of her tears. In one smooth motion, she transformed into the elegant, wealthy woman she always was.
“Edgar’s having trouble out in the garden, ma’am. Something with the roses. He wondered if you’d have a look.”
“Of course. I’ll be right there,” Mum said, rising to follow Betsy out.
Lucy stepped back and turned to head up the spiraling stairs to her room. Moments ago had been one of the few times she and Mum had actually connected. More often than not, she was reprimanded for not acting like a lady or for falling behind in her studies.
Dad could be strict as well at times, but when he was here, things were different. His deep laugh would echo throughout the entire manor.
She missed those times. Now no one laughed. Since the war, everything in their life had changed. Dad left to offer his services. Their beautiful Shanklin shoreline was destroyed. Air raids were always on the horizon. And the magnificent manor housed evacuee children. It was their duty to take in children escaping the worst of the war.
After supper that evening, Lucy and Mum retired to the drawing room. Lucy was supposed to be working on a scarf for the Red Cross, but her mind kept wandering to other interesting things—like riding her horse along the beach like she had the day before.
“Lucy, would you go to the attic and find that trunk of clothes?” Mum glanced up from her needlework.
“Of course.” Lucy jumped at the chance to get up.
“Everyone else is rather busy at the moment,” Mum explained. “And the children need some more clothes. I’m sure those old clothes of yours and your brother’s will fit them nicely.”
She tossed her knitting on the sofa. “I’ll go get them right away, Mum.”
“You haven’t finished that yet,” Mum frowned.
“I know,” she shrugged and hurried out of the room. “I will, promise.”
“Don’t run,” Mum called.
Lucy flashed an exasperated look at the door and trotted down the hallway to the stairs. She ran her hand over the smooth railing as she clattered up and reached the second floor. She caught her breath, glancing down the hallway. At the end was the metal staircase leading to the attic.
She opened the door and peered up the dark stairs. No one ever went there. She wished she’d brought a torch, but she continued on.
Up in the large attic, the dim lighting made it hard to see the stacks of boxes and old furniture cluttering the space. She hurried to two of the shuttered windows, opening them for light. As she did, she ran into a large spider web that stuck to her face.
“Oh, gross.” Lucy grimaced and attempted to wipe it off. She didn’t want to think of the possibility that the spider might be clinging to her.
Rays of light shone through the windows, illuminating the dust swirling in the attic.
“Now, where is that trunk Mum was talking about?” She muttered to herself. Three trunks sat near the doorway.
Lucy brushed the decades-old dust off and sneezed three times before she opened the lid of the first trunk.
The trunk contained things she recognized as her older brother, Kenneth’s.
“I never knew he kept that,” Lucy said aloud as she picked up an old ball. Years before, Kenneth had received a puppy for his birthday, and they had had a lot of fun playing with him. Rover, the spaniel, had completely chewed through the ball they had given him. Lucy smiled at the memory and replaced the ball in the trunk. Rover was older now and didn’t care for playing ball anymore.
Kenneth was in the war now, as an engineer for the air force, because of his bad knee. He rarely came home, and when he did, he was different. Lucy used to have a close relationship with him, but now he was so involved with the war that all his thoughts seemed to be only for his country.
Lucy sat back on her heels, wondering why this trunk had been placed in the attic in the first place.
She shrugged and opened the next trunk. This one contained books, old photographs, and stacks of papers.
She furrowed her brow and pulled a small photograph out of the trunk. A smiling man and a woman sat in a small photography studio with a baby. In scrawling handwriting across the bottom, it read, 1931.
Something about the couple looked familiar. Although she knew she didn’t know them. The man was tall, with dark hair, and faint lines were etched on his rugged face, evidence of his working life.
The woman smiled, proudly displaying the child, who had a fist held tight to her finger.
Lucy turned the picture over and squinted at the fancy writing.
Lucy Amelia Vanderbilt, born Sep. 16th, 1929.
Photograph taken with her parents, Petar and Margarete Vanderbilt, July 21st, 1931.
Her jaw dropped open, and her mouth went dry.
Her full name was Lucy Amelia, and she was born on September 16th, 1929. But…those weren’t her parents.
Lucy rose, her breath catching, and stepped back, nearly tripping over the boxes behind her. It couldn’t be. She was the daughter of Wesley and Katrina Keynes. Wasn’t she?
Her breath became shallow, and she stumbled to the window for fresh air. As she did, she saw her reflection in the window. Suddenly, she realized why the couple looked familiar. They looked like her.