I was glad to hear of your friend who was found in Australia. I hope you will correspond with me and Dawsey again, as he enjoys to hear from you such as I do myself.
Yours sincerely,
Eben Ramsey
From Dawsey to Juliet
12th March, 1946
Dear Miss Ashton,
I am happy you liked the white lilacs.
I will tell you about Mrs. Dilwyn’s soap. Around about the middle of the Occupation, soap became scarce; families were only allowed one tablet per person a month. It was made of some kind of French clay and lay like a dead thing in the washtub. It made no lather—you just had to scrub and hope it worked.
Being clean was hard work, and we had all got used to being more or less dirty, along with our clothes. We were allowed a tiny bit of soap powder for dishes and clothes, but it was a laughable amount; no bubbles there either. Some of the ladies felt it keenly, and Mrs. Dilwyn was one of those. Before the war, she had bought her dresses in Paris, and those fancy clothes went to ruins faster than the plain kind.
One day, Mr. Scope’s pig died of milk fever. Since no one dared eat of it, Mr. Scope offered me the carcass. I remembered my mother making soap from fat, so I thought I could try it. It came out looking like frozen dish water and smelling worse. So I melted it all down and started again. Booker, who had come over to help, suggested paprika for color and cinnamon for scent. Amelia let us have some of each, and we put it in the mix.
When the soap had hardened enough, we cut it into circles with Amelia’s biscuit cutter. I wrapped the soap in cheese cloth, Elizabeth tied bows of red yarn, and we gave them as presents to all the ladies at the Society’s next meeting. For a week or two, anyway, we looked like respectable folks.
I am working several days a week now at the quarry, as well as at the port. Isola thought I looked tired and mixed up a balm for aching muscles—it’s named Angel Fingers. Isola has a cough syrup called Devil’s Suck and I pray I’ll never need it.
Yesterday, Amelia and Kit came over for supper, and we took a blanket down to the beach afterward to watch the moon rise. Kit loves to do that, but she always falls asleep before it is fully risen, and I carry her home to Amelia’s house. She is certain she’ll be able to stay awake all night as soon as she’s five.
Do you know very much about children? I don’t, and although I am learning, I think I am a slow learner. It was much easier before Kit learned to talk, but it was not so much fun. I try to answer her questions, but I am usually behind-hand, and she has moved on to a new question before I can answer the first. Also, I don’t know enough to please her. I don’t know what a mongoose looks like.
I like having your letters, but I often feel I don’t have any news worth the telling, so it is good to answer your rhetorical questions.
Yours,
Dawsey Adams
From Adelaide Addison to Juliet
12th March, 1946
Dear Miss Ashton,
I see you will not be advised by me. I came upon Isola Pribby, whilst in her market stall, scribbling a letter—in response to a letter from you! I tried to resume my errands calmly, but then I came upon Dawsey Adams posting a letter—to you! Who will be next, I ask? This is not to be borne, and I seize my pen to stop you.
I was not completely candid with you in my last letter. In the interests of delicacy, I drew a veil on the true nature of that group and their founder, Elizabeth McKenna. But now, I see that I must reveal all:
The Society members have colluded amongst themselves to raise the bastard child of Elizabeth McKenna and her German Paramour, Doctor/Captain Christian Hellman. Yes, a German soldier! I don’t wonder at your shock.
Now, I am nothing if not just. I do not say that Elizabeth was what the ruder classes called a Jerry-bag, cavorting around Guernsey with
But the truth is bad enough.
Herewith, the sorry facts: in April of 1942, the UNWED Elizabeth McKenna gave birth to a baby girl—in her own cottage.
Eben Ramsey and Isola Pribby were present at the birthing—he to hold the mother’s hand and she to keep the fire going. Amelia Maugery and Dawsey Adams (An unmarried man! For shame!) did the actual work of delivering the child, before Dr. Martin could arrive. The putative father? Absent! In fact, he had left the Island a short time before. “Ordered to duty on the continent”—SO THEY SAID. The case is perfectly clear—when the evidence of their illicit connection was irrefutable, Captain Hellman abandoned his mistress and left her to her just deserts.
I could have foretold this scandalous outcome. I saw Elizabeth with her lover on several occasions—walking together, deep in talk, gathering nettles for soup, or collecting firewood. And once, facing each other, I saw him put his hand on her face and follow her cheek-bone down with his thumb.
Though I had little hope of success, I knew it was my duty to warn her of the fate that awaited her. I told her she would be cast out of decent society, but she did not heed me. In fact, she laughed. I bore it. Then she told me to get out of her house.
I take no pride in my prescience. It would not be Christian.
Back to the baby—named Christina, called Kit. A scant year later, Elizabeth, as feckless as ever, committed a criminal act expressly forbidden by the German Occupying Force—she helped shelter and feed an escaped prisoner
