John Wyndham - The Chrysalids

‘Sorry, Martie, but it is, you know. We knew it had to come sooner or later. Thank God it’s happened while I’m here. How long will it take you to be ready?’

‘Not long, Johnny. I’ve kept things nearly ready, always.’

‘Good. Let’s get busy, then.’

He got up and went round the table to her. He put his arms round her, bent down and kissed her. Tears stood in her eyes.

‘Oh, Johnny dear. Why are you so sweet to me, when all I’ve brought you is—?’ He stopped that with another kiss.

They looked steadily into one another’s eyes for a moment, then, without a word, they both turned to look at Sophie.

Mrs.. Wender became her usual self again. She went briskly to a cupboard, took out some food, and put it on the table.

‘Wash first, you dirty things,’ she told us. ‘Then eat this up. Every bit of it.’

While I washed I put the question I had wanted to ask often before.

‘Mrs. Wender, if it’s just Sophie’s toes, couldn’t you have cut them off when she was a little baby? I don’t expect it would have hurt her much then, and nobody need have known.’

‘There’d have been marks, David, and when people saw them they’d know why. Now hurry up and eat that supper,’ she told me, and went busily off into the other room,

‘We’re going away,’ Sophie confided to me presently, through a mouthful of pie.

‘Going away?’ I repeated blankly.

She nodded.’ Mummy said we’d have to go if anybody ever found out. We nearly did when you saw them.’

‘But - you mean, right away? Never come back?’ I asked in dismay.

‘Yes, I think so.’

I had been hungry, but I suddenly lost my appetite. I sat fiddling with the food on my plate. The sounds of bustling and bumping elsewhere in the house took on an ominous quality. I looked across the table at Sophie. In my throat there was a lump that wouldn’t be swallowed.

‘Where?’ I asked, unhappily.

‘I don’t know — a long way, though,’ she told me.

We sat on. Sophie prattled between mouthfuls; I found it hard to swallow because of the lump. Everything was abruptly bleak to the horizon, and beyond. Nothing, I knew, was going to be quite the same ever again. The desolation of the prospect engulfed me. I had to struggle hard to keep back tears.

Mrs. Wender brought in a series of satchels and packs. I watched glumly as she dumped them close to the door, and went away again. Mr. Wender came in from outside and collected some of them. Mrs. Wender reappeared and took Sophie away into the other room. The next time Mr. Wender came for some more of the packs I followed him out.

The two horses, Spot and Sandy, were standing there patiently with some bundles already strapped on to them. I was surprised not to see the cart, and said so.

John Wender shook his head.

‘A cart keeps you to the tracks; with pack-horses you go where you like,’ he told me.

I watched him strapping more bundles on while I gathered courage.

‘Mr. Wender,’ I said, ‘please can’t I come too?’

He stopped what he was doing, and turned to look at me. We faced one another for some moments, then slowly, regretfully, he shook his head. He must have seen that tears were close behind my eyes, for he put his hand on my shoulder and let it rest there.

‘Come along inside, Davie,’ he said, leading the way back to the house.

Mrs. Wender was back in the living-room, standing in the middle of the floor, and looking round, as if for things forgotten.

‘He wants to come with us, Martie,’ said Mr. Wender.

She sat down on a stool, and held her arms out to me. I went to her, unable to speak. Looking over my head, she said:

‘Oh, Johnny. That awful father! I’m afraid for him.’

Close to her like that I could catch her thoughts. They came faster, but easier to understand, than words. I knew how she felt, how she genuinely wished I could go with them, how she leapt on, without examining the reasons, to knowing that I could not and must not go with them. I had the complete answer before John Wender had put the first sentence of his reply into ordinary words.

‘I know, Martie. But it’s Sophie I’m afraid for — and you. If we were to be caught we’d be charged with kidnapping as well as concealment….’

‘If they take Sophie nothing could make things worse for me, Johnny.’

‘But it’s not just that, dear. Once they are satisfied that we are out of the district we’ll be someone else’s responsibility, and they’ll not bother much more about us. But if Strorm were to lose his boy there’d be hue and cry for miles around, and I doubt whether we’d have a chance of getting clear. They’d have posses out everywhere looking for us. We can’t afford to increase the risk to Sophie, can we?’

Mrs. Wender was silent for some moments. I could feel her fitting the reasons into what she had known already. Presently her arm tightened round me.

‘You do understand that, don’t you, David? Your father would be so angry if you came with us that we’d have much less chance of getting Sophie away safely. I want you to come, but for Sophie’s sake we daren’t do it. Please be brave about it, David. You’re her only friend, and you can help her by being brave. You will, won’t you?’

The words were like a clumsy repetition. Her thoughts had been much clearer, and I had already had to accept the inevitable decision. I could not trust myself to speak. I nodded dumbly, and let her hold me to her in a way my own mother never did.

The packing-up was finished a little before dusk. When everything was ready Mr. Wender took me aside.

‘Davie,’ he said, man to man, ‘I know how fond you are of Sophie. You’ve looked after her like a hero, but now there’s one more thing you can do to help her. Will you?’

‘Yes,’ I told him. ‘What is it, Mr. Wender?’

‘It’s this. When we’ve gone don’t go home at once. Will you stay here till tomorrow morning? That’ll give us more time to get her safely away. Will you do that?’

‘Yes,’ I said, reliably.

We shook hands on it. It made me feel stronger and more responsible — rather like I had on that first day when she twisted her ankle.

Sophie held out her hand with something concealed in it as we came back.

‘This is for you, David,’ she said, putting it into my hand.

I looked at it. A curling lock of brown hair, tied with a piece of yellow ribbon. I was still staring at it when she flung her arms round my neck and kissed me, with more determination than judgment. Her father picked her up and swung her high on top of the leading horse’s load.

Mrs. Wender bent to kiss me, too.

‘Good-bye, David, dear.’ She touched my bruised cheek with a gentle forefinger. “We’ll never forget,’ she said, and her eyes were shiny.

They set off. John Wender led the horses, with his gun slung across his back, and his left arm linked in his wife’s. At the edge of the woods they paused and turned to wave. I waved back. They went on. The last I saw of them was Sophie’s arm waving as the dusk beneath the trees swallowed them up.

The sun was getting high and the men were long ago out in the fields when I reached home. There was no one in the yard, but the inspector’s pony stood at the hitching-post near the door, so I guessed my father would be in the house.

I hoped that I had stayed away long enough. It had been a bad night. I had started with a determinedly stout heart, but in spite of my resolutions it weakened somewhat when darkness fell. I had never before spent a night anywhere but in my own room at home. There, everything was familiar, but the Wenders‘ empty house seemed full of queer sounds. I managed to find some candles and light them, and when I had blown up the fire and put some more wood on, that, too, helped to make the place less lonely - but only a little less. Odd noises kept on occurring inside and outside the house.