December, 1942
The air raid signal blared insistently for the third night in a row, disturbing the peaceful slumber of every citizen within its range. All across the city, war-weary Londoners jolted to wakefulness, blinked owlishly in the gloom and sniffed the air for the telltale odor of burning buildings that would tell them this wasn't just another warning. With the ease and familiarity of frequent practice, they gathered belongings that they'd need through the long hours of the night, knowing it would probably be dawn before the all-clear sounded.
Scott and Betty Sherwood were no exception as they prepared to roll out of their comfortable bed and into the murky, blackout darkness of the bedroom in their borrowed flat.
"Not again," Scott groaned as the siren blasted through his ear, disturbing a light snore.
Betty only sighed in resignation; she'd been awake anyway. The last few weeks of her pregnancy were proving singularly uncomfortable and she'd been sleeping fitfully. For her, the siren meant nothing more than a removal from the warmer, more comfortable bed in the flat to the decidedly more dubious comforts of the basement and a narrow cot.
Scott turned toward her and spoke, his voice husky with sleep. "Do you need help?"
"Yes, my back is really bothering me," Betty admitted with a grimace.
Scott moved slowly in the darkness, fumbling for a light switch. He blinked furiously when light flooded the room, his eyes rejecting the bright deluge. Looking back toward the bed he sighed, his stomach twisting predictably into knots. Although he'd had several months to get used to the idea of fatherhood by now, it wasn't an idea with which he was entirely comfortable. His anxiety grew day by day in direct proportion with Betty's expanding waistline- and neither showed any signs of decreasing in the near future.
Putting the concern aside in the face of more immediate worries, Scott crossed the room to Betty's side of the bed and knelt down next to her. She was laying on her side and smiled gamely as he came into view.
"Ready?" he asked. Still smiling, she nodded, and he helped her sit up. "How are you feeling?" he asked, neither one of them in a hurry. For the past two nights, the signal had shattered their sleep, but no bombs had fallen, giving a thin sense of security that tonight was no different from any other.
"Oh, I'm fine," Betty began, "if only it wasn't for the fact that I'm now as big as my parent's house in Elkhart, I have horrible indigestion, I haven't slept in a week, and there's this sharp, stabbing pain in my lower back-" she broke off with a rueful smile, "But at least it's only for two more weeks."
Scott laughed with her. "All I can say is I'm glad it's women who have babies and not men. You're a lot more brave than I am." He pulled her gently to her feet and wrapped his arms around her, looking earnestly into her eyes. "And you're not as big as a house or anything else. You're beautiful," he spoke softly, then brushed his lips against hers.
"You're sweet," she said as he helped her into her robe. Then her smile turned impish. "But I think you're blinded by your love for me."
"The only thing blinding me is lack of sleep," Scott returned wryly. "A few more nights like this and I won't be able to make head or tail of any codes," he said, referring to the job General Hopkins had assigned him to at the London OSS offices.
Betty nodded sympathetically as Scott locked their front door. "I know what you mean. The bombs never fall but the sirens blare constantly and everyone is on edge with this endless sense of nervous anticipation. Everyone's wondering what's going to happen next, where and to whom. It almost makes you wish something would happen just so you could feel something else..." She stopped mid-sentence as the building suddenly rocked under their feet and the dim hallway light flashed. Explosions thudded, their sound dulled by distance, but Betty's breath caught just the same.
"I take it back," Betty said quickly, her eyes turning heavenward.
"Too late," Scott managed a small grin. "Let's get to the basement." Quickly, they moved to the stairwell, Betty positioning herself behind Scott with her hands resting on his shoulders for balance during the descent. They hadn't gone more than a step or two before another nearby bomb jolted them and Betty stopped short.
"What was that?" Scott demanded, alarmed by an odd splashing sound behind him.
"Scott," Betty's voice sounded desperate in the darkness as a disconcerting trickle of liquid cascaded down her inner leg, "the baby. It's coming!"
In a near-panic, Scott grasped at straws. "Well can't you...stop it?"
She blinked at him in disbelief. "Scott, it's a baby, not a DeSoto. I can't just put the brakes on!"
"But we have two more weeks!" he told her before looking down at her stomach and saying it again. "Two more weeks!"
Betty inhaled deeply as a sharp pain hit her. "Apparently not. Scott, he's not waiting," her knees started to buckle.
Swiftly, Scott bent and lifted her easily into his arms. "We've got to get you to the basement. I wish it was the hospital," he muttered under his breath.
"It's all right," she said, her hold around his neck tightening momentarily. "Women have been having babies at home for centuries and if nothing else, Mrs. Crawley will know what to do."
Scott brightened at the thought of the older lady who lived on the first floor of their tri-level building. "I'd almost forgotten about her. She had a couple of kids, right?"
"Yeah, so I guess that makes her an expert," Betty broke off on a groan, her face contorting with a spasm of pain. "At least, I hope it does."
"So do I," Scott agreed as they finally reached the basement door. "Can you stand up all right?"
She nodded mutely and he gently placed her on her feet before opening the door and then scooping her up again for the final flight of stairs to the basement.
"Oh, there you are!" Called a bright, motherly voice from behind a curtained alcove. "Bit slow this evening, aren't you?" Mrs. Crawley peeked around the faded bedsheet they'd strung up for privacy, her plump face aglow with a jovial smile. The smile, and all the attendant wrinkles, suddenly disappeared to be replaced with a look of blank astonishment. "But what's happened? Surely you haven't had an accident." Concern brought her out from behind the curtain to stand in front of Scott who still held Betty in his arms.
"I almost wish I had, Mrs. Crawley, but Betty's in labor," he told her, struggling for calm.
"In labor? But she can't be! You simply can't be, my dear," she said, turning her disbelieving gaze on Betty. "We still have two weeks! Two weeks!"
"I wish everyone would stop saying that," Betty grumbled as the building shook again.
"And during the first bombing in months, so of course we can't risk getting you to a hospital," wailed Mrs. Crawley, uselessly wringing her hands. Suddenly, she visibly pulled herself together, her spine straightening her form to it's full five feet two inches. "Well, there's simply nothing else for it. You may as well put her down and we'll attend to this ourselves. If there's one thing this war has taught me, it's to stand up in the face of adversity and I'll be damned if those Nazis will reduce me to panic now!" she announced triumphantly.
"Mrs. Crawley!" Scott exclaimed, as much amused by her choice of words as he was surprised by her change in demeanor.
She answered him with an emphatic nod of the head and pointed to a cot with an unwavering hand. Obediently, Scott lowered Betty to the makeshift bed then knelt beside her to clasp her hand, looking to Mrs. Crawley expectantly. "Now don't you worry, my dear," said Mrs. Crawley as she efficiently covered her patient with a sheet, "I've had two babies of my own without any trouble at all. Of course, there was a doctor and the whole thing passed in a delicious haze of ether but," she waved the consideration aside, "I'm sure this can't be much different. Now, if you'll just bend your legs at the knee, I'll just see what we've got..." There was a muffled exclamation and a thud.
"Mrs. Crawley?" Scott, lulled to composure through his neighbor's capable manner, suddenly felt the reassuring smile he'd had on his face for Betty's sake disappear. "Mrs. Crawley?" Frowning, he stood and made his way to the end of the bed.
"What is it?" Betty demanded when his eyes widened and he gasped with suppressed laughter.
"It's Mrs. Crawley. I think she's standing up to the Nazis by falling at your feet," Scott choked back more laughter as he bent down to attempt to restore the woman to her senses. She was already stirring as he reached for her, her eyes blinking repeatedly.
"Oh, Mr. Sherwood," she groaned, shame punctuating every syllable, "I've never seen a delivery from quite this angle before, I'm afraid I'm no use to you at all."
"Nonsense, Mrs. Crawley," Scott reassured her, every ounce of his con man finesse coming to the rescue. He felt Betty's eyes on him and ruthlessly grabbed control of his leaping pulse. "If you'd just gather the rest of the sheets and the water we have stored in the corner, I'll take care of the rest," he announced with a calm assurance he didn't feel.
"Oh, Mr. Sherwood, bless you!" Warmly, she clasped his hand, her eyes sparkling as the Sherwood charm worked it's magic. "But, what do you know about delivering babies?" she asked as she bustled around the room, ignoring a series of muffled thuds and explosions in the distance.
Scott grinned and shrugged nonchalantly. "Piece of cake, Mrs. Crawley. I may not be a doctor, but I used to play one on the radio!"
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
August 1943
Scott rolled over, only half-awake, knowing with the sixth sense that all Londoners had developed in response to mandatory blackout curtains that it was still the small hours of the morning with plenty of time to sleep before any of them had to be up and about. The coldness next to him was unfamiliar and lonely so he reached for Betty, but found only empty air in her place. More aware now, he raised himself on an elbow to look around the room, searching for her in the inky darkness. At last he found her, a dim silhouette in the darkness, leaning over the baby's crib in rapt attention.
"Is something wrong?" His words broke the utter silence of the room and she started before turning around.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you," she apologized, ignoring his question as she turned back to the crib and the sleeping form of their son.
Scott rubbed his eyes and moved slowly off the bed, letting his eyes get used to the dim light. "What are you doing?" he asked, his voice soft and husky with concern as he joined her beside the crib.
Betty smiled winsomely and shrugged before answering. "Just gloating, I guess. He really is perfect, isn't he?"
Scott smiled with irrepressible affection. "Yeah, he is. And sleeping through the night for once." He turned his focus to her, slipping an arm around her waist to draw her near. "You should be too. It's not every night that we don't have an air raid."
"I know," Betty acknowledged ruefully. "Between the air raids and the baby I guess I've just gotten used to being awake at odd hours. Sometimes I wonder if I'll ever sleep a full night again."
His knuckles gently caressed her jawline. "We're all tired," he sighed heavily, "and worried."
She looked at him sharply. "About the meeting tomorrow with General Hopkins?"
Wearily, he nodded. "I can't even imagine what he has in mind this time."
"Maybe he has another mission for us," Betty suggested, an anticipatory smile curving her mouth.
Scott grinned. "Trying to get rid of me already, Mrs. Sherwood?"
"What do you mean?"
"Haven't you noticed that every time I go to Europe for the general, I get shot? If we keep this up I figure it's only a matter of time before-"
"Don't say it," Betty said firmly. "If the general wants us to do something for him, we may be in no position to refuse, but at least we're smart enough to get through it alive. Besides, I'm kind of looking forward to this weekend. I've never been to a real English country estate."
"Yeah, it might be nice at that," Scott admitted reflectively. "The smell of fresh hay drifting on the breeze, long walks through meadows and woods, the birds singing in the trees..."
"And target practice," Betty teased.
"Who could forget that?" Scott asked wryly.
"Well, I need it, you know. The next time we go on a mission, I want to be able to do more than just look like I know how to use a gun."
"Well, at last I can cross number one off of my list of things I always dreamed my wife would say to me," Scott joked.
"Laugh all you want, Mr. Sherwood, but I believe in being prepared. The next time we tangle with Rollie Pruitt, a.k.a. the Jackal, I want to be ready," Betty announced firmly.
Scott shrugged. "The chances we'll meet up with him again are practically nonexistent. He probably took the first Messerschmit back to Berlin and is even now toasting the Fuhrer with a stein of Beck's. I'll never figure out how that weasel manages to worm his way to the top every time," he finished bitterly.
"I think you're mixing your metaphors. And besides, I'd hardly call being in good with the Nazis 'on top'. Besides, his plan to kill us failed and he lost valuable information that caused a lot of Nazi losses. He can't be that popular in Berlin," she reasoned.
"You're right, I know. I just wish he hadn't gotten away- the war would be just that much closer to over if we'd caught him."
"All the more reason to accept whatever assignment Hopkins throws our way. We should do everything we can to try to end this as soon as possible," Betty stated emphatically.
Scott grinned. "I have to say I never saw you as the Mata Hari type, but you take to it like a duck to water...or plucking as Maple would say," they laughed quietly, not wanting to disturb the peacefully slumbering baby. "C'mon, we should get some sleep."
"Oh, I don't know," Betty said thoughtfully, offering no resistance as Scott tugged her toward the bed. "I'm awake, you're awake, the baby's asleep, and so, apparently, is the German air force- maybe we can find something else to do..." Her voice trailed off suggestively and she stood on her toes to kiss him, her eyes closing to mask the desire there, though her lips were left with no such defense.
"Hmmm," Scott murmured, already feeling more awake. "Have I told you before how much I like being married?"
Playfully, Betty shook her head, artfully evading his mouth. "No, but you could show me now- that is, if you have the time."
Scott's mischievous grin lit up the room. "If I didn't, I'd make the time."
To be continued...
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