A Damned Sensitive Soul

July 1944

St. Michael’s Rectory, London

Leslie wasn’t sure the military would take him, but he had to give it a try.

The nonstop barrage of flying bombs—what his brother Robert called the Nazi’s devastating new toys—were terrifying London on a daily basis, every hour on the hour, and it was high time he threw himself into the thick of it.

With Caroline and Cyril on assignment, the village became oppressive. He was tired of the villagers’ looks, wondering what a young, reasonably healthy male was doing walking their streets while fathers, sons, and even daughters were off doing their bit for the war effort. Of course he had the night warden job, but with everything in a state of chaos all over Britain, Leslie didn’t think it counted for much and felt ashamed he wasn’t giving his all.

Two days after driving Cyril’s MG up to London with the shelties, Samson and Delilah, in tow—their furry selves cuddled together in the passenger seat, Samson’s head resting firmly atop Delilah’s neck—Leslie’s future was looking particularly bleak. He’d managed to fail the health exam in less than an hour and now had to figure out another way tomake himself useful. Anything but having to return to the cottage with the ghosts of Caroline’s happy little family all about him.

“I can’t say I’m surprised,” Robert said, when Leslie returned from the exam and said he’d failed the eye test. “Don’t take it the wrong way. I mean this kindly, but—”

“Uh-huh. Usually when people say that I find they mean quite the opposite. I know what you’re going to say.”

Robert held up his hands in surrender. “By all means, go on.”

“You were expecting me to fail the psychological.”

“And did you? I can’t pretend it hadn’t crossed my mind, given everything you’ve been through.” Robert began enumerating the “everything,” from losing then finding Edward, to caring for his flock as night warden during the Blitz. “That would put anyone’s hair on end, and…” He stopped, seemed to be searching for the right words. “And all your otheradventures since the war started. It’s been rough on you. And it shows, dear boy.”

“See. I knew you thought that.” Leslie plopped down in the rectory’s most comfy chair, feeling not at all comfortable.

Robert came over and sat on the footstool with his back to the hearth and faced him. “To begin with, Les, you’re a damned sensitive soul, much more than the average chap. You feel things deeply. Life affects you in ways that…almost immobilize you and your ability to think rationally.”

“Too emotional, I see. This is you being kind.”

“Sorry. Can I fix you a drink?”

Without hesitation, Leslie nodded. “A large one.”

Robert went to the drinks table and poured two large whiskeys. “I think we could both use one. Here, take this.”

“I’m sorry,” Leslie said. “I didn’t mean to be, oh, you know. Me.”

Robert let out a bit of a laugh that seemed to catch in his throat. “Nonsense. You’re upset. And I think that’s the point I’m trying to make. You’re a different sort of person now than you were before the war began. You’ve become a little—”

“Unhinged?”

Robert shook his head. “No, but now that you mention it…”

“Go on, if you must.”

“I’d say nervous, skittish. You try to hide it but we’ve all normalized that shaking thing you do. The hand tremors.”

Leslie hesitated, took a sip of his drink, and said, “Well, if you must know, I think I failed the psychological, too. Happy?”

“They didn’t say?”

“No. Just about the eye exam. Even with my current prescription, I couldn’t pass it. Couldn’t see some of the goddamn letters. I knew something was fishy when the gent who sat across the desk from me…you know the type. Prissy. One foot in the grave and the other on a you know what. Damned old, if you ask me. Shouldn’t younger chaps make those decisions?”

“They’re all off—”

“Fighting. Yes, I get it. Thank you again, brother mine. Deeper and deeper in your debt.”

“Sorry, but back to your point,” Robert said.

“What point was that?”

Robert gave out a heavy sigh and Leslie knew his brother was losing patience.

“You said you could tell they thought you psychologically unfit.”

“Not in so many words.” Leslie felt the blood rush to his face. “Listen here. You may be my brother and all and a damned priest to boot, but I wouldn’t quite put it that way.” He took a large gulp of his whiskey and coughed.

“Go slow, okay? It’s close to eighty proof. The best you can get under present circumstances.”

“You priests have it damned good. The best of everything and you seem to want for nothing. How the hell do you manage it?”

“Connections,” Robert said, echoing Caroline’s response when Leslie had asked her how she acquired so many rationed goods. Especially liquor. “Okay, go on.”

“I started to tell you when you interrupted me…oh, never mind. Where was I?”

“I don’t recall interrupting you. You were about to tell me about the psychological.”

“Right. The examiner, the old bloke I mentioned, looked up at me from his clipboard after asking me a lot of silly, asinine questions, and I could tell he didn’t like how I answered them. I’m just guessing, mind you, but there it is. I just somehow knew.”

“If you’re determined to stay in London and not return immediately to Kent—”

“I am.”

“Good, and you want to make yourself useful…” Robert paused, waited.