She hated the smell of the ocean. The saltiness nipped at her skin and mixed with the tears that had dried on her cheeks. She stood at the edge of the ship, her thin wool coat doing nothing to keep out the persistent cold of the water. She wrapped the coat more tightly around her small frame, trying to remember the warm, happy summers she spent with her parents by the coast in Devonshire. But now the shores of England seemed far too distant to recall, and the only image the scent of the ocean evoked was that of her parents, standing on the docks, watching as the ship pulled her further from them.
She had never thought her parents looked old until that day on the docks. Her mother had married young, and for love, leaving her little money for any of life's luxuries. Over the years, her worries and the constant strain of poverty had become wrinkles etched into her pretty face, and now she look tired, with a small forced smile trying to convey some optimism.
Her father was in the Navy, and was rough and crass, never trying to hide his dwindling position in the hierarchies of London society. His father had been in the Navy, and his father's father. He had long since accepted that this was the life he belonged to, and never concerned himself with ambitions of wealth or status. She never doubted that her parents loved each other, but always thought that love would be a little bit easier if there was money to spare.
She had tried to be angry with them. It was, after all, their decision to send her away. She remembered in the weeks before her departure, her mother and dad having the same argument night after night as she watched from behind the upstairs banister, peering through the spindles at her parents weary expressions and angry words.
"She's just a child, she needs to be here, with her family," her mother would insist, all the time knowing she would eventually lose this battle, and all the ones subsequently. But her mother would continue to argue, never wanting to admit that she could not provide her daughter with the life she deserved.
Her father, like a good sailor, would speak frankly but rationally. "Do you really want her to live a life of blacked-out windows and warning sirens? This is the best opportunity she'll have for a good life. Or rather, a life, period." The arguments would usually end on her father's word, she and her mother silent and afraid.
The summer had almost ended by the time they had reached an agreement to send her. Germany had invaded Poland and there would be a war, one that would serve to separate countries, religions, and families. She wasn't scared of the Germans, she wasn't scared for England, but she was scared of the certainty that life would never be the same.
On the other side of the ocean was a "good life." And doubt. And loneliness. She imagined what it would be like—her aunt and uncle, fair but loving, welcoming her into their lives. They had money, she knew. Her aunt had shrewdly married a Canadian soldier after the Great War and now he had made his share of the profits of the automotive industry. In her mind they were handsome, glamorous, and constantly throwing dinner parties. But they were not her parents. She wondered if their money would make loving them a little bit easier.
Her thoughts had dampened her cheeks with tears once more, and she roughly wiped them with the back of her hand. She tasted salt on her tongue again and thought about how she hated the smell of the ocean.