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  Books. Change. Lives.

  Copyright © 2022 by Julia Bryan Thomas

  Cover and internal design © 2022 by Sourcebooks

  Cover design by Laura Klynstra

  Cover images © Joanna Czogala/Trevillion Images, Zastolskiy Victor/Shutterstock

  Internal design by Danielle McNaughton/Sourcebooks

  Sourcebooks and the colophon are registered trademarks of Sourcebooks.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from its publisher, Sourcebooks.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Apart from well-known historical figures, any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Published by Sourcebooks Landmark, an imprint of Sourcebooks

  P.O. Box 4410, Naperville, Illinois 60567–4410

  (630) 961-3900

  sourcebooks.com

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Names: Thomas, Julia, author.

  Title: For those who are lost : a novel / Julia Thomas.

  Description: Naperville, Illinois : Sourcebooks Landmark, [2022]

  Identifiers: LCCN 2022002456 (print) | LCCN 2022002457 (ebook) |

  (trade paperback) | (epub)

  Subjects: LCGFT: Novels.

  Classification: LCC PS3620.H6286 F67 2022 (print) | LCC PS3620.H6286

  (ebook) | DDC 813/.6--dc23

  LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2022002456

  LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2022002457

  Contents

  Front Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Part One

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  Part Two

  6

  7

  8

  9

  Part Three

  10

  11

  12

  Part Four

  13

  14

  15

  Part Five

  16

  17

  18

  19

  Part Six

  20

  Author’s Note

  Reading Group Guide

  A Conversation with the Author

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Back Cover

  To Sherry, for the time when we were lost

  Part One

  1

  June 1940

  Lily

  It doesn’t make for sanity, does it, living with the devil.

  —Daphne du Maurier, Rebecca

  He told her she could not go; therefore, she would go. Lily Carré stood in her bedroom, inspecting her image in the tall, oval mirror that had belonged to her grandmother. She wore her best frock, and over it, she slipped on her emerald-green coat, buttoning the cloth buttons and tying the sash about her narrow waist. She adjusted the beret on her head, smoothing the auburn locks back from her face. Giving herself a critical last look, she opened her handbag to make certain everything was in order. Her papers, her shiny gold compact mirror, her favorite lip rouge—a few letters tied with blue ribbon. Snapping it shut, she turned to inspect the valise on the bed to see if she had forgotten anything, because she wasn’t coming back. Inside, she had packed a few dresses, her best nightgown and wrap, a new pair of stockings, her mother’s gold charm bracelet, and an umbrella. Britain would be as wet as Guernsey, perhaps wetter. Lily started to close the case and then opened it again, reaching for a book on the dresser, Rebecca by Daphne du Maurier. It was a new copy. She had worn out the last one, and it had only been published two years earlier.

  For a moment, she twisted the diamond ring on her finger, wondering if she should remove it, deciding not to. She could sell it if she needed money. Closing the case, she went downstairs and set it by the front door.

  The house was silent. Lily turned and walked through each of the rooms slowly, as if to seal them in her memory. She had lived there since the day she married Ian. Though it was even grander than she imagined, she had loved it from the first moment she had seen it. Her parents had been delighted at her good fortune. They were innocents, of course, who believed having money was the key to happiness and a good life. Lily had been disabused of that notion almost from the start. What was a home without love, she wondered, but an empty shell? It had become an unbearable situation.

  Glancing at her watch, she went into Ian’s study to give it a final look. She loved that room in particular: the marble fireplace with the clock over the mantel, the leather-bound books lining the shelves along the wall, the sturdy leather chair where Ian sat in the evenings, smoking his pipe and reading the newspaper, the settee upholstered in pearl-white roses where she would sit near him while doing needlepoint. They lived like kings compared with many of the other islanders. It would be hard to let it all go. Hard, but not impossible. She went over to the bookshelf where Ian kept a large French tabac jar and opened the lid. Although it still smelled of tobacco, it hadn’t been used for that purpose in more than a year, perhaps longer. Most of Ian’s money was in the bank, of course, but he was a suspicious, stubborn man who always kept a large reserve of funds hidden in case he ever needed it. Lily reached inside and pulled out a faded velvet bag, opening it only long enough to make certain every pound note was there. She wasn’t supposed to know of its existence, but she had once spied him sliding something inside and had looked in it the following day after he had left the house. He was unaware he had given her the means to leave him.

  Lily gathered her things and pulled the door closed behind her, not bothering to lock it. She picked up her case and went down the path to the gate, steeling herself for the walk down the steep road to the school. Her heart thumped harder than usual with the velvet bag in her possession, its heft making her handbag sway against her arm with every step.

  For five years, she had been a dutiful wife. She had honored and obeyed her husband and kept her vows, overlooking Ian’s flaming temper. She had hidden black eyes and deep, painful bruises, careful never to let anyone see the havoc he wreaked on her life. It had been particularly difficult to conceal it from her parents. She was forced to tell them she kept catching colds in order to keep them away from the house. She had endured the pain of childlessness and the hopeless feeling that she could never change her life. Each day became more difficult than the one before until finally, she couldn’t stay.

  Sweat began to form on her brow now, and she unbuttoned her coat and removed her beret, putting it into the case before trudging forward. She had wanted to leave him for years but hadn’t known how. But with the ever-looming threat of war, she knew if she didn’t leave now, she might never be able to escape.

  It was the twentieth of Ju
ne. The Allies had retreated from Dunkirk sixteen days earlier, spreading fear across the Channel Islands that German occupation was imminent. France had fallen. There was no longer a buffer between the Germans and Guernsey, a self-governing dependency of the British Crown, which was situated a mere thirty miles off the coast of Normandy. The English soldiers who protected them had shipped out, leaving the islanders to their fate. Everyone knew it was only a matter of time before the island was invaded and their land used as a stepping-stone for Hitler to push his forces into England.

  The previous day, the government suddenly announced that it would begin evacuations, starting with the schoolchildren and as many teachers as possible to accompany them. These women and their charges would be taken to England and then sent by train to various cities across the country and perhaps into Scotland as well. The islanders were told parents would be allowed to follow later and meet their children there. Lily’s sister, Helen, younger by five years, was a teacher at Saint Martins Primary School, and she knew for a fact that Helen did not want to leave the island. She was the youngest teacher at her school, having taught for only a year, and terrified about the prospect of accompanying her pupils to an unfamiliar country. Speculation was rampant that teachers would be stranded with students in drafty barns and warehouses across England, hidden around the country with no food or beds or even water to drink. Nevertheless, they were expected to go if at all possible and take responsibility for their pupils for, if necessary, the duration of the war.

  Lily hadn’t told Helen she was coming. There was little time to make the decision as it was, and she had heard on the radio an hour earlier that the harbor already bustled with ships and mail boats and barges, some ready to set sail for Weymouth within the hour. Lily planned to be on one of those vessels. Fate had given her a way of escape, and she had to take the only opportunity she was given.

  Struggling with her valise, she made her way to the schoolyard. People milled about everywhere, noisy children and frantic parents preparing to part for an unknown length of time.

  She searched for her sister among the throng, finally catching a glimpse of her standing with a small group near the entrance of the school. Lily made her way through the crowd and walked up to her sister, setting her case on the ground at her feet.

  Helen turned to look at her, surprise registering on her face. “Lily! What are you doing here?”

  “I need to talk to you,” she replied.

  “But we spoke last night,” Helen said, frowning. There wasn’t time for complications.

  Lily looked at the woman standing next to her sister. She was nearing thirty, with a slight figure, her blond hair pulled back in a knot. Two children clutched at her arms, and the youngest, a girl, hid her face in her mother’s skirt.

  “Mrs. Simon,” Helen said, turning back to the woman. “This is my sister, Mrs. Carré.”

  The woman nodded in Lily’s direction but turned her attention back to the matter at hand. “Will you stay with them until I can come and meet you in England, Miss Matthews?” she demanded. “Will you hold on to their hands? Promise never to let them out of your sight?”

  Dozens of similar conversations were taking place all around them. Reality began to set in as Lily realized what these families were giving up. The future, which had stretched before them with a comforting sameness, was suddenly bleak and uncertain.

  “Of course I will,” Helen said, assuring her. She bent low to reassure the children. “We’ll be fine, won’t we?”

  Not far from where they stood, a dusty bus pulled up in front of the school and a man alighted, holding a clipboard in front of him. His presence stilled the entire crowd. There is a terrible moment before one has to do a difficult thing, that moment when one knows that the inevitable is about to happen. Lily could feel the apprehension of the crowd, and gooseflesh came up on her arm.

  “A through D!” the driver called. “If your last name begins with an A through a D, please board the bus at this time.”

  The woman in front of Lily wrung her hands. “I wish I could come with you, but my husband says we have to make arrangements for the farm.”

  “Parents will follow us shortly.” Helen replied, looking about for help. “Look, there’s the headmaster. Ask him, just to be certain.”

  Mrs. Simon took hold of her children and put the boy’s hand in Helen’s and the girl’s into Lily’s. For a moment, Lily was shocked. Although she had been married for five years, there had never been any children. After the first few painful years, she had tried not to allow herself to think of what might have been. The small girl looked up at her, tears in her eyes, her nose running. Lily took a handkerchief from her handbag and bent down to wipe the tiny face. She was a beautiful child, blond and blue eyed like her mother, and in spite of herself, Lily felt a sharp pang of longing.

  “I’ll speak to the headmaster,” Mrs. Simon said, turning away.

  “What are you doing here?” Helen said, turning to face Lily, still holding on to the boy. “And why on earth do you have a suitcase?”

  “I’m going with you,” Lily replied. Some of life’s most important decisions are made in a single day, and this was one of them. There was no going back. It took a moment for the words to register, and her sister stared at her, trying to understand.

  “But you can’t,” Helen protested when she could speak. “For one thing, you aren’t a teacher. And for another, you’re supposed to take care of Mother and Dad. They’re counting on you. Besides, we can’t both leave them. They’d never manage on their own.”

  Lily took a deep breath. “Would you rather stay instead?”

  “I, I can’t,” Helen stammered. She pulled her cardigan closer around her shoulders. “These children are my responsibility.”

  “Do you want to go?” Lily asked in a low voice, searching her sister’s eyes for the answer. “Is this what you want to do, Helen?”

  “Of course not,” her sister replied, leaning closer. “I’d rather go with the family later, if Mother and Dad will leave the farm.”

  “Then stay,” Lily replied. “This is something I need to do. I have to.”

  “What about Ian?” Helen asked.

  “If he asks after me, tell him you don’t know where I am. That’ll be true enough.”

  “What is he going to think?”

  Lily shrugged. “I asked if I could go with you to make sure you’re all right. He told me no. To be honest, I’ve already heard the word no more than enough times in my life. He doesn’t get to tell me what to do anymore.”

  Her sister shook her head, grappling with this new complication. She stared for a moment at the toes of her shoes. “I don’t know what to do.”

  Lily put her hand on Helen’s arm. “Yes, you do. I’ll tell them you’ve sprained your ankle or something. Just get out of here at once.”

  Helen’s face creased into a frown. “Am I being an awful coward?”

  “I don’t think staying behind makes you a coward,” Lily said. “When your heart tells you to do something, you have to listen.”

  For a moment, neither spoke. Then Helen nodded, releasing the boy’s hand. She bent forward and kissed Lily on the cheek.

  “Godspeed,” she said. “Write to us when you can.”

  Lily nodded. After her sister went into the building, she looked down at the boy, who was watching her with a curious expression on his face.

  “What’s your name?” she asked.

  “Henry Simon,” he replied. His hair had been slicked back, and he was wearing clean clothes and sturdy shoes for a farm boy. He was slim and blond like his sister.

  “How old are you, Henry?” she asked.

  “Nine, miss,” he replied.

  “And your sister?” she said, squeezing the small hand she held in her own. “What is her name?”

  “Catherine,” he answered in a measured, monosyllab
ic way.

  “And how old is Catherine?” Lily persisted.

  “Four,” he said before clapping his hand over his mouth. “I mean, almost five. She’ll be five on her next birthday.”

  Which meant, Lily realized, that the girl wasn’t old enough to go without a parent in attendance. Mrs. Simon was smuggling her daughter off the island in order to protect her from the invasion. Lily had read that women were allowed to evacuate with the schoolteachers and children if they had infants and toddlers, but with fewer than twenty-four hours to make a decision, no one knew exactly what to do. A sense of panic had overtaken them all. They waited for a few minutes, and Lily turned to try to find their mother, but she was nowhere to be seen.

  “Where are your things?” she asked the boy.

  He pointed at a couple of rucksacks on the ground. They were pathetically thin. Like her, they had brought only the bare necessities.

  “Can you carry them?” she asked.

  He nodded and Lily lifted her case.

  “Follow me,” she said.

  Still holding the girl’s hand, Lily led the children to the bus, where they joined the queue.

  She watched as a dozen others boarded the bus before it was their turn.

  “Name?” the driver asked when they stepped toward him.

  “Carré,” she said. “Do you need to see my papers?”

  “That won’t be necessary,” he replied, obviously in a rush. He was no doubt a busy man. He would transport several busloads to the vessels waiting to get them to England before nightfall. “And the children?”

  “They’re with me.”

  “Climb aboard, then, miss,” he said.

  She led the children to seats as close as possible to the front of the bus. Lily put Henry next to the window and pulled Catherine onto her lap, squeezing her own case under the seat. Every second would count when they got down to the harbor, where people from some of the other schools were likely already queueing to get onto ships. The bus filled quickly, and the driver climbed aboard and closed the door behind them.

  “What about Mummy?” Henry asked, kneeling on his seat to better see out the window. “We didn’t get to say goodbye.”