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Diary Of A War Bride
Lauri Robinson


The land girl and the US OfficerJuly 1942Dear Diary, Despite the war raging around me, I find I can’t stop thinking about the American officer Sergeant Dale Johnson. I’ve never known anyone as brave, kind and handsome! But I promised myself I wouldn’t care this much about a man again—especially when he could be transferred at any time. Yet that only makes me want to relish our time together. Now, fighting my heart feels like the biggest battle…







The land girl and the US officer

July 1942

Dear diary, despite the war raging around me, I find I can’t stop thinking about the American officer, Sergeant Dale Johnson. I’ve never known anyone as brave, kind and handsome! But I promised myself I wouldn’t care this much about a man again, especially when he could be transferred at any time. Yet that only makes me want to relish our time together. Now fighting my heart feels like the biggest battle...

“Readers will laugh, cry and rejoice.”

—RT Book Reviews on In the Sheriff’s Protection

“Robinson’s latest Harlequin Historical entry will delight both longtime and new fans alike.”

—RT Book Reviews on Married to Claim the Rancher’s Heir


A lover of fairytales and cowboy boots, LAURI ROBINSON can’t imagine a better profession than penning happily-ever-after stories about men—and women—who pull on a pair of boots before riding off into the sunset…or kick them off for other reasons. Lauri and her husband raised three sons in their rural Minnesota home, and are now getting their just rewards by spoiling their grandchildren. Visit: laurirobinson.blogspot.com (http://www.laurirobinson.blogspot.com), facebook.com/lauri.robinson1 (https://facebook.com/lauri.robinson1) or twitter.com/LauriR (https://twitter.com/LauriR).


Also by Lauri Robinson (#u739ddb39-624e-5a33-b137-8be3ebbde695)

Saving Marina

Western Spring Weddings

Her Cheyenne Warrior

Unwrapping the Rancher’s Secret

The Cowboy’s Orphan Bride

Mail-Order Brides of Oak Grove

Winning the Mail-Order Bride

Western Christmas Brides

Married to Claim the Rancher’s Heir

In the Sheriff’s Protection

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk).


Diary of a War Bride

Lauri Robinson






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


ISBN: 978-1-474-07386-8

DIARY OF A WAR BRIDE

© 2018 Lauri Robinson

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

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www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


To my uncles, Ralph and Dale.

This one’s for you.


Contents

Cover (#uf0a69ec0-a1bb-5074-9e95-4d7bda3b35c8)

Back Cover Text (#u438225ae-c6ba-50c6-bdc9-886dfbaa2511)

About the Author (#ub74d9fd2-1f73-5cee-85df-c4966af7caed)

Booklist (#ubed85b9e-6851-5a8c-88f2-8e31b1603897)

Title Page (#u56da3de8-2dba-5147-91c1-39247accb7da)

Copyright (#u1fd0d519-2953-55e1-9037-5ac251452a7e)

Dedication (#u0ac89b38-c80a-57f9-9f9a-18b9c2983d3a)

Prologue (#u82ad08df-b8eb-5cd2-887c-140171a39813)

Chapter One (#u6dffa848-6ba4-5dde-a17c-cf51f95399e7)

Chapter Two (#ua3451e5c-9704-5029-9e95-f205588c3cf7)

Chapter Three (#u45a114c9-5308-582e-8c03-9e6bc58c4678)

Chapter Four (#u6bbd48ff-d63a-5b3a-a209-6b4d19e2134a)

Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)


Prologue (#u739ddb39-624e-5a33-b137-8be3ebbde695)

1st of January, 1943

Dearest Diary,

Little did I know how important you would become when Charlotte gave you to me. You’ve been my confidant in what has proven to be the greatest journey of my life, and though I’m saddened that our time together has come to an end and I shall never forget the people I wrote about between your pages, it’s a new year and I’m embarking on a new journey, one of being a married woman...


Chapter One (#u739ddb39-624e-5a33-b137-8be3ebbde695)

26th of April, 1942

Dear Diary,

Our life in the country has been so very different from those who remained in the cities, where bombs have destroyed so much and killed so many, and I fear all that is about to change. Lately, I’ve insisted that the children sleep holding on to their gas masks, ready to put them on at my command, and wear their clothes to bed so they’ll be somewhat warm if we need to run to the bomb shelter. It’s so very frightening.

I wrote about the arrival of American troops back in January. How everyone claimed the Americans will help us give the Nazis what they deserve. I can’t say that has happened, but I can tell you this. They built a Bomber Command Station right here in High Wycombe!

Shortly after the American servicemen arrived, the headmistress of Wycombe Abbey girls’ school received an official notice to evacuate all the girls within a fortnight to make room for the United States Army Eighth Air Force.That caused a tremendous influx of students into the small village school. Local children now attend lessons in the mornings and the evacuees in the afternoons, which includes all of the nine children living here with Norman and Charlotte. And, as if that wasn’t bad enough, the past week planes started flying in and out of the base like flocks of birds. There is nothing to stop the German bombers from following those planes, intent upon dropping bombs on the base, which would have them flying directly over the farm!

Norman insists Father assured him there is nothing to worry about, that having the base so near should make us feel safer and that air raid sirens would sound if the German planes flew near, but there are no sirens close by us. Furthermore, by the time the sirens sound, it could be too late. That has happened elsewhere. No one can say it hasn’t.

When I was evacuated out of London, here to Norman and Charlotte’s, I did feel safe and have continued to for the past couple of years, but I truly fear there is no safe place in our country right now. Nowhere that families are safe. I also fear there soon won’t be anything left of the country we are all working so hard to protect.

I also wonder why we are expected to put so much faith in the Americans. These aren’t their homes. Their families. Their children.

I don’t mean to sound so harsh, but I am weary, Dear Diary, and dare only share these thoughts with you. Unlike so many others, I can’t put all my faith in the Americans. If they really cared about us, about what has been happening the past two years, they would have arrived long ago. Long before our cities and villages were little more than piles of rubble and long before our children became orphans.

Those planes flying overhead scare me, almost as if I somehow know one of those planes will change my life for ever.

The rumble of planes growing nearer sent Kathryn’s nerves on edge. She tried to pedal faster, but the road was rutted and wet from the heavy spring rains that had fallen the night before. Her hands and arms, even her legs, shook as the noise overhead grew louder. Afraid to look, but unable to stop herself, she twisted enough to glance towards the sky behind her.

Fear grasped her entire body. Not only was the sound deafening, she’d never seen a plane so close. It was flying right at her, would hit her. Frantic, she tried to steer the bicycle off the road, but it wobbled uncontrollably and then toppled.

She hit the ground so hard, the air was knocked out of her. It was a moment before she could gather the gumption to cover her head as a powerful gust of wind tugged at her scarf and coat.

The noise was so great that her ears were ringing and she felt as if time had stopped, or wondered perhaps if this was how it felt when time ends. Life ends.

It was a moment or two before she realised the noise was fading and another before she concluded the plane hadn’t landed on her. That it was still in the sky, flying higher now and away from her.

A sense of relief washed over her, until she saw the contents lying around her. The eggs, cheese and milk that had been in the wicker basket attached to the handlebars of her bicycle. Anger began to coil its way through her system. Every morsel of food was precious right now.

She scrambled on to her knees, reaching for an egg, hoping to salvage at least a few, when a powerful force grasped her from behind and lifted her completely off the ground.

‘Miss, are you hurt?’

The egg she’d been about to save tumbled to the ground, cracking and oozing into the muddy gravel.

‘Are you hurt?’

A boot, a man’s boot, stepped right on the egg she’d been hoping to rescue and a shiver raced over her as her gaze travelled upwards, over the brown trousers tucked into the boots, a waist-length leather jacket and finally a billed hat that sat a bit off-kilter atop a short-cropped head of brown hair.

Twisting, she broke the hold he had on her and stepped aside, trying hard to swallow. ‘N-no, I’m not hurt.’ He was tall, very tall. She had to swallow again.

‘I’m sorry.’ He gestured towards the plane disappearing into the horizon. ‘Rooster wasn’t trying to scare you. He was fooling with us.’

‘Fooling?’

He pointed towards an army vehicle. An American one. ‘Yes, the pilots do that once in a while, fly low over one of the Jeeps, just as a joke.’ The two dimples that formed, one in each cheek as his grin grew wider, showed just how humorous he found the situation. She didn’t find anything about any of this funny. Not in the least.

‘A joke?’ Anger rippled every nerve in her body. ‘With an aeroplane?’

He shrugged slightly. ‘Yes. I’m really sorry. I’m sure he didn’t see you.’

So mad she wanted to scream, Kathryn took a deep breath and glanced towards the ground, trying to gather her wits and nerves into some sort of semblance.

‘Are you sure you’re all right? Nothing’s broken, is it?’

No! She wasn’t all right. She’d nearly been scared to death.

He frowned as he gazed to the ground near his feet.

Anger had her hands balling into fists. Disgusted, she snapped, ‘What’s broken—ruined—is a week’s worth of food!’

‘That’s hardly a week’s worth of food,’ he said.

She pulled the scarf off her head and used that to wipe some of the dirt off her hands. ‘It is when every single egg is rationed.’ Mud covered her hands, her coat, everything. A fresh bout of anger joined what was already boiling inside her. Clothes were rationed as tightly as food. ‘Oh, you Americans. You’re as bad as they say.’

‘Who says?’ He’d picked up her bike and set the brace so it would stand on its own before bending down to pick up the two crocks of cheese. ‘I thought all you Brits were happy we’d arrived.’

Arrogant fool. ‘Not all of us.’ She snatched the crocks out of his hands. They were unbroken, but mud had saturated the cheese cloth as deeply as it had her coat. She’d known this was how it would be. That the Americans would do more harm than good. ‘I assure you. Not all of us are happy in the least.’

He’d picked up the milk bottle, which had lost its cap and now held more mud than cream. ‘Why’s that?’ he asked.

She set the crocks in the basket and took the bottle, setting it between the crocks. A fair amount of straw, which had been on top of the crocks to give the eggs cushioning as she pedalled, was still in the basket. How, she had no idea.

‘Are you a spy?’

Not only did he capture her full attention, but she couldn’t remember being so insulted, or mad. ‘How dare you!’

He cocked his head while looking at her up and down. ‘Why else would you hate Americans?’

‘Because—’ Her mind wasn’t working fast enough. ‘Oh, you and your stupid planes! How dare you go around scaring people like that! You’re—you’re rude and pompous and...and accident-prone.’ It was the best she could come up with.

His laugh sliced through her, increasing her anger.

‘No, we aren’t.’ He bent down and picked two unbroken eggs out of the mud. ‘We are friendly and helpful.’ Handing her the eggs, he said, ‘See?’

She reached for the eggs, but a mean streak she’d never quite encountered before rose up inside her. Instead of taking the eggs, she squeezed them, cracking the shells. Then as the eggs oozed out over his outstretched palms, she spun about and hopped on to her bike.

Her escape wasn’t quick or coordinated and she was hopping mad by the time both wheels managed to reach the grass beside the road where she could pick up a bit of speed. It dawned on her, then, that she was going in the wrong direction. She no longer had anything to deliver to Oscar and Ed, but she kept on pedalling anyway.

* * *

Dale Johnson’s insides flinched at her departure. The women he’d met since arriving in England had flocked towards American GIs like the soldiers were shaking a feed bag. For the most part the women had been friendly, cute and more than ready to get to know an American soldier. This one certainly hadn’t been. She was cute, though, even covered in mud and eggshells and spitting mad.

He did have to admit she had reason. Rooster had flown right over the road.

He waited until her bike rolled along smoothly before he turned about and walked back to the general-purpose vehicle commonly called a Jeep and climbed in the open passenger side. He’d gotten used to not having doors on the topless square-shaped cars. That wasn’t the only thing about the Jeeps that reminded him of his father’s tractor back home. They went through as much mud and muck as that old tractor had without any troubles. The ride they gave was about as smooth, too.

‘Hey, Sarge,’ Rusty Sanders said, grinding the gears while trying to hit the right one. ‘You ever see that wizard movie? The one with the girl and her dog?’

Every GI had seen the movie. Watching that film ranked right up there with making your own bed. You did it daily and didn’t complain. Flinching slightly until the Corporal found the right gear, Dale said, ‘Sure have. Why?’

The Jeep sputtered before it took off. With the tyres rolling, Sanders nodded towards the bike rider they were quickly gaining on. ‘Remember that scene where the old woman rides off on her bike?’

Dale tried not to laugh, but lost that battle. He lost his next battle, too. The one that told him not to turn around for a final glance after they drove past the rider. And the one that told him not to touch the brim of his hat. Even at this distance, he could feel her glare. Her eyes were as big, round and dark brown as a newborn calf’s and her hair as black and shiny as the feathers of a red-winged black bird. Although far more beautiful, the way she was pedalling did hold a resemblance to the old witch in the movie Sanders mentioned. This girl was as angry and about as friendly as that old witch had been, too.

He didn’t turn around until after she’d brought the bike to a halt by lowering both feet on to the ground and then swiftly manoeuvred it about and started riding back the other direction.

She certainly wasn’t like the other women he’d met in England. He’d only been here a few months, but every other person he’d met had gone out of their way to let him know how happy they were that the Americans had arrived to save the day. Other than acknowledging their optimism, he’d kept his thoughts to himself. It would take plenty to stop the Nazis and he was willing to do his part, whatever that might be, but he wasn’t willing to let anyone believe the war would soon be over. There was too much unknown for that.

Another thought hit him as the Jeep approached the fork in the road. ‘Go left,’ Dale told Sanders.

‘Why? Where are we going now?’ the Corporal asked.

The young man had a lot to learn, but that would happen in time. It always did. Such as learning that orders were followed without question. ‘There’s a roadhouse up ahead,’ Dale replied. Unlike the young Corporal, the army hadn’t had to teach him to follow orders. His father had taken care of that years ago.

‘I’ve heard about the roadhouse,’ Corporal Sanders said. ‘It’s called the Village Pub.’

Dale nodded.

‘That’s where we’re going?’

Dale nodded again.

‘Why?’

‘Reconnaissance,’ Dale said.

‘Oh.’

Yes, Corporal Sanders had a lot to learn. They, he and Sanders, were mechanics and mechanics didn’t usually embark upon reconnaissance missions.

Then again, they hadn’t been doing a lot of engineering work up until the past few weeks. Since shortly after arriving in London and being convoyed out here to the country, they’d been building an air force base. You name it, they’d helped build it. Nissen huts, much like the Quonset sheds back home, made out of corrugated iron and built over concrete floors, runways and a number of wooden buildings that were now being used for numerous functions, and tents. Big ones, little ones and those in between. Even with all the buildings they’d erected, a fair number of men would continue to be housed in tents. What had been little more than a field was now almost as big as most of the towns back in North Dakota.

There were several small towns around this area, or villages as the locals called them, and they were only a few miles apart from each other. Back home, people had to drive for miles to reach the next town over. Miles and miles.

He’d caught glimpses of the villages while travelling to and from the base the past couple of months, but stopping at the roadhouse would be a first for both him and Sanders. The planes were finally in the air, flying in and out of the base daily, so today was the first free time they’d had since arriving.

‘Looks like this is it,’ Sanders said, pulling up next to a cobblestone two-storey building. ‘It’s hard to tell if they’re open with those blackout curtains.’

Dale climbed out of the Jeep. The dark material hung inside every home and business for the same reason they’d covered the outside of the Nissen huts back at the base with black paint. In order to prevent the German bombers from seeing anything as they flew overhead in the darkness of night. ‘They’re open,’ he said. ‘The door’s open.’

Sanders nodded and then asked, ‘Reconnaissance for what?’

‘We need to know who that girl is and where she lives before Major Hilts learns about Rooster’s flyover.’

‘Oh.’ Sanders visibly shivered. ‘You’re right about that, Sarge.’

A short dark-haired man standing behind a long wooden counter waved as they walked in the door. ‘Welcome, welcome! Good to see you stopping in. You’re from the base, aren’t you?’

‘Yes, sir,’ Sanders replied.

‘Been looking forward to you boys patronising our place here,’ the man said. ‘What can I get you both? A cup of ale?’

‘Coffee,’ Dale said.

‘Same here,’ Sanders added.

The man held a finger up in the air. ‘I stocked coffee just for you folks. Only take me a minute to get it started.’

Sanders waited until the man walked into the back room before leaning across the table. ‘Didn’t you read the pamphlet?’

Dale nodded. Every GI was ordered to read several pamphlets, including the one that stated:

The British don’t know how to make a good cup of coffee. You don’t know how to make a cup of tea. It’s an even swap.

‘You ordered coffee,’ Sanders whispered.

‘Because I don’t like tea,’ Dale said. ‘The coffee here can’t be any worse than my father’s.’ For years his father had said strong coffee would put hair on his chest. Both he and his brother, Ralph, had learned that was a wives’ tale, but they’d drank the coffee anyway—every Sunday while their mother was at church. For two young boys, it had been an easy trade-off. Dad’s coffee won out over Pastor Dunlop’s sermons every week. Except for Easter Sunday and Christmas Day. Ma had insisted everyone attend church on those days.

‘Coffee will be ready shortly,’ the man said, walking back into the room. ‘So you boys have been busy on that air base, haven’t you? I’ve not driven out there myself, but I’ve heard all about it.’ Fidgeting with the white apron tied around his portly waist, he walked around the counter. ‘Name’s Oscar. Oscar Fowler. My brother, Ed, is in the kitchen. The two of us own this pub. We’re hoping to get some entertainment in here on Friday and Saturday nights. Just for you boys out there at the base. Hoping you’ll feel right at home here.’

‘That’s kind of you.’ Dale chose not to explain that they probably wouldn’t have any more time for socialising in the future than they’d had since arriving.

‘Least we can do,’ Oscar said. ‘Ed and I don’t think like some others do.’

‘Oh,’ Dale said. ‘About what?’

‘Some think the Germans will follow your planes back here,’ Oscar said. ‘Dropping their bombs.’

‘They won’t dare come this close to a base,’ Sanders answered. ‘We’ve got artillery that will take them down before they could even think about dropping a bomb.’

Dale didn’t respond. Although there was some truth in what the Corporal said, there was no telling what the Germans were capable of.

‘That’s what we think,’ Oscar answered while waving a thick arm towards the counter. ‘Can I get you something while your coffee brews? A pickled egg, maybe? They’re fresh. Ed makes up a new batch every week. We get eggs, cream and cheese from a family up the road every week.’

It had been months since he’d eaten a real egg, yet Dale’s mind was more focused on the young girl and the eggs that had broken when her bike toppled rather than eating one.

‘My grandmother used to pickle eggs,’ Sanders said. ‘One year, my cousin and I copped a jar from the cellar and it just so happens the jar hadn’t sealed, the eggs had rotted. Haven’t been able to eat an egg since.’

There wasn’t a lot to be said about the egg powder they ate regularly, except that it had to be better than a rotten pickled egg. Dale couldn’t even stomach the thought of that.

‘The family has rabbits, too,’ Oscar said. ‘Got a pot of stew in the kitchen if you’d prefer.’

‘The coffee will be fine,’ Dale answered. A hint of guilt struck his stomach at what he’d said about her cargo. Food was tightly rationed and what the girl lost wouldn’t be replaced easily. ‘Would this family have more food to sell? To others besides you?’

Oscar shook his head. ‘Not enough to make a dent in what you need at the base, but you can always come here. We don’t have to abide by the ration portions for you.’

‘We’ll remember that,’ Dale said.

The brother, Ed, who was as stocky and dark haired as Oscar, but also sported a thick moustache, carried two steaming cups out of the back room and set them on the table while saying, ‘Nice to see you boys. We got plenty of coffee, so hope you’ll visit regularly.’

The cups were white and the coffee so weak Dale could see the bottom of the cup. The exact opposite of his father’s. ‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘Smells great.’

Evidently mid-afternoon was a slow time for the pub. He and Sanders were the only two customers and Ed and Oscar sat down at the table next to them. By the time his coffee cup was empty, Dale knew the girl’s name and where she lived. He also knew what he had to do.

After paying for their coffee, he and Sanders climbed back in the Jeep and once again, as they approached the road to the base, he told Sanders to drive past.

‘We going to that woman’s place now?’ Sanders asked.

Dale grasped the top of the windscreen as the rough road jostled the Jeep about. Once the ride smoothed out, he replied, ‘Yes, and we’re going to pay her for the eggs.’

‘Why? We didn’t break them on purpose.’

‘No, we didn’t, but we are going to pay her just the same,’ Dale answered. ‘Watch for a road to the right, we’ll need to take it.’

* * *

It turned out to be several miles from the pub to the small house Dale presumed was where Kathryn Harris lived. Like many others, the base of the house was made of stones and the rest wood. The siding went vertical instead of horizontal, which made the two-storey home look taller than it was. There was also a barn and several separate fenced-in areas that housed chickens, rabbits and a large garden. The pen near the barn held a couple of cows and goats. All in all, the site gave him his first real bout of homesickness. Until enlisting, he’d rarely left the farm. Unlike his brother, Ralph, he’d never had a hankering to go elsewhere. Also unlike Ralph, he let his parents know where he was. Another reason he had to make things right with this girl. If headquarters learned about it, they could put a stop to his search for Ralph. His mother had already lost one child. His sister, Judy, had died from dust pneumonia before the war had even started and he’d promised his father that Mother would not lose another one. Not him or Ralph.

‘This it?’

‘Yes,’ Dale answered, recognising the bicycle leaning against the barn. ‘Pull up next to the house.’

An older, slightly stooped man with a mop of dull grey hair walked out the door before Sanders had cut the engine.

‘Hello!’ the man shouted. ‘Welcome!’

Dale climbed out of the Jeep and walked to the gate, where he waited for the man to walk to the end of the cobblestone walkway.

‘Norman Harris,’ the man said, holding out one hand while opening the gate with the other. His round face looked jovial and one eye squinted as he talked.

Dale shook the man’s hand. ‘Dale Johnson and this is Rusty Sanders.’ He purposefully left off their ranks. Their uniforms would let the man know they were American GIs.

‘Good to meet you,’ Norman said as he shook Rusty’s hand. ‘You part of those boys buzzing overhead all the time?’

‘Yes, sir, we are,’ Dale said. ‘And we’re here to apologise for startling your daughter earlier. We hope she’s all right.’

The one eye Norman had open took on a sparkle. ‘Kathryn’s a good girl. Quick to anger, but she gets over it just as fast.’ Lowering his voice, he added, ‘It’s the planes. They frighten her, but don’t tell her I told you that.’

Dale had already heard how the planes frightened the locals and chose not to respond to that. ‘I understand the incident caused a loss for your family,’ he said, pulling his wallet out of his back pocket. ‘I would like to reimburse you.’

‘Oh, no, no.’ Norman shook his head. ‘That’s not necessary. It was the muddy road. That’s all.’

The house door opened, and though Norman might have suggested that Kathryn got over her anger quickly, the way she marched down the steps said that hadn’t happened today.

Keeping one eye on her, Dale took out several bills. ‘I still feel responsible.’

‘No. No. My wife is putting together a basket that I will drive to the pub. Should have done that in the first place. The bicycle doesn’t do well in mud.’ Glancing over his shoulder, Norman smiled. ‘Kathryn, these men came to apologise for the mishap. Wasn’t that nice of them?’

Her glare said otherwise and grew in intensity when she settled it on him.

Turning back to the man, Dale said, ‘I fully understand the loss of food, the loss of income, and insist upon paying you.’ He once again held the bills out towards Norman. ‘I’m not familiar with the prices here, so if this isn’t enough, just say what is.’

Norman took the bills and counted them. ‘This is far too much.’

Her animosity became even clearer as she watched Norman shuffle the bills. ‘We cannot take your money. Will not.’

‘Because it’s American?’ he asked. ‘I’m sure any bank will—’

‘No,’ she interrupted, squaring her tiny shoulders. ‘Because we all are doing our part in this war and will manage just fine without your assistance.’

He doubted that. ‘I insist.’

‘So do I,’ she said.

For as tiny as she was, the fury in those brown eyes could fall trees.

‘Kathryn—’

‘Good day, gentlemen,’ she said, interrupting Norman. Then with a sideways nod, she said, ‘Give him his money back. Please.’

There was an odd plea in her eyes, one the old man recognised because he handed over the bills. ‘Thank you for stopping by and for the apology.’


Chapter Two (#u739ddb39-624e-5a33-b137-8be3ebbde695)

28th of April, 1942

Dear Diary,

London had been struck again. Buildings I’ve known my entire life are no longer standing, the beautiful city I called home is becoming little more than rubble. Norman received word from Father that he and Mother are safe, our home remains undamaged. I’m relieved to know that, but so very saddened by all that continues to happen.

I dare say the Americans have yet to help us save the day and I’m not holding my breath. Especially after meeting one. They are dreadful. Nearly hit me with an aeroplane. Yes, an aeroplane. They are arrogant, too, and far too handsome for their own good. They think all they need is a smile and a wallet full of money.

I’m proud to say they did not fool me with either. Andrew taught me a lesson that I will never forget. Of course, I didn’t realise that at the time. The war was just beginning then and I thought he wanted to marry me because he loved me, not because he thought marrying me would save him from serving. Mother was right in that sense, that he only wanted to marry me because of who Father is. I may not have before, but I now see the wisdom in her words. If I had married Andrew, I might have been living in one of the buildings that are now little more than rubble back in London. What I do know for certain is that I would never have met Charlotte and Norman and all the wonderful children in their care. I would never have discovered how much I truly enjoy taking care of the children. Of course, I knew nothing about that when I first arrived here. I knew nothing about so many things when I first arrived here, but I do now and I can say with certainty that I will never be fooled again. Not by a handsome smile or a uniform.

Kathryn’s nerves had been frazzled since the bicycle accident, but hearing the older boys, George and Edward, bickering as they walked up the road flared a bout of anger inside her. As did the buzz rumbling the skies. The boys had made a contest out of naming the American bomber planes and tallying the number of times they’d seen each one.

The children no longer grabbed their gas masks and ran for the bomb shelter built in the back garden every time they heard a plane—instead, they ran outside unafraid, looking up to see if they could see a pilot.

That was dangerous. There was no other word for it. From the onset of the war, children had been taught to hide from the planes, take shelter, that the rumbling of those large metal birds meant danger.

It still did. Even the American ones. As she’d discovered.

Pulling off her gloves, she left the front garden, making sure the gate was closed tightly, and walked down the cobblestone pathway to open the back garden gate for the children. There was no front garden left to speak of. With everyone doing their part, what had been the front garden now housed rows of vegetables. Having just been planted a short time ago, the green sprouts were tiny and hardly recognisable, but soon there would be potatoes, carrots, cauliflower, parsnips and a few other vegetables that could survive the daily rains and dreary skies of spring. It felt as if it had been years since the sun had shone bright and freely. Almost as if even the weather realised it was wartime.

‘Kathryn! Look what we have!’ Phillip said, holding something in his hand. ‘It’s sweets! Chewing gum! I have a piece for you, too.’

The youngest of the boys, Phillip ran towards her, his smile showing the opening left from losing a tooth last week. Despite her melancholy, she couldn’t help but smile.

‘Chewing gum? Who gave you that?’ Sweets of any sort were rare and the smile on all of the faces approaching the gate said Phillip wasn’t the only one with a prize.

There were nine children in total who lived with Norman and Charlotte and her. Each one as unique and adorable as the next and each an evacuee who had arrived at some point over the past two years. She’d been the first, arriving nearly three years before at the age of seventeen. Her father had delivered her himself. As an intelligence officer, Father hadn’t said if the bombing starts, he’d said when it starts, and he’d wanted her as far away from London as possible. Her mum had agreed, except for the faraway part. They’d settled for Norman’s small farm, little more than an hour outside London.

Since then scores of young people had been evacuated out of the city. And continued to be, finding a temporary and hopefully safe refuge from the war.

‘No,’ Little George said, arriving a step behind Phillip. They called him Little George because George was already here when Little George had arrived on the same evacuee train as Phillip, Patricia and Doreen. ‘A soldier gave it to us.’

A shiver raced up Kathryn’s spine. ‘A soldier?’

‘The one you met,’ Edward said.

‘Yes.’ Phillip thrust a wrapped stick of chewing gum towards her. ‘He gave me this one for you.’

‘He said his name was Sergeant Dale Johnson,’ Elizabeth said as she followed in the older boy’s wake.

Kathryn’s nerves stung. She didn’t want a name to put to the face that haunted her, and her fingers wrapped tighter around the gloves in her hand.

‘I bet he flies one of the planes we see every day,’ George said. ‘The one with the blue nose.’

‘No, he flies the one with the red nose,’ Edward disagreed. ‘I’ve seen the pilot in that one.’

‘You have not,’ George argued.

‘Have to!’ Edward said.

‘Boys,’ Kathryn said, putting a stop to their bickering. There was plenty more she’d like to say, but Elizabeth was handing over an envelope.

‘Besides the gum he gave Phillip for you, he asked me to give you this note.’ Elizabeth then asked, ‘Why didn’t you mention meeting him?’

‘Because it wasn’t worth mentioning,’ Kathryn said, taking the envelope, which burned her fingers at the thought of who’d touched it previously. ‘Go inside and have your tea, then complete your studies.’

‘We don’t have any evening studies,’ Elizabeth said. ‘The soldiers were at school all afternoon, talking to all the children about not going near any pieces of shrapnel, and if we see any, we are to report it right away. I have a letter to give to Charlotte and Norman about it.’

‘Is that what this is?’ Kathryn asked, ignoring a sense of disappointment.

‘I don’t think so,’ Elizabeth answered. ‘Sergeant Johnson asked the teacher which children lived with you and then asked if he could give me that note. That’s when he told me he’d met you.’

‘Run on in and have your tea,’ Kathryn said, turning the envelope over to see her name typed on the front.

‘Don’t you want your gum?’ Phillip asked, following the others through the open gate.

One extra piece was sure to cause a squabble, so she took it. ‘Thank you. Run inside now.’

Kathryn waited until each child passed through the front door, then she looked down at the envelope again. She didn’t want to be curious, but was. After slipping her gloves and the stick of gum in her pocket, she carefully slid a finger beneath the flap to release the seal and pulled out a single sheet of paper.

It was typed. She’d never received a typed letter before.

Dear Miss Harris,

The United States Air Force is presenting you with the enclosed payment for the loss of supplies resulting from a motor vehicle and bicycle incident on the High Wycombe Roadway during the mid-afternoon of April 27th, 1942.

She unfolded the bottom of the letter and trapped the money against the paper with her thumb while reading the rest of the letter.

If you have any questions, please contact Marilyn Miller, secretary for the United States Army Eighth Air Force South Hill Barracks.

Kathryn flipped the paper over, looking for...she wasn’t exactly sure what. Frowning, she turned it over again. The letter was signed by Marilyn Miller. Whoever that was.

Ire rippled her insides as she counted the money. It was the same amount Dale Johnson had attempted to give Norman, but had been converted into shillings and pence. American or English, she would not be keeping this money.

‘I really think you should let me drive you,’ Norman said a few minutes later while walking towards the barn beside her.

‘There’s no need to waste the petrol,’ Kathryn said. He and Charlotte were worried about the soldiers being in trouble for the mishap. She wasn’t. Her concern was more personal. Sergeant Johnson would not get his way. Not with her.

‘But after—’

‘I’ll be far more careful,’ she interrupted Norman’s response. Feeling guilty about being so discourteous, she added, ‘The letter is addressed to me, so I will to be the one to respond.’

* * *

‘Johnson,’ Sam Smith shouted from the doorway. ‘You got a visitor!’

Dale wiped his crescent wrench clean and placed it in the metal box among his other tools before tossing the rag aside and walking towards the doorway.

‘You’re getting to be awfully popular among the Janes.’ Smith wiggled both of his brush-black eyebrows. ‘The secretary this morning and now a local girl.’

Dale grinned. He’d expected a reaction from the letter he’d had Marilyn type up for him, but hadn’t thought it would be this quick. ‘Jealous?’

Smith laughed. ‘You know it.’

Dale slapped the other man’s shoulder as he walked out the door. ‘Get used to it, buddy.’

Laughing again, Smith nodded towards the concrete slab outside the main building. ‘Say hi for me, will you?’

‘Not on your life,’ Dale replied as he readjusted his hat.

Her bicycle was standing next to the bench she sat upon, back straight and hands folded in her lap. The base was a busy place, with men meandering in all directions, and every one of them was taking a second look at Kathryn. He couldn’t blame them. She was a looker, even with the red scarf hiding her shiny, thick black hair. He’d seen that hair flowing long and loose when she’d pulled a different scarf off her head after taking her tumble. She had on the same shoes as that day and sheer stockings. Riding a bike in those heels had to be close to impossible.

As he walked passed a group of GIs standing stationary longer than necessary, he waved an arm. ‘Move on, boys. You’re here to fight Germans, not dally with the locals.’

‘Ah, Sarge,’ one of them said. ‘We ain’t seen a German since we got here.’

‘You will,’ he said. ‘Now move along.’

They followed orders, heading in the opposite direction as him. A few steps later, he removed his hat prior to stopping in front of the metal bench. ‘Miss Harris.’

She lifted her chin as she stood and smoothed her knee-length, sandy-brown coat with one hand while holding out the other one. ‘I’m here to return this.’

That wasn’t the reaction he’d been hoping for.

Ironically the sun, which hadn’t let itself be known very often since he’d arrived, chose that moment to peek out from behind a sky full of grey clouds. ‘Would you care to take a walk?’ he asked, ignoring the envelope. The Major hadn’t learned about the incident and, if Dale had his way, Hilts never would.

Her brows knit together as she barely turned her head while glancing left and right. ‘A walk?’

‘I’ve been told there’s a garden around the east side of the building, with a walking pathway the entire length.’

‘I’m not here to—’

‘I know.’ He wasn’t one to act impulsively, but convincing her to keep the money would take a bit of finesse. Something that didn’t come to him naturally. He’d have to work on it. And her. ‘Just a short walk. I’ve wanted to see the garden but haven’t had a reason to walk over there yet.’

She glanced around, this time turning her head fully in each direction. When she faced him again, he wasn’t daft enough to think she nodded because of his charm. It was the dozens of other men looking their way.

‘I don’t have much time,’ she said while taking a step.

‘Neither do I,’ he said. ‘But a walk doesn’t need to take long.’

‘As I said, I’m here to return your money.’

‘It’s not my money.’ That wasn’t completely a lie. The money he’d given Marilyn to include with the letter had been American. The secretary had been the one to exchange it for local currency. So far, only he, Sanders and Marilyn knew exactly what had happened and he wanted to keep it that way. ‘I’m a farmer, Miss Harris. Or was until I became a soldier. My folks own a farm in North Dakota. Gathering eggs was my first chore. At least the first one I can remember.’ The memories floating back made him grin. ‘That and hauling wood, but my brother, Ralph, usually did that. He hated chickens and would haul my share of the wood if I gathered his share of the eggs.’

He bit the tip of his tongue to stop from sharing other things about himself. She didn’t need to hear his life story, nor want to. ‘What I meant to say is that I know how tough farming can be. How the loss of even a single egg is felt. Even more now that the world is at war.’

They’d rounded the building corner and rows of leafy green bushes, some he might have recognised if he took the time to look closer, edged the walking path on both sides.

‘I can’t deny the world is at war, Mr Johnson,’ she said smartly. ‘But I can assure you, we do not need your money. Norman and Charlotte would not have taken in so many if they did not have the means to provide for them.’

He’d heard about children being evacuated out of London and assumed some of the children living with her were part of that. Of the nine, only two looked similar, as if they might be siblings. ‘Are they all evacuees?’

‘Yes.’

Something in her tone, a sadness, had him asking, ‘But not you.’

She glanced his way, frowning slightly. ‘Yes, me, too.’

‘Then how do you have the same last name as Norman. Mr Harris?’

‘I don’t.’

Not one to usually make assumptions, he searched his mind to recall if one of the Fowler brothers had said she was Norman’s daughter. He’d been certain they had. Ed had. He was fairly sure of that.

‘You assumed I was Norman and Charlotte’s daughter,’ she said, with her heels snapping against the stone walkway. ‘Just as you assumed we needed to be repaid for the food that was damaged in the mishap. Both assumptions were wrong.’ She stopped walking and held out her hand containing the envelope. ‘Now if you’d kindly take this, I shall be on my way.’

He ignored the envelope again. ‘If it’s not Harris, what is your last name?’

She frowned slightly, then shook her head. ‘I don’t see how that matters one way or the other.’

‘It does to me.’ He couldn’t come up with a solid reason why, so he waved a hand at the trail continuing in front of them. ‘It’s just as far to walk all the way around as it is to go back the way we came.’ With a shrug, he added, ‘And once I know your last name, I won’t have to assume again.’

When it appeared she might not agree, he added an incentive, ‘The sun is shining, Kathryn, I hear that’s a rarity this time of year.’

‘Winslow,’ she said. ‘Miss Winslow.’

He’d figured using her first name would goad her into telling him. ‘Winslow. Kathryn Winslow. Well, that’s a fine name, Miss Winslow,’ he said while slowly starting to walk again. ‘A mighty fine name. Nothing to be ashamed of.’

‘Ashamed of?’ She hurried to catch up with him. ‘I’m not ashamed of it.’

‘You’re not?’ He gave his head a thoughtful shake. ‘Well, I assumed since you didn’t want to tell me that—’

‘You said if I told you, you wouldn’t assume again.’

He nodded. ‘I did, didn’t I? Well, then, how about the sun? How often does it shine? Just so I don’t have to assume again.’

Her sideways glance said he wasn’t fooling her, but the hint of a smile she tried to hide gave him hope.

‘It shines often enough, but not as much as it rains. Some people don’t like our weather. They say it’s too dreary. To rainy.’

He almost asked who, but figured that could be two steps backwards. ‘I love rain.’

‘You do?’ There was a hint of disappointment in her voice.

‘Back home we had a drought that lasted almost ten years. The worst of it was when I was fifteen. By then, we’d gone so long without rain, it wouldn’t have taken much to dry up every last pond. It was so hot the leaves baked right on the trees. Dried up and fell off so it looked like December rather than July. Except for the heat. Nothing could grow and with no plants or moisture to hold the dirt down, it blew everywhere. We had curtains like you do, nailed to the window frames, but they weren’t to keep the light from getting out, it was to keep the dirt from getting in.’

Remembering those days had the ability to clog his throat. The windy dry weather was what had given Judy dust pneumonia. ‘I prayed so long and hard for rain, that, even now, almost ten years later, I still love it. Will love rain for as long as I live.’

‘How did you survive?’ she asked. ‘Your family. Being farmers.’

‘We were lucky in some ways,’ he said. ‘There’s a fair-sized lake that’s spring fed on our property. That year we thought it might dry up, but it didn’t so we had water for the animals and some crops.’ There was a row of tiny purple flowers beside the path and he stopped long enough to pluck one and hand it to her. ‘Much like you, we shared what we could with others. Any neighbour who had a way to haul water was welcome to do so.’

She took the flower and sniffed it while twirling the tiny stem between her finger and thumb. ‘That was kind of you.’

Some didn’t think so. They’d claimed his family should be hauling water to those who didn’t have a way to get it. His family couldn’t have afforded to do that any more than the next. And they’d had other things happening. Judy dying. Letting that thought go, he asked, ‘What kind of flower is that?’

‘It’s a columbine.’

‘Do they grow wild here?’

‘Yes. When I first arrived here, I dug up several that were growing among the hedgerows at Charlotte and Norman’s and gave them to my mum to plant in the flower beds at our house in London.’

She pinched her lips together then and started walking again, obviously not happy about sharing even that little memory with him. Accepting that, he took the subject off her.

‘Did all the children living with the Harrises arrive at the same time as you?’

‘No. George, Elizabeth and Jennifer arrived several months after I did. They are siblings. Then Phillip, Little George, Patricia and Doreen arrived the following spring. They aren’t related, but were all on the same train. That summer, a billeting officer brought Edward and Audrey to the house late one night. They aren’t siblings either, but had been on the same train and the officer explained no other host family was able to take them.’ Her tone was soft and she’d smiled while saying each child’s name.

‘How old are they?’ he asked, mainly just to keep her talking.

Still twirling the flower, she said, ‘George is twelve and Edward is eleven. Little George is eight and Phillip seven. Elizabeth is fourteen, Audrey thirteen, Jennifer nine, and Doreen and Patricia are both six.’

‘That’s a houseful.’

Her face lit up as and her eyes literally shone. ‘It is, but they mind well, are very helpful and get along with one another for the most part.’

‘Even the siblings?’

‘Yes, why?’

‘Just curious,’ he answered. ‘My brother and I fought when we were young. He’s two years older than me.’

‘Do you have any sisters?’

‘One.’ He bit his tongue. Even after all these years he couldn’t get used to saying he didn’t have a sister. He’d had one for thirteen years and would never forget it. Judy had been two years younger than him and her death had left a hole in his family. Especially in his mother’s heart. She’d said it wasn’t right for a parent to bury a child and he didn’t want her to go through that ever again. Not wanting to explain more, he asked, ‘What about you?’

She frowned slightly while glancing his way. ‘I’m an only child, but I have a cousin.’

Not sure why her frown turned into a scowl while she pinched her lips tight and started walking faster, he asked, ‘Do their families know where they are? The children, that is?’

She blinked and kept her eyes closed for some time before saying, ‘If they still have families, yes, they know where they are.’

A shiver rippled the hairs on his arms. ‘Their homes have been bombed?’

Marching forward, she said, ‘Most of London has been hit by bombs. Most of England.’

Dale didn’t have a response for that. Couldn’t have said the bombing was over either. If Hitler had his way, it wouldn’t be over until there was nothing left of London. Of England. Of most of the world.

They had rounded the building again. While woods had been the backdrop of the garden on the other two sides, this side showed the Nissen huts, tents and other structures of the base. For a moment he’d almost forgotten they’d been walking around the huge headquarter building. A few months ago, it had been an all girls’ school. The transformation had taken place, but it still seemed odd to imagine that not so long ago, rather than hundreds of soldiers, the grounds had been covered with giggling girls.

News of the war had filled the papers and airways back home, but until he’d arrived, seen the destruction firsthand, he’d been detached from the actual tragedy that was taking place in certain spots of the world. Those over here, like Kathryn, hadn’t been. They’d been living it. Still were.

They walked in silence along that side of the building, all the way to the corner and then around the front towards where her bicycle stood.

A B-25 was coming in for a landing, the one he’d worked on earlier and sent the pilot out to put it to the test. New equipment and instructions arrived regularly and it was his job to try out new ideas on various planes, report to others what worked and what didn’t. Most of it had to do with conserving fuel. The planes needed to fly a considerable distance and back, and every drop of fuel counted.

The ground beneath them rumbled. He was used to that and the noise, but to others, the roar of those engines was considered deafening.

Although she’d tucked her chin to her chest and was cringing at the noise, Kathryn watched as the bomber touched down and then rolled up the runway.

‘That’s the same plane that—’

‘Yes, it is,’ he admitted.

She lifted her chin. ‘Do you fly those?’

‘Mainly, I work on them,’ he answered. ‘But that also means I’ll fly them when I have to. The pilot flying that one is Rooster Robins. He was at the school with me today.’ He left out the part that Rooster had been flying it the other day, too, and that the pilot knew nothing about the mishap.

‘Passing out chewing gum.’ The pinch of her lips was back, saying she didn’t approve.

‘We hoped it would make the kids listen. Our Commander received word of Air Raid Wardens in London catching children, mainly young boys, collecting shrapnel, shell caps and fins, and all sorts of other pieces of bombs. One report said a pair of brothers had a complete incendiary bomb hidden in their outhouse. Groups of us went out to all of the schools within a thirty-mile radius today to warn the children to stay away from any shrapnel. That every piece is dangerous. We sent warning letters home with all of the students, instructing every adult to use caution, too.’

‘And you sent this home,’ she said, once again handing him the envelope.

He’d had Marilyn type up the letter, thinking if it looked official, Kathryn, or at least Norman, would accept the money. A good sort, and always willing to help, Marilyn was also trying to locate Ralph for him.

‘I can’t take it, Miss Winslow,’ he said. ‘I’ve already told you that. Buy the children some more chewing gum with it, or other candy, they were excited with the pieces we passed out.’

* * *

Kathryn squeezed the envelope harder. He had to take it. She didn’t want his money. Didn’t want anything to do with him. She was flustered, too. Both by her behaviour—walking the garden path with him should not have happened—and by his actions. Asking all those questions about her and the children. She shouldn’t have answered those questions. And he shouldn’t have told her about loving rain. No one loves rain. Furthermore, it was easier not to like him when she knew nothing about him, other than he was just a man. One of many.

Pulling her thoughts back to where they belonged, she said, ‘There are no other sweets to be purchased, Mr Johnson. The only people with such luxuries are you American soldiers.’

‘Then buy something else they need. There has to be something—’

He stopped in order to turn around at someone shouting, ‘Sarge!’

‘Excuse me,’ he said, turning to her before turning about again and jogging over to meet the man running towards them. The same one who’d been driving the Jeep the other day.

Warning bells went off inside her as she noted other men quickly gathering around Dale. He pointed in several directions, as if giving orders before he and the man she recognised started walking towards her.

‘Corporal Sanders will give you a ride—’

‘What’s happened?’ Kathryn interrupted.

‘Nothing for you to worry about,’ he said. ‘Corporal, get her bike.’

Her heart was in her throat. ‘Is it the Germans?’

‘No, Miss Winslow, it’s not the Germans, it has nothing to do with them, but I need to go.’ He gestured towards the other man already wheeling her bike across the pavement. ‘Corporal Sanders will give you a ride home.’ He then touched the brim of his hat. ‘Good day.’

She didn’t have time to say more, he was already running towards another car park that held several Jeeps and lorries. Others were running, too, jumping in the vehicles.

Before she had time to contemplate what she should do, a Jeep pulled up next to her. She shook her head. ‘I don’t need a ride.’

‘Sarge said to give you a ride home and I can’t disobey a direct order. Name’s Rusty Sanders. Corporal Rusty Sanders. Go ahead and climb in, I already have your bike in the back.’

The young man had found a way to make her bicycle fit behind the seats. Sort of. The front tyre hung halfway out of the Jeep, but it appeared secure enough not to fall out.

She tucked the envelope she was still clutching into her pocket while nodding towards a line of vehicles already exiting the base. ‘What’s happening?’

‘Rooster, that’s one of the pilots,’ Corporal Sanders said, ‘saw a barn on fire when he was coming in for landing.’

‘A barn? Near here?’ She climbed into the Jeep. ‘Whose?’

‘Don’t know. It’s not too far away. Sarge is taking a unit out to help put it out.’ Pointing towards the vehicles, Sanders said, ‘Those are water-tank trucks. They are always ready to go put out a fire.’

‘Why?’

‘In case a plane crashes or a bomb goes off.’

Pressing a hand against her racing heart, she asked, ‘Was the barn bombed?’

‘No, there haven’t been any bombs dropped around here. Won’t be either.’

She grasped the edge of the Jeep when he shifted into gear and speeded up, and held on with all her might until the jerking motions smoothed out and allowed her to relax a bit.

‘Where is it? The barn the pilot saw on fire?’

‘Sounds like it must be over by the pub.’

Her heart leaped to her throat. Widow Whitcomb’s barn was near Oscar and Ed’s pub. Two billeted children were currently staying with her. Brothers who were close to Little George and Phillip’s ages. ‘Take me there.’

‘Ma’am, miss, I couldn’t—’

‘Yes, you can.’ Recalling how he’d said Dale had ordered him to take her home, she said, ‘It’s an order. Follow the others.’

‘I can’t do that. Sarge will—’

‘Then stop right here so I can get my bicycle out.’

He glanced her way and then, after scratching the side of his head, said, ‘I’m going to be in trouble either way.’

‘No, you won’t be, I’ll see to that.’ She had no idea how she’d go about doing that, but she had to see if the billeted children living with Mrs Whitcomb needed help. The widow hadn’t been happy about being required to take in children and had already sent away several others for misbehaviour.

* * *

Upon arriving at the pub, Kathryn wasn’t worried about Corporal Sanders being in trouble, it was the two boys she saw being put in another Jeep. She climbed over the edge of Jeep and ran towards them. ‘Are they hurt?’

‘Sarge says the burns aren’t bad, but the old woman refused for them to be seen by a doctor, so I’m taking them to be checked out by a medic at the base,’ a soldier said.

The barn, still on fire, was in the field behind the pub. Mrs Whitcomb was standing near one of the lorries, clearly yelling at the man who stood on top of it spraying water on the ground. Dale stood next to her, shaking his head, also clearly telling the man spraying the ground to listen to him, not her. Until Corporal Sanders stepped up beside them, then Dale spun around and though he was a distance away, Kathryn felt the moment his eyes landed on her.

She turned back and stepped closer to the Jeep in order to examine the boys. They were both dark with soot and their hands had red welts.

‘We tried to put out the fire,’ the younger boy said solemnly.

‘I can tell,’ she answered while reaching into her pocket for a handkerchief. After wrapping it around one of the largest blisters on the older boy’s hand, she said, ‘That was very brave of you.’

‘Mrs Whitcomb didn’t think so,’ the younger one said. ‘She said we can’t come back.’

‘We don’t want to go back,’ the older boy said.

Kathryn offered them each a reassuring smile. ‘Don’t worry about any of that,’ she said, making a mental note to call the billeting officer.

‘Excuse me,’ the soldier now behind the wheel of the Jeep said, ‘but Sarge told me to hurry.’

A quick glance over her shoulder said the ‘Sarge’ was walking towards her. Along with Corporal Sanders. ‘Then go.’ Slipping her hand into her pocket again, this time she withdrew the envelope she’d felt while pulling out the handkerchief. ‘Please deliver this to the base as well.’

The soldier took the envelope and drove away, and Kathryn drew a deep breath before turning about. Without waiting for Dale to comment on Corporal Sanders bringing her here, she said, ‘Why aren’t you putting out the fire? You’re just spraying the ground.’

‘It was already too far gone by the time we arrived,’ Dale replied. ‘We’ll keep the fire from spreading and then clean up the debris. Corporal Sanders will now give you a ride home.’

She hadn’t followed his last order and wouldn’t this time either. ‘I do not need a ride. When I’m ready to return home, I shall ride my bike.’ Head up, she spun around and walked towards the pub to call the billeting officer.


Chapter Three (#u739ddb39-624e-5a33-b137-8be3ebbde695)

21st of May, 1942

Dear Diary,

I heard the boys’ burns are healing fine and that they are doing well now living with the Butlers. No one knows how Mrs Whitcomb’s barn caught fire, but everyone is talking about how the fire would have spread if not for the soldiers. Especially Sergeant Johnson. I am thankful the soldiers were able to keep the fire from spreading and that the young brothers are no longer with Mrs Whitcomb, but I’m not singing praise. I find I have a great desire to remind the locals that we took care of each other before the Americans built the base and will do so again after they leave, but have managed to keep it to myself. No matter how difficult it may be, I must remain diplomatic.

However, I do find satisfaction in the fact I won when it came Sergeant Johnson and his money. I dare say I’m a bit surprised he gave in so easily and have concluded he must be angered that he didn’t get his way this time because I have not seen him since the day of the fire. Which of course is fine. I have no desire to see him again.

On her knees, pulling tiny weeds just poking out of the ground, Kathryn couldn’t stop herself from glancing up when the sky rumbled. Not one, but five planes were coming towards them. How could something so large glide through the sky? It seemed impossible. So impossible, she couldn’t stop thinking about them. Some things did that. Stuck in her brain, making her try to figure out what it was about them that she disliked. She made no mention of them, though. Under no circumstance did she want to appear interested in anything associated with the base. Not even to satisfy her own curiosity.

It was a Saturday, so the girls were helping in the garden and the boys were seeing to the animals. They’d all stopped to stare up at the planes growing closer. Just as Kathryn was about to instruct them to return to their chores, the first plane flew directly over the farm. At first, she’d thought she was seeing things, until a moment later, when she realised something was dropping from the sky. She couldn’t recognise what the tiny specks were, but they were falling directly at them.

Fear overtook her so quickly, she momentarily froze. Then, hooking Doreen around the waist with one hand, she grabbed Patricia’s hand with the other. ‘Run! Run for the bomb shelter!’

Fumbling with the gate as the planes continued to fly overhead, she screeched as something hit her head. It didn’t hurt, but fearing the next one, she gathered Doreen and Patricia close and crouched over the top of both of them, trying to protect them. Save them.

When nothing else hit her, she grabbed both girls and hurried though the gate. The other girls were on the path, as was Charlotte.

‘Hurry,’ Kathryn shouted as terror still raced over her. ‘Run!’

‘Why?’ Charlotte asked.

With her heart pounding, Kathryn attempted to usher them all towards the house. It would be shorter going through it than around it to the shelter. ‘The planes!’ Not exactly sure how to describe the dangers, she said, ‘The—the shrapnel, the—the things falling from the sky. Bombs.’

‘There aren’t any bombs,’ Charlotte said. ‘Those were American planes.’

Frustrated and scared, Kathryn couldn’t stop from shouting, ‘There are things falling from them! Shrapnel!’

‘That’s not shrapnel!’

‘It’s sweets!’

She wasn’t sure who said what, but spun to where the boys were running around the house.

‘They dropped sweets for us! Lots of it!’

Kathryn’s heart was still pounding, but an icy shiver had her lowering both Doreen and Patricia on to the porch. Her arms ached from holding the girls, but it was the fear that had encompassed her that had her trembling. The children were running about, picking up things.

‘Stop! Don’t touch anything!’

‘Kathryn, dear—’

‘Didn’t you read the letter they brought home?’ she interrupted Charlotte. ‘Anything falling from the sky is dangerous.’

‘Of course I read that letter. But as I said, those were American planes. Not German ones.’ Charlotte took something from one of the children and held it out. ‘It’s just sweets. Truly it is.’

Kathryn’s fear turned into anger as she plucked the single piece of gum, wrapped in shiny foil. ‘Chewing gum?’ Her mind seemed to turn a complete somersault. ‘Gum!’

‘Other sweets, too,’ Little George said, holding out a grubby palm full of colourfully wrapped sweets.

‘We can keep it, can’t we?’ Phillip asked.

‘Of course you can,’ Charlotte replied.

With squeals of delight, the children, including Doreen and Patricia, ran throughout the garden, searching for sweets.

‘Be careful of the plants!’ Charlotte yelled before quietly saying, ‘Now, wasn’t that nice? Dropping sweets for the children?’

‘Nice?’ The fury ripping across Kathryn was as hot as it was cold. ‘No, it wasn’t nice. It was the most deceitful, nasty trick anyone has ever played.’

‘Trick?’ Charlotte asked. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘Not what.’ Kathryn was so mad she wanted to scream. ‘Who.’ Spinning about, she marched into the house. ‘Sergeant Dale Johnson. He’ll pay for this one.’

She walked straight through the house to the scullery, where she washed her hands and removed her apron. After tying a scarf around her hair, she headed out the back door and rode away on the bicycle before anyone had the chance to try to stop her.

This had gone too far. Scaring the daylights out of people was not funny and would not be tolerated.

The harder she pedalled, the madder she became. She should have known Dale wouldn’t have given up that easy. Men didn’t stop until they got what they wanted. Andrew hadn’t. When her father had said she was too young to marry, especially a soldier who was going off to war with no certainty of what the future might bring, Andrew hadn’t given up. No, he’d gone ahead and got married. Not to her, but to the youngest daughter of Sir Russell Childs, a Commander in the Royal Navy. Andrew got exactly what he didn’t want. He was now serving in the Navy, on a ship somewhere. She didn’t know. Or care.

When she’d first arrived at Charlotte and Norman’s, she’d written to Andrew, several times, and had been hurt when there had been no response. Broken-hearted for months, until Mum had told her about his marriage. She’d grown angry then. As she was now. Dale would get exactly what he deserved, too.

Kathryn forced herself to concentrate on the road. It hadn’t rained for a few days, so there was no mud to contend with, but the previous water fall had left the road rutted, forcing her to continuously ride from edge to edge, utilising the smoothest sections and, at times, the grass along the road when cars approached from either direction.

Each time she heard one, her insides clenched and she kept her gaze forward, not willing to look in case it was Norman coming to stop her or Corporal Sanders driving someone around. Particularly Sergeant Johnson. That was exactly who she was going to see, but wanted it to be on her terms. She would not be surprised by him again.

Upon turning on to the road leading to the base, the much smoother surface allowed her to travel faster and she wheeled up to the main building. Last time, she’d gone through the front doors and a nice older woman sitting there had sent someone to find Dale. Assuming it would be that way again, she stationed her bicycle beside the bench and hurried up the steps. The older woman wasn’t behind the desk today. A pretty younger one, with short blond hair, was sitting there, wearing the same green uniform as the older woman had been.

‘May I help you?’ she asked.

‘I would like to see Sergeant Dale Johnson, please,’ Kathryn responded.

The younger woman’s smile increased as she shook her head. ‘I’m sorry, he’s not available. Could someone else help you?’

Kathryn’s stomach hardened with a sickening sensation. Almost four weeks had passed since she’d given that money to the soldier. She’d thought that had been the end of it. That Dale had accepted he’d failed and she’d won, but maybe he’d been transferred. The sickening sensation inside her grew. ‘May I wait until he is available?’

The woman’s face softened. ‘I’m not sure when he’ll be back. You can leave a message and I’ll see he receives it upon his return. It should be some time this evening.’

Relief filled her that he was still stationed here. ‘Thank you, there’s no message.’

‘I’m sure he’ll be available tomorrow if you want to come back.’

Kathryn nodded even as a great sense of disappointment seemed to drain her. She sincerely had wanted to see him today, while her anger had driven her. By tomorrow, it might not be as strong. ‘I’ll consider that. Thank you again.’

She had been so focused on seeing Dale that she hadn’t noticed the other soldiers on the way in. The way out was different. She could feel their eyes and hear their whispers as she climbed on her bike and rode away. Whether she’d left a message or not, he’d know about her visit.

* * *

Dale hadn’t considered what he’d say upon arrival until he slowed the Jeep down to take the road that led to Kathryn’s house. The entire base knew she’d been there to see him and knew who she was. Brigadier Winslow’s daughter. The head of British Intelligence. There was no denying he’d wondered if her father couldn’t assist in his search for Ralph, but Major Hilts had ordered him to find out why she’d been at the base and to make sure she got whatever it was she needed. Hilts hadn’t said it better not be anything personal, but Dale got the message just the same.

He also knew why she’d been there. The candy dropping had to have surprised her and, knowing her as he already did, most likely irritated the pants right off her. He couldn’t say why that made him smile, except for the fact he hadn’t had this much fun teasing someone in a long time. He’d teased Judy plenty. Being close in age, they’d picked on each other almost as much as he and Ralph. His throat swelled slightly. Certain memories did that to him. Made him miss Judy all over again and reminded him of the reason he was here.

As his thoughts returned to the present, he let out a sigh.

He couldn’t afford to have Kathryn mad. Not for his sake. If it was just him, he’d ʼfess up to the Major about the plane scaring her off her bike, but couldn’t because of Ralph. They hadn’t heard from him in two years, so he’d enlisted and been willing to do whatever he had to in order to find his brother.

Pulling into the garden, he glanced around. The place looked vacant. Back home, on a sunny afternoon like this, no one could have kept him or any of his siblings inside. Even during the drought years.

While parking the Jeep, Dale kept one eye on the front door, expecting it to open. There was the possibility that no one was home. Norman had mentioned a car before. It was nowhere in sight, but it hadn’t been on his last visit either. The bicycle, however, was leaning against the barn.

The door opened and Norman appeared while Dale was climbing over the side of the Jeep.

‘Hello, Sergeant Johnson.’ Norman waved as he came down the steps. ‘Good to see you. The children were beside themselves with the goodies you dropped from the sky yesterday.’

Dale met Norman near the fence that surrounded the garden and, glad the other man had brought up the subject, he replied, ‘I didn’t drop the candy, but did ask the pilots to.’

‘The children were still searching the ground come nightfall.’ Once again, only one eye stayed open while Norman spoke and the wrinkles around both eyes grew deeper as he laughed. ‘They hadn’t had that much fun in a long, long time. I’d be remiss if I didn’t thank you for that.’

‘No thanks necessary,’ Dale said. ‘Miss Winslow refused to take the money, so I bought candy with it instead. Lots of it. If you don’t mind, I’ll have the pilots make a drop every so often.’

‘That will tickle them pink.’ Norman’s lips pinched and his eyes grew a bit serious. ‘Except for Kathryn.’

Dale nodded. ‘I assumed as much. Could I speak to her? Explain my reasons?’

When Norman’s thoughtful expression grew deeper yet, Dale said, ‘This war has already been going on for a long time and I predict it won’t be over any time soon. I’ve heard stories of the evacuees, met a couple. There’s not much I can do for any of them, except pass out a few pieces of candy, hoping in some small way it will brighten their days.’

‘It does,’ Norman said, nodding and smiling. ‘It surely does. Kathryn’s up in the field with Charlotte and the children picking berries in the hedgerow.’ While speaking Norman had opened the gate. ‘This way, I’ll show you.’

Norman asked about the Jeep as they walked past it and Dale answered his questions while scanning the fields beyond the barn. They were good-sized and a lot to manage for an old man, two women and a bunch of young kids. He couldn’t help but wonder why she was here. The daughter of a Brigadier.

‘They are on the other side of that far end.’ Norman pointed past the fence that housed goats. ‘There’s a pass to get through the hedgerow near the corner. You’ll hear the kids before you see them. I imagine those boys will be doing more playing than picking.’

‘My brother and I would have been,’ Dale said.

‘Me and mine, too.’ After a good-hearted laugh, Norman waved towards the house. ‘Leave yourself time to stop in the house. Charlotte’s been itching for a chance to try out that coffee-making pot she bought. You won’t want to let her down.’

‘Thank you,’ Dale replied, not able to promise coffee could happen. That would depend upon Kathryn.

The vegetables that must have been planted only a short time ago looked like potatoes and, not wanting to damage any, Dale walked along the edge of the field. The hedgerows that grew along all the fields in the area intrigued him and he recognised some familiar plants among the various other bushes and weeds. Or maybe they weren’t considered weeds here. There were plenty of flowers blooming along the edge.

Norman was right, he’d yet to come to the corner when he heard children squealing and laughing. Someone else was laughing, too, and he’d bet the chocolate bar in his pocket who that was.

The opening Norman told him about was hidden. If he hadn’t been looking for it, he’d have walked right past it. Ducking beneath the vines, he entered the bushes, but, seeing the sights on the other side, he paused to watch.

Kathryn was playing with the children and looked almost as young and carefree as the rest of them as they tagged each other and ran, trying not to get tagged back. She had on a red-and-white short-sleeved dress, sheer stockings and those same shoes she rode her bike in. Running in them couldn’t be any easier than bike riding. However, they did make her look, well, elegant, even while chasing the children around. Overall, she looked too refined for the life she was currently living.

The odd sense of being watched had him glancing around. It was hard to say if the elderly woman who must be Charlotte was able to see him or not, but she was walking towards the bushes and squinting.

Dale pushed through the bushes, standing up when completely clear of the vines. Besides the older woman, Kathryn was the first to notice him. At least the first to react. She stopped dead in her tracks, bumping into a little girl as she stared at him.

‘Hello,’ the older woman said. ‘I’m Charlotte and you must be the sweet Sergeant.’ Giggling softly, she explained, ‘That’s what the children call you. They found a few pieces out here today, which led to their game of tag rather than picking berries.’

She’d gestured to the basket in her hand and, noting the small amount, he said, ‘Well, then, I better get to work.’

‘Oh, no, that’s not what I meant.’

He held out a hand. ‘If you don’t mind. I haven’t picked berries in years, but when I did, I was excellent at it.’

‘Were you?’ Her ageing blue eyes took on a shimmer as she handed him the basket. ‘My boys used to eat more than they picked.’

Her grey curls and softly wrinkled skin reminded him of his grandmother, who used to make jam that he and Ralph ate by the spoon. ‘I may have been known to do that a time or so myself,’ he admitted. ‘But today I will fill this basket to the rim before giving it back.’

‘Excuse me?’

The sun was too bright for him to be chilled by Kathryn’s cold tone. ‘Good afternoon, Miss Winslow.’ He gave a slight bow. ‘I’m sorry I missed you yesterday and do hope you weren’t too put out by my absence.’

‘Not at all, as I wouldn’t be right now either.’

He grinned. ‘I’m sure you wouldn’t.’ Nodding towards Charlotte, he said, ‘But Mrs Harris might be. I promised her a full basket of berries, so if you will excuse me?’

The shocked look on her face was more than enough to make him smile, as was the welcome he received from the children. A total of nine, all speaking at once, and all thanking him for the candy that had dropped from the sky. Four of the children were almost as tall as Kathryn—two boys and two girls. Then another girl and two other boys were a bit shorter, about up to the older ones’ shoulders, and then two little girls that came up to Kathryn’s waist. Right where a wide white belt encircled her, hugging the white-and-red-striped dress.

Looking up and catching the glare that once again had settled in her eyes, he said, ‘I didn’t drop the candy, the pilots did, and don’t eat it all at once.’

‘I assure you, they won’t,’ she said. ‘It would not only ruin their appetite, it would rot their teeth.’

‘Nonsense,’ Charlotte said. Without waiting for a response, she waved for the children. ‘Bring your baskets. We need to get some berries before Norman comes looking for us.’ Smiling at him, she added, ‘Kathryn, please show Sergeant Johnson which berries to pick and which to leave behind?’

She wanted to say no and did so with her eyes. He’d bet the only reason she didn’t voice exactly what she thought was because of the children.

‘I’ll show him,’ one of the children said.

‘I’ll show him,’ Kathryn said. ‘You go help Charlotte.’

She certainly wasn’t happy, but Dale was. However, he was smart enough to keep his smile hidden inside where it tickled him as much as a feather did a sleeping man’s nose. He’d never claim to be a charming man, but he sure planned on trying to be one today. Her father being the head of the British intelligence might be exactly what he needed to find Ralph. Without anyone knowing, of course.

‘This way,’ she said, spinning about.

He glanced over his shoulder at Charlotte pairing off the children and sending them towards the bushes. Dale took several long strides to catch up with Kathryn. ‘They sure do mind well.’

Kathryn kept her eyes straight ahead and marched forward like a soldier doing drills.

‘The children,’ he said. ‘They mind well.’

She still didn’t respond.

‘Charlotte reminds me of my grandmother. We, my brother and younger sister, used to go berry picking with her. And for the most part, we minded her. Our dad had said she knew how to use a switch and we never wanted to find out if he was telling the truth or not.’

Although she clearly hadn’t wanted him to notice, he’d seen the way she looked at him out of the corners of her eyes.

No longer trying to hide his smile, he continued, ‘And she made the best jam. Ralph and I never waited for bread, we ate it right out of the jar.’ He chuckled while recalling an incident he hadn’t thought of in years. ‘She had a bunch of grapes that grew along the fence around her garden. Sour grapes. But she made the best jelly out of them. One time, she’d boiled down the grapes and seined the juice out, but must have run out of time or something, because there was this big jar of the juice on the counter. Thinking it would taste as good as her jelly, I sneaked a big swallow.’

His entire being shuddered at how bad that juice had tasted. ‘She hadn’t added any sugar yet. My first reaction had been to spit it out, but she’d walked into the kitchen just then so I couldn’t.’ Laughing, he said, ‘I’ll never forget how hard it was to swallow that mouthful of juice.’

That story did more than he’d been able to. She not only smiled, she covered her mouth to smother a giggle.

‘I don’t think I ate grape jelly for a good five years after that,’ he said. ‘Just couldn’t bring myself to eat it.’

‘I know the feeling,’ she said softly.

‘You drank raw grape juice, too?’

She nodded. ‘Our housekeeper was making wine.’

He had to shake in order to get rid of the shudder rippling over him. His grandfather had made wine once. It had been bad. The morning after had been downright miserable. Being fifteen might have had something to do with it. ‘That had to be worse,’ he admitted aloud.

Her cheeks had turned pink. ‘It certainly was awful.’ With a sigh, she added, ‘And like you, I had to swallow it or get caught.’

Curious, he asked, ‘So do you drink wine now?’

‘Not if I don’t have to,’ she answered.

The laugh they shared lightened the air between them. Hoping it stayed that way, but not wanting to put too much into it, he asked, ‘So which berries are we picking?’ The berries in the basket he’d taken from Charlotte were green and hairy. And more unappetising than any he’d ever seen.

She stepped near the bushes and pointed out a small cluster of berries. ‘Gooseberries.’

‘They’re supposed to be green?’

‘Yes.’

‘And hairy?’

She tried but couldn’t smother another giggle, even with her hand. ‘Yes.’

‘Most of the green berries I’ve seen haven’t been ripe, and hair, I associate that with mould.’

‘Well, you’re not in America, Sergeant Johnson.’

‘You don’t say?’

Her brief glance showed the shine was disappearing from her eyes.

Not wanting that, he asked, ‘Can I eat one?’

She shrugged. ‘Yes.’

‘You aren’t trying to poison me, are you?’

The shine returned to her eyes, turning them a thoughtful, shimmering brown. If he wasn’t careful, he could get lost in those eyes. Except he couldn’t look away because he knew what she was thinking.

‘You hadn’t thought about poisoning me?’ Coaxing, he added, ‘Come on. I know you did.’

‘No, I didn’t.’

‘But you are now.’

She laughed and handed him a berry she’d plucked. ‘Go ahead and eat one.’

He took it and ate it, puckering the entire time because his first reaction had been to spit it out. Swallowing twice to get it to go down, he shook his head. ‘That’s as bitter as Grandma’s grape juice had been.’

Hiding a smile, she continued picking berries and dropping them into her basket. ‘They’ll be sweeter later in the year.’

‘Then why don’t you wait until later to pick them?’

‘Because the more we pick now, the more we’ll have later.’ She held up one of the green berries. ‘They may taste bitter by themselves, but you’d be amazed by how good they are in a bread and butter pudding.’

He waited for her to pop the berry in her mouth, but when she dropped it in the basket instead, he shook his head. ‘I find that very hard to believe considering you won’t eat one.’

A hint of dog-eared determination crossed her face as she plucked another berry and popped it in her mouth. Her expression remained unchanged, except for a hint of a pinch to her lips as she swallowed.

‘Satisfied?’ she asked after swallowing again.

With her lips pinched tight, pink cheeks and the sunshine making her black hair shimmer, she was cute. Really cute. His mind shifted. ‘Why don’t you like Americans?’

He wanted to kick himself at how her face fell and she blinked slowly, as if trying to hide something. She bit her bottom lip before turning back to the berries.

‘That was a terrible trick you played,’ she said.

‘What trick?’

She cast him a scathing look while saying, ‘What trick? Have you ever been hit on the top of the head by a sweet? Well, I have and it hurts.’

Now he really wanted to kick himself. He hadn’t thought of that. ‘I’m sorry, I—’

‘Didn’t think of that? You only thought of a way to mock me. To get me to take your money?’

‘I wasn’t mocking you,’ he answered. ‘I wouldn’t do that.’ Noting there was more she was trying to hide, he shook his head. ‘Honestly, and I wasn’t trying to scare you either.’

She reached for another clump of berries, but stopped and balled her hand into a fist instead. ‘Are you trying to say it wasn’t another one of your jokes? Like the plane?’

‘Yes, or no, I’m not sure which is right. Yes, that’s what I’m saying, no, it wasn’t a joke.’

She eyed him critically.

‘I truly didn’t think about the candy hitting someone or that it would scare you.’ He huffed out a breath. Those were things he should have thought about, but hadn’t. These people had been taught—hell, the entire world was being taught to run and hide, protect themselves, from anything and everything falling from the sky. He’d talked to the school children about that very issue. ‘I’m sorry.’ Shaking his head, he admitted, ‘I’m not sure what else to say.’ He dug in his pocket and pulled out the candy bar. ‘I brought a peace offering.’

‘I don’t want a peace offering.’

‘Will you accept an apology?’

She looked around, not necessarily at anything in particular, just anywhere but at him.

They stood there for a stilled moment. Not sure what more to say or do, he didn’t as much as breathe.

She moved first, spun around and started picking berries again. ‘I still won’t take your money.’

‘That’s good.’ He dropped the candy bar into his basket and picked several berries before adding, ‘Because I spent it.’

‘It was yours to spend.’ She’d taken several steps away, clearing the berries off the bushes with remarkable speed.

He took a couple of long steps to catch up with her. ‘I bought candy with the money. Lots of candy. Ten, maybe twenty times more than what was dropped.’

Turning to face him slowly, she asked, ‘Why?’

He shrugged. ‘You said it was rationed and hard to come by. We, the GIs, get it with our food packs. A wide variety. Some men like it, others don’t. So I bought up all I could. Figured I’d pass it out to the children and, being short on time, I came up with the idea of the pilots dropping it as they flew overhead.’

Her frown increased, but so did the thoughtfulness of her gaze. ‘Did you drop it other places?’

‘No, I guess you could call this my test run.’ Flashing her a smile that showed the guilt inside him, he added, ‘I guess I’ll have to rethink the delivery.’

She turned completely around, pausing briefly to look off at each of the children picking berries at different places in the long hedgerows encircling the field. ‘They certainly were excited yesterday and again today when they found a few more pieces.’

‘I suspect there are more children like those two boys who’d lived with Mrs Whitcomb.’ He glanced at the children picking berries. ‘Those boys had been miserable there.’

‘Yes, they had been and are much better off with the Butlers.’

He stepped up beside her. ‘You gave me the idea. When you said there wasn’t any candy. I knew where there was an abundance of that and sharing it seemed appropriate.’

Her shoulders slumped slightly. ‘It appears your benevolence was in the right place, it was just your delivery that was lacking.’

Taking advantage of her acknowledgement, he asked, ‘Would you be willing to help me work on that? The delivery?’

Her frown included a gaze that said he’d either lost his mind, or that she thought he was teasing her.

He laid a hand on her arm. ‘I’m serious, Kathryn. I can’t imagine how these children must feel, being taken away from their families, but you can. You’ve seen them brought to the house, scared and alone, and are helping them adjust.’ He glanced towards the children and a hard lump formed in his throat. ‘My sister, Judy, died when she was young, thirteen, and a day doesn’t go by that I don’t miss her.’

Her expression grew so soft, so tender, he had a hard time swallowing.

‘I’m sorry for your loss. I truly am.’

Somewhat shocked that he’d told her that, he shook his head. ‘I—Thank you, but I didn’t say that for sympathy, I was thinking of the children. War is tough all the way around, but it has to be worse for them.’

She followed his gaze towards the children. ‘I agree, and not all children are treated as well or have fared as well as the ones placed with Norman and Charlotte.’

‘I’ve witnessed that myself.’ The two boys from the fires had told him that they hadn’t been allowed out of the bedroom except to go to school and that the only food they got to eat was what Oscar and Ed left outside the pub for them grab on their way to and from school. That’s what they’d been doing in the barn, eating, and had found an old lantern they decided to try to light. ‘I know it’s not much, but the candy could be a small consolation for them.’

‘It certainly thrilled these children and I’m sure it would others.’

Before he could stop himself, he asked, ‘Why are you here?’

She started picking berries again. ‘My father sent me here three years ago, when many of the girls my age were joining the Auxiliary Territorial Service. He’s a British Intelligence Officer and knew many of the ATS members would be sent to France and Germany. He didn’t want that for me.’ Glancing his way, she added, ‘And my mum didn’t want me anywhere near soldiers, including the American ones.’

‘Why?’

‘She has her reasons.’

Considering how outspoken and stubborn Kathryn was, he questioned if she’d merely obeyed what her parents wanted. ‘Do you?’

Without missing a berry, she said, ‘Yes. The same reason as my mum.’

‘What’s that?’

The way she eyed him, from head to toe for a silent moment, he questioned if she’d answer and, for a reason he wasn’t willing to investigate, he discovered he was holding his breath.

Turning back to the bush, she said, ‘This isn’t the first war to bring American soldiers on to our soil.’

The air left his chest as relief washed over him. A simple reason, really, yet to her it must be more. ‘No, it’s not.’

‘They come and leave again, go wherever the army sends them with no concern to those they leave behind.’

The bitterness in her tone was colder than a North Dakota winter and chilled him just as deeply. Not sure he should, but still had to, he asked, ‘That happened to your mother?’

‘No, my aunt.’ With an even colder tone, she added, ‘And her son, my cousin.’

‘What about after his tour of duty?’

As she turned back to her berry picking, she snapped, ‘He’d forgotten all about them by then.’

World War I, as it was now being called, had provided many men with foreign brides, just as he had no doubt that this war would. For those foolish enough to go down that lane. He wasn’t. He also wasn’t foolish enough to continue a conversation that clearly disturbed her. However, what he had learned was all the more reason to befriend her. If the Brigadier disliked Americans as much as Kathryn did, he wouldn’t be any more interested in helping him find Ralph than the army was, unless his daughter asked him to.

Stepping up beside her to pluck a few more berries, he asked, ‘So, back to my original question—will you help me figure out a better way to distribute the candy to the children? I know it’s not much, but...’ nodding towards the children, he continued ‘...it could mean a lot to them.’

‘It would need to include other children as well,’ she said.

‘Of course. As many children as possible, which is another reason I need your help.’

Tucking several strands of her long black hair behind one ear, she said, ‘You are persistent, aren’t you?’

The smile she attempted to hide gave him hope. ‘I’ve been called worse.’ Lifting the candy bar out of his basket, he held it out to her. ‘Truce?’ When it appeared she wasn’t going to give in, he added, ‘Think of the children. How much it would mean to them.’

Her smile included a hint of pink covering both cheeks as she shook her head and took the candy bar. ‘Truce.’

‘That’s made by the Hershey candy company,’ he said, hoping to keep the smile on her lips. ‘It comes from Hershey, Pennsylvania, where the world’s largest chocolate factory is.’

When she eyed him critically he held up a hand.

‘Honest. They make all sorts of candy.’ He had no idea if his next statement was 100 per cent true, but wanted to get her further on his side. ‘They even make a candy bar named after Babe Ruth, the greatest baseball player in the world.’

‘Baseball?’

‘You’ve never played baseball? Well, let me tell you about that.’


Chapter Four (#u739ddb39-624e-5a33-b137-8be3ebbde695)

11th of June, 1942

Dear Diary,

The warmer days have arrived, with plenty of sunshine, which seems contradictory with all that’s happening in the world. The war continues to rage on and it would be far more fitting for the skies to be cloudy and grey. I feel as if I should be that way, too, and I’m a bit ashamed of myself for feeling so happy at times.

I tell myself that it’s not my own happiness as much as it is the children’s that I’m feeling. Dale has visited us at the house three times during the past two weeks. His visits aren’t long, but he brings the children treats. Today, it was a full-sized chocolate bar for each of them. They enjoy his visits immensely because he tells them silly stories about America, like baseball games and rodeos.

His storytelling is rather captivating and I find myself wondering about America, if all the things he says are true. It sounds quite amazing, then again, any place not ravaged by war would be quite amazing right now and that is why I find myself thankful that he’s able to make the children forget, for a small amount of time, the uncertain world we are living in right now.

Kathryn’s insides grew as warm as the sun overhead when she spied the Jeep parked in front of the pub. She’d seen many of those Jeeps, so this one didn’t mean that Dale was inside. But the prospect that he might be had her pedalling a bit faster, and once the bike was parked she nearly spilled the contents of her basket by unhooking it so quickly.

After assuring no eggs had been broken by her clumsiness, she took a deep breath and approached the pathway with what she hoped appeared to be a calm and steady stride, the exact opposite of her insides. She also told herself she shouldn’t care if it was him or not, but despite all, she was hoping he was inside.




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