Читать книгу Diary Of A War Bride - Lauri Robinson - Страница 11
Оглавление28th 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.
