Rose Among Thornes: an inspiring World War II historical fiction by Terrie Todd

Author:Terrie Todd [Todd, Terrie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Heritage Beacon Historical Fiction
Published: 2021-07-30T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Rose awoke the next morning more rested than she had in months. The room had seemed exceptionally quiet, even with the door open to let the warm air circulate. She dressed quickly and ventured downstairs, thinking she might be the first up. She was mistaken. Halfway down, she could see Mrs. Thorne seated at the kitchen table where a steaming cup of tea sat beside a fat, open Bible. The framed photo of Russell, which Rose had seen on the piano, now sat on the kitchen table. Mrs. Thorne was writing but raised her head when Rose reached the bottom.

“Good morning, Rose! Sleep well?”

“Yes ma’am. Very well, thank you.”

“Help yourself to a cup of tea from the pot—cups are on the shelf there. I’m just writing to Rusty. I keep his picture in front of me when I write. I suppose that’s a little silly, but it helps.”

Guilt flooded Rose’s mind as she found a cup and poured herself some tea. She remembered Mrs. Thorne’s request from weeks earlier but had entirely dismissed the idea of writing a letter to the woman’s son. Now she regretted it. It might be sheer selfishness, but she’d do just about anything to be in Mrs. Thorne’s good graces if it meant playing that piano. She glanced toward the living room door, but the layout of the house didn’t allow her to see the piano without actually entering that room.

“I think I’m ready to write a letter to Russell now, Mrs. Thorne.”

“That’s lovely, dear!” Mrs. Thorne pushed a chair away from the table with one foot, indicating Rose should sit. “You can start right now, if you like. We don’t usually eat breakfast until eight this time of year, and I do enjoy this quiet time of the morning. Don’t you?”

Rose nodded to be polite. She’d never been allowed to sleep late, and she’d spent nearly twelve years rising early to practice piano before breakfast. Mrs. Thorne pushed a piece of pale pink stationery and a pencil toward her. “Would you rather use a fountain pen? I think I can find another.”

“This is fine.” Rose placed her teacup on the table, sat, and took the pencil. She stared at the blank page, chewing on her lip. “I’m not sure what to say.”

“Oh, just introduce yourself a bit. I usually say a little prayer before I start.” Mrs. Thorne took a sip of tea. “It’s not possible for me to know what my son will most need when—or if—he reads my words. But God already knows, and he can guide me.” She returned to her writing. Occasionally, she’d turn to the Bible, read something, then keep writing.

Rose studied the photograph of Russell Thorne. He had his mother’s round face and fair hair, his father’s eyes. The smile was all his own, though. The overall package was definitely attractive. But then, most fellows looked handsome in their uniforms, didn’t they? She poised her pencil over the page. Okay, God. If she’s right, please give me some words for Rusty too.

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