The Brynthwaite Boys - Season One - Part One by Merry Farmer

Author:Merry Farmer [Farmer, Merry]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2018-07-05T16:00:00+00:00

Flossie

The walk up the hill from Brynthwaite Post Office was arduous, but none of that mattered to Flossie. After she’d deposited her first wage packet from the hotel into a postal account and wired as much of it home as she dared, she’d been handed the ultimate reward, a letter from home. That made every step of her journey lighter.

She tore into the envelope addressed to “Miss Florence Stowe, The Dragon’s Head Hotel, Brynthwaite” with a giddy laugh. She hadn’t heard from her dear sister Betsy in weeks, and it had been pure luck that the letter had been given to her when she’d sent Betsy money rather than with the bulk delivery of mail to the hotel. She couldn’t wait to hear what her sister had to say about home.

“Dear Flossie,” she read, heart beating in her throat. She slowed her steps and kept to the side of the path leading up the hill so that she could read and walk at the same time. “You can’t imagine the sorrow and heartbreak that had befallen us here at home after you have gone away.”

Flossie’s smile dropped. She swallowed and read on.

“Your visit here before traveling to Cumbria was far too short. We may have seemed happy, but dear Mother and Father were hiding the truth from you. And that truth is that we are so poor we can barely keep a roof over our heads.”

“Oh no,” Flossie gasped, slowing her steps even more. Things had seemed so happy in the week she’d spent at home between Crestmont Grange and Brynthwaite. Her papa had hugged her and danced with her to his own, off-key singing every few minutes. Her mother had smiled and told everyone how proud she was of her grown-up girl. Her nieces and nephews had laughed and played with her as they’d picked berries in the garden. They had all looked so well. How could she have missed the truth?

She read on. “Father is working as best he can, but they’ve cut his wages at the factory. Mother’s too. And you know me, with so many mouths to feed after Edward’s death, It’s more than I can do to keep the little ones in warm clothes. I don’t know what I shall do when the summer is through and it comes time to send them off to school again. I may have to send Ian to work in the factory along with Father.”

“No, you can’t,” Flossie gasped. Her nephew was too young, only seven, and he was such a bright lad. She knew if he kept up with his school work he could make something of himself, they all did.

“Oh Flossie,” the letter went on. “I’ve let this letter sit for a few days, and more sadness has befallen us. It seems that the little ones and the baby have fallen ill with the croup.”

Flossie gasped. She had to pause in her reading to cross the street and continue on along toward the walled churchyard.

“I managed to

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