The Harry Ferguson Chronicles Box Set by William David Ellis

Author:William David Ellis [Ellis, William David]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781733885003
Publisher: Altar Stone Publishing
Published: 2020-03-25T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-One

The Volkisch Observer, the official newspaper of the national socialist party, reported today that Renate Müller, the famous actress noted for her roles in patriotic films, died suddenly. She was an epileptic and had been suffering from depression. Apparently, the death was self-inflicted.

Harry cursed as he read the Berlin paper. He wadded it up and threw it down on the coffee table in front of his leather lounge chair. She had beaten him again, and all he had to show for it was a wounded friend and bruised ribs. He should not have left the mansion until he knew where Belle Rodum had fled. The poor actress. It didn’t take much for Harry to realize how she had died. Belle had found a fragment of the nightmare creature and somehow harnessed its power to drive the poor woman insane.

Harry was seated in the dining room of John Timothy’s underground quarters. His head was in his hands and his sighs were long and loud to everyone but him. As he sat there oblivious to the world around him, his eyes closed, his thoughts raging, he heard someone sit down in the leather chair across from him. He didn’t hear any other movements. He thought he should raise his head and acknowledge them but just didn’t care to. Finally, a slight cough nudged him to acknowledge whoever had entered. He sighed, lifted his head out of his hands, and looked up. Winston Churchill sat in the chair across from him, his eyes fixed on Harry, the ever-present but unlit cigar in his mouth.

Harry sat up straight and was about to apologize for not noticing the leader, but Churchill raised a hand to stop him.

The future leader of England stared at Harry, his face unreadable. The bulldog look that would become world-famous was still in the process of being chiseled onto the politician’s face. His eyes were wise and just. But Harry also sensed an incredible power radiating through them. He wondered if Churchill had dragon bloodlines running through his veins, maybe say a dragon rider or servant of the King?

Harry broke the silence stammering, “I am not sure I am the man that everyone around here seems to think I am, sir.”

Churchill smirked. “Who is, Harry Ferguson? I am not here to help you wade through your commiserations and self-incrimination. I am not your critic nor have I spent the time with you to call myself a friend. But I am an observer; I do know the bitter taste of failure. I still wake up at night dreaming of Çanakkale, and the thousands of soldiers who died because of my decisions.”

Harry started to speak but Churchill stopped him. “Harry, courage is what it takes to stand up and speak. It is also what it takes to sit down and listen. It is time for you to listen.”

Harry nodded, rebuked, and leaned toward the man who sat across from him.

Churchill noted Harry’s response and continued. “I do not assume any words I can muster can serve to bolster you or inflate your pierced confidence.

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