Foxden Acres: A heart-wrenching and unforgettable World War 2 historical novel (Sisters of Wartime England Book 1) by Madalyn Morgan

Author:Madalyn Morgan [Morgan, Madalyn]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781805080091
Publisher: Storm Publishing
Published: 2023-06-04T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fourteen

‘Penny for them?’

Bess jumped. She was miles away, thinking about the letter she’d received that morning from Mrs McAllister in London. ‘James?’ she gasped, turning to see the man she loved. Correction: the man she had once loved. The man she had hoped one day would love her. But that was in another life.

Standing in the doorway of the stables, Flying Officer Foxden looked as handsome and smart in his Royal Air Force uniform as Bess looked plain and untidy in her work overalls and pullover. She had tied an old scarf around her head to keep her hair from falling into her eyes while she worked, but the scarf had worn loose and strands of hair bounced before her eyes and tickled her nose. She pushed the unruly curls away, poking them under the scarf with her finger, and then worried that because she was recovering from a cold the freezing air had made her nose run. Putting her hand up and pretending to clear her throat, she touched her nose. It was dry.

‘What are you doing mucking out on Christmas Eve?’

Bess didn’t reply. She could hardly tell James she was working to exorcise the demons that plagued her, or because it made her feel closer to him, the man she loved but couldn’t have. Ignoring the pounding in her heart, she said as casually as she was able, ‘I’ve finished now.’

‘Good. Do you think Mrs H will take pity on me and give me some breakfast?’ James said.

Bess laughed. ‘You know she will.’

‘Well, if it isn’t Mr James,’ Mrs Hartley said, as Bess and James entered the kitchen. ‘What a pleasure it is to see you, sir.’ Mrs Hartley pulled out the chair at the head of the table next to the place she’d laid for Bess. ‘Now, you sit yourself down there. How would you like a couple of fried eggs and some of my best short-back bacon? And because it’s Christmas, what would you say to a hot mince pie for afters?’

‘Mrs H, you spoil me,’ James said as Mrs Hartley manoeuvred her ample body to the pantry quicker than Bess had thought was physically possible.

James sat down at the kitchen table as Mr Porter entered from the scullery. ‘Excuse me,’ Bess said, walking towards the door that Mr Porter had come through. ‘I’ll go and wash my hands. Shan’t be a minute.’

‘Use my washroom, Bess. There’s some soap and a clean towel in there,’ Mrs Hartley said, miming washing her face and patting her thick grey hair. ‘Take your time, breakfast won’t be ready afore you’ve tidied yourself up,’ she added, jerking her head to the right and rolling her eyes in the direction of the washroom.

‘Thank you, Mrs Hartley,’ Bess said, bemused by her old friend’s performance. Looking at herself in the small mirror above the sink, Bess knew immediately why Mrs Hartley had suggested she use her washroom instead of the scullery sink. From the bottom of her left ear to the tip of her nose there was a streak of mud.

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