The Last Letter from Paris: An absolutely heartbreaking World War Two historical fiction novel by Kate Eastham

Author:Kate Eastham [Eastham, Kate]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781803149349
Publisher: Bookouture
Published: 2023-02-06T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 18

As Cora walked in the dark, guided only by the beam of her sputtering flashlight, it began to rain. She tucked the sleeping baby inside her gaberdine mac, grateful that she’d at least found a sheltered spot to feed the child with milk from the bottle and check the nappy. It was a girl; she’d found a girl. And thank goodness, apart from the scratch on her cheek, the infant was uninjured and able to suck greedily from the bottle. Cora knew she couldn’t walk much further, she couldn’t even remember how long it was since she’d had food or drink and with all the adrenaline that had surged through her body as she’d searched for the baby, she was exhausted now, almost on her knees. If it hadn’t been for the small, warm body tucked into her coat, she would, at this point, probably have slumped beneath a tree and closed her eyes, sat there in the rain until she got so cold she couldn’t feel anything anymore.

Instead, she willed herself to take one step after another, each one jarring her painful bones and muscles. She knew if they both got soaked through, the baby would not be able to survive the resulting drop in temperature. Praying now for shelter, she trudged on, barely able to see her way. The track was muddy but still Cora kept going, sure that she could see wheel marks. Just when she was about to sink to her knees, she spotted a discarded tarpaulin by the side of the road. It was the only chance at shelter she had. A darker patch, a dip alongside the track, thankfully not a ditch running with water but more of a trench about four feet deep. Careful with the sleeping child, she lowered herself in, pulling the tarpaulin over, making it straddle the trench to provide basic shelter. It smelt musty but it did the trick and as Cora slumped down with her back against the stony soil of the trench wall, still cradling the baby against her body, she felt relieved to hear the rain gently drumming on the canvas above their heads. With barely enough room to sit with her knees bent, she had no choice but to wait till morning. Then she would follow the tyre tracks that she’d spotted to try and find milk for the baby.

Shivering with cold, jammed against the earthy wall of the trench, she believed there was little chance of catching any sleep, but she must have nodded off. She woke groggy with her arms and legs numb, feeling the baby squirming against her, starting to grizzle. ‘There is no more milk, my sweet, not yet’ she croaked, fighting for enough breath to speak. Lapsing into a drowsy, unnatural semi-conscious state she wondered if maybe she was dying. Making herself think of home, of walking on the beach with her mother by her side and the sun on her face, she kept herself alert for a while longer.

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