The Orphan Sisters: An Utterly Heartbreaking and Gripping World War 2 Historical Novel
Page 33
It was too much to grasp at once; Etty’s mind was in turmoil. ‘You said all your possessions were taken from you,’ she blurted.
‘Kurt and I were interred in 1940.’ Mrs Gruber’s eyes glazed, as she looked down memory lane. She recovered and drew a labouring breath. ‘People changed during the war and who can blame them? Neighbours became suspicious. We were told that if we couldn’t speak plain English we should be interred. My Kurt was spat on… called a “bloody German”. The business suffered. Then the police came and took us away. We were sent to an internment camp on the Isle of Man.’ Mrs Gruber looked sorrowfully at Etty. ‘It wasn’t so bad but Kurt and I were sent to separate camps. He couldn’t take the strain and his heart gave out.’ She shook her head. ‘I do not blame anyone… it was the times we lived in.’
There was a silence, when the kiddies’ shrill voices could be heard as they played in the yard.
‘I’m sorry for your loss,’ Etty told Olga, who nodded gratefully.
‘But this isn’t about me. I came to give you the comfort you––’
‘Daddy’s home!’ Trevor’s hearty voice called from the passageway.
Olga looked expectantly at Etty.
‘My husband, Trevor. He had to work today.’
Olga raised her eyebrows questioningly.
Etty told her, ‘His official job is working at the mine but he also helps out at the local funeral directors. He was called out as there’s been a death in the street.’
Olga nodded soberly. ‘So many deaths.’
Trevor came into the room and Etty introduced them.
‘I must go,’ Olga rose, ‘and leave you two to get on with your day.’ She regarded Etty. ‘We must talk again.’
‘Let’s make it soon.’ Etty’s mind still reeling, she sought paper and pen. ‘May I have your address for contact?’ She was surprised to see that her hand shook.
Olga looked uncomfortable.
Etty took in the dishevelled appearance. Of course, like so many others, Olga didn’t have a home to go back to.
‘Please come back tomorrow when we can discuss… matters further.’
Olga held out her hand to Trevor and when he took it, she gazed at the scarring on his face, his hands.
‘The war.’ She raised her eyebrows.
‘My husband risked his life trying to save… someone in a raging fire.’ Etty’s eyes, filling with pride, met her husband’s. ‘He was very brave.’
A cry came from the back bedroom.
‘Our son, Alex,’ Trevor told Olga as he headed for the door. ‘He has a good pair of lungs.’
As Etty showed the old woman to the door, a thought struck her. She wondered whether she could convince Nellie to take Olga in as a companion. As well as being a solution for Olga, the company might help keep Etty’s interfering mother-in-law out of their hair.
As she watched Olga lumber up the street, Etty felt indebted to her for mending her heart, which had lain broken for so many years. Though crushed to discover that her mother had indeed died, the truth had finally set her free.
Later, as the pair of them relaxed in comfortable chairs, Etty related to Trevor what Olga had said. Both girls were still outside in the yard, and Trevor listened intently as he dangled Alex on his knee.
‘It’s a lot for you to take in, sweetheart,’ he told her, ‘but you must find some relief, now you know the facts. And now you know your mam died, you didn’t tell your sister a lie.’
Etty gave a huge sigh of relief. ‘I still can’t take in what Olga has told me. Even though it’s a heartbreaking story… yes, I’m exonerated. Dorothy went to her grave knowing the truth, after all.’
She thought of Miss Balfour’s words from all those years ago. Life won’t always be a struggle. One day happiness will come your way.
And it had. Etty let out a luxurious sigh. With a family of her own – a beloved husband and three gorgeous children to take care of, the question about Mam didn’t seem so important any more.
Excited squeals came from outside. Trevor, carrying Alex, followed her into the yard.
Etty smelled smoke.
‘Look, Mammy!’ Norma pointed to flames leaping above the yard door.
‘It’s a bonfire, darling,’ Etty told her daughter, ‘to celebrate the end of the war.’
Etty took each girl by the hand. ‘Let’s go and see.’
She turned towards her husband. ‘I’ve been meaning to tell you, my love… we are somebody. We’re the Milnes of Whale Street.’
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A letter from Shirley
Firstly, thank you so much for choosing to read The Orphan Sisters, my debut novel. Getting a book published is such an exciting experience and has been a dream of mine for a long time.
If you would like to keep up-to-date with my latest releases you can sign up here. I will only contact you when my new book is released and will never share your email with anyone and you can unsubscribe at any time.
I do hope you enjoyed reading about Etty and Dorothy, their special bond throughout their life’s journey, and the setting in the North East seaside town of South Shields, where I was born amongst the warm-hearted Geordies. Though most of the locations are real, I have taken a few liberties. For example, some street names are changed and no such place as Blakely Orphanage or the factory exists except in my imagination and for the sake of the story.
If you did enjoy the story and have the time, it would be wonderful if you could give the book a review. As a new author it would be amazing to hear what you think. I would also be most appreciative if you could tell friends and family about this novel as it may help fellow readers find me for the first time, which is a big help to a writer.
I would love to hear from you. You can contact me on my author Facebook page, or on Twitter.
Your support is most appreciated.
Very best wishes
Shirley x
Acknowledgements
It isn’t just the author that makes books happen. There is a lot of hard work involved by many professionals behind the scenes. Therefore, I would like to thank every one of the wonderful Bookouture team for their help and support in getting The Orphan Sisters ready for publication. I’m so fortunate to be with Bookouture.
But firstly, for Wal, for his ceaseless support, it is you I rely on to read the first draft, who helps enormously with the research, and who makes meals and puts up with me. My love and thanks. My lovely family, three daughters, their husbands, four gorgeous grandchildren, my granddaughter’s partner and the recent delightful addition, my great grandson. You all give meaning to my life and make it worthwhile.
Someone up there was watching over me when I met with Natasha Harding at the RNA conference. Thank you for your belief in me and being instrumental to me becoming part of the Bookouture family.
Special thanks to my amazing editor Christina Demosthenous, for all your hard work editing the book, your enthusiasm and faith in my writing. With your help and guidance, the book has turned out better than I ever dreamed. I’m truly grateful.
To the RNA New Writers’ Scheme whose Readers comments helped enormously with the first draft I submitted. My friends in the RNA, especially Freda Lightfoot, who has been an inspiration and great source of help over the years.
Friends at the Border Reivers, who have been generous sharing writing knowledge over the years and who were there for the highs and lows, especially in times of rejection. To Chris Marples, for the hours it took one sweltering afternoon to help with ‘computer te
ch’. For Hazel Osmond’s informative writerly chat over coffee one pleasant morning.
For the rest of the family, friends and neighbours who followed my dream and are excited and delighted for me, thank you.
Published by Bookouture in 2019
An imprint of StoryFire Ltd.
Carmelite House
50 Victoria Embankment
London EC4Y 0DZ
United Kingdom
www.bookouture.com
Copyright © Shirley Dickson, 2019
Shirley Dickson has asserted her right to be identified as the author of this work.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publishers.
eBook ISBN: 978-1-78681-714-3
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places and events other than those clearly in the public domain, are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.