Chapter 17
The End of My Journey
It was June and a fine Sunday afternoon. I decided to sit out on my back porch and enjoy the sun. My right leg ached something terrible from the rain we had the night before. But today the sun had broken through the clouds, so now I did not mind the pain. I watched the wind rustling through the fresh leaves in the branches overhead.
“Are you alright?” Ellen shouted from the kitchen. She was always looking out for my well-being even though I didn't need any help. Well, I didn't mind in the least. Learning to walk with a prosthetic leg has been difficult, but I could now move unaided.
It had been hard for her to make the change from nurse to civilian but she was managing just fine in our new home here in Chicago. Her father had been disappointed when she had decided to marry me and live in America, but he did not raise any serious obstacles.
“I'm fine,” I called back. And it was true. I had gotten my old job back and had no urge to look for adventure again.
She came out to join me with a pitcher of lemonade and two glasses. She sat next to me on the bench and poured out the drinks. We smiled shyly at each other as we drank.
“You're looking lovely today,” I commented. And she was at that.
Patting her pregnant stomach, she grinned at me. “You're a sentimental man,” she said.
“I think I deserve it.”
She pulled a letter off from the tray. “This came in the post today.”
I took it and looked over the envelope. It was posted from England and bore the name of Marlowe Carter. I ripped it open and began reading the contents.
“Go on,” Ellen said impatiently, “What does it say?”
“Why that randy bastard,” I said out loud.
“Mind your mouth,” Ellen said, “I don't want my children picking up your army language.”
“He writes that his wife Marie is expecting her second child this March. And he goes on to write about the new house in the country they just bought. It seems he is doing quite well with his bank work too - I always thought banking was beneath a true English gentleman.”
“Two children,” Ellen murmured. “They're quite blessed.”
I put the letter back down on the tray.
“Tell me, do you ever miss being there? You know, now that the war is over?”
I rubbed my right thigh. “I miss Owens. I miss the use of my leg, but with you I gained more than I ever wanted.”
“You really are a sentimental man,” she said and gave me a kiss on the cheek.
“And I have every reason to be so,” I replied and put my arm around her. She rested her head against my shoulder. We watched as the wind swept through the branches overhead. It was a fine day.
###
Connect with Paul Westwood Online:
Blog: https://ofghostsandgunpowder.blogspot.com
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/PaulWestwoodbooks
Murder At Zero Hour Page 20