Yours: An Emotional and Gripping WWII Family Saga (The Promises Between Us Trilogy Book 1)

by Angela Christina Archer

  I glanced up at her, giving her a warm smile. “No, it’s not wrong. But you also wouldn’t have anything to do. You’d have a baby to look after, and while I have no experience in the matter, I can’t believe rearing a child is a simple job.”

  “But we would be alone.”

  I set another two eggs in the crate and shrugged before resting my hand on her shoulder. “It’s still not wrong for you to want to wait.”

  A sense of relief seemed to swim through her. “I don’t think I ever asked you if you have a special man in your life.” She handed me the crate to hold while she finished searching for the eggs. “Oh, who am I kidding? You probably have several with your looks and youth.”

  “You aren’t much older than me.” Or at least the age Claire lied about on my application.

  “Still. How many beaus do you have?”

  “None. One. I don’t even know.”

  “What do you mean you don’t know?” She knelt down and crawled along the coop, stretching her arm into the lowest boxes as she pushed the straw around.

  “Because I don’t know. It’s confusing and complicated.”

  She wrestled a few more eggs from the boxes and raised to her feet, putting the brown oval-shaped wares in the crate before brushing the straw from her knees, her breath heavy from strain. “It doesn’t sound as though it is, or at least it didn’t when I overheard Isabella and Claire talking about that lad, William, not long after you three arrived?”

  “William is only a friend.”

  “A friend? You mean the one who proposed?”

  “He didn’t propose.” My cheeks flushed with warmth. Surely a thousand shades of pink, I tried to ignore it.

  She cocked her head to the side, lifting one eyebrow. “Sounded like a proposal to me.”

  “Well, it wasn’t.”

  “And what about Guernsey?”

  Another wave of heat inched up the back of my neck. “What about it?”

  “There aren’t any men back home you had your eye on before you had to leave?”

  Not wishing to answer her, I glanced down at the boxes. “Do you think we collected all the eggs?”

  “I think so, but don’t think you can change the subject.”

  “Well, then, we should get them to town.”

  Before she could argue, I spun around, nearly knocking the crate into the side of the henhouse. The wood hit just the corner, sending the box into my waist.

  That will leave a bruise. A nice big purple and blue one. It will be there for days.

  Ethel followed me out of the henhouse and trotted around me, facing me. “Don’t think this conversation is over.” She giggled slightly, as if she desired to convey that she meant no harm in her questions.

  “No, it is over.”

  Noticing my deepened tone and the annoyed air in my stance and face, her smile vanished. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anger you.”

  “You didn’t. I just don’t wish to speak about it.”

  I skirted around her and headed for the cart, setting the crate of eggs on the top along with all the daily milk cans and sacks of carrots and beetroots and bushels of apples we had harvested from the fields and orchard. It looked like a heavy load, but with the mood I was in, I almost longed for the task of pushing it into town. I needed work to take away my frustration and distract me.

  I supposed it wasn’t that I didn’t wish to speak of Henry or William, I mean, I didn’t. But that wasn’t the only reason. The biggest reason was that I couldn’t. At least not without wanting to tuck myself into a tiny ball in the corner somewhere and cry.

  While I knew neither of their futures should include me, I wished nothing but the best for them both. I wanted Henry to be alive and well, and I wanted him to find happiness, however he would be able to. I knew I would have to see him again if I wanted to go home to visit my parents, however, I also knew that day wouldn’t be any time soon. And not just because of the war, but because of my plans for after the war. I also wanted William to stay safe and when the war was over, to go home to his mother, finding his own happiness too.

  “Amelia?” Claire shouted from behind me.

  “What?”

  She lifted her hand to her face to shield the sun from her eyes. “Isabella needs you to tend to the pigs.”

  “I’ve got to take the cart into town.”

  “But you are the only one Angus likes.”

  “It’s true,” Ethel said, approaching the cart. “For some bloody reason that beast of a pig adores you.”

  “I feel so honored.” I rolled my eyes.

  “We can take the cart into town.” Ethel motioned toward the pigpens. “You know you are the only one that can tend to him, so don’t even try to find an excuse.”

  With a groan, I marched over to Claire, taking the buckets of slop and vegetable clippings from her before I headed over to the pigs. Why Angus had taken a liking to me, I’ll never know. But he had. Not only did it shock Bea, but also even Mr. Barnes couldn’t believe it. While the swine thought nothing of chasing after all the other girls, he had, from the first day I fed him, always approached me as though he thought of me as a friend. Snorting and never squealing, he wagged his tail when I entered the pen, allowing me to feed him in peace and even get a few scratches in behind his ears.

  Just as all the other times, as I opened up the gate to the pigs, Angus came trotting over. His long snout wiggled as much as his heavy belly, and he looked up at me as he chewed—on what? I didn’t know.

  “Are you hungry, big man?” I asked him.

  The female pigs caught on to my intentions and came running themselves, skirting around the feeders as I dumped the contents of the buckets inside. Potato peels, carrot and beet tops, even some old bread that Claire had burned in the oven plopped down inside, a perfect treat for the now happy pigs that grunted while they slopped up their dinner.

  With the pigs fed, I moved onto the horses, mucking out their stalls before I groomed them, fed them, and gave them fresh water for the night. It wasn’t until the sun had nearly vanished behind the horizon that I dragged myself into the kitchen where the other girls were already sitting around the table. Just as tired as me, they only glanced up at me as I plopped into one of the vacant chairs.

  “The post arrived today,” Claire yawned as she slid a letter over to me. I grabbed it and flipped it over after reading the Davenports address in the top left corner. The envelope opened with a slice to the flap and as I yanked the letter out, another one fell onto the table.

  “What’s that?” Isabella asked, noticing it.

  “I’m not sure.” I unfolded the letter, reading it to myself.

  My dearest Amelia,

  We received this letter for you yesterday. I don’t believe the sender knows you have moved to the farm, so you might wish to pass along the information. If we receive any more, we will forward them, too. I hope all is well with you. We miss you so much, but we love getting all your letters. I will write more in a few days as I have to run a few errands and can’t write much today. Hugs to you and talk to you soon.

  Love,

  Eleanor

  I set her letter down on the table and grabbed the other folded envelope. Stretching it out, I noticed William’s handwriting just before I noticed his name.

  “It’s from William,” I said.

  “What?” Although Isabella said it, both she and Claire gaped at me and sat up in their seats a little straighter. So did I.

  I flipped the envelope once more in my hand, staring at my name etched on the front.

  “Aren’t you going to open it?” Isabella asked.

  I nodded, but instead of doing as she asked, I slid the chair from the table and rose to my feet.

  “Amelia?”

  “I’m going to change my clothes and wash up a bit.”

  “But aren’t you going to read it?”

  “I will. When I’m alone.”

  Both girls let out a gasp and as Isabella rose from her chair, Bea stop
ped her. “Let her go.”

  “But—”

  “I said, let her go. If she wants to read the letter in private then you, as her friend, need to respect that.”

  With a last fleeting glance, I saw Isabella sit back down and fold her arms across her chest as I vanished up the stairs.

  Darting down the hallway, I shoved open the door and ran to my bed. I knew I should change my clothes first, but I didn’t want to wait another second before I read William’s letter. My fingers trembled as I slid one into the corner of the envelope and ripped the paper, and with a few tugs, I yanked out his letter and unfolded it.

  Amelia,

  I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to write you. Training has been harder than I imagined and although I have loved every minute of it, I’m afraid it’s distracted me most days and nights. To be honest, I thought of writing a few days ago, but at the same time, I didn’t know if I should. Our goodbye hadn’t gone exactly as I had planned, and I didn’t know if you’d want to hear from me. A friend of mine convinced me I should give it another go, though, and try at least one more time.

  I have another couple of months of training and will travel around to a couple of different bases for a few weeks before they finally release us to our regiment. I’m excited to join my brothers and help the fight against the Germans and Hitler.

  I hope this letter finds you well. Did you ever decide to go with Claire and Isabella and join the WLA? Or have you stayed in Derbyshire and go to University?

  I better get going since they will call lights out in a minute or two. I hope to hear from you soon. Please write to me. I would love to hear from you—even if it’s only for you to tell me not to write you anymore. I know. I know. Why on earth would you say that to such a wonderful guy like me? I can almost hear your laughter. I miss it. I miss you.

  Yours truly,

  William

  SEVENTEEN

  Henry - November 1940

  Fall had come on the island just like any other year I’d lived here. The weather didn’t stop, even with the arrival of the Germans. Between handing out food rations and harvesting what we could from our homes, Evelyn and I had spent the last few weeks trying to preserve all the food we could for the winter.

  “That’s the last of the supply shipment for this week.” I walked through the store with the last parcel in one hand, and my cane in the other before I set it down on the floor near the counter.

  Evelyn bent down and removed the top, staring at the contents inside like she had all the others. Her nose turned up and her face scrunched. “That’s all we get?”

  I shrugged, not knowing what else to say. “I don’t know what the Germans thought would come of getting supplies from France. The French are worse off than we are.”

  “So butter, jam . . . tinned meat, flour . . . sugar, and canned milk,” she glanced up at me, letting out a deep sigh, “if the Germans would have just let us keep our cows, even just one per family. Then they wouldn’t have to ration us with milk or butter.”

  “You’re asking the Germans to think logically. You shouldn’t do that.” Although I winked and held a slight amusement in my tone, my brow furrowed, and my lips curved into a frown. “Looks to be about eight ounces of butter and pork per family, plus a pound of everything else. Make sure you enter it all in the log. We don’t want to have any errors like yesterday. It took me nearly an hour to convince Major Lanz it was just an error, and that we weren’t cheating him out of supplies for his troops.”

  “At least he finally listened.” She fetched the apron from under the counter, whipped it open as though to rid it of any dust it had collected, and tied it around her waist. She’d lost weight in the last few months of the occupation. Although neither she nor Amelia were thick women, her frame had thinned. “Have you seen the line already formed outside?” She pointed her chin toward the front of the store. “All the parcels will be gone within the hour.”

  “That they will. Here.” I moved three of the boxes toward her with my foot and motioned toward them. “Take these into the back and put them near the back door. You can take them home with you after you’re done here. Do you think you can get the lorry home?”

  “I thought I would stay for a while afterward and help you.”

  I grimaced again. “I don’t know if I want you in town that long.”

  “It’s how we’ve done it for months and how we will continue to do it as long as we need.”

  Before I could refuse, she finished tying her apron and marched off toward the front door to unlock it, glancing over her shoulder and meeting my gaze before she flipped the lock and opened it.

  The bell above chimed and the line of men, women, and children proceeded inside. A mass of desperation and loss of hope, I had helped every day the last several months. There were no smiles. There were no greetings of hello or how are you. There were no words or emotions at all except for the slumped shoulders and hollow eyes of island people with so many questions and no answers. I could see the loss of hope in them, feeling it from deep within their bones, and with the colder temperatures and the notions of snow, came fear.

  Fear of starvation.

  Fear of freezing.

  Fear of succumbing to a long, drawn out death as the body slowly suffered.

  “What’s the meat for today?” one woman asked. With her son clutching onto her leg, she patted his head.

  “Pork. Eight ounces per person for the week.”

  “Just Eight ounces? How am I supposed to feed a family on that?”

  “I’m sorry, but it’s all I can give you.”

  “And the jam?”

  “One pound per person.”

  “A day?”

  “A fortnight.”

  Tears welled in her eyes and she nodded, accepting what we gave her as she wrapped her arms around each of the four parcels she was allowed and hoisted it off the counter, setting it in a small wagon she had towed behind her. She motioned for her boy to follow, and I watched him slink out of the store. His shoulders were as hunched as hers, in a coat that looked a size too big for him.

  One by one Evelyn and I handed out the parcels, nodding at all the simple thank you salutations and smiling as best as we could. As the afternoon came and went, so did the line, dwindling down to just the last two people who came and took their supplies with the same haunted looks as the hundreds before them.

  “Are you ready to go home?” I asked her as I threw the clipboard of paperwork under the counter, setting the pencil on top.

  “Let me just grab my handbag and we can leave.” Without waiting for me to agree, she spun and trotted off to the back of the storeroom while I headed toward the front door to lock it. The once full shelves, stocked with jars of jam, cans of soup, tins of dry fruit and tins of meat, cans of tea, and sacks of flour and sugar were now bare, with only a thin layer of dust settled upon them. Even the smell of the supplies had vanished, leaving the musty scent of emptiness just the same as my cellar in the house.

  As I went to flip the lock, shouting echoed from outside. I opened the door, poking my head out as dozens of German troops marched past the store. Their jackboots pounded the sidewalk.

  Evelyn made her way back out to the front of the store where I stood at the door, watching.

  “What’s going on?” she asked.

  “I’m not sure.”

  Behind the troops, several residents rushed down the street, waving their hands as they shouted their own words. Unlike the German soldiers, they spoke English, however, their words were muffled, and I couldn’t understand what they were saying.

  “Are you not going to go find out?” she asked.

  “I don’t know if I want to. However, I should. Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

  “But I want to go with you.”

  “No, just stay here.”

  I moved through the door, motioning her to lock it before I followed the crowd as they weaved back and forth down the street toward the harbor and the station house a
t the docks—a building the German commander overtook for his official offices.

  I tapped a man on the back of the shoulder. “What’s going on?”

  “They found two British spies sneaking up the cliffs on the east side of the island. They captured the spies and brought them here where they’re going to hang them.”

  “Hang them?”

  “Or shoot them, I suppose.”

  After the man finished, he moved away from me, backing up a few steps before leaving the crowd. I continued forward, weaving through the different men and women standing around until I reached the front of the group. Just as the man had said, two young men dressed in British Army uniforms stood handcuffed in front of the officer, their backs to the crowd and their heads covered with sacks.

  Several German troops converged around them, and a few waved their hands until Major Lanz shouted for their silence. They obeyed immediately, falling into line with their hands at their sides, and the only ones left shouting were the handful of Guernsey residents who had followed them down and were still voicing their opinions.

  Major Lanz ignored them all as he motioned his soldiers to remove the bags. His soldiers obeyed.

  “That’s Harold Lingfield!” one of the protesting men yelled, taking notice to the now uncovered British soldiers. “Go get Fred. Find Fred.”

  Several men took off from the crowd, determined to find Fred, Harold’s father.

  Harold Lingfield, a young man I’d grown up knowing from primary school on, had left on the boat with Amelia, headed to London where he had planned to enlist—a bit of gossip I’d overheard from Evelyn and Violet, the woman Harold hoped to marry one day. Hoped being the keyword—or so Violet said—since she never cared for him as more than just a friend.

  Her indifference only made me wish I hadn’t listened.

  The Major continued to ignore the crowd, asking the two British soldiers his own set of questions. He watched them with narrowed eyes as they answered, then he took his hand to his chin, rubbing his fingers along his jaw.