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

by Angela Christina Archer

  As she waved me off, I left the room, a prayer on my lips there would not be another screaming match between Bea and Isabella over the latter’s lack of enthusiasm to get up in the morning. I’d heard the arguments countless times in the last couple of months, and each one always seemed louder than the last, leaving our warden often threatening Isabella with a train ticket home if she didn’t get her fanny out of the bed.

  Like Claire, I made my way down the stairs and into the kitchen toward the smell of oatmeal.

  “Is she coming?” Bea asked, with a pot in one hand, she stirred the contents with the other.

  “Of course,” I lied.

  Bea eyed me for a moment then continued stirring the oatmeal, spooning big globs of it into several bowls sitting on the table.

  “Not much to do today other than care for the livestock. I think we might get another layer of snow before Christmas, so you girls need to muck out the stalls again. Once it melts, the mud will be unbearable.”

  Claire rolled her eyes as she grabbed her spoon and dug into her oatmeal. I sat down at the table across from her, settling into my own bowl after pouring a little of honey on top. The sweetness helped the bland taste, but after eating it, I longed for the delicious eggs and bacon.

  “Speaking of Christmas,” Claire said as she glanced at Bea. “Are we going to get any time off?”

  “All of you? And at the same time?” Bea asked, a slight hesitation in her voice.

  Claire glanced at me, then down at her bowl. “Well, I was just thinking of Isabella, Amelia, and me.”

  “That’s lovely. I’m sure Ethel and Annie would be so happy to hear you are asking to leave them to all the chores.”

  “Only one night and if we get everything done in the morning.”

  “And just where do you think you are going to go for this one night off?”

  “Just down to the pub.” She held up her hand as Bea opened her mouth. “And, no, not to meet men. Just to have a bit of fun for once. It is Christmas, after all.”

  Bea inhaled and exhaled a deep breath as she set the pot of oatmeal back on the stove. “I suppose if you get your work done for that day.” She pointed her finger at Claire. “But the cows still need to be milked and the eggs collected the next morning. Animals don’t take holidays.”

  “Not a problem.”

  Bea made an odd sound with her lips as though she thought Claire’s words were ridiculous. “I know it’s not a problem.” Without another word, she stormed up the stairs.

  “I hope Isabella is up and dressed,” Claire said, watching her.

  “If she isn’t, we will know soon enough.”

  The rest of that morning had gone by in a blur, from hearing the screaming match between Bea and Isabella while I finished my breakfast, to collecting the day’s eggs and milking all the cows, it all seemed normal. Just as every other day I’d spent on the farm. While it had been hard work day in and day out, leaving my body bruised and sore as I climbed into bed each night, it had also given me an odd sense of comfort. It made me think of Guernsey, and while I didn’t know if my parents and Evelyn were still harvesting our land or caring for our own livestock, I wanted to believe they were. Perhaps it was the fool in me who thought the German occupation on the island was not as it was in France or Poland. However, I never wanted to think otherwise.

  With each egg collected or each gallon of milk squeezed from the cows’ udders, I thought of them doing the same thing, day in and day out.

  Being on the farm also brought a sense of distance to what was happening in the country. Surely, we knew the war was going on and men, women, and children were dying. We weren’t ignorant or uncaring, but there was only so much a person could take, and planting, tending to, and harvesting crops and caring for animals seemed to numb us. It wasn’t until the air raids on Manchester a few days before Christmas that we even sat down to feel the impact of what was going on.

  “I have family there,” Ethel said, sitting on the couch. She pulled her legs up against her chest and wrapped her arms around them.

  “Can you telephone them?” Bea asked.

  Ethel shrugged. “I can try.”

  And try she did, for the next two days, while the city spent two nights in terrified horror as the Germans dropped even more bombs, destroying buildings and leaving others to burn under blazing fires.

  It wasn’t until Christmas Eve arrived they gave the city a reprieve, including Ethel, who spoke to her cousins and found out they were alive, and for the most part, well.

  “How does this dress look?” Claire spun in a circle while we all readied for the pub. With her hair still in curlers, she puckered up her lips. “I think it goes with my lipstick. Don’t you think?”

  “It does.” I glanced at her for a moment before getting back to putting on my mascara as I sat on the bed and held the tiny mirror in my other hand.

  “At first, I didn’t think I liked such a deep red, but, well, you know, it’s Christmas Eve. Might as well be a little festive, right?”

  The door opened and Isabella scurried inside. With several pins in between her lips, she rushed toward her nightstand and knelt in front of the mirror propped up against the lamp. One by one, she pulled the pins from her mouth, shoving them into different curls she held up.

  “I hope I have enough,” she said.

  “I think I might have some more if it isn’t.”

  “Good, because these are all Ethel has. I didn’t want to ask Bea.”

  “Why not?”

  Isabella shot me a glare. “I doubt she would give me any even if I asked.”

  I laughed. “You’re probably right.”

  The three of us continued to get ready for a night off—not a rarity, but still a welcomed distraction. Not to mention, I’d spent the better part of the last few months either knee deep in mud or at least covered in dirt as I tended to all the livestock, cleaned up for whenever the rations officer visited, or reaped the last of the harvest before plowing the fields clear to ready it for the growing season come spring.

  Needless to say, it had been a long time since I donned a dress, and even longer—considering Eleanor didn’t think I should wear it—since I’d worn make-up.

  We bundled up in our coats as we made our way down the stairs and stepped out into the cool night air. Another layer of snow blanketed the ground, and even more flakes begun to fall. The night air was silent, a dead silent that only the falling snow could make, and it brought a peaceful calm as we weaved down the lane, trying to stay out of the deep powder in order to keep our shoes from getting wet.

  “I don’t know about you two, but I’m going to have a beer tonight. Maybe two.” Isabella’s breath clouded around her face. Heavy with exertion, she paused slightly between her words.

  “I think one will be enough.” Claire nudged her with her shoulder. “We still have to milk the cows in the morning.”

  Isabella growled. “Ugh, those bloody cows. When this war is over and I leave the farm, I never want to see another cow ever again.”

  “Unless it’s on our plate.” I laughed.

  “Oh, I had a dream the other night about eating a steak. It about broke my heart when I woke up, looking up at the ceiling in our bedroom.”

  “I’ve had dreams of pork chops,” Claire said.

  “And chocolate pie.” I added.

  “I would even take an orange right now.”

  “Elijah used to share his with me. Since children still got them, I mean. He would give me half. Of course, I only took it sometimes, even though I wanted the whole thing.”

  “All right. We’ve got to stop before I find the nearest bridge and throw myself off it.” Isabella shifted a few feet from us, brushing the back of her hand against her forehead as though to pretend she was in peril.

  Claire laughed. “You can’t. All the bridges around here have a fall of only a couple of meters. All you would do is probably break a leg or knock yourself silly.”

  “Worth a shot.”

>   By the time we reached the pub in town, my feet were frozen and the once pretty updo I’d pinned my hair into had fallen a little from the wet snow. I brushed it off as best I could, along with the flakes resting on my shoulders, soaking into my coat.

  “At least it’s warm in here,” Claire whispered as she wiggled from her own coat and laid it over one of her arms.

  While not full of patrons, the pub still proved busier than I’d seen it any of the other times we’d visited. Which was never often, just here and there if the girls talked me into going. I never wanted to for the most part, though. The morning hours came quickly enough without adding a pounding headache to the pain.

  A couple of men and women sat at the tables. Different couples, having different conversations, as they all listened to the pianist, playing slow music in the corner, and most of them ignored the three of us as we made our way across the room, sitting near the bar. A tiny candle sat in the middle of the table and the soft flame danced across the wood. Its reflection lost in the blackout curtains hanging down over the window near us.

  “All right, ladies, hand over your money. I’ll go get us the drinks.” Isabella held out her hand while Claire and I laid our coats on the back of our chairs. While Claire sat down, I remained standing, and I opened my handbag, digging down into the depths for five pence.

  “Here.” Claire handed Isabella her money.

  Isabella nodded toward me. “And you?”

  “I’ve got it. Hold on a minute.” Finally finding the coin, I pulled it out. “I think I’ll go with you, though.”

  “I can get it for you.”

  “I know you can. But I’d like to go with you.” I moved around the table and followed Isabella up to the bar. The plump little man behind the slab of wood nodded as we approached, throwing his dishtowel over one shoulder.

  “What can I get for you two lovely ladies?”

  “Three pints, please.” Isabella smiled, straightening her shoulders.

  He eyed the two of us for a moment, then grabbed three glasses, filling them from the tap. I watched as the bubbles rose to the rim of the glass and slowly popped and vanished, leaving only a deep rusty orange color to the glass.

  “Fifteen pence,” he said.

  Isabella handed him the money and took her glass along with Claire’s, giving me a wink as she turned back around. I grabbed my own glass and spun, nearly running into her.

  “Watch it,” I said.

  She didn’t respond, though. She just stood there. Frozen and staring at the front door to the pub.

  “What’s the matter with you?” I asked.

  She motioned for me to look with her chin, and as I did, she said, “Part of me wondered if we’d ever see him again.”

  Along with her words, my eyes fell upon William. Standing with several other soldiers, their olive uniforms matched. He stared back at me, and he removed his hat. His blond hair glistened in the candlelight, bouncing off the tables around him. He smiled.

  “As I live and breathe,” I whispered.

  He moved toward me, rushing across the pub as I set my glass down on the bar behind me and met him in the middle. We wrapped our arms around each other, and a soft squeal left my lips.

  “It’s good to see you,” he said in my ear.

  I pulled away from him. “It’s good to see you, too.”

  “What are you doing in Stubton?”

  “I’m stationed here. We,” I motioned toward Claire and Isabella, who by now had made their way over to us and each gave him a hug too, “joined the WLA.”

  “You’re land girls, huh? Impressive.” He pointed toward Isabella. “Especially for you.”

  She playfully slapped at his arm. “Oh, you hush, I’m perfectly capable of tending to land and livestock.”

  “You’re forgetting I’ve known you your entire life.”

  “He’s not wrong.” Claire nudged her shoulder into Isabella’s.

  “Both of you need to hush.” Isabella waved her hand and spun, heading back to our table. The three of us followed her while the two other British soldiers who came into the pub with William made their way to the bar to order pints for themselves.

  “So how has it been?” I asked him as we sat down.

  He looked at me for a moment, opening his mouth as though he wanted to say something, but he didn’t.

  “That bad?”

  “It’s been . . . a war.”

  “So, are you two lovely ladies going to dance or just sit here at this table all night?” one of the soldiers asked Claire and Isabella as he handed William a pint of beer.

  “I’m up for anything at this point.” Isabella took several chugs of her beer then spun in her seat, jumping up from the table. She grabbed the soldier’s hand, and they trotted off toward the pianist.

  “Care to join them?” the other solider asked Claire. He bent down toward her, offering her his hand. She gave me a quick glance and smiled as I nodded, dashing off with him before I could blink.

  “Those two can find a party anywhere, I swear,” William said, laughing.

  “Have you known them long?” I asked.

  “Since the start of training. I bunked with John,” he pointed toward the tall, thin one with Isabella, “and Andrew is his cousin,” he then pointed to the taller and thinner one with Claire.

  “Do you know where Thomas is?”

  William dropped his gaze down to his beer, and his smile vanished. “During training they found he had a knack for shooting. Of course, I wasn’t surprised. He always walked away with game when we went hunting. But they put him in special sniper training and sent him to the front lines about a month ago. He wrote one letter, but I haven’t heard from him since.”

  “I’m sure he’s still alive.” I laid my hand on William’s arm.

  He stared at me for a moment and the smile returned to his face. It was the same smile I’d seen countless times while we walked home from school or enjoyed our meals in the canteen while we sat across the table from one another. Although I’d only known him a short time, it had also felt like forever as in one of those dear old friends you grew up with and knew every secret they ever kept or lie they ever told. I knew so many stories from his life, it always felt like I’d lived it with him, and while I hadn’t shared as much, I had shared with him so much of my own life, it often shocked me we only met months ago.

  “So, you joined the WLA . . . I don’t know whether I’m surprised or not.”

  “Why do you say that? I am from Guernsey, after all, and I grew up on the family farm.”

  “I suppose that’s true. So, how has it been?”

  “Work.”

  He laughed. “I can imagine.”

  “We have yet to be here for planting and growing season, though. We arrived just before the harvest, and with winter, we’ve only really been tending to the livestock.”

  “And have you learned how to milk a cow?”

  “I already knew how. My parents have a couple in Guernsey.”

  “Right. Right. I forgot. You’re the farming, city girl who dreams of life writing about the events of the world. Have you written about your adventures as a land girl, yet?”

  “Hardly. I’m usually falling asleep while eating my dinner. Although, that’s a good idea. I probably should write about what we are doing. If nothing else than for the memories when I’m eighty years old and can’t remember the details.”

  “I know I sure would enjoy reading them. It would be nice to hear of your days here.”

  “More like boring.”

  “When you are in training, nothing from the outside world is boring. I can’t imagine it’s much better on the front lines.”

  “You’re probably right.”

  “So, how else have you been?” He studied me for a moment as he took a sip of beer. His lips thinned into a slight frown.

  “As in?”

  “As in not hearing from your parents? Being away from the Davenports? I can’t imagine they wanted you to leave.” />
  I shook my head. “I actually left without Eleanor’s permission or knowledge.” I exhaled a breath, continuing before he could say a word. “It’s all right now. I have written to them a couple of times and she has written back that she forgives me and understands why I did it. She misses me, but she’s happy that I chose my own path.”

  “I bet that brought you relief.”

  “It did. I thought for sure she would hate me for the rest of her life.”

  He shook his head, giving me a wink. “Nah. I don’t think she could have done that.”

  “I wish I would have had your optimism. While I wrote the letter the first night, it took me two days to gather enough courage to give it to Bea to post.”

  “Bea?”

  “Our warden.”

  “And is this Bea, warden, nice to you or mean?”

  “She’s nice to me. But then I do my chores and don’t give her much fuss. Isabella, on the other hand? I’m surprised she hasn’t sent her home.”

  “I actually am, too.”

  We both laughed.

  “Hey you two!” Claire shouted from across the room. Andrew spun her around and she squealed. “Are you two going to come dance or are you going to sit around and be boring?”

  William glanced from her to me. “Well?”

  “I don’t think I can offer much by way of talent.”

  “That’s all right, I can’t either.” William stood and held out his hand.

  I slid my palm against his and rose to my feet. Before I could gain my balance, he whisked me across the room, twirling me a couple of times before taking me into his arms. With one hand on my waist and the other holding mine, we danced around laughing at the awkward steps we shared and how he wiggled around, bumping into the wall, his friends, and even the piano once. The musician gave him an odd look before shaking his head. His fingers flew over the keys, pounding out some of the notes while others were gentler.

  He continued to play, and we continued to dance as the hours passed by. Other patrons left as the night dragged on, and by the time it was nearing curfew, we had the place to ourselves.

  “I can’t believe it’s almost time to leave,” Isabella whined. “I wish we could have a few more hours.”