Aiden checked the postmark. Yesterday! That meant that Martha could arrive at any minute!
He raced to the phone and read the latest message out loud to Stan.
“Right,” said Stan. “Make sure all your doors are locked. If anything happens, and I mean anything, inform me. And I think you should tell Mrs Martin.”
Outside, the storm raged. Giant raindrops pounded the windows and lightning flashed in the sky. Aiden walked into the kitchen where Abigail was rocking Tiffany to sleep.
“Can you believe this weather?” she asked, staring through the window.
“Abs, I need to tell you something. I didn’t want to, but it’s important.”
Abigail caught the urgency in his tone and looked up, concerned.
“What is it?”
So Aiden told her about the postcards, and his visit to Stan. He showed her the cards and saw her face blanche. He handed her the final postcard.
“The postmark means she’s on her way now,” he said.
Abigail’s hand covered her mouth in shock.
“What shall we do?”
“Stan says we should lock all the doors. She can’t take Tiffany, and we’re not going to let her into the house. If she turns up, we phone the police.”
Abigail’s face was white, but her jaw had a determined set to it. She nodded, clutching Tiffany closer to her.
“I think you should take Tiffany upstairs, and I’ll keep watch downstairs.”
As he spoke, the sky flashed white, followed by a terrific clap of thunder that shook the house.
All the lights went out.
Chapter Seventeen
Aiden grabbed the flashlight from the drawer. Rain lashed the windows.
“Quick! Grab everything you might need and take Tiffany upstairs. I’ll help you get settled then I’m going to wait down here. If that madwoman turns up, I’ll be ready, storm or no storm. Let’s hope the electricity comes back on soon.”
When Abigail and Tiffany were safely installed upstairs, Aiden took up his station by the window, watching the rain bounce as it hit the ground. It was going to be a long day and night.
The hours ticked past and there was no sign of Martha. The rain never eased and the black clouds remained knitted together, blocking out any glimpse of the night sky. At around 3:00am, Aiden could keep his eyes open no longer. He slept fitfully in the chair by the window, but even as he slept he was listening for a car or footsteps on the gravel.
The electricity stayed off until morning. The ground was soaked and puddles glimmered under the grey sky, but the rain had stopped. Aiden tensed when he saw a figure approaching. He relaxed when he saw it was the postman who dropped two bills through the letterbox. No postcards.
Abigail came downstairs. She looked exhausted.
“Do you think Martha was lying?” she asked.
“I don’t know…”
The phone rang and they both jumped.
“Stan here. Nothing to report?”
“No, nothing. I stayed on watch all night.”
“Well, perhaps it was an empty threat. I suggest you get some rest, but keep your doors locked for the moment, just in case. I’ve got my work cut out because of this storm, it’s created havoc in the village. But I’ll be here if you need me.”
Aiden and Abigail tried hard to relax, but found it difficult. They talked endlessly about the possibility of Martha turning up, their eyes forever flicking to the window, their ears tuned in to the sound of any approaching car. To Aiden’s relief, Abigail and he were united, utterly determined that Martha would never claim Tiffany.
Already worn out from being awake all night, every new noise alarmed them. They stared questioningly at each other, silently attempting to analyse the source of the sound. Their nerves jangled. When the paper boy wheeled his bike up the drive, they both nearly jumped out of their skins.
The phone rang again and Aiden picked it up.
“Hello?”
“Mr Martin? Stan Cooper here again. Have you had the Yewbridge Gazette yet?”
“Yes, it’s just been delivered, this very minute. Why?”
“Do you have it there in front of you? Look at the main story. I think you have nothing further to worry about.” Stan rang off.
Aiden picked up the paper and smoothed it out. The whole of the front page was devoted to last night’s storm.
Aiden stared at the main photo which showed the wreckage of a white car.
“Abigail! Look at this!”
“Oh my…”
Storm claims life of US tourist
Police have confirmed that the violent storms of yesterday have claimed the life of an American tourist. The driver appears to have lost control on a sharp bend between Yewbridge and Sixpenny Cross. There were no witnesses.
A police spokesman said, “The accident was reported by a motorist at 4:00pm yesterday. The car must have swerved off the road in the bad weather and hit a tree. The driver was pronounced dead on arrival at Yewbridge Hospital. Our enquiries show that the car was hired at Gatwick Airport by a Miss Martha Guttman. A passport has been found and a positive identification has been made.
Miss Guttman’s family in New York have been informed. Miss Guttman was not married and leaves no children.”
Police have asked the public to continue to be aware of dangerous driving conditions caused by the storm.
“Abs, it’s over… It’s finally over.”
Husband and wife fell into each other’s arms. They stood entwined for a long time.
aaaaa
The next day, the sun shone on the village of Sixpenny Cross. The pond on the village green was fuller than anybody remembered it. The ducks’ nest had been washed away, but the eggs had already hatched and the ducklings were safe and well. A tree had been struck by lightning in Sixpenny Woods, and the church had lost a few slates. Branches and debris needed to be cleared. Apart from that, there was not too much damage.
That evening, Aiden smiled into his wife’s eyes across the restaurant table in Yewbridge. They must have passed the spot where Martha had spun off the road, but they hadn’t looked for it.
“Well, this is a nice surprise,” said Abigail. “I can’t remember when we last went out to dinner together! It was good of Daisy to babysit at such short notice.”
“I thought we should celebrate. I know we didn’t wish Martha dead, but it’s wonderful to know that nobody can ever take Tiffany away from us now.”
The tiny diamonds in Abigail’s eternity ring sparkled in the candlelight as she put her hand over his.
“Yes,” she said, looking directly into his eyes, unblinking. “Especially since Tiffany is going to have a little brother or sister in a few months.”
Aiden’s eyes widened.
“Really?” he breathed.
“Yes, really.”
aaaaa
Stan Cooper was enjoying a quiet pint in the Dew Drop. Actually, it was his second but he felt he deserved it. The Captain and his friend sat in their usual corner, and Bella Tait occupied another table, reading the Yewbridge Gazette and stroking Scout, the pub cat.
“Terrible storm, wasn’t it?” said Angus, buffing up the beer taps and making conversation from behind the bar. “That poor American woman who crashed her car! What bad luck. I wonder where she was heading?”
“Dunno,” said Stan, shaking his head.
“And I hear that nice Martin couple are keeping that baby that was found in the woods?”
“Yes, I heard that too,” said Stan, and took a long sip of his beer.
Chapter Eighteen
So you see, my dear, Abigail’s story had a happy ending. She and Aiden went on to have lots more children. Abigail always wanted to fill that house in Sixpenny Lane with children, and over the years, that’s exactly what she did. There wasn’t one room in that house that wasn’t bursting at the seams with kids, toys and laughter.
Of course, the children soon rubbed off the house’s ‘designer shine’ and it began to look
much more like a home, and less like a photo from Country Estates magazine. It began to look rather like the Drapers’ farmhouse, cosy and rather worn round the edges. And Abigail and Aiden were very comfortable with that.
Aiden worked from home most of the time, and wore jeans with holes in them, only changing into his tailored suit when he had to go up to London on business. Money was not important to either him or Abigail. They lived for their children.
The children went to the village school across the green, which is where you will go when you’re bigger. You’ll like it there, and your teacher will take you on nature study trips across the green, and you’ll catch little creatures with your net in the pond.
Perhaps if Martha had been a nicer person, none of this would have happened. Nobody wanted her dead, of course, but she kind of brought it on herself.
Just one little thing puzzled me and Jayne Fairweather, the postmistress, about Martha Guttman’s death. You see, Jayne was the motorist who reported the accident to the police, so she was probably the first one on the scene.
She was driving back from Yewbridge to Sixpenny Cross, and she said the rain was bucketing down so hard she could scarcely see the road ahead. When she rounded the bend and caught sight of Martha’s car wrapped round a tree, she stopped straight away, and rolled down her window. She realised it was extremely serious, but as she prepared to drive away to report the incident, a movement caught her eye.
She thought she saw two figures melting into the trees.
She told me it looked like an old lady with a shawl over her head, holding the hand of a small pale-faced child.
When she looked again, they’d gone, so she probably imagined it.
It’s good to see you fast asleep with not a care in the world, little one. Next time I’m asked to watch over you, I’ll tell you another story. Sixpenny Cross is bursting with stories.
I know you love animals, so I’m going to tell you all about Bella Tait.
Yes, B is for Bella. And Bella Tait’s love of animals, big and small, scaly or fluffy, was a joy to behold.
But it was also her downfall.
If you enjoyed this Sixpenny Cross story,
I’d be so grateful if you left a short review.
Thank you!
Abigail Martin’s Carrot Cake
Olive oil, to grease
2 (about 300g) carrots
1 cup (150g) self-raising flour
½ cup (75g) plain flour
1 teaspoon bicarbonate of soda
½ teaspoon ground cinnamon
½ cup (80g) brown sugar
¾ cup (185ml) olive oil
½ cup (125ml) golden syrup
3 eggs
1 teaspoon vanilla essence
Icing
250g (8oz) spreadable cream cheese
½ cup (80g) icing sugar
½ teaspoon vanilla essence
•Preheat oven to 170C or 150C fan-assisted, or 340F. Grease a 20cm (8in) round cake pan lightly with oil, and line with non-stick baking paper.
•Peel and grate the carrots, and set aside.
•Sift the flours, bicarbonate of soda and cinnamon into a large bowl.
•Put the brown sugar, oil, golden syrup, eggs and vanilla in a separate bowl. Use a balloon whisk to mix until combined.
•Pour the oil mixture into the dry ingredients. Use a wooden spoon to stir gently until just combined. Stir in the grated carrot.
•Pour the mixture into the pan and bake for 1 hour. Set aside for 5 minutes, before turning out onto a wire rack to cool completely.
•To make the icing, place the cream cheese, icing sugar and vanilla in a bowl. Use a wooden spoon to mix until well combined.
•Spread the icing over the cake.
B is for Bella
Another short read by the New York Times
bestselling author of the “Old Fools” series.
When two babies are born within weeks of each other in the village of Sixpenny Cross, one would expect the pair to become friends as they grow up.
But nothing could be further from the truth.
While Bella Tait is destined to become an animal hoarder, Christine Dayton will follow a life of crime.
Read on
Chapter One
When I was younger, I used to amuse myself in the evenings by sewing patchwork quilts. That quilt you are sleeping under now was made for your mother. Sometimes I blink when I see you curled up in that crib because you, my dear, are the image of her.
Now I have arthritis in my hands, and I can scarcely hold a needle in my crooked fingers. My poor old eyes can’t see the stitches either, so I’ll make no more patchwork quilts. But I’ll teach you, little one, when you’re bigger.
My own mother used to make patchwork quilts, as did her mother before her. The quilts were used so much and washed so often that they became faded and threadbare. When holes began to appear, we had to dispose of them, but we never threw them away.
No, everybody knew who would be grateful for them.
Bella Tait.
Bella Tait had a heart made of solid gold and she couldn’t bear to see any animal in need. She cared for so many creatures that she needed all the old towels, quilts and bedding she could lay her hands on.
B is for Bella. I’ll tell you the rather unusual story of Bella Tait while you sleep, little one. It’ll keep my mind busy, now that I have no quilting projects on my lap.
To explain how Bella came to have so many pets, I must start at the beginning, the day the midwife helped deliver a baby in a cottage in Sixpenny Cross...
Also by Victoria Twead
Memoirs: The Old Fools Series
Chickens, Mules and Two Old Fools
(Wall Street Journal Top 10 bestseller)
Two Old Fools ~ Olé!
Two Old Fools on a Camel
(New York Times bestseller x 3)
Two Old Fools in Spain Again
One Young Fool in Dorset
Fiction: The Sixpenny Cross Series
A is for Abigail
B is for Bella (coming soon)
C is for the Captain (coming soon)
D - Z are works in progress
Non-Fiction
How to Write a Bestselling Memoir
Mouth-Watering Spanish Recipes
Children’s Books
Morgan and the Martians
Chickens, Mules and Two Old Fools
Wall Street Journal Top 10 bestseller
If Joe and Vicky had known what relocating to a tiny mountain village in Andalucía would REALLY be like, they might have hesitated...
They have no idea of the culture shock in store. No idea they'll become reluctant chicken farmers and own the most dangerous cockerel in Spain. No idea they'll help capture a vulture or be rescued by a mule.
Will they stay, or return to the relative sanity of England?
Includes Spanish recipes donated by the village ladies.
Contact the Author and Links
Email: [email protected]
(emails welcome)
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/VictoriaTwead
(friend requests welcome)
Website: www.VictoriaTwead.com
Free Stuff and Village Updates newsletter
http://www.victoriatwead.com/Free-Stuff/
Twitter: @VictoriaTwead
Copyright Notice
Copyright © Text, Victoria Twead, 2016
Copyright © Cover painting, Nick Saltmer, 2016
Copyright © Crossroads illustration, Nick Saltmer 2016
Published by Ant Press, 2016
First Edition
The author asserts the moral right under the Copyright,
Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified
as the author of this work.
The author reserves all rights. No part of this ebook may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
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