we didn’t, but we are going to pay her just the same,’ Dale answered. ‘Watch for a road to the right, we’ll need to take it.’
* * *
It turned out to be several miles from the pub to the small house Dale presumed was where Kathryn Harris lived. Like many others, the base of the house was made of stones and the rest wood. The siding went vertical instead of horizontal, which made the two-storey home look taller than it was. There was also a barn and several separate fenced-in areas that housed chickens, rabbits and a large garden. The pen near the barn held a couple of cows and goats. All in all, the site gave him his first real bout of homesickness. Until enlisting, he’d rarely left the farm. Unlike his brother, Ralph, he’d never had a hankering to go elsewhere. Also unlike Ralph, he let his parents know where he was. Another reason he had to make things right with this girl. If headquarters learned about it, they could put a stop to his search for Ralph. His mother had already lost one child. His sister, Judy, had died from dust pneumonia before the war had even started and he’d promised his father that Mother would not lose another one. Not him or Ralph.
‘This it?’
‘Yes,’ Dale answered, recognising the bicycle leaning against the barn. ‘Pull up next to the house.’
An older, slightly stooped man with a mop of dull grey hair walked out the door before Sanders had cut the engine.
‘Hello!’ the man shouted. ‘Welcome!’
Dale climbed out of the Jeep and walked to the gate, where he waited for the man to walk to the end of the cobblestone walkway.
‘Norman Harris,’ the man said, holding out one hand while opening the gate with the other. His round face looked jovial and one eye squinted as he talked.
Dale shook the man’s hand. ‘Dale Johnson and this is Rusty Sanders.’ He purposefully left off their ranks. Their uniforms would let the man know they were American GIs.
‘Good to meet you,’ Norman said as he shook Rusty’s hand. ‘You part of those boys buzzing overhead all the time?’
‘Yes, sir, we are,’ Dale said. ‘And we’re here to apologise for startling your daughter earlier. We hope she’s all right.’
The one eye Norman had open took on a sparkle. ‘Kathryn’s a good girl. Quick to anger, but she gets over it just as fast.’ Lowering his voice, he added, ‘It’s the planes. They frighten her, but don’t tell her I told you that.’
Dale had already heard how the planes frightened the locals and chose not to respond to that. ‘I understand the incident caused a loss for your family,’ he said, pulling his wallet out of his back pocket. ‘I would like to reimburse you.’
‘Oh, no, no.’ Norman shook his head. ‘That’s not necessary. It was the muddy road. That’s all.’
The house door opened, and though Norman might have suggested that Kathryn got over her anger quickly, the way she marched down the steps said that hadn’t happened today.
Keeping one eye on her, Dale took out several bills. ‘I still feel responsible.’
‘No. No. My wife is putting together a basket that I will drive to the pub. Should have done that in the first place. The bicycle doesn’t do well in mud.’ Glancing over his shoulder, Norman smiled. ‘Kathryn, these men came to apologise for the mishap. Wasn’t that nice of them?’
Her glare said otherwise and grew in intensity when she settled it on him.
Turning back to the man, Dale said, ‘I fully understand the loss of food, the loss of income, and insist upon paying you.’ He once again held the bills out towards Norman. ‘I’m not familiar with the prices here, so if this isn’t enough, just say what is.’
Norman took the bills and counted them. ‘This is far too much.’
Her animosity became even clearer as she watched Norman shuffle the bills. ‘We cannot take your money. Will not.’
‘Because it’s American?’ he asked. ‘I’m sure any bank will—’
‘No,’ she interrupted, squaring her tiny shoulders. ‘Because we all are doing our part in this war and will manage just fine without your assistance.’
He doubted that. ‘I insist.’
‘So do I,’ she said.
For as tiny as she was, the fury in those brown eyes could fall trees.
‘Kathryn—’
‘Good day, gentlemen,’ she said, interrupting Norman. Then with a sideways nod, she said, ‘Give him his money back. Please.’
There was an odd plea in her eyes, one the old man recognised because he handed over the bills. ‘Thank you for stopping by and for the apology.’
28th of April, 1942
Dear Diary,
London had been struck again. Buildings I’ve known my entire life are no longer standing, the beautiful city I called home is becoming little more than rubble. Norman received word from Father that he and Mother are safe, our home remains undamaged. I’m relieved to know that, but so very saddened by all that continues to happen.
I dare say the Americans have yet to help us save the day and I’m not holding my breath. Especially after meeting one. They are dreadful. Nearly hit me with an aeroplane. Yes, an aeroplane. They are arrogant, too, and far too handsome for their own good. They think all they need is a smile and a wallet full of money.
I’m proud to say they did not fool me with either. Andrew taught me a lesson that I will never forget. Of course, I didn’t realise that at the time. The war was just beginning then and I thought he wanted to marry me because he loved me, not because he thought marrying me would save him from serving. Mother was right in that sense, that he only wanted to marry me because of who Father is. I may not have before, but I now see the wisdom in her words. If I had married Andrew, I might have been living in one of the buildings that are now little more than rubble back in London. What I do know for certain is that I would never have met Charlotte and Norman and all the wonderful children in their care. I would never have discovered how much I truly enjoy taking care of the children. Of course, I knew nothing about that when I first arrived here. I knew nothing about so many things when I first arrived here, but I do now and I can say with certainty that I will never be fooled again. Not by a handsome smile or a uniform.
Kathryn’s nerves had been frazzled since the bicycle accident, but hearing the older boys, George and Edward, bickering as they walked up the road flared a bout of anger inside her. As did the buzz rumbling the skies. The boys had made a contest out of naming the American bomber planes and tallying the number of times they’d seen each one.
The children no longer grabbed their gas masks and ran for the bomb shelter built in the back garden every time they heard a plane—instead, they ran outside unafraid, looking up to see if they could see a pilot.
That
