their outhouse. Groups of us went out to all of the schools within a thirty-mile radius today to warn the children to stay away from any shrapnel. That every piece is dangerous. We sent warning letters home with all of the students, instructing every adult to use caution, too.’
‘And you sent this home,’ she said, once again handing him the envelope.
He’d had Marilyn type up the letter, thinking if it looked official, Kathryn, or at least Norman, would accept the money. A good sort, and always willing to help, Marilyn was also trying to locate Ralph for him.
‘I can’t take it, Miss Winslow,’ he said. ‘I’ve already told you that. Buy the children some more chewing gum with it, or other candy, they were excited with the pieces we passed out.’
* * *
Kathryn squeezed the envelope harder. He had to take it. She didn’t want his money. Didn’t want anything to do with him. She was flustered, too. Both by her behaviour—walking the garden path with him should not have happened—and by his actions. Asking all those questions about her and the children. She shouldn’t have answered those questions. And he shouldn’t have told her about loving rain. No one loves rain. Furthermore, it was easier not to like him when she knew nothing about him, other than he was just a man. One of many.
Pulling her thoughts back to where they belonged, she said, ‘There are no other sweets to be purchased, Mr Johnson. The only people with such luxuries are you American soldiers.’
‘Then buy something else they need. There has to be something—’
He stopped in order to turn around at someone shouting, ‘Sarge!’
‘Excuse me,’ he said, turning to her before turning about again and jogging over to meet the man running towards them. The same one who’d been driving the Jeep the other day.
Warning bells went off inside her as she noted other men quickly gathering around Dale. He pointed in several directions, as if giving orders before he and the man she recognised started walking towards her.
‘Corporal Sanders will give you a ride—’
‘What’s happened?’ Kathryn interrupted.
‘Nothing for you to worry about,’ he said. ‘Corporal, get her bike.’
Her heart was in her throat. ‘Is it the Germans?’
‘No, Miss Winslow, it’s not the Germans, it has nothing to do with them, but I need to go.’ He gestured towards the other man already wheeling her bike across the pavement. ‘Corporal Sanders will give you a ride home.’ He then touched the brim of his hat. ‘Good day.’
She didn’t have time to say more, he was already running towards another car park that held several Jeeps and lorries. Others were running, too, jumping in the vehicles.
Before she had time to contemplate what she should do, a Jeep pulled up next to her. She shook her head. ‘I don’t need a ride.’
‘Sarge said to give you a ride home and I can’t disobey a direct order. Name’s Rusty Sanders. Corporal Rusty Sanders. Go ahead and climb in, I already have your bike in the back.’
The young man had found a way to make her bicycle fit behind the seats. Sort of. The front tyre hung halfway out of the Jeep, but it appeared secure enough not to fall out.
She tucked the envelope she was still clutching into her pocket while nodding towards a line of vehicles already exiting the base. ‘What’s happening?’
‘Rooster, that’s one of the pilots,’ Corporal Sanders said, ‘saw a barn on fire when he was coming in for landing.’
‘A barn? Near here?’ She climbed into the Jeep. ‘Whose?’
‘Don’t know. It’s not too far away. Sarge is taking a unit out to help put it out.’ Pointing towards the vehicles, Sanders said, ‘Those are water-tank trucks. They are always ready to go put out a fire.’
‘Why?’
‘In case a plane crashes or a bomb goes off.’
Pressing a hand against her racing heart, she asked, ‘Was the barn bombed?’
‘No, there haven’t been any bombs dropped around here. Won’t be either.’
She grasped the edge of the Jeep when he shifted into gear and speeded up, and held on with all her might until the jerking motions smoothed out and allowed her to relax a bit.
‘Where is it? The barn the pilot saw on fire?’
‘Sounds like it must be over by the pub.’
Her heart leaped to her throat. Widow Whitcomb’s barn was near Oscar and Ed’s pub. Two billeted children were currently staying with her. Brothers who were close to Little George and Phillip’s ages. ‘Take me there.’
‘Ma’am, miss, I couldn’t—’
‘Yes, you can.’ Recalling how he’d said Dale had ordered him to take her home, she said, ‘It’s an order. Follow the others.’
‘I can’t do that. Sarge will—’
‘Then stop right here so I can get my bicycle out.’
He glanced her way and then, after scratching the side of his head, said, ‘I’m going to be in trouble either way.’
‘No, you won’t be, I’ll see to that.’ She had no idea how she’d go about doing that, but she had to see if the billeted children living with Mrs Whitcomb needed help. The widow hadn’t been happy about being required to take in children and had already sent away several others for misbehaviour.
* * *
Upon arriving at the pub, Kathryn wasn’t worried about Corporal Sanders being in trouble, it was the two boys she saw being put in another Jeep. She climbed over the edge of Jeep and ran towards them. ‘Are they hurt?’
‘Sarge says the burns aren’t bad, but the old woman refused for them to be seen by a doctor, so I’m taking them to be checked out by a medic at the base,’ a soldier said.
The barn, still on fire, was in the field behind the pub. Mrs Whitcomb was standing near one of the lorries, clearly yelling at the man who stood on top of it spraying water on the ground. Dale stood next to her, shaking his head, also clearly telling the man spraying the ground to listen to him, not her. Until Corporal Sanders stepped up beside them, then Dale spun around and though he was a distance away, Kathryn felt the moment his eyes landed on her.
She turned back and stepped closer to the Jeep in order to examine the boys. They were both dark with soot and their hands had red welts.
‘We tried to put out the fire,’ the younger boy said solemnly.
‘I can tell,’ she answered while reaching into her pocket for a handkerchief. After wrapping it around one of the largest blisters on the older boy’s hand, she said, ‘That was very brave of you.’
‘Mrs Whitcomb didn’t think so,’ the younger one said. ‘She said
