Diary Of A War Bride. Lauri Robinson
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could be a small consolation for them.’
‘It certainly thrilled these children and I’m sure it would others.’
Before he could stop himself, he asked, ‘Why are you here?’
She started picking berries again. ‘My father sent me here three years ago, when many of the girls my age were joining the Auxiliary Territorial Service. He’s a British Intelligence Officer and knew many of the ATS members would be sent to France and Germany. He didn’t want that for me.’ Glancing his way, she added, ‘And my mum didn’t want me anywhere near soldiers, including the American ones.’
‘Why?’
‘She has her reasons.’
Considering how outspoken and stubborn Kathryn was, he questioned if she’d merely obeyed what her parents wanted. ‘Do you?’
Without missing a berry, she said, ‘Yes. The same reason as my mum.’
‘What’s that?’
The way she eyed him, from head to toe for a silent moment, he questioned if she’d answer and, for a reason he wasn’t willing to investigate, he discovered he was holding his breath.
Turning back to the bush, she said, ‘This isn’t the first war to bring American soldiers on to our soil.’
The air left his chest as relief washed over him. A simple reason, really, yet to her it must be more. ‘No, it’s not.’
‘They come and leave again, go wherever the army sends them with no concern to those they leave behind.’
The bitterness in her tone was colder than a North Dakota winter and chilled him just as deeply. Not sure he should, but still had to, he asked, ‘That happened to your mother?’
‘No, my aunt.’ With an even colder tone, she added, ‘And her son, my cousin.’
‘What about after his tour of duty?’
As she turned back to her berry picking, she snapped, ‘He’d forgotten all about them by then.’
World War I, as it was now being called, had provided many men with foreign brides, just as he had no doubt that this war would. For those foolish enough to go down that lane. He wasn’t. He also wasn’t foolish enough to continue a conversation that clearly disturbed her. However, what he had learned was all the more reason to befriend her. If the Brigadier disliked Americans as much as Kathryn did, he wouldn’t be any more interested in helping him find Ralph than the army was, unless his daughter asked him to.
Stepping up beside her to pluck a few more berries, he asked, ‘So, back to my original question—will you help me figure out a better way to distribute the candy to the children? I know it’s not much, but...’ nodding towards the children, he continued ‘...it could mean a lot to them.’
‘It would need to include other children as well,’ she said.
‘Of course. As many children as possible, which is another reason I need your help.’
Tucking several strands of her long black hair behind one ear, she said, ‘You are persistent, aren’t you?’
The smile she attempted to hide gave him hope. ‘I’ve been called worse.’ Lifting the candy bar out of his basket, he held it out to her. ‘Truce?’ When it appeared she wasn’t going to give in, he added, ‘Think of the children. How much it would mean to them.’
Her smile included a hint of pink covering both cheeks as she shook her head and took the candy bar. ‘Truce.’
‘That’s made by the Hershey candy company,’ he said, hoping to keep the smile on her lips. ‘It comes from Hershey, Pennsylvania, where the world’s largest chocolate factory is.’
When she eyed him critically he held up a hand.
‘Honest. They make all sorts of candy.’ He had no idea if his next statement was 100 per cent true, but wanted to get her further on his side. ‘They even make a candy bar named after Babe Ruth, the greatest baseball player in the world.’
‘Baseball?’
‘You’ve never played baseball? Well, let me tell you about that.’
11th of June, 1942
Dear Diary,
The warmer days have arrived, with plenty of sunshine, which seems contradictory with all that’s happening in the world. The war continues to rage on and it would be far more fitting for the skies to be cloudy and grey. I feel as if I should be that way, too, and I’m a bit ashamed of myself for feeling so happy at times.
I tell myself that it’s not my own happiness as much as it is the children’s that I’m feeling. Dale has visited us at the house three times during the past two weeks. His visits aren’t long, but he brings the children treats. Today, it was a full-sized chocolate bar for each of them. They enjoy his visits immensely because he tells them silly stories about America, like baseball games and rodeos.
His storytelling is rather captivating and I find myself wondering about America, if all the things he says are true. It sounds quite amazing, then again, any place not ravaged by war would be quite amazing right now and that is why I find myself thankful that he’s able to make the children forget, for a small amount of time, the uncertain world we are living in right now.
Kathryn’s insides grew as warm as the sun overhead when she spied the Jeep parked in front of the pub. She’d seen many of those Jeeps, so this one didn’t mean that Dale was inside. But the prospect that he might be had her pedalling a bit faster, and once the bike was parked she nearly spilled the contents of her basket by unhooking it so quickly.
After assuring no eggs had been broken by her clumsiness, she took a deep breath and approached the pathway with what she hoped appeared to be a calm and steady stride, the exact opposite of her insides. She also told herself she shouldn’t care if it was him or not, but despite all, she was hoping he was inside.
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