Read Online Broken Rainbows by Catrin Collier - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Catrin Collier
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be able to recapture. I only hope that when we are finally together again, there will be other children. What do you think? Could you give up caring for half the town after the peace treaties have been signed and settle for just our family and me?
I love you, Beth, and miss you every waking moment. I look forward to the night when I can close my eyes, because then you are with me. You haunt my dreams. Do you ever think of those magical, peaceful hours we used to spend alone together in our bedroom before going to bed? I do, constantly. I will be with you again the moment the war is over, I promise. Take care of yourself and the children until we can be together again.
All my love
your Andrew
PS: Iâm sure you know, but just in case you didnât, Mother and Father write regularly. I am so glad you seem to be getting on better with both of them.
Bethan found it difficult to set aside her irritation at Andrewâs habit of always finishing his letters with a PS about his parents. And as if that wasnât enough, there were the plans he was making for both of them after the war. Plans centred around a third pregnancy and her return to domesticity.
Knowing she was being unfair didnât quell the ugly thought that he intended to make up for missing out on Eddieâs babyhood by replacing him with another child. He loved her and missed her and the children, but then he had nothing else to think about. Would he miss them as much, or write as often, if heâd been incarcerated somewhere more interesting than a wooden hut in an all-male prison camp in northern Germany?
Two and a half years was a long time. She knew she had changed. Become confident and assured enough to confront Mrs Llewellyn-Jones â and win. The woman she was now bore little resemblance to the shy, uncertain, newly qualified nurse Andrew had courted and married. Would he recognise her, or more to the point want her, once he became acquainted with her new independent personality? Could she make room for him in her life again? Did she still love him?
She hated herself for daring even to think otherwise. But their life together seemed such a long time ago. Almost as though it had been lived by someone else. Why couldnât she concentrate on the happy times and weave those memories into their future instead of the problems they might or might not encounter if they were ever reunited?
Doubts crowded in on her as she set aside the letter and spooned cocoa into a cup. There were so many things she couldnât forget, no matter how hard she tried. The death of their first child a few months after his birth, a tragedy that had almost destroyed her and their marriage. Andrewâs selfishness that she had always attributed to his motherâs doting upbringing; never deliberate, always thoughtless, but as capable of wounding as if it had been.
Gingerly touching the side of the kettle and deciding it was hot enough, she poured water on to the cocoa powder. Returning to the rocking chair, she began to read again, this time trying to imagine Andrew as he had been when heâd written the letter. He had changed too. Just as increased responsibilities had lent her confidence, being imprisoned had sapped his. He would never have committed thoughts like these to paper before the war. Then, his emotions had been something to joke about, not reflect on in a letter.
He so obviously needed to believe that nothing had changed. That everything would be exactly the same as when heâd left, including her, frozen in time to the extent that sheâd be wearing the same dress, hairstyle and perfume. Was he secretly afraid, like her, that their marriage wouldnât stand the test of years of separation?
Lifting the cup she glanced up, and almost dropped it in surprise when she saw David Ford standing in the doorway.
âIâm sorry, I didnât mean to startle you. I assumed everyone was in bed.â
âIâve just finished some
I love you, Beth, and miss you every waking moment. I look forward to the night when I can close my eyes, because then you are with me. You haunt my dreams. Do you ever think of those magical, peaceful hours we used to spend alone together in our bedroom before going to bed? I do, constantly. I will be with you again the moment the war is over, I promise. Take care of yourself and the children until we can be together again.
All my love
your Andrew
PS: Iâm sure you know, but just in case you didnât, Mother and Father write regularly. I am so glad you seem to be getting on better with both of them.
Bethan found it difficult to set aside her irritation at Andrewâs habit of always finishing his letters with a PS about his parents. And as if that wasnât enough, there were the plans he was making for both of them after the war. Plans centred around a third pregnancy and her return to domesticity.
Knowing she was being unfair didnât quell the ugly thought that he intended to make up for missing out on Eddieâs babyhood by replacing him with another child. He loved her and missed her and the children, but then he had nothing else to think about. Would he miss them as much, or write as often, if heâd been incarcerated somewhere more interesting than a wooden hut in an all-male prison camp in northern Germany?
Two and a half years was a long time. She knew she had changed. Become confident and assured enough to confront Mrs Llewellyn-Jones â and win. The woman she was now bore little resemblance to the shy, uncertain, newly qualified nurse Andrew had courted and married. Would he recognise her, or more to the point want her, once he became acquainted with her new independent personality? Could she make room for him in her life again? Did she still love him?
She hated herself for daring even to think otherwise. But their life together seemed such a long time ago. Almost as though it had been lived by someone else. Why couldnât she concentrate on the happy times and weave those memories into their future instead of the problems they might or might not encounter if they were ever reunited?
Doubts crowded in on her as she set aside the letter and spooned cocoa into a cup. There were so many things she couldnât forget, no matter how hard she tried. The death of their first child a few months after his birth, a tragedy that had almost destroyed her and their marriage. Andrewâs selfishness that she had always attributed to his motherâs doting upbringing; never deliberate, always thoughtless, but as capable of wounding as if it had been.
Gingerly touching the side of the kettle and deciding it was hot enough, she poured water on to the cocoa powder. Returning to the rocking chair, she began to read again, this time trying to imagine Andrew as he had been when heâd written the letter. He had changed too. Just as increased responsibilities had lent her confidence, being imprisoned had sapped his. He would never have committed thoughts like these to paper before the war. Then, his emotions had been something to joke about, not reflect on in a letter.
He so obviously needed to believe that nothing had changed. That everything would be exactly the same as when heâd left, including her, frozen in time to the extent that sheâd be wearing the same dress, hairstyle and perfume. Was he secretly afraid, like her, that their marriage wouldnât stand the test of years of separation?
Lifting the cup she glanced up, and almost dropped it in surprise when she saw David Ford standing in the doorway.
âIâm sorry, I didnât mean to startle you. I assumed everyone was in bed.â
âIâve just finished some
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