Read Online The Heart's War by Lucy Lambert - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Lucy Lambert
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about what I was doing there. Supper wasn't for hours. Marie might not even be home, I thought.
But what sent my thoughts scampering around my head was the knowledge that she might be home. What would I say? What would I do?
My heart rode up my throat. I couldn't be there, laying all this new trouble at Marie's feet. Her son was on his way by train to Halifax at this very moment, ready to fight for King and country against an enemy whose home lay thousands of miles away from Canada's broad borders.
I turned to go. My right foot had dropped down to the first step on the porch when the door opened behind me.
"Eleanor? Where are you going?"
My shoulders hunched up as though I were a child trying to sneak out after a grounding. I turned. Marie's smile dropped from her face when she saw my dishevelled appearance. I hadn't cried yet. At least, I don't think that I had. But I knew what a picture I must have made.
She rushed out from the door in her slippers. Grabbing up my hands in her own, she asked me what was the matter.
I buried my face in her shoulder. She smelled of lavender and fresh cotton.
She didn't push me away, or tell me to stop being a child. Instead, she smoothed my hair with her hand.
"It's okay, dear. Come inside and we'll talk. I'll make tea. Would you like some tea?"
"Yes," I said, swallowing heavily as I moved out of her arms, trying to straighten my hair, pushing strands of it up under my bonnet.
I let Marie lead me into her home. She sat me down on the couch, clucking and cooing and telling me that everything would be fine and to just let her get the kettle on the stove. My fingers drummed out a nervous beat on my knees until I forced them to clasp in my lap. But they wouldn't stay woven together that way, one of my thumbs stroking the top of the other, my fingers prodding and scratching at one another.
Dishes clattered in the kitchen, the tap running for a few moments.
Then Marie came back out. She sat down in the chair beside the sofa, leaning forward a little.
"While we wait for our tea, why don't you tell me what's happened? I wasn't expecting you until dinnertime," she smiled and nodded at me reassuringly, letting me know that this was no inconvenience to her at all.
So I related to Marie what had happened less than half an hour ago. Her smile never faltered, but her eyes narrowed as I continued, the muscles in her cheeks tightening.
The kettle started whistling from the stove when I finished. I cut off abruptly, uncertain what to do or say next. I couldn't read Marie's expression as she looked at me, and I found myself staring at down at my nervous fingers.
"The tea!" Marie said, jumping from her seat as the whistling grew shrill.
She rushed again into the kitchen, opening cupboards and pulling down cups and saucers. When she came back down, she placed two matching white cups with delicate pink flowers on them on the table. It was black tea.
"They didn't deliver any milk today," she said, "I hope you don't mind."
The water had just come off the boil, but I didn't care. I looped my finger under the handle. The porcelain burned against my hand, and the tea scalded my tongue and the roof my mouth. Marie watched me sipping at it, and she kept watching me as I placed it back down on the saucer.
"Shall I go have a talk with your mother, Eleanor?"
"It would do no good," I said. I had to keep rubbing my tongue against the roof of my mouth, it stung so.
"It's that bad, eh?"
"Something's broken inside her. I could see it in her eyes. She looked at me like I wasn't her daughter anymore. Oh, Marie, what's happened?"
"It's this war. People think it doesn't reach us, with all that water separating Canada from those battlefields. But it does. And it's all the worse when people don't recognize it. We think we're out of harm's way..."
Her eyes glassed over for a moment, and I knew that she also thought of Jeff sitting on that train, hundreds of miles away, speeding towards Nova Scotia.
"They say
But what sent my thoughts scampering around my head was the knowledge that she might be home. What would I say? What would I do?
My heart rode up my throat. I couldn't be there, laying all this new trouble at Marie's feet. Her son was on his way by train to Halifax at this very moment, ready to fight for King and country against an enemy whose home lay thousands of miles away from Canada's broad borders.
I turned to go. My right foot had dropped down to the first step on the porch when the door opened behind me.
"Eleanor? Where are you going?"
My shoulders hunched up as though I were a child trying to sneak out after a grounding. I turned. Marie's smile dropped from her face when she saw my dishevelled appearance. I hadn't cried yet. At least, I don't think that I had. But I knew what a picture I must have made.
She rushed out from the door in her slippers. Grabbing up my hands in her own, she asked me what was the matter.
I buried my face in her shoulder. She smelled of lavender and fresh cotton.
She didn't push me away, or tell me to stop being a child. Instead, she smoothed my hair with her hand.
"It's okay, dear. Come inside and we'll talk. I'll make tea. Would you like some tea?"
"Yes," I said, swallowing heavily as I moved out of her arms, trying to straighten my hair, pushing strands of it up under my bonnet.
I let Marie lead me into her home. She sat me down on the couch, clucking and cooing and telling me that everything would be fine and to just let her get the kettle on the stove. My fingers drummed out a nervous beat on my knees until I forced them to clasp in my lap. But they wouldn't stay woven together that way, one of my thumbs stroking the top of the other, my fingers prodding and scratching at one another.
Dishes clattered in the kitchen, the tap running for a few moments.
Then Marie came back out. She sat down in the chair beside the sofa, leaning forward a little.
"While we wait for our tea, why don't you tell me what's happened? I wasn't expecting you until dinnertime," she smiled and nodded at me reassuringly, letting me know that this was no inconvenience to her at all.
So I related to Marie what had happened less than half an hour ago. Her smile never faltered, but her eyes narrowed as I continued, the muscles in her cheeks tightening.
The kettle started whistling from the stove when I finished. I cut off abruptly, uncertain what to do or say next. I couldn't read Marie's expression as she looked at me, and I found myself staring at down at my nervous fingers.
"The tea!" Marie said, jumping from her seat as the whistling grew shrill.
She rushed again into the kitchen, opening cupboards and pulling down cups and saucers. When she came back down, she placed two matching white cups with delicate pink flowers on them on the table. It was black tea.
"They didn't deliver any milk today," she said, "I hope you don't mind."
The water had just come off the boil, but I didn't care. I looped my finger under the handle. The porcelain burned against my hand, and the tea scalded my tongue and the roof my mouth. Marie watched me sipping at it, and she kept watching me as I placed it back down on the saucer.
"Shall I go have a talk with your mother, Eleanor?"
"It would do no good," I said. I had to keep rubbing my tongue against the roof of my mouth, it stung so.
"It's that bad, eh?"
"Something's broken inside her. I could see it in her eyes. She looked at me like I wasn't her daughter anymore. Oh, Marie, what's happened?"
"It's this war. People think it doesn't reach us, with all that water separating Canada from those battlefields. But it does. And it's all the worse when people don't recognize it. We think we're out of harm's way..."
Her eyes glassed over for a moment, and I knew that she also thought of Jeff sitting on that train, hundreds of miles away, speeding towards Nova Scotia.
"They say
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