A Governess for the Brooding Rancher (Preview)

Chapter One

Late April

1870

Cunningham, New Hampshire

Hope Whitaker crouched down on her knees and lifted the bedding that hung over the side of the narrow bed. “I know you’re under here,” she said as she lowered her head enough to see right to the wall on the far side of the bed.

Apart from a couple of toys and a single shoe the floor was empty.

Alright. Fine.

With a little effort she got to her feet and looked around.

Where to next?

She moved to the closet and threw it open with a triumphant, “Ah-ha!” Pulling the hanging dresses apart she expected to find Mayor Dalton’s youngest child, looking up at her, but there was still no sign of Daisy.

Drat that child.

The Daltons were due to go on a trip to visit their great aunt Lucile that morning and for some unfathomable reason, Daisy had decided that she didn’t want to go. That was Daisy though. One moment she was keen as could be to be on the road and the next she was hiding somewhere, because she’d changed her mind.

The sound of footsteps heading her way made Hope turn to look hopefully at the door. Had someone found Daisy? She turned in time to see Petunia Dalton, the mayor’s eldest, come striding into the room looking annoyed.

“Well, Daisy isn’t hiding in the sitting room, or in the pantry,” Petunia said primly. At ten years old she had taken to acting like a miniature adult of late perhaps feeling she was above childish things now that she’d reached double digits.

“Thank you for trying to help,” Hope said, with a kind smile for the girl.

Petunia, her golden hair in one long brain instead of two, nodded. “She’d better turn up soon. Father will be angry if she doesn’t.”

“Yes,” Hope agreed and pulled her pocket watch out on its long chain and held it up where she could see it. It was almost time. “She has to be here somewhere.”

“You would think so.”

Just then there was a cry from downstairs and then another voice joined in in the noise. Both were high and young.

“Oh, it seems that Oliver has found her,” Petunia said.

Hope ran to the doorway and out into the passage closely followed by Petunia. They raced down the stairs and found Oliver and a very unhappy Daisy standing in the entrance hall.

Daisy’s yellow dress was dirty and her hair, which had been neatly tied in two pigtails, was coming loose and hanging in her face.

“I found her!” Oliver called. He was six years old and tall for his age. He held Daisy by the arm and try as she might the little girl couldn’t seem to escape his grasp.

“Good work, Oliver!” Daisy said as she reached them. “Where was she hiding this time?”

“Behind the wood pile outside the kitchen,” Oliver said. He had a dirty smear on his cheek but at least his clothes were clean.

On closer inspection it was clear that Daisy was filthy from head to toe.

“Oh dear, Daisy, you seem to have gotten yourself in a mess,” Hope said, kindly.

Daisy was starting to cry. Her eyes were big and blue and now tears swam in them magnifying parts of them before the tears could cascade down her cheeks.

“I don’t want to go!” she wailed and stamped a foot. “Let go of me Oliver!”

“Oli, let her go,” Hope said kindly.

Oliver gave an uncertain look. He clearly thought she was crazy wanting to release the prisoner. He was going through a phase where he idolized the local sheriff and wore a real deputy badge that he’d been given all the time.

As Oliver let go of Daisy’s arm the little girl stopped crying. She turned her tears off as though she’d turned a switch. In a flash she was running down the hallway heading to the kitchen and the back door.

“See! She’s a menace!” Oliver yelled as Hope took off running after Daisy.

The little girl was wily, and she might have made it out into the yard if Mrs. Preston, the cook, hadn’t chosen that moment to step in the way. Daisy couldn’t change course fast enough and she fetched up against the plump cook.

“Oh, my goodness!” Mrs. Preston exclaimed. “What is going on here?”

Daisy bounced off her and Hope was there, waiting with open arms to grab her.

“Gotcha!” Hope said, lifting the little girl off the floor. “I’m sorry Mrs. Preston! We had a little incident.”

Daisy began to kick and struggle like a wild animal wanting to avoid capture.

“Let me go!” she cried.

Mrs. Preston shook her head. “You’d better get her upstairs before Mayor and Mrs. Dalton hear this commotion.”

“I’m working on it,” Hope said, struggling with Daisy, trying to avoid being kicked.

“Let me go!” Daisy roared.

“No!” Hope said, holding her. “We’re going to your room! Now stop struggling!”

Daisy stopped but began to sulk instead.

Hope took her upstairs and she could feel Petunia and Oliver watching them go.

She didn’t believe in corporal punishment, unless there was no other alternative. They usually only needed a good talking too and then they returned to being well behaved for a time. It was never a permanent solution, but it was better than the alternative.

When they reached Daisy’s room and the door was closed behind them, Hope put the little girl down and stood between her and the door with her hands on her hips.

“Alright, Daisy, you’re going to tell me what this nonsense is all about. Yesterday you couldn’t wait for this trip to visit Great Aunt Lucile. What’s changed?”

Daisy wiped her running nose on her sleeve. Hope cringed. It was a terrible habit Daisy had picked up somewhere that she was still trying to get her out of.

“Daisy?”

Daisy remained silent.

Moving to the little girl, Hope took her by the hand and led her to the bed. They sat side by side and Hope tired again. “What’s wrong? I can’t help if you don’t talk to me.”

The little girl shrugged. “Dunno. I wanna stay here with you.”

“But you know that Roger is due to arrive today. I must catch a coach all the way to Rochester to pick him up at the train station. I’m not going to be here today or tomorrow anyway. We spoke about it, remember?”

“Oh, right. Is that today?”

“It sure is.”

“But how do I know you’ll come back?” Daisy asked, her sad blue eyes making Hope’s own blue ones well up too.

It was easy to draw Daisy into a hug and hold her tight. She wrapped her little arms around Hope as well and for a moment they just held each other.

“I’ll make you a promise,” Hope said.

“You will?” Daisy asked.

“Yes,” Hope said. “I promise that I’ll be here when you get back.”

Daisy let go of her. She was the kind of child who needed to see a person’s face when they made solemn vows. She held Hope’s gaze for a moment and then nodded.

“A promise is a promise, and you can’t break it,” Daisy said.

“Exactly,” Hope said with a nod.

There was a moment of silence as Daisy digested this. It seemed to quell her fears, and she smiled. “Well, then I guess it’s okay to go with the others. Since you’ll be here when we get back. You know that if you’re not here Mrs. Preston watches us and she’s nasty.”

Hope didn’t want to get into a discussion about the cook and her failings as a person according to a four-year-old, so she let the comment go without reply.

The water in the wash basin wasn’t warm but it would do to wash Daisy’s face and hands. When that was done, she picked out another dress, a dark blue one this time, for the little girl. She brushed and re-braided her hair and soon Daisy looked as good as new.

“There, now you’re ready to go,” Hope said.

“No, we forgot Mr. Bouncy,” Daisy said running to her bed to pick up her stuffed rabbit. It was velveteen, with big button eyes that always seemed remarkably soulful to Hope. Having packed Daisy’s bag that morning, Hope was surprised to find the rabbit sitting on the pillow where he always sat.

“Good thing you spotted him,” she said. “Let’s go downstairs. I’ll bet your folks are waiting for you.”

Taking Daisy by the hand, Hope led her downstairs to where her siblings and her parents were waiting.

“Ah, there she is,” Mrs. Dalton said, opening her arms to her youngest. “And all tidied up. Thank you Hope.”

“It’s my pleasure Mrs. Dalton,” Hope said.

Mrs. Dalton smiled. “Good luck today with Roger,” she said. “I hope it goes well.”

“I hope so too,” Hope said with a nervous giggle.

She walked the family out to the waiting coach. Their baggage had been loaded on the roof and the family climbed inside.

“Take care,” Mayor Dalton said to Hope before he also climbed into the coach. “War can change a man. He might not be the Roger you remember.”

Hope nodded. Truth was that Roger Ditmore was little more than a picture she had on her nightstand. She had been sixteen when their folks had come to the agreement that their children should marry when she was eighteen and she had only met Roger three times.

When the war came, Roger had gone off to fight for freedom and justice for all men, and Hope had remained at home. On the day he left he had promised that when the war was over, he would come back and marry her. The promise had seemed heartfelt at the time.

The coach rolled down the street with Daisy’s little waving out of the window. Hope waved back and soon they turned a corner and disappeared.

Hope would have to hurry if she wanted to catch her coach. Rochester was about an hour’s ride by coach from the little town of Cunningham. If she was going to be there when Roger’s train was arriving, she would have to get a move on.

Grabbing her coat and bag, she said hasty goodbyes and left. The coach yard was two blocks away and Hope reached it a few minutes later. She had already bought a ticket and climbed into the coach straight away.

There was only one seat left and it was soon filled with a man in a suit. He nodded to Hope and then took a newspaper from his briefcase and began to read. Most of the passengers had brought books or magazines or something else to read.

With a sinking feeling in her gut, Hope realized that she had left her book on the table by the front door of her house.

Oh well. Maybe I can nap.

Leaning back as the coach began to trundle down the street, Hope closed her eyes.

When Mrs. Ditmore had sent Hope a telegram a week ago to tell her that Roger was returning, Hope had been so surprised. She hadn’t seen much of the Ditmores since her folks died and she went to live with her Aunt Sally in Cunningham.

The Ditmores still lived in Rochester in a very nice house. So many years later, Hope was surprised to hear anything from them. They had mostly fallen out of touch when Roger was gone for so long. They exchanged Christmas cards and from time to time would let her know how Roger was doing.

Although, she had given Mrs. Ditmore her new address to pass on to Roger, he had never used it. He had never sent her so much as a telegram to see how she was. Had he forgotten about his promise?

No. A promise is a promise. It’s not something you make lightly.

Hope was certain that Roger had simply been too hurt, and then too focused on learning bookkeeping, to worry about her and how she was. After all, she hadn’t gone to war. She had gone to work at Mayor Dalton’s house looking after the children and it was a good job. Hope hadn’t been in any danger.

As she sat on the coach’s seat and bumped and bounced along the road out of town, Hope was filled with optimism for the future. Roger would arrive by train, and he would be glad to see her. They would court like a normal couple, and she would finally be married before she was twenty-seven years old.

Luckily her birthday was only at the end of the year and that gave them time. She wouldn’t be an old maid. She was cutting it fine but what with the war and everything, not every woman could catch a suitable man before being labeled a spinster.

Hope must have dozed at some point because when she jolted awake, the coach was pulling into the Rochester coach yard.

Checking her pocket watch, Hope realized that Roger’s train was about to arrive at the station. She didn’t want to miss him and his folks. It would be such a wonderful moment. She should be there for it, since she was his fiancée.

Patting her strawberry blonde hair down on the side where she had rested her head on the back of the seat, Hope smoothed her dress and tried to still the butterflies in her stomach.

This was it, the day when she sent from almost a spinster to a woman about to be married. Love would most certainly come later once she and Roger had had time to get to know each other. It would all start today.

After disembarking from the coach, Hope made her way to the station. The platform was full of people waiting for the train to arrive and disgorge its passengers. It was noisy and she couldn’t hear if the train was approaching or not. Being only just over five feet tall, Hope couldn’t see the train tracks and so she tried to find Roger’s folks.

Even that turned out to be problematic. Try as she might, Hope couldn’t seem to spot Mr. and Mrs. Ditmore in the press of people. She tried standing on the edge of the crowd and peering in. Mr. Ditmore was tall.

He should be easy to find. She was craning her neck to see, when with a chugging sound and a shrill blast from the whistle, the train pulled into the station. Hope watched it with great anticipation between the press of bodies crowding the station platform.

This is it. Will Roger recognize me? Will he be happy to see me? 

Things happened quickly. With the train in the station passengers began to throw the compartment doors open and step out. They carried their luggage and looked around for faces they might know.

As they did and people found their friends and family, they moved off the platform, giving Hope some room to move. She wended her way through the crowd and finally spotted Mrs. Ditmore. She stood with a man who leaned heavily on a cane. Was that Roger’s father? Mr. Ditmore seemed to have aged a lot in only four years. He was stooped and stick thin. His skin looked papery, and his hair was a shock of silver.

Hope walked over to them. As she reached them she realized that Mr. and Mrs. Ditmore were speaking to another couple. The woman had golden blonde hair and was tall and willowy.

She was elegant and dressed in a fine coat and hat even though the day was relatively warm. The man at her side was also tall and well dressed. It was only when he turned to face her and their eyes locked that Hope recognized him.

“Roger?”

“Hope!”

There was an awkward moment of silence as they stared at each other. Eventually, Roger found his voice.

“Hope, what are you doing here?” he asked. He looked nervous and didn’t seem to know if he should keep holding that other woman’s hand or not.

“Who is she?” Hope demanded pointing to the elegant woman in the coat. Tears began to prick the backs of Hope’s eyes. She could guess what was going on here.

“She’s my wife but…we never really agreed to anything you and I…It was all done without us. You can’t tell me you actually thought we would still get married? Hope that was ages ago. Tell me you’ve found a fellow.” Roger was smiling a mocking manner that only made things worse. He chuckled as Hope backed away.

This isn’t happening! This isn’t happening!

Hope ran.

Pushing people out of her way, tears streaming down her cheeks, Hope fled from the terrible news she hadn’t wanted to hear.

So that was why Roger hadn’t written to her, asked after her, or showed any interest in her. He had moved on, forgetting his promise as though it was nothing but air. He had left Hope feeling like a fool and there was nothing she could do about it. She wanted to run away and never come back.

Somehow she found herself back in the coach yard with a ticket home. Sitting int the coach, waiting for it to fill up, Hope cried into her handkerchief. She was such a fool!

Something was poking her in her back. Reaching behind her she pulled out a newspaper. Someone must have left it. She was about to toss it aside and carry on crying, but something caught her eye. It was an advertisement.

URGENT! Child Minder Wanted

Chapter Two

Early June

1870

Barberton, North Dakota

Roland Bascom sipped his coffee as he read the telegram again.

Three years’ experience. Have references. Willing to relocate.

H. Whitaker.

He sipped his coffee and stared at the far wall of the kitchen. Something had to be done. Poor little Melinda couldn’t be responsible for this large rambling farmhouse on her own. Well, technically, she wasn’t on her own. She had him and Harvey. Although they tried extremely hard to make the place feel and look like a home, it really wasn’t something either of them was good at.

As a farm hand, Harvey was wonderful. He knew exactly how to plant and harvest. He wasn’t good at polishing, scrubbing and ironing. Roland wasn’t much better at it. The most he could do was wash dishes and sweep the floor. Things were a mess.

They were also living on a lot of fried meals which were frankly starting to make Roland feel a little queasy at mealtimes. There didn’t seem to be much hope of that ending since frying was just about all that any of them could manage.

Thank goodness they had a constant supply of vegetables from the kitchen garden, and they could at least have salad and sometimes stew.

Although by now salad and fried eggs and salad and fried ham had become truly unappetizing since they ate it almost every day. Fried potatoes and fried chicken were for Fridays. Sundays were the best days because they went to town to church. Then they would buy bread at the bakery and that was a treat.

A loaf of bread should not be a treat. Should it? Surely something like ice cream or chocolate or a tart should be a treat, not a staple like bread. Neither he nor Harvey could bake and although Melinda tried, she hadn’t quite gotten the hang of it.

It was just that simple. Two clueless men and a nine-year-old girl couldn’t manage a household. It took a woman to do that.

Picking up the telegram he read it again.

What am I waiting for? She’s the best of the bunch. I should just invite her to come here.

Still, he hesitated. Roland didn’t like people much since the war, and hiring someone sight unseen was not something he was looking forward to. What if he couldn’t get along with this woman he was thinking of hiring to look after the house and Melinda?

What if she was terrible? What if she was mean to Melinda? He couldn’t have that. His little niece was his only remaining family, and he loved her deeply.

What if she’s fantastic? What if she is a godsend?

Roland made up his mind. He would go to town and send the telegram to Miss Hope Whitaker and offer her the job. It would take her a while to come through. She had indicated in a letter that she was currently working for her town’s mayor and would have to give a month’s notice. If she gave the notice today, she was still unlikely to reach them before the first week of August. Could they last that long?

He sighed.

We’ll just have to.

Roland stood, rubbed his right leg, which always seemed to ache and went to the scullery to wash his cup. He used soap and water because Melinda always picked him out when he just rinsed it.  Placing it on the draining board, he caught sight of Harvey walking across the yard to the barn.

The two dairy cows and the four horses they had on the farm were in the paddock across from the house. They were lining up by the food trough. It must be breakfast time.

Roland headed out into the yard. Melinda was at school that morning and he had returned from walking her there, only twenty minutes ago. The summer vacation was due to begin in a week. It would be great to have Melinda around the farm more.

Boom! Crash!

Roland dropped to the ground, face first in the dirt. The canon ball was flying by. Was that it he could hear whistling by his ear?

“Help!”

It was Harvey’s voice calling.

“Help!”

Roland knew he had to go and help but his limbs wouldn’t move. He was so scared he was shaking. Around him the phantom battlefield raged, guns fired, horses and men screamed, and the air smelled of cordite and death.

No! Wait! The air smelled of earth, of horses and cows, of the freshness of a summer day. There were no guns firing, no canon…

Roland sat up. The war took him like that sometimes. A sudden noise could throw him right back in the trenches, holding his rifle, praying he would make it through the day.

“Roland! Help!”

Harvey!

Getting to his feet, Roland ran to the barn. What was happening?

When he entered the barn he quickly found Harvey lying on the ground under the hay loft. His left leg was at a bad angle and there was a shard of bone sticking out of the skin on his shin. Roland had seen many wounds like this when he was in the war.

“Harvey, it’s okay,” Roland said as he quickly removed his belt. He had to stop the bleeding, or Harvey would be gone before he could get him to the apothecary in town.

“The rotten planks gave way!” Harvey said through gritted teeth.

Roland looped his belt around Harvey’s leg just below the knee and pulled tight. Hopefully the tourniquet would stop the bleeding and save Harvey’s life.

Harvey’s scream was agonized. It filled Roland with pain just hearing him. He knew what that felt like. The bullet that was still lodged in his own right thigh had burned and ached and sliced. Roland understood the pain.

“Come on. You need to get to Mr. Kendrick.”

“But what about the co…?” Harvey asked. His face was pale and as he spoke his head lolled backwards. He had passed out.

Leaving Harvey on the ground where he had landed, Roland hurriedly harnessed a horse to the cart. After piling some blankets and pillows from in the house into the back of the cart, Roland lifted Harvey into the back.

Harvey was not a small man, and Roland felt something go in his back as he pulled, tugged and eventually manhandled his friend into the back of the cart.

When Harvey was secure and covered with a blanket, they set off. It was about a thirty-minute ride into town. Roland urged the horse to go as fast as possible. Harvey’s life and his leg depended on it.

***

Reaching town, Roland drove up to the apothecary’s store and reined in the horse.

“Thanks Buttercup,” he said as he climbed down and tied her reins to the hitching post. “We might be a while.” He patted her neck.

Buttercup drank noisily from the water trough not caring about his words of thanks.

Running up the steps, Roland burst into the store. Several heads turned to him, and he garnered many odd looks, but he ignored them and strode up to the counter. Mrs. Kendrick was working there. She eyed him sternly, her lips forming a straight, severe line.

“Mr. Bascom? You know better than to come barging in here. There is a line of folks waiting for their turn. You should join it.” She gestured to the line behind him.

Roland ignored her words. “Mrs. Kendrick, there’s been an accident. Harvey’s leg is broken, and the bone is sticking out of the skin.”

She paled.

“All right, this is an emergency. Ladies and gentlemen, there is an emergency that we must deal with immediately,” Mrs. Kendrick said speaking to the room. “I’m sure you all understand.”

There were a few grumbles and moans, but no one protested. After all, this was a farming community, life-threatening accidents were common. No one wanted to be the person who got a fellow farmer killed because they were selfish.

In moments Mrs. Kedrick rallied Lukas and Henry, the two men who worked at the store, to help carry Harvey into the apothecary. They took him to the back straight away where Mr. Kendrick would work on him, and in a blink Roland lost sight of him.

“Are you all right?” Mrs. Kendrick asked. She was a small woman who only came up to Roland’s shoulder.

He looked down at her and nodded. “I’m fine. I didn’t fall through the hay loft floor.”

She nodded even though she didn’t look convinced that he was okay. “He’ll be a while. You might want to see to whatever other business you have.”

Roland understood. The last thing Mrs. Kendrick needed was him pacing the floor in the store while her husband tried to patch Harvey up.

“Oh, and Mr. Bascom,” Mrs. Kendrick said.

He turned back to face her. “Yes?”

“You might want to go and wash up at the pump outside. You’re a mess.”

“Oh? Thank you, I’ll do that.”

Leaving the apothecary Roland went around the back to the pump. He washed his face and hands and felt quite a bit better afterwards. The dregs of the phantom battel had left him, but he always felt drained after an episode.

Get a hold of yourself, Roland. You have things to do.

That was it. He had a lot to do. Although he had planned to send the telegram another day, he might as well do it now. The sooner he told Miss Whitaker she had the job, the sooner she could start her journey. He just hoped he was making the right decision.

Roland dried his hands on his trousers and then set off to the post office. As he crossed the street he heard the familiar pings and clangs of metal work coming from the town’s blacksmith. The smithy was always busy. It was a wonderful place, and Roland missed the heat and the smell, the feel of metal in his hands.

“Hey! Watch where you’re going!”

Roalnd jerked out of his reverie. A horse and cart had come to a stop in front of him. He breathed in horsey breath he was that close to the animal who stared at him wide eyed.

“I’m sorry!”

“Yeah, yeah, just get out of the road, fellow. Okay?”

“Sure thing,” Roland said, hurriedly stepping onto the sidewalk. His heart was beating so fast now it might beat right out of his chest. He felt weak all over and for a moment he had to hold onto his knees and try to force air into his lungs.

Where is my mind? I almost got myself killed! Get it together, Roland!

It took him a moment to gather himself and then he set off for the post office. It was busy, but that was nothing new. There was always a line and Roland had to wait to send off his telegram. Luckily, that gave him time to compose his message. What did he want to say? You have the job sounded so blunt. But then again it was a telegram. Niceties were for letters.

In the end he settled for:

You have the job. Will wire ticket money. Inform of arrangements.

Was that enough? It was costing a pretty penny to send. It would have to do.

He paid the clerk and left the post office. Where to next?

The hay loft needed fixing. The lumber yard was on the other side of town. If he drove there he could buy and load up the planks he would need to fix the loft. The sooner that happened the better. But what if more than two boards had been rotten? How had that happened anyway? Just two had somehow become so brittle and damaged that Harvey had fallen through them.

Could there be a leak in the roof or something that contributed to the decay and thereby to Harvey’s fall? It was worth looking into. For now, he would buy some new planks and refit the loft with them. Then at least it would be safe to work there.

Pulling in at the lumber yard Roland was hit by the noise of the place. Sawing trees into planks was loud work. Between the rasping of the saws and the men all talking at the tops of their voices, it was hard to be heard.

The foreman was happy to help though, and he made sure that Roland had his planks in next to no time. Roland paid for them and more nails to secure them in place. They were all loaded into the cart and then Roland left.

He was glad to leave the loud noises behind and head back to the quiet of the apothecary. He stopped at the bakery on the way and bought two loaves of bread and a box of sticky raisin buns.

Sitting on a bench in the apothecary store, Roland watch customers enter the store, buy their medications and then leave. It was a constant flow of people looking for headache powders, cough syrups, something to dull the pain. Sleep tonics for fussy babies and teas to calm the nerves seemed to be the staples that were being sold that day.

He wondered if there was anything that would calm his nerves. When he first came to Barberton almost two years ago, his sister Annie had tried to get him to take some concoction from Mr. Kendrick’s rather impressive herbal store. Of course, Roland had refused. He hadn’t thought there was anything wrong with him. The war was over. Yet from time to time, it seemed to make a reappearance in his head.

Why was that?

When the store was empty again, Roland stood and went to the counter. Mrs. Kendrick was still there, working, making notes in a ledger. She didn’t look up when he reached her.

“Harvey is still being seen to,” she said, flatly. “The wound was tricky by my husband seems to have managed to patch him up. He is waiting for Harvey to wake up.”

“Wake up?”

“Yes, we tried a new drug on him. It’s supposed to knock patients out for amputations and the like. It worked well. He went out like a light, but now he’s taking time to come out of it.”

“Oh, is he okay?”

“Of course, it’s just chloroform.” She smiled. “He’ll be fine, but he won’t be able to use that leg for six weeks. We had to use this new splint Mr. Turner the blacksmith has made for us. It’s a leg brace and it will keep his leg still but also allow you to change his bandages. The wound will need constant cleaning. And Harvey will have to be back here in a week for us to check the wound.”

Roland nodded. This was very serious.

Mrs. Kendrick handed him a paper bag. Inside it was a roll of bandage, a glass jar with a green tinted salve in it and a couple of dark glass bottles with droppers as the lids. “It’s all written on the sheet of paper in the bag.”

“What is?”

“The instructions for Harvey’s care, of course. You’re going to need to make sure that he eats properly as well.”

Roland didn’t know what to say to that. “We’ll do our best.”

“Good.”

Mrs. Kendrick eyed him frowning. “Are you sure you’re alright? You seem wound up.”

What could he say? Sure, he was fine most of the time. However, then something would happen, and things would fall apart. The war would come rushing in around him, the fear and the loneliness, the horror and the guilt would all crash down around him like a ton of bricks.

Roland drowned in those moments and there was nothing he could do about them. He had no control over them. Nothing could ever give him back the peace he’d known before. So, what was the point in talking about it?

“I’m fine, it was just a shock to find Harvey in the barn like that,” he said, lamely, feeling wretched.

“I’ll bet. If you ever need anything,” Mrs. Kendrick said, kindly. “You know where to find us.”

Roland nodded. “Thanks.”

Just then the door at the back of the store opened and a pale looking Harvey came hobbling out. He was supported on either side by Henry and Lukas and two wooden crutches. There was a large metal thing on his leg that was all bolts and bands.

The tight feeling in Roland’s chest eased. He grinned at his friend. “Good to see you up.”

“It’s good to be up,” Harvey said.

Roland picked up his purchases from the bakery and the paper bag with Harvey’s medication. “Let’s go and get Melinda and head home.”

Harvey smiled weakly. “She’s going to be mad you didn’t get her earlier, you know that?”

“I have sticky raisin buns,” Roland said as they made their way to the cart. “She will forgive me for anything.”

Once Harvey was settled on the seat beside Roalnd they set off once again.