Yours: An Emotional and Gripping WWII Family Saga (The Promises Between Us Trilogy Book 1)

by Angela Christina Archer

  “There’s a base out here?” Isabella’s eyes widened and she stopped as she grabbed Claire’s arm and turned Claire toward her. A squeal left her lips. “You didn’t tell me there was a base here.”

  “It’s near the airport. Honestly, did you not read any of the booklet I gave to you from the Red Cross or the WLA?”

  Isabella stuck out her tongue then pretended to talk with a funny movement to her lips as though mocking Claire.

  Claire growled and spun away, passing me as she stomped off. “You deal with her.”

  I blinked, glancing between the two girls before I rolled my eyes and followed Claire. Isabella trotted along after me, shouting. “I didn’t read it because I knew you would just tell me anyway.”

  The pair continued to bicker for nearly half of the walk, fighting about how Isabella was going to have to take a bit more responsibility on the farm and not flitter away her time on silly daydreams and the likes of young men. Of course, she fought back, arguing that Claire was too much of a spoilsport and too rigid, needing to relax and actually enjoy life for once. Although I stayed out of the fray, I still walked in between them, keeping them a distance apart as each one attacked the other.

  “Enough, you two,” I finally said. “We are going to have enough trouble with this job. We don’t need to be fighting about it, too.”

  While they both opened their mouths to argue with me, they also closed them without saying a word. And were silent until we reached the long drive of the manor house.

  “Is that a house?” Claire asked. Her mouth gaped open.

  “I think it’s a castle,” Isabella answered.

  Built like a stone fortress, the manor was shaped like a square and bigger than any house or building that I’d ever seen. With huge rectangle windows on the first and second floor, it looked like something out of a book I’d read long ago as a child.

  “It’s not a castle. There are no towers,” Claire said.

  “There still must be at least two dozen rooms. Who lives here again?”

  “Lord and Lady Gillingham. The Halifax farm is the biggest on the estate. It’s run by a man named Mr. George Barnes, although I doubt you will ever meet him, which is where we will be working.” She paused, digging out a piece of paper from her pocket. “We are to meet with a Mrs. Sheffield.” The two of them began walking toward the house while I stayed behind a few seconds longer, taking in the sight of the redbrick structure. By the time they reached the front door, though, I’d caught up to them and waited next to Isabella as Claire knocked.

  The door opened, and a butler answered, nodding to us. “May I help you?”

  “We’re with the WLA. We’re here to meet with a . . .” Claire glanced down at a folded piece of paper in her hand once more as if she’d forgotten the name. “Mrs. Sheffield.”

  “Yes. She told me she was expecting you. Please come inside.”

  He shut the door behind us as we made our way into the foyer. While I didn’t want to seem rude and kept my eyes on the floor, Claire and Isabella spun around in circles, first gazing up at the ceiling and then down upon all the tables and furniture within their sights.

  “Can you imagine living in this place?” Isabella said. “I mean, I could get used to it here.”

  The two girls giggled, and in turning toward one another, they didn’t notice the stern, tall woman entering the room. She cleared her throat.

  The girls froze, then scurried back next to me, standing at attention.

  “You would well to remember your place when in this house,” the woman said.

  “Yes, Ma’am,” the girls each said, echoing the other.

  “My name is Bea Sheffield, and I am your warden here. You may call me Bea if you like, there is no need for proper Mrs. Sheffield, as every time I hear it, I think of my mother-in-law. Which one of you is Miss Abbot?”

  Claire raised her hand.

  “And Miss Adams?”

  Isabella raised her hand.

  Bea looked at me. “And you are Miss Ashton?”

  “Yes, Ma’am.”

  “I read your application, you’re from Guernsey? Did you live on a family farm?”

  “Yes, Ma’am.”

  “Good. Most of the girls we get are city girls who haven’t seen a chicken or a cow unless it someone cooked it and put it on their plate. It will be nice to have someone with some experience.” She paused, heaving a sigh as she glanced at the other two. “Now, if you would all follow me, please.”

  We did as she said and although I could tell it was hard for them, they both kept their heads down as we made our way through the rest of the manor, back through the kitchen, and into a small room with a desk, like an office.

  “I’ve laid out your uniforms there, one for each of you. You will get one v-neck green jumper, two brown fawn shirts, one green tie, a pair of overalls, two pairs of breeches, and one brown slouch hat. You will also get a wool single-breasted open-collared overall coat to keep you warm in the fall and winter months.”

  “Doesn’t sound like much if we are to wear them every day.” Isabella sneered at the folded garments on the desk.

  “Then I suppose you will have to keep them clean or resign to learning how to wash them each day.” Bea paused, pointing at the black band around her arm. “You will also receive one armband, and you will get one diamond for every six months of service.”

  Claire raised her hand.

  “Yes, Miss Abbot?”

  “Are we staying here in the manor house or a guest house?”

  “You are staying in the guest house on the farm. It’s three bedrooms. I have one and the other two girls you are joining, Ethel and Annie, have the second bedroom, so I’m putting the three of you in the last one.”

  “A farmhouse?” Isabella rolled her eyes and scrunched her face.

  “Would you prefer a hostile with about twenty or thirty women?” Bea asked, cocking her head to the side.

  Isabella ducked her chin. “No, Ma’am.”

  “The rules are simple enough around here. Do your job and we won’t have any problems. You will work forty-eight hours a week in the winter and fifty hours a week in the spring, summer, and fall harvest season. Your pay is twenty-eight shillings a week, with fourteen shillings taken out for room and board. I will also give you ration booklets to turn in for your meals.”

  “What about time off?” Isabella asked.

  “You will get your free time at night after you finish your work. You may go into town if you like; however, there is a ten o’clock curfew I strictly uphold here. Even one time being late, and we will send you back to your families. And, while we do permit courting young men in town or on the nearby Army Base, if any of you become pregnant, I will ship you home immediately.”

  “And what if we serve so long and we find a beau and get married?”

  “Then you will be your husband’s problem, Miss Adams, and not mine.”

  “So, if we get married, we have to leave?”

  “No, you don’t have to leave. Some just choose to. Ethel and Annie are married, and their husbands are serving in the Army. They have chosen to stay on.” She paused a moment, shifting her attention from Isabella to Claire and me. “We will dock your pay for any spilled milk, damaged produce, or broken eggs, so make sure you are careful. Other than that, as long as you ladies do your job, then we shouldn’t have any problems.” She grabbed each of the stacks of clothes and handed them to us. “Now, if you will follow me to the farm, I will show you the house.”

  The walk to the farmhouse wasn’t far. About a mile, give or take, and as we entered the gate and walked toward the house, the chickens roaming around the front yard scattered. They squawked and flapped their wings, causing Isabella to tuck her arms up against her chest and jump around. She made a few awkward screamed sounds.

  “They won’t hurt you,” I said to her, trying to hold in my laughter. “In fact, they are more scared of you than you are of them.”

  “I still don’t like the loo
k of them. Unpredictable, flying things. My sister once told me she heard about a man who had his eyes pecked out by a chicken.”

  “I call rubbish,” I said. “I’ve grown up around dozens and dozens of chickens, probably even close to one hundred in my lifetime, and none of them have ever been mean . . .” I paused, for at that moment I remembered one chicken who could prove me wrong. “Except for Mrs. Clucker.”

  “Who was Mrs. Clucker?” Claire asked.

  “She was my mum’s favorite chicken. Although, why she cared for the hen, I do not know. The bird would chase Evelyn and me all over the farm, flapping her wings and squawking at us with this high-pitched scream. She was big and red, and she hated everyone except my mum. We both hated that bird.”

  “See,” Isabella pointed at me, “there is such a thing as a mean chicken.”

  “You will find that all the animals are tame around here,” Bea said, stopping at a rock wall that paralleled the barn. “Except for Angus.”

  “Who is Angus?” Isabella asked.

  “Mr. Barnes’ prize pig.”

  “Isn’t he apart of the registered animals for slaughter?”

  “Oh, no, not Angus. He’s a show pig. Won first prize at the county fair. Which makes him prime breeding stock. He’s the daddy to all the pigs we do register for the food stock.” She spun back around, continuing, “And he’s got a bloody attitude like he knows it.”

  Claire and I shared a look then turned back at Isabella who stood with her mouth gaped open. She blinked several times, then pointed toward us. Her voice growled. “You can make me tend to the chickens. You can make me tend to the cows. But know this, I will not feed or tend to the pigs.”

  The farmhouse resembled every farmhouse I’d ever known. A giant kitchen with a wood fire stove and large table sitting in the middle of the room, a tiny but cozy sitting room with a couch, a couple of chairs, a fireplace on one wall, and a bookcase on the other, stacked with several books that had more dust on them than not.

  “The bedrooms are upstairs. You three get the room that is the second door on the left. My door is the first door on the right, the second on the right is the water closet, and the first door on the left is Ethel and Annie’s bedroom. The girls are out doing chores now. It’s the start of the late harvest and, well, I’m afraid it’s quite busy. You might want to get unpacked and settled in before our five o’clock in the morning start.”

  “Did you say five o’clock in the morning?” Isabella asked.

  Bea shook her head. “I knew at least one of you would probably be more trouble than you were worth. I hope I’m wrong, though. I’ll see you for supper.”

  After she left the sitting room and went back through the kitchen, the three of us made our way upstairs. The wooden steps creaked under our feet and the place had a musty farm smell to it, as though the wood had soaked up the scents of the animals and manure over the years it’d lived on the farm. I followed Claire up, and finding our room, we went inside. Modest and small, it consisted of three beds, three nightstands, one near each bed, and a chest of drawers for our clothes. In the corner, a line hung from one wall to another with a few towels draped over it. I took the bed next to the window and began unpacking what little clothes I’d brought with me into the top drawer.

  After unpacking, the three of us changed our clothes, stepping into our uniforms for the first time before we went back downstairs and took advantage of a vacant house with no one there to know what we were doing.

  “So what should we do?” Claire asked, spinning in circles.

  An evil smile spread across Isabella’s face. “We could go back upstairs and look through the other rooms?”

  Claire slapped at our friend’s arm. “That’s wrong to do. You shouldn’t even suggest it.”

  “Is it, though?”

  Claire parked her rump on the couch, leaning over to the small table sitting to the left. She grabbed one of the books on the table, reading the cover for a moment before tossing it off to the side.

  “Oh, what is this one?” She grabbed the second book and straightened back up, showing us the cover. She flipped it open and her face turned pink. She giggled. “It’s what my mum calls erotic literature.”

  Isabella’s eyes widened, and she dashed over to the couch, trying to take it from Claire’s hands. “My mum reads books like these. I’ve always wanted to read one, but she won’t let me. She tells me only after I get married can I read them.”

  While the two began flipping through the pages, I circled around the sitting room, passing by a large window that looked out over a tiny yard. A few chickens pecked and scratched on the ground. Their heads bobbed up and down while their nails made trails in the grass and patches of dirt.

  “I think I’m going to take a tour of the farm,” I said, spinning around to face Claire and Isabella.

  With both of their noses in the book, Isabella just waved at me, while Claire said. “All right. Have fun.” Their attention focused on the book, both of their lips moved as they read the words.

  Ignoring their few giggles, I marched from the sitting room and out into the yard of the farm. The sunlight blinded me a little, as it had already lowered a bit in the sky. All around me were the sounds of farm life. Cows mooing, chickens making those bawk bawk bawk sounds with the occasional squawk when something scared them, and pigs oinking and squealing as they moved around the pen, pushing the mud around with their noses.

  I walked past the chicken coop and heard a voice. “Bloody birds. You are supposed to lay the eggs in the box, not in the walkway.”

  I stopped and reached for the coop door, opening it. “Hello?”

  The young Black woman standing inside the small shed screamed and spun to face me. In her haste she dropped an egg and it splattered all over the floor of the coop. “Well, isn’t that bloody fantastic? I have to pay for those you know.”

  “I’m sorry. I bent down, grabbing the shells. Don’t worry about paying for it. I will pay for it. It was my fault you dropped it.”

  “Well, that is kind of you. Thank you.”

  “No problem.”

  “Just . . . throw some straw on the whites and yoke. It will soak them up and then we can shovel it out.”

  She moved her chin, pointing toward a shovel propped up on the inside of the coop door.

  “So, this happens often, then, does it?”

  “How could you tell?” She laughed.

  “I’m Amelia. I’m one of the new land girls.”

  “Ah. Yeah. Bea mentioned some new girls were coming. I didn’t think she said it was today.” The young lady moved out from the door, and she stuck her hand out for me to shake. “I’m Ethel Tillman. It’s nice to meet you.”

  “You too. Such a lovely name, Ethel.”

  “My parents named me after Ethel Waters.”

  “Who is she?”

  “A blues, jazz, and gospel vocalist. She began recording the year I was born in America. My parents came across one song of hers that they loved so much. She’s worked for a few clubs in Hollywood and on Broadway. I believe this year they even nominated her for an Oscar.”

  “Quite the career.”

  “She is quite a woman.” Ethel waved at me to follow her.

  We entered a vast barn, and she walked down the middle toward several bins. Grabbing one of the lids, she opened it and began scooping heaping cups full of corn and what looked like oatmeal into two buckets.

  “So, what made you join the WLA?”

  “Just wanted to do my part for the country and the war.”

  “That’s good. Halifax is a great farm to work for. It’s a little ways away from any major cities so it can get lonely outside the small town of Stubton. If you like the nightlife.”

  “I don’t.”

  “Good. The last thing we need is any more drama in this house.”

  “Drama?”

  She waved her hand. “Oh, it was nothing. You should fit right in.” She poured another two scoops into each of the buckets
and handed me one. “Carry it back to the chickens for me?”

  “Sure.”

  It wasn’t until the sun had set that Ethel and I returned to the farmhouse. Bea, along with another girl, followed behind us. Their clothes were covered in a thick layer of dirt, just like Ethel’s, and their foreheads and necks glistened with the sheen of sweat. They were chatting and laughing as they came into the kitchen.

  “Ladies, I would like for you to meet Claire Abbot, Isabella Adams, and Amelia Ashton.” Bea pointed at us then pointed at the two women. “And this is Ethel Tillman and Annie Smithson.”

  “Amelia and I met in the chicken coop. She owes you for an egg, by the way.” Ethel gave me a wink.

  “Breaking eggs all ready.” Bea wiggled her finger, but also gave me a smile and a wink. “I expected better from you, Guernsey girl.”

  Aside from the usual back and forth greeting when meeting someone new, the two women were friendly enough, and welcomed us before dashing upstairs to change and wash up for supper. Bea got right to work in the kitchen, chopping up potatoes and letting them plunk down in a pot of water.

  “You ladies like spam and mash?”

  “What’s that?” Claire asked.

  “It’s tinned meat from America. I fry it up and it’s quite tasty.” Bea reached for her apron, and after tying it around her waist in the back, she held up her finger. “Hold on a second. I almost forgot.” She left the kitchen, heading into a small room just off it. From the cracked opening in the door, I saw her grab a couple of things off a desk sitting in the middle of the room.

  “Here are your ration books,” she said, returning to the room. She made her way to the table, handing us each a booklet. “I’ve already filled it out for supper this evening. I also forgot to mention if you want to post a letter to your family—or to anyone else—I go to the post on Tuesdays and Saturdays and I can take your letters for you.”

  While she continued to work on supper, I flipped through the book. I had seen mine when I lived with the Davenports; however, I had never filled it out or turned it in. Eleanor handled everything, only showing it to me as she explained how she would use it. A lesson I forgot within minutes of her teaching. It wasn’t that I didn’t care, or that it didn’t interest me, but I had other things on my mind, studies and school and spending time with friends. Looking at this book, for the first time in I didn’t know how long—perhaps my entire life—I suddenly felt unprepared for being an adult. The responsibilities of my days and nights solely rested on my shoulders. I was a working woman, earning an income, and responsible of taking care of myself. While I was living with a warden, I wasn’t living with a parent, and after getting my duties done each day, I had the say in what I did and where I went. The freedom of it all scared me, and yet, it excited me, too.