Read Online Across a War-Tossed Sea by L.M. Elliott - Free Book Online Page A

the haunted house Halloween morning.”
    â€œSure thing, Bobby,” chirped the twins.
    â€œNow, hold on a minute.” Mrs. Ratcliff had a thought. “Isn’t the thirty-first on Sunday this year?” Mrs. Ratcliff was a devout Methodist. One of the first things Bobby had told Charles was that their attic room would be the main hang on Sunday afternoons so they could play gin rummy without getting caught playing cards on church day.
    â€œMary Lee, sweetheart, there’s a war on,” said her husband. “Sabbath rules will have to bend for a while. If I am only able to get help on the weekends, that’s when I’m mowing the hay—Sunday or not. As it is, even with our sons helping, I’m hard pressed to get things harvested before they rot. We’ll have our first hard frost any day now. I can’t afford our last timothy hay and clover being ruined because I can’t get it cut and baled in time. I’ve already lost more than two hundred dollars profit that I should have made on my corn, thanks to that drought. How it didn’t rain for fifty-seven days straight is beyond me.”
    He paused. “In fact,” he began cautiously, “I’ve been mulling something over. Some farmers around the county have hired work details of POWs from Camp Pickett to help them hay. I might need to do so as well.”
    Instantly, he was pounded with a chorus of protests: “What?” “Nazis?” “In our fields?” “Near our house?” “Are you nuts, Dad?”
    Mr. Ratcliff might as well have dropped an incendiary bomb on the table as far as Charles was concerned. Without thinking, he stood abruptly, knocking his chair over.
    Startled, everyone silenced. They waited for him to speak. But he couldn’t. How could Charles explain that if a Nazi was within one hundred yards of him, he might grab the nearest pitchfork and gut the guy? How could anyone explain feeling that kind of bitter, murderous rage? He just shook his head. Then he ran from the room, slamming the back door behind him.
    â€œPoor lamb,” said Mrs. Ratcliff. “Andy, you should have thought how that might upset Charles.”
    â€œYeah, Dad,” Bobby piped up. “Chuck told me that five of his neighbors died in just one night during the Blitz. And that only about half the houses on his block were still in one piece before he left to come here. He was pretty torn up about it. I don’t know how he and Wes withstood it all.”
    â€œI can’t imagine any Londoner being able to stand the sight of a German right now,” said Patsy.
    Even Ron appeared sympathetic.
    â€œNow, wait just a minute,” Mr. Ratcliff defended himself. “It’s not like I have any love for the German empire. Kaiser Wilhelm wasn’t exactly good to me.” He shifted in his chair and tucked his bad leg under the table. “I just haven’t many choices these days.”
    Wesley looked from face to face, wondering if they remembered that he was sitting right there among them. He rose to follow Charles. He had no idea what to say to his big brother. Always trying to keep that stiff upper lip, Charles got angry whenever he realized Wesley knew that he was upset. But the moment seemed to call for some British brother solidarity.
    â€œAndy.” Mrs. Ratcliff looked pointedly at her husband as she said his name. She reached out without taking her eyes off her husband and gently caught Wesley’s arm, stopping him.
    Mr. Ratcliff heaved a sigh. “All right, all right. How much is in that mason jar, Mary Lee?”
    She smiled fondly at her husband. “I just counted that up yesterday as a matter of fact. Eighteen whole dollars and thirteen cents.”
    The Ratcliff boys whistled. “You’ve been holding out on us, Mama,” teased Bobby.
    â€œFor a rainy day, sugar,” she answered.
    Humph. Mr. Ratcliff pretended to peer out the window to