Page 11 of A Zephyr Rising
After a few moments of tense silence, her mother said, “Your father also offered me something you seem to have overlooked.For all his flaws, your father has always treated me with respect.I could have done far worse than him.”
“But what about better?”Ginger’s voice was tight.“What about love?Didn’t you ever dream of romance?”
“I didn’t read as many novels as you do.Romance is often exaggerated in fiction.You’ll find all romance fades in time.Looks fade, attraction disappears, and if you’re lucky to be left with respect and comfort, you’ve done well.Yes, I may have had a few suitors who would have provided the excitement you seem to look for.But sacrificing that was a small price to pay for the life I have now.I’d trade nothing for my current life.”Her mother reached over and patted her hand.“Let’s not quarrel, darling.I trust in the end you’ll make the best decision, not only for yourself but for the family.”
Her mother’s words didn’t comfort Ginger.
Thankfully, the car drew to a stop in front of the Martins’ shop.As Bosworth helped them step out, her mother turned toward Ginger.“Ginger, why don’t you go down the road and buy a few loaves of bread from the bakery?”She lifted the basket the cook had packed from the seat of the car.“With as many children as Mrs.Martin has, she might need more than the cook sent.I’ll go ahead in.”
Ginger nodded, clasping her handbag.The conversation with her mother had left her feeling spent.She was grateful for the escape.As she approached the bakery, the sweet scent of yeast and baking bread filled the air.Ginger paused at the window of the shop.Baked goods enticed from the window, from sticky buns to long baguettes.
The bakery had the same thatched cottage style as so many of the buildings in town.Penmore offered an idyllic look into a world long-since passed.Though it wouldn’t compare to the ancient feeling of a place like Cairo.
High-pitched shouts caught her attention.Across the street, in one of the open squares, a group of boys appeared to be playing.Ginger watched them, then her brow furrowed.
Not playing.Fighting.
She dashed across the street, drawing closer to the sound of their boisterous shouts.A group of children encircled two boys, no older than ten, who wrestled on the grass.“Get ’im,” one boy in the circle whooped.
Of the two boys fighting, one was larger, with dark, tousled hair and broad shoulders.Dirt streaked his hands and forehead as he attempted to stuff grass in the mouth of the other child, a smaller boy with white-blond hair Ginger recognized from when he’d come with his father for deliveries.One of the Martin boys.
Her heart lurched.This had to be about Mr.Martin.
The Martin boy was bleeding from a cut on his temple, above his eye, his face as red as a strawberry.Ginger pushed through the circle of boys.“Stop!”She reached for the Martin boy, but the boy beating him knocked his elbow into her stomach by mistake.
Dropping back with a flash of pain, Ginger’s anger rose as her hat tumbled onto the grass.“Stop this at once!”She searched the perimeter for any other adult face.A woman across the street pushing a pram had stopped and stared at them but didn’t come forward.
The bully realized who he had hit and stood straight.He wiped his bleeding nose with the back of his hand, his eyes narrowed and menacing.“His father’s a dirty Hun, my lady.”
“And so you beat him?”Ginger caught her breath, her diaphragm aching from where the child had struck her.“What’s your name?I have half a mind to drag you before the constable myself.”She snatched her hat from the grass and dusted it off before replacing it.
“Archie Winser.”The boy continued to glare at the Martin boy.
Ginger leveled her chin at him.He was the son of a local pig farmer who rented land from them.“Winser?Is that what you’re calling yourselves these days?I’m quite sure I know of a Thomas Wissner who anglicized his name some years ago so it wouldn’t sound too German.I’ll let my father know what a beast his son is.”
Archie’s eyes widened, his cheeks and neck flushing as the other boys in the group exchanged suspicious looks.From the boy’s reaction, he may not have known about his own background.She sucked in a quick, guilty breath between her teeth.
Ginger pulled the Martin boy up straight as the other boys dispersed, mumbling amongst themselves.“Let’s take you home,” she said.
They hurried across the street.“I’m sorry.”The boy hiccupped, holding back quiet sobs.
Was he embarrassed?
“You have nothing to apologize for.”Ginger dug through her handbag for a handkerchief.“Hold this to your cut.What’s your name?”
“Charlie.”The boy took in a shattered breath.He kept his gaze low.
As they hurried down the pavement, the recruitment posters posted to the sides of buildings seemed to shout.Kitchener’s face, with its bold moustache and narrowed eyes, issued the command to join the war effort.But there were other posters—stirring fear, propaganda, accusations.Posters with watching eyes, condemnations of extravagant lifestyles.
She shivered and placed a hand on Charlie’s shoulder.People spoke of changes.Her country seemed to have changed already.But what were they all becoming?
ChapterFive
Staring at the light reflecting from the top of her crystal wine glass, Ginger barely heard her father speaking to her until he repeated her name.
She lifted her gaze.Across the dinner table, her father adjusted his white tie and gave her a sharp glance.“Are you?”he asked.
“Forgive me.”Ginger considered taking another spoonful of her pudding.A bite of something might give her a moment to compose herself better for her father.“I didn’t hear you.”
