Windmill

Lewis Adair K

Description

What is love at first sight? What do we mean by destiny? Are things sometimes just meant to be?And are there messages within our dreams?Virginia 'Ginny' Lewis Faulkner thinks her luck is in when she inherits a previously-unknown property. Little does she know allthat awaits her as she begins a genealogical investigation to discover more about her Great Aunt Florence Stanley, whomshe and other family members have little knowledge of following her disappearance in war-torn Holland in 1940. But thereare skeletons within the cupboard that were hidden for a reason...Told through a lens of three snapshots in time that are connected by a 'soul's' journey to reunite with past loves, experiencethe loves and loss of three extraordinary people and their journeys in life.

Sujets

• Historical fiction

Informations

• Publié par: Troubador Publishing Ltd
• Date de parution: 18 novembre 2020
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781800467439
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 2 Mo

Extrait

Copyright © 2020 K. Lewis Adair

The moral right of the author has been asserted.

Apart from any fair dealing for the purposes of research or private study, or criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988, this publication may only be reproduced, stored or transmitted, in any form or by any means, with the prior permission in writing of the publishers, or in the case of reprographic reproduction in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency. Enquiries concerning reproduction outside those terms should be sent to the publishers.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

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ISBN 978 1800467 439

British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.


Matador is an imprint of Troubador Publishing Ltd

For Jane,
My dear friend ‘Burns’.
Always remembered.
Contents
Acknowledgements

Part One

Connections I
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty

Part Two

Twenty-One
Twenty-Two
Twenty-Three
Twenty-Four
Twenty-Five
Twenty-Six
Twenty-Seven
Twenty-Eight
Twenty-Nine
Thirty
Thirty-One

Connections II
Thirty-Two
Thirty-Three
Thirty-Four
Thirty-Five
Thirty-Six
Thirty-Seven
Thirty-Eight
Thirty-Nine
Forty
Forty-One
Forty-Two
Forty-Three

Part Three

Forty-Four
Forty-Five
Forty-Six
Forty-Seven
Forty-Eight
Forty-Nine
Fifty
Fifty-One
Fifty-Two
Fifty-Three
Fifty-Four
Fifty-Five

Connections III
Acknowledgements
With love and thanks to my husband, family and friends for their continued encouragement and support.

I would like to acknowledge The Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam, for permission to use the wonderful painting Windmill of Wijk bij Duurstede by Jacob van Ruisdael, circa 1670.

Part One


Connections I
A pungent smell of wet earth pervaded as the dampness reached deep inside to scrape at their bones. An unbearable coldness numbed their legs as they crouched low in the shallow, mucky, water-filled ditch. Their eyes strained, searching in the darkness for shadows and silhouettes. Farther down the trackway, balls of light emanated from torches, arching from one side to the other, scanning intently for something or someone who must be found. All her senses were alert as she concentrated on every movement. Her chest pounded, and she experienced such anxiety, never felt in her life before, knowing she must keep control, not for herself but for the sake of those beside her. She tenderly squeezed the arm of the child beside her, sensing his heart quicken.
‘Be strong,’ she whispered as she listened to the faint voices gather around the light on the track. The whimper of the child next to her told her it was time to move on. These conditions would not allow them to stay here much longer and the danger was imminent. She bent forward, feeling for the hand of Freya, and fumbled until she touched her face, drawing her near.
‘Comfort the children. Keep them quiet, no matter how cold or uncomfortable they become; this is imperative for their safety.’ She took a deep breath to evade any signs of nervousness. ‘I’m going further up the ditch on my own.’
‘But … ’
‘No argument, Freya! For the sake of the children. I know what I must do. Stay here whatever happens and at dawn creep back into the coppice. Follow the treeline and do not come out. Do not go on the trackway. Move quietly and quickly. Do not stop until you reach the edge of the forest. There, seek cover but remain alert and wait, no matter how long… until you are safe. Do you hear me?’
Her breath shallow, she nodded in compliance.
‘I will see you again… someday, I promise.’
With those final words, she reached over once more, this time to kiss her on the forehead, whilst letting go of her clenched hand.
The young boy next to her had attached himself to her, his hand encircling her arm as if in an iron vice. He only relinquished his grip as she prised open his fingers and placed his hand in Freya’s and patted his shoulder to comfort him. Aware of his tears and the fear he exuded, she kissed him softly. The emotion rising inside her was becoming overwhelming, and she turned and thrust her hand into the bitter cold water of the ditch before any of the other children would notice; the striking pain tore away at any sentiments of weakness that would have broken her only a moment ago. Not only for their sake, she did this, but for her own sanity.
Numbed by the gelid conditions, her legs and feet, almost paralysed, would not respond. One after the other, slowly she moved each limb, trying to be quiet; she needed to cause a distraction, but not here… further away.
At last, her limbs, although still leaden, were able to function without her dragging them and she grabbed the edge of the bank, digging her nails into the drenched grass, and cautiously pulled herself up. From here she could again see the light from the torches in the distance. The mud-sodden trackway appeared empty. With all her might, she heaved her listless body out of the ditch and scrambled to her feet. Still awkward and clumsy, she managed to cross the track.
On the other side, the ditch wasn’t as deep or wet and she manoeuvred herself into it, aware that behind her was a steep climb up through the trees. The view from here gave a better vantage on what was materialising, and she became alarmed at the proximity of the torchbearers to the location of the children and Freya.
A sudden commotion started amongst the searchers, and the shadows appeared to advance up the track. With no time for hesitancy, there was only one thing to do, and her body surged into action, pumping adrenaline through her, forcing her to launch herself without care onto the trackway and stand in the darkness. Through the mist she viewed the silhouettes congregate near the ditch, opened her mouth to scream… nothing.
Desperate and with no control of her panic, she took another breath and let forth a soul-terrifying shriek born of true frustration.
And it worked.
Surprised at the cry exploding from her, soaring down the track to catch the attention of the intent searchers. Frozen to the spot now, unafraid; defiant, she refused to move. The swathes of light stabbed in the darkness as bursts of sound reverberated up the track… within seconds the pursuers converged around her.
Relief came to her in this moment, knowing she’d drawn them away from the ditch. For the sake of the children, she remained standing exactly where she was, determined. Not seeing anything… but the lucent, blinding light.



One
Saturday, 13th August 2005
Panic rose within, her heart quickened; motionless she was aware of the lights that travelled towards her, bringing with them an impending sense of danger…
~
A loud noise awoke her as she stirred, alert to a physical sensation of fear that remained in her body; trying to focus, she listened. The knocking emanated from the hallway.
‘Hold on… coming.’ Today was a day off and, happy in a sound sleep, Ginny pushed back the quilt reluctantly and draped her listless body on the edge of the bed. The rapping on the door continued.
‘Wait a minute.’ In desperation, she shuffled around the bedroom on one leg, trying to co-ordinate the other into her grey jogging bottoms. She pulled on her blue T-shirt with the shimmering motif of ‘Sexy Babe’ broadcast across the front of it, clipped up her hair and shouted, ‘On my way,’ as the knocking persisted.
Plodding up the hallway, she saw the silhouette of a person through the frosted glass of the door. Letters lay halfway along the hall floor. Ginny opened the door to reveal a grumpy, bearded postman, pointing to a brown envelope.
‘Sorry,’ she said.
He glanced at her T-shirt and Ginny felt a little embarrassed by her ridiculous nightwear.
‘Sign here for this,’ the postman snorted in a disgruntled manner.
Rather bemused, she peered at the mail as well as him.
‘Pen, please?’
After a few moments fumbling in his sack, he presented her with a half-mauled biro to scribble a signature.
‘Gee, thanks.’ She handed the sad implement back to the disinterested face, bid a hasty retreat and slammed the door.
The remainder of the projectile post she picked up and headed to the front room.

A warm, gentle breeze agitated the living-room curtains as it ebbed through the open window caressing Ginny’s face. The summer air smelt sweet to her as it teased loose a curl from the rest of her shoulder-length blonde hair. Still holding the other post, she now dropped them on the table, as she was in no rush to open these; she knew what they would reveal: the bank statement telling her she did not have enough money and the electricity bill needing to be paid. Predictable! But then she paused, noting the postmark on the brown envelope. Curious , she thought, then yawned. Before dealing with this one she sensed her faculties needed to be re