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Diana's Dangerous Downfall

Reader, before you start reading any further, could you please note that, well, Diana Spencer wasn't actually that dangerous. It was just kind of to catch your attention ... Fine. Actually, to be a little more truthful, it was because, yes, I didn't manage keeping little Pomp in control, and ... You've guessed it. He's practiced his spelling word on my typewriter. Typical. Typical six year old toddler. But then, not quite so when I remind myself he's Diana's son. Another guess correct - I am Diana Mary Allison Spencer. Honored to meet you; literally.

Maybe you think me weird. I kind of think so myself. I mean, who owns a greenhouse that isn’t green but pink? Maybe you’re gonna stop wasting precious time reading my story. But I say, I'm used to that. Quite used to being alone, shunned. "Who cares?" I used to ask back then. But I do care now. I care so badly ... That's pretty much why I'm trying to use my brain for once and write. Write what happened. Simple. Kind-of-not-really.

I guess (and hope I am right in thinking so) that the proper way to introduce oneself is by introducing what I learnt in school as the 'background'. My father, Jonah Mark Spencer married my mother, Lily Rose Allison back in the 19th century. They made their home in Saint Louis, living as 'proper, God fearing, folk'. A year later, I was born, born as the daughter of a wealthy goldsmith. Just a little question here - must I drone on longer about my backgrounds? May I not continue and get to the point? Yes? I dare say thank you.

So, if we zoom to 20 years later, we will find a young, graceful lady in a parlor. Beautiful Miss Diana Spencer she is, the Miss who rules the evening balls and is queen of tender hands and glowing eyes, empress of flirting and mischief. She's in Paris. What is she doing there? (Can I trust you?) Well, she's a little runaway. Runaway with John Creigh.

Oh how foolish I was back then, how I regretted for years onward! I was only an arrogant girl, swept off both feet by a charming gentlemen who I believed, truly loved me. And course, like others, he shunned me as soon as we arrived in Paris. Went away to sweep another lady off her feet. From then, my life began twisting itself. Twisting and choking itself, gradually rotting. From then onwards, I could not feel neither love nor beauty nor hope anymore in what seemed to me a perilous world, losing faith. Now that I think of it, I think I lost faith in everything because everything I had faith in was meaningless. Money, fame, balls ... That just couldn't fill the emptiness in me, although believe me, I tried to make it do so.

For a dreary year, I lived in slums. Selling most of my things for money, I used the money to buy drugs. Drugs to forget that I was in an ugly world, to forget that the man for whom I had left everything had abandoned me. I began growing thinner and paler, until I could barely walk around the corner to buy my daily dose of beer in the pub, until I kept drifting into unconsciousness, time and again.

It was around nine months after I had first come to Paris that I spotted him. I spotted his high hat and black tail coat swooping through the merchant roads. And though I did not believe my eyes at first, there was no mistake about. The swooping man was John Creigh. Suddenly, hatred and resentment filled me. I had me living unbearable months because of him and he was getting along fine, living contently? That was just too much. I began crawling after him, watching him glide unnoticeably for a while until he reached a main road and rode away in a cab.

I fell back in anger. A chance for revenge was now gone, perhaps forever. I opened my mouth to wail in despair when I noticed a howling from the graveyard. Howling from a graveyard? For some odd, dianaish reason, I didn't think of ghouls nor of running away for one second but stayed there, listening attentively. The cry was faint but one of desperation, reminding me ... Reminding me of me, when I cried out but was not answered, of how the ignorance had shaped this horrible life of mine.

Cautiously, I crept to where the howling could be heard. I found him a runt of a baby, thin and weak. That was when my cold, iced up heart started melting and my eyes that had been bolted shut for so long now began to see beauty once more. I picked him up as gently as I could manage, singing softly. Those who had known me as the ruined lady down Rue de Rousseau stared fixedly at the sight. I did not care, for once, about what others thought about me. Heaving wobbly legs, I set out to the thrift shop, exchanging all my empty drug bottles for a blanket and bottle of warm milk.

As I fed the hungry little fellow in my arms, I realized that life was worth living for again, now that I had love and beauty back. From then, it's a story of many struggles but happiness, leading me here, in beloved Creek Cottage, where I write.

Through all this, I realize that to live a life that's worth something, you need something to love and something to hope in. For me, I loved my little boy Pomp, and hoped that I could start again, and make Pomp happy. That is what truly brought me back up from my downfall. Now you're your turn to tell yourself - what is it that you love and what is that you hope for, making life worth living? If you don't know, go and find out for yourself. No one’s stopping you.

Duck number 15

Not fun being called a number. Especially Duck number 15. We don't get proper names. There's no name like Finely, George or David. Just a number. Why a number? Because they say so. Who's they? Great Duck number 1, 2 and 3. Why are they great? Don't know.

Well, this number thing can get confusing. Nobody knows if the number is taken or not. Ten of us are called Duck number 14, and seven are called Duck number 19. At least there's only one Duck number 15 - me! Grrr ... There goes Baby Duck number 6 again ... Before, his crying used to just be quackering (whimpering), but now he's noisier than all of the customers who come each day for lunch!

Hmm ... Yes, that's right. The daily average number of clients so far this week is 18. Accurately. 19 plus 15 plus 20 equals 54 divided by 3 equals 18. See? I'm a good mathematician, aren't I? I know. The other ducks say it's weird for a duck to do math. They say we should just quack and waddle. Punto. (end of sentence). That's another thing I like. Foreign languages. It might be hard to believe, but I can speak Español (Spanish), Français (French), हिन्दू (Hindi) and 中文 (Chinese)! But to be honest, I think Duck is best. It's very simple - just use Quack for every word! Quack, quack? (impressive, huh?)

I must say, it's very quack (useful) to know many languages - and fun too. Like when I get angry at Duck number 12 - my brother - I can shout at him in Chinese, and he’ll become quiet as quack (as quiet as can be). Knowing many languages also means I can imagine being from one of those countries. Sometimes at night I wake up, and start putting on a sort of little play - I go chatting away to the wall in Hindi, or to the sauce pans in Spanish and French.

I also create my own languages by mixing two. For example, I can mix French and Hindi, or Chinese and English, and get brand new languages like Frenese (French and Chinese) or Hinglish (Hindi and English). So far, I've invented 5 languages. These days, I'm trying to mix three different languages - for example English, Spanish and Hindi would make Enishdi.

Unfortunately, I don't get the chance to use these languages much. No duck I know can speak French, Spanish, Hindi or Chinese - nothing else except for small pieces of English, for that matter. Duck number 14 can say hello in French (which is bonjour), but you can’t get far in a conversation with a few ‘hellos’ and quacks. So I'm stuck here, between two other quackery ducks, on a table cloth, facing a restaurant window. If you ever see a duck with a purple head on the middle of a table cloth, on a table facing the window, with a green-headed neighbor, then that's me.

I've been here for almost as long as I can remember, on the same piece of linen, in the same restaurant with all the other ducks. When we first arrived, it was a quacky quack (very small) thing, with hardly two customers a day. Old Joe - cook and owner of the restaurant - would shake his head on the days where food didn't sell well and stare up to his collection of saucepans. He would mutter to himself things like, "Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear ..." or "I look up to heaven ..."

Joe was quiet and observant, and almost never spoke to anyone - that is, except for us. We felt like the only ones who would listen to him, and he was the only one who really cared about us. Somehow he knew we were not just tapestries, but alive, just in a different way. But best of all, Joe gave us each a name, something the Great Ducks had never wanted to do - I was Finely Duck, and my brother was Duckie Sandy. And that's why we loved him - he understood us ducks, and treated us like real friends.

When it was 7 p.m. and it was time for the shop to close, Joe would wait for Campbell, the front-of-house to leave, then start talking to us.

Sometimes he would tell us about the day we had met. "I was going to the summer market," he would always begin, "all kinds of things were on sale - flowers, fresh fish, ham and bacon, strings of onions and bunches of carrots, furniture, everything you could imagine, I tell you. I was wandering around, when I came to a lady selling tapestries." By this part of the story, Joe would start talking with more of a wispy, quiet voice. "She beckoned me over, and showed me her best pillows and handkerchiefs, napkins and tablecloths ... Then I saw you. You were the best ducks I'd ever seen, fine linen too. I bought you straight away."

I don't remember much before that. My first, blurry, memory is seeing a big needle, long and shiny, with a sharp, keen edge, quacketied (followed) by a long, purple thread behind it. I was scared that it might prick me, but instead it sunk into the piece of linen next to me, shaping a wonderful duck’s head, who would soon be my brother, Duck number 12. For three days, I saw more and more ducks being created - green headed ducks and purple headed ducks, big ducks and baby ducks. We were in a small room, lit dimly by a candle. The floor was covered with gray dust, pieces of cut string.

Next I remember travelling in a hay cart to the market - we were piled with other table cloths and carpets on some fresh hay. We passed hills and fields, and so many houses we lost count of how many we had seen. Fresh wind blew in our faces, and we could smell the scent of poppies and other wild flowers. I wish I could have another journey like that one day.

So night after night, Joe would tell us stories - he was our best friend. But over time, Joe got older, and seemed to get slower. One day, he stopped coming at all. Instead of him, we started seeing Sam, Joe's nephew, and the restaurant got busier again. Sam doesn't talk to us like Joe used to, but he does put more plates on top of us every day.

All the other ducks call me Duck number 15 again, but I will never forget how I used to be Finely Duck.

Josephine

Chapter Six - The Laurel Bush

Lucy yawned as she woke and slowly started to blink. She saw the familiar lane ... the old vegetable patch ... Home! Lucy jumped down from the hay cart, eager to return. Skipping down the lane happily, she breathed in the evening's cool, fresh air. The tweeting of birds saying good night to their friends rang in her ears. A great radiance of light glowed warmly in the sky as the sun began to set.

Sighing, Lucy went up to the old wooden door of her house. Slowly and carefully, she reached up to the bronze door handle, which shone brightly in the sunset. She turned around and waved to the lady who had driven the cart. Then she turned the handle. The front door swung open.

Mrs. Hemingway stood in the doorway. She grabbed Lucy's shoulders roughly and started with a frightful, "How-dare-you-frighten-me-like-that-Lucy-Proctor-how-am-I-supposed-to-trust-you-to-go-to-school-alone-without-holding-my-hand!!!" After she finished, Mrs. Hemingway hugged Lucy tight and smothered her with slimy kisses. Lucy felt relieved to be home, but then the thought of Josephine struck her like lightning.

"Aunt Margaret, I must go to Josephine - now!"

"No way, missy," replied Mrs. Hemingway, frowning deeply. "You're not going anywhere until you tell me what happened. Uncle Matthew and I spent the whole afternoon looking for you all over the village and now the hens are crying out to be fed. Come on!" She yanked Lucy by the hand and led her away into the family room, where Uncle Matthew and Lucy's younger siblings, Angelina and Charlie were waiting.

Everyone crowded around Lucy, welcoming her back. After everyone calmed down, she was made to sit down in the armchair and tell how she had gotten lost. But Lucy did not want to tell what had happened with Josephine, so she decided to make that part up.

"I was walking home from school when I noticed that I had left my lunch bag in class. I ran back to get it, and on my way back I ran faster to hurry up for lunch. I got distracted by the strong wind and trailed off the path and arrived at the neighboring village. An old lady found me and brought me to a bakery, and ..."

"Did she have a walking stick?" blurted Angelina.

Lucy was getting more and more anxious to apologize to Josephine and felt annoyed by her sister's interruption, for she wanted to finish the story quickly.

"An old lady found me and brought me to a bakery, and bought me a chocolate muffin and some sweets." continued Lucy, ignoring Angelina. "Charlotte, the baker's daughter offered to take me in and help me find my way home. We walked together to an old friend of hers who brought me here in her hay cart."

"Silly of you it was to get distracted like that. Think before acting, Lucy. You're almost 13," sighed Uncle Matthew. "Believe me, you do not want to be running around the village all afternoon when you've got better things to do - more useful things to do, I dare say."

"Sorry, Uncle Matthew, sorry Aunt Margaret. I didn't mean to be naughty ... I swear I'll never do that again. But please, I need to visit Josephine!"

"No. You can go upstairs and study for your exams before going to sleep! Don't even think of going anywhere except for school during the rest of the week! No dinner tonight!!" screeched Mrs. Hemingway, almost turning purple. She stomped off and Lucy dragged herself up the stairs.

Up in her room, Lucy paced up and down, wondering what to do. She had thought of climbing out of the window, but it was too high. "If I can't go to Josephine today, I suppose I'll have to explain everything tomorrow ... Maybe I'll make a sorry card, but would she even read it? If I spoke to her, would she listen?"

Her heart heavy, Lucy went to the little bookshelf in her room and picked out a book called 'Easy Arithmetic: Year 8-10'. She put it on her pillow, but then noticed that something had fallen out of it. She bent closer to see it better. It was a bookmark, all glittery with 'I LOVE U!' in golden letters. Tiny images of hearts and flowers surrounded the writing in a beautiful pattern and light seemed to shine right out of the bookmark as well as happiness, joy and laughter. Lucy took the bookmark and cautiously turned it around. There, in silver letters shone: 'from Josephine, your best friend'.

Tears rolled down Lucy's cheeks. She placed the bookmark carefully on her pillow. "Everything would be fine if Aunt Margaret and Uncle Matthew had let me go to Josephine's ... everything would have come to an agreement ..." But even as she thought these words, she did not believe them.

Josephine had given her the bookmark for her 12th birthday. Lucy could still clearly remember the balloons in her room, and the piles of wonderful food stacked in the kitchen. All her friends were dancing and singing, while she and Josephine ... No, she daren't think more. It was too sweet, too happy. She put the book back on the shelf.

Lucy thought to herself how she would apologize to Josephine at school. Suddenly Lucy made up her mind and whispered, "I don't care if she won't listen, I'm saying sorry tomorrow, as soon as I meet her." Feeling calmer, Lucy packed her school bags and neatly hung out her grey uniform on a sky blue hanger.

Worn out from the journey in the hay cart, she collapsed onto the bed, not bothering to change into her night gown. She cuddled down under her duvet, and gave one last yawn. Through the window Lucy could see the first two stars shimmering faintly as the last rays of sunlight disappeared below the horizon, reminding her of her and Josephine. She shut her eyes, and fell asleep.

The next morning, Lucy woke to the sound of screaming and yelling.

"I got that piece of toast first!!"

"No, I did!!"

"Liar!!!"

"Meanie!!"

Lucy grimaced and blocked her ears with her fingers. This happened every morning - Charlie and Angelina fighting for the piece of toast with the most jam and butter on it. Sighing, she dressed herself quickly and tied her long, golden hair with a gray ribbon. Hauling her book bag onto her back, she opened her bedroom door and crept downstairs.

Breakfast was bacon, toast, hot chocolate and cereal. Lucy piled bacon on the side of her plate, and buttered her toast with cherry jam. As she munched her piece of toast, Uncle Matthew came in to bid good morning. "I hope you studied for your exams, Lucy. I wish you good luck." He gave a little smile and sat at the other end of the table, and poured some milk in his bowl.

As Lucy left the house, Mrs. Hemingway called out, "Don't you be naughty again, and remember to drop off Charlie and Angelina at the primary school." Lucy walked briskly down the twisty roads, Charlie and Angelina racing ahead. She watched them run through the playground of the primary school and followed them, for she knew that Josephine ought to bring her little brother to school, and she was going to wait.

Sure enough, she saw Josephine crossing the road holding John's hand. Lucy ran towards her, her heart beating fast. Josephine saw Lucy approaching, and not wanting to speak with her, gave John a quick kiss and ran away. Lucy followed, calling out, "Josephine, wait! I've something to tell you!" Both girls arrived at school panting, sweat running down their necks. As Lucy approached Josephine once more by the swings, Josephine turned away and went over to Susan Murray, and started chatting away about horses and ponies. Lucy realized that Josephine wasn't even giving her a look.

Depressed, Lucy slumped away to her secret place, a little, cozy hole in a thick but beautiful laurel bush, hidden by hedges. Crying, she looked up at a little sparrow on a high branch, which was cleaning its feathers with its beak. It cocked its head briefly, and flew away. Lucy felt abandoned, even by the birds and animals she so loved.

Eventually, she came out, and leaned on the old, gray wall of her school, miserable. She looked up, and saw Josephine playing tag with Sally Thatcher and Marie Whymper. All the children around her were chatting merrily, telling jokes or daring each other silly things. The school bell rang and Lucy joined the line for class. Behind her was Jack Spencer and ... Josephine.

As Lucy trudged to the classroom, she saw that everyone looked nervous. She heard one of the boys grunt, "If war is so terrible, they should shut down the schools!"

"Attention, class!" announced Mr. Ray, "Time for exams! I will be distributing papers - please sharpen your pencils and get them ready. You will have an hour for this exam - I expect you to all get an A+!" A few children started whining, but soon quietened down. "You may start!!" All heads were lowered and the classroom turned silent, and tension slowly built up. Lucy whizzed through all the exercises in no time and set her pencil down.

Secretly, she scribbled a note to Josephine. She read it over a second time to make sure it said what she meant:

Lucy then raised her hand high and mouthed "finished" to Mr. Ray. He nodded, and mouthed back, "You may go."Then in a loud voice, he declared, "10 minutes left." As Lucy tiptoed out of the classroom, she placed the note in Josephine's coat pocket.

It was foggy and the wind was howling across the playground. Leaves made pirouettes in the air before being thrown back by the harsh wind. Gray clouds covered the sun. The trees shook madly. Lucy ran across the empty playground to her hiding place. Soon, all the other children would be coming out to play.

There, it seemed so comforting and warm, whereas it was cold and gray outside. Lucy heard the recess bell. By a tiny hole in between the branches of the tree, Lucy peaked out and saw Josephine approaching. "Of course," thought Lucy to herself, "She knows the hiding place!!" And yes, Lucy was right.

A moment later, Josephine swooped in, and both girls stared at each other for a long time. "Hi," mumbled Lucy, breaking the silence, "I'm ... sorry."

"No," answered Josephine, whispering gently. "I ... I should have not taken it so seriously. I'm sorry. Can, can we be friends again?"

"Of course we can be friends again!" Both girls hugged each other until Josephine fell back. Laughing, they shared Lucy's tea and chatted together merrily. Lucy felt that she could fly, she was free and happy for the first time that day. Josephine felt her whole body ticklish and wonderful, as if she'd bathed in a river of sweet chocolate. Like that both girls played until the end of recess bell rang. Josephine and Lucy skipped through the school doors, holding hands together and singing joyfully.

"All a good ending," whispered Josephine, and off they marched to class.

Josephine

Chapter Five - A Talk with Mrs. Hemingway

It was delicious. Warm, creamy potato soup served with a juicy blueberry pie!! Josephine was wondering whether to call this a feast or lunch, and for a moment she felt good. She gulped down mouthfuls of warm soup and sighed contently. She could feel warmth spreading through her body and something tickled inside her pleasantly.

At her third helping of blueberry pie, there was a loud knock on the door and Uncle Andrew hurried out to open it. There stood Mrs. Hemingway, looking very worried and scared.

"Andrew! I've been wondering if you've seen Lucy. Her siblings were home early, but Lucy is missing! I've been looking for her all over the village with Matthew but she's nowhere to be seen! I thought Josephine might know. Charlie saw them at the gate of the primary school on his way home. May I talk to her?"

Uncle Andrew turned around to call Josephine, but found she was already there. At the word Lucy, she had stopped eating and crept closer to the front door, until she had found herself behind Uncle Andrew, concentrating on every word they were saying.

"Have a seat, Sarah. I'll take your coat. Josephine, lead her to the living room. I'll join you shortly."

Josephine was left alone with the frowning Mrs. Hemingway, who looked at her with an urging expression.

"So?" she asked, "Do you know where Lucy is?"

Josephine rather felt that Mrs. Hemmingway meant to say "What did you do with her?!!"

"I ... don't really know ... She left before me ... I ... was waiting for John."

"Did she tell you where she was going, or why?"

"Euh ... no. She just left."

"In which direction did she go?"

"She went down the road which leads to the river," Josephine stammered. "I really don't know where she is ..."

Josephine was wondering whether to call Mrs. Hemingway Miss or Mrs. She could see that Mrs. Hemingway was worried, but she didn't have any clues where Lucy was or what she was doing or why.

"Very well, then," Mrs. Hemingway sighed, "Go back and eat. I want to talk with your Uncle."

Though Aunt Polly brought Josephine's favorite whipped cream as a treat, Josephine had lost her appetite. After talking with Mrs. Hemmingway, she could hardly eat three nibbles of the blueberry pie.

"What is the problem dear?" asked Aunt Polly, quite concerned. She knew Josephine nearly every inch, and her behavior was very unusual.

"I'm just ... feeling ill," muttered Josephine.

"Well then, go upstairs and have a rest until you feel better. I'll manage your chores."

"Thanks," mumbled Josephine and dragged herself up the stairs gloomily. She had not enjoyed speaking with Mrs. Hemmingway, and the thought of Lucy now hung over her like a dark cloud.

"Why, oh why, did she have to come!" thought Josephine, banging her fists on the bed, "I could have done well without a visit from her!!" Grumpy and grouchy, she threw her Algebra books on the carpet and yelled at Moonshine, who jumped into the hay, trying to hide.

She felt angry once more. To Lucy for leaving her. To Aunt Polly for not rushing to comfort her at once. To Mrs. Hemmingway for mentioning Lucy again while she was enjoying her lunch. "Lucy might be anywhere doing all kinds of things ... Spreading a rumor that I'm a crybaby or something! She even might be ..." Josephine burst into tears. They had been best friends for three years now. They had done all kinds of things together and were almost never separated.

She wanted to be friends again, yet could not bear the thought of Lucy leaving her. Had she ever done that??! Had she ever abandoned Lucy?!! Josephine's anger grew and grew as she thought more and more about the things that had happened at the school gates.

There was a tap on the door. Aunt Polly came in swiftly and closed the door behind her. For a few minutes, she just hugged Josephine, saying nothing. Quietly, as if not wanting to be overheard, she whispered gently, "Shh ... Tell me, what is troubling you? Did anything happen? Tell me, please, what's wrong!?"

Josephine wanted to tell, she wanted to release her feelings to kind Aunt Polly, but as she opened her mouth to speak, she started crying. "Now, now," soothed Aunt Polly as she dabbed Josephine's eyes with a handkerchief, "Don't cry, darling. Maybe you'll feel better if you talk about it."

"Lucy ..." sobbed Josephine, not daring to tell more. Aunt Polly's expression changed and her face turned pale. "I must go and talk to Uncle Andrew, Josephine. You can um ... read a book." She dropped an old book of fairy tales on Josephine's bed and left quickly, leaving Josephine alone once more.

Josephine stayed there until evening and refused to join the family for dinner. She locked her door with a key, and forbade herself to leave the room. She wouldn't forgive Lucy until she had said sorry, she thought. "That showoff, just because she's top of class ..."

Suddenly, Josephine noticed a little piece of paper sliding under her door. It said:

Exams!! She had completely forgotten. She had got 60/100 last time, and Mr. Ray had been disappointed and said she had had the lowest score from the whole classroom. If she got less than 70/100 this time, she would have to stay after school scrubbing desks for a month. She hurried to get her worn-out arithmetic book from the shelf, and started to whip through the pages.

Josephine

Chapter Four - Josephine

Josephine walked up the lane to her home, feeling miserable and sad since Lucy had abandoned her. She felt so confused, and inside she fumed with anger. After waiting half an hour more outside the primary school, she had remembered that John had made plans to go home with his friends early. Wrapped tightly in her coat, she had slowly made the journey back.

"Josephine! Where on earth have you been? We've been looking for you! You should be ashamed for being so late!"

Uncle Andrew came running down the lane, his tremendous voice bawling after him. Behind came John and Aunt Polly, all their worries gone from their minds. As Josephine walked to the farm, Rondalf came leaping towards her, barking in great excitement.

"Come on old sport! We'll go to the kitchen and get Joey a mug of warm tea!" cried John running off, his coat swaying behind him. Aunt Polly chuckled at the sight of John disappearing into the house. She then turned to Uncle Andrew and said, "Andrew, don't be so hard on the girl. You know, we all forget things from time to time."

Once they got home, John and Josephine sat in front of the fireplace with paper and ink, thinking what to write to their Mother. Here is what John wrote:

Josephine tried to forget about her horrible feelings and wrote the following letter:

"Lunch is ready!! Come downstairs."

Josephine slugged down the steps, followed eagerly by John who hardly seemed to notice her bad mood. Though she could smell the scent of warm, creamy potato soup and delicious blueberry pie, her mood didn't get any better. She heard a bark and frowned.

"Oh! Why on earth do you need to dirty the floor!!" She pushed Rondalf away, who whimpered and whined. She still felt sulky, and felt many emotions boiling inside her. She gave piercing looks to the wall, imagining that Lucy was standing in front of her.

Josephine

Chapter Three - Help

Much to her surprise, she found an old lady, staring at her with deep, brown eyes. Putting out her old wrinkled hands without a word, she led Lucy into the bakery and called "George, George!" and sat down on a stool.

Lucy soon heard the gruffling answers from an old man, sounding very disturbed.

"What is it now, Annette!? Can't I ever have some..." and was interrupted as the bakery door swung open.

A fair, young woman came in and as she brushed off dirt from her skirts she hissed, "Go back to eat, father. Can't you ever be polite?"

She sighed, put down her load and turned to the old lady.

"Ah! Hello, Mrs. Henry! It is such a great pleasure to see you!" then, picking up an apple tart, she asked, "The usual tart, I expect?"

Mrs. Henry shook her head.

"No, no, Charlotte. Today, I would like something for this girl," she beamed at Lucy fondly, "Maybe a cheese sandwich or blueberry pie ... something not too expensive, please!"

Charlotte looked around the bakery very carefully. After passing through shelves and shelves of bread, she picked out a gigantic oozing chocolate muffin and put it on the counter along with a little packet of sweets. "Mrs. Henry, as your child is so adorable, I offer you this muffin for only three copper coins!!"

Then chuckling to herself, she added merrily, "Is she your grandniece you always talk about?"

Mrs. Henry shook her head gently and stroked Lucy's hair.

"Then who in the world is she!??" Charlotte gasped, with a slightly shocked face.

"No, not the daughter of William Edmung, Charlotte. I found her. Now hurry up!!"

She obviously didn't want to be questioned. As the old lady searched through her purse for another copper coin, Charlotte thought about Lucy. It seemed uncanny that a girl from another village would be here at such time, and she looked so scared and hopeless ...

Suddenly she made up her mind. "Mrs. Henry," she said, looking straight into the eyes of the old lady and speaking in a determined voice, "I will take care of that child. You look especially tired today. I think it would be better if I could keep her until she can be returned. After all, you need your time. And anyway, I'll be as busy with my nephews as much as them with her in addition."

For a moment there was a long silence. Lucy's heart started beating faster as she wondered if the kind lady would accept the offer...

"But I will trust the Lord for always and he will keep me safe." whispered the old lady into Lucy's ear ... and left.

Charlotte brought Lucy upstairs to the family living room, and made her a fresh cup of hot chocolate. Lucy sat on a rocking chair, and looked curiously at the books on the shelves. Charlotte sat down next to Lucy, and stayed there, smiling at her warmly.

"The twins are away, working in the farm and so is almost everyone else in the house. How come you are in our village? Aren't you supposed to be finishing lunch by now? Did you get lost??"

Lucy nodded her head violently.

"Oh, Mrs! I was trying to look for my friend and ran without thinking into this town. I was crying when the old lady came and found me!"

"First of all, I am not Mrs," she frowned, "You can call me Charlotte. I'm glad to accept you and welcome. That is, until we can get you back home. In maybe an hour or so, our friends will drive you back home in their cart. What is your name?"

"I am Lucy Proctor, aged 13 from the village across the river. Thank you for taking me in..."

She blushed at the end, and took a sip of hot chocolate. Charlotte smiled.

"How charming," she thought, "A child who has long, golden hair hanging over her shoulders as well as her smooth face with pink cheeks ... a lovely match!"

However, she couldn't stay there wondering for long as the baby cried and for this reason, she had to hurry downstairs.

Very soon Charlotte returned with two muffins, packed them in a basket and gave it to her.

"Come on, Lucy. I shall walk you to our friend's now. Some provisions are in here, in case you are hungry during the journey. Follow me!!"

She brought her downstairs, gave her a pot of jam and opened the door.

"For your friend," she said.

There was a long walk. They went along steep paths, large roads, and muddy fields. Lucy was exhausted, as she tried to catch up with Charlotte, panting.

She really did want to be back at home, but was annoyed by the routes Charlotte took. It always seemed to her that she took the dirtiest, filthiest roads. Lucy kept grumbling grumpily as she hurried on, feeling that she would faint any minute. More than a dozen times did she slip and fall. More than a dozen of times did Charlotte have to come running, waving her handkerchief in the air.

After a good half hour's walk, Charlotte stopped in front of a tall, brightly painted house, with flowers on every balcony.

Lucy was fascinated and forgot all about her grumpiness. She just stared, as if she had met a fairy with glittering wings of silver shining in the moon and gleaming with magic and beauty that she could not express ...

Charlotte knocked on the door.

Josephine

Chapter Two - Battle

Numb with fear and hunger, Lucy slowly walked towards the bakery, hoping to find directions back to her village. But as she came to the doorstep and smelled the scent of oozing apple tarts, chocolate pies and gingerbread, she turned back. All her courage failed her, as she searched her pockets. She had no money to spare and it seemed unlikely that anyone would accept her, for all circumstances were against her. Her heart ached for Josephine and was filled with fear and worries. Deep inside she knew that this was the only way, but despite that, she also had her doubts about the baker.

"I must, I must!" she thought, "There is no other way."

But then the doubting Lucy answered back, nastily, "You silly! Do you want to be shamed even in another village? Why, last year..."

" ... Yah, but otherwise I can't get home and they'll be worried about me!"

"Silly old ninny! Why would Josephine care about you, you left her alone..."

"You're wrong! I know what I'm doing, thank you! I'd much rather do the right thing, no matter how people will criticize me. Now, just shut up and let me go and knock on that door!!"

"Not so fast, friend. Are you in your right mind? Think ... if you ask for help, everyone will praise the baker for rescuing you. But if you survive alone ... people will praise you! They will know how clever and brave you are! They will speak about it for years!!!"

This tempted Lucy very much for she had always enjoyed being recognized. She imagined herself at the school playground. Everyone would be so thankful they were in her class and the headmistress would beg her to stay at their school forever.

Then Lucy remembered Josephine. She would still be sobbing and alone. All her daydreaming disappeared from her thoughts. She now felt miserable again, and guilt hung over her like a gray cloud. She knew that she had to ask for help for her own sake and also for Josephine's, yet still she could not bring herself to do it.

As she stood outside the baker's door, listening to the terrible cannons of words each sides of Lucy were firing at each other, she felt ... she felt ...

"I feel that the end has come to me, and I have not journeyed a long, prosperous life to it," whispered the real Lucy.

But as she closed her eyes, full of tears, somebody added for her in a soft, gentle voice,

"But I will trust the Lord for always, and he will keep me safe." With a gasp, she turned around to see who had said such a thing.

Josephine

Chapter One - A True Friend

It was a gloomy day in September. Josephine stood at the gate of the primary school, frowning as she watched the great clock ticking away. She was waiting for her little brother, John, who was usually the first to come out, open-armed and gleaming with pleasure. She looked up at the sky, and saw that even the early afternoon sun was covered up with dark clouds, only a few rays of sunlight to be seen.

She thought about the past summer holidays. How wonderful they had been, as her mouse-brown hair, flaming in the sun ... she stopped. What was the point of thinking of peaceful times if there were none now? After all, war had started. Fighting, bombs, air raids, evacuations ... as these things rushed into her thoughts, she hopelessly sank to the ground, in which her books lay scattered in front of her, sobbing.

A quarter of an hour later, Lucy Proctor came around the corner, whistling a merry tune, her arms filled with half a dozen Latin books. Instantly noticing her best friend's mood, she put down her books on the side of the pavement and plopped down next to her, full of good intention to cheer her up.

"Whatever is the matter, Joe? You look awful!" came Lucy's gentle, lilting voice.

"I ..." blubbered Josephine, not able to go on any further.

"Good. Now all you have to do is continue. I what?" urged Lucy, ever so soft with her words.

Josephine felt stupid. Being told to continue speaking and crying in front of her friend like that! But still ... after all, it was better than being left alone with nobody to comfort her.

"I can't bear it," she finally whispered in a low murmur, "I just ... can't."

"What can't you?"

"The war ... father ... captured ... hurt ... prisoner of war camp ... in Germany ..."

"Don't worry! He'll be rescued and treated, made new in no time. And anyway, there's no hope that they win, not with our mighty RAF!!"

But despite Lucy's efforts, Josephine kept on crying.

"But how come you know about your father?"

Josephine just pointed down at a shabby old letter.

"Read it ... sent by his mate ... to mum ..."

"Hmmm", thought Lucy, "Nothing seems to be working on her, poor thing. I should have just left her alone ... but then, she is after all, my friend! Oh, what should I do?"

Both stayed silent for a long time. Both thinking, both confused.

Finally, Lucy stood up, picked up her books, went around the corner and disappeared. Suddenly, Josephine's heart was filled with great pain. The friend she had trusted, the friend she had loved, the friend she had hope in, had left her alone.

Lucy walked along the road silently, looking down on her soft, leathery shoes. Had she done the right thing? If she hadn't, would Josephine forgive her? Lucy froze on the spot. What if she didn't?! She only had one true friend. All the others - Susan Murray, Marie Whymper, Jack Spencer, Sally Thatcher ... they just followed her because she was top of the class, but not because they actually liked her.

Her heart pounding with fear, Lucy ran back along the path, wanting to return to the primary school as soon as possible. She felt that she would do anything, just anything to get there a second earlier than she could usually manage! She ran for over what seemed like two hours. Then she stopped.

The bakery in front of her was completely unfamiliar! Lucy, desperate to find a reason not to panic mumbled to herself in a quick, hurried voice,

"Oh, I must have turned left instead of right at the theatre! I'll ... I'll go right back."

But no. That couldn't trick her mind - Lucy Proctor's clever mind. She secretly knew - although she wished to not know it, that she must have accidently come either to the main village or the town before the forest. She ran about in all directions hoping to find some area that she knew. But once again, no ...

If she had kept calm, she would have known that she only had to cross the field to the west, cross the river on the left of the field, turn left and gone straight, she would reach the village. But as she panicked, she got more and more confused ...