Come Home Soon by Emily Sharratt Page A

warmth seeping into her bones as though she were sitting in a hot bath after a chilly winter walk. She wished he had given more detail of where he was, and what his days consisted of, but she’d overheard a girl from school talking about a letter from her own father that had been similarly short on details.
    â€œThey’re not allowed to write about where they are, you see,” she’d said, “in case the letter falls into enemy hands and gives away valuable information.”
    Ellie dearly wanted to picture where her father was and what he was doing. Still, for those precious moments she felt almost as though he were here in the room with her. Smiling happily and burrowing deeper into her pillow, she prepared to read the letter again from the start.

Eight
    Ellie finished the last of the washing up and heaved a sigh. She felt exhausted. After church, she had made Sunday lunch on her own while her mother went to lie down. Charlie had a cold and had been snuffly and crotchety, tugging at her legs and whining for attention while she was trying to cook.
    It was a few weeks since they had received the letter from her father and Ellie had felt herself missing him more than ever, and worrying more with every day that passed at the lack of further news. Perhaps her mother was feeling the same, for she had withdrawn back into herself, becoming cold and irritable. She had been giving Ellie an ever-greater number of chores, and these, on top of school and calling into the surgery whenever she could, had left Ellie feeling wrung out like the dish rag she now draped over the stove to dry.
    Lifting the kettle from the stove, she poured boiling water into a pot, and waited for the tealeaves to steep. She put the pot on to a tray with a cup and saucer, a small jug of milk and a spoon. Then she carried the tray into the living room, where her mother was sitting in her rocking chair, turning the pages of her Bible without seeming to see them.
    â€œWhat’s this?” she asked as Ellie laid the tray on the small table beside her.
    â€œI thought you might like some tea.”
    â€œIt’s not tea time.”
    â€œNo, but you were feeling cold earlier. A cup of tea might warm you up.”
    â€œYes . . . well . . . thank you.”
    â€œMother. . .”
    â€œYes,” her mother replied, narrowing her eyes.
    â€œI heard someone mention blackberries at church this morning. It’s just the right time of year for them and I thought if I picked enough we could have jam.”
    â€œIt’s Sunday, Eleanor. You’re not supposed to be scampering about the countryside.”
    â€œI know, Mother, but I promise I won’t . . . scamper. And Charlie is asleep so he won’t bother you. . .”
    â€œHmm. . .”
    â€œPlease, Mother? Charlie loves jam. It would be such a nice treat for him.”
    â€œWell, all right. But you must be home by tea time.”
    â€œYes, Mother. I will!”
    Ellie darted from the room before her mother could change her mind. She grabbed a basket and threw an old cardigan on top of her dress.
    Jack was waiting at the end of the lane, his usual broad grin on his face. Ellie felt her mood lighten at once. They had managed a whispered conversation after church, and Ellie had promised to see if she could escape for the afternoon. She had only half-expected her mother to agree.
    It was a crisp, sunny day, with the first autumn colours showing in the trees and hedgerows. When they reached the corner of the square, Jack tugged the green ribbon from Ellie’s hair and ran off with it, making her chase him across the square, down the path and all the way to where the woods began. They were both panting and laughing as he handed it back.
    â€œGood to see you with colour in your cheeks for a change.” He grinned, giving her a playful shove.
    â€œIt’s good to be out !” Ellie cried, her voice startling a