Our Yanks Read Online Free Page B

family had made its mark in the village, he reckoned; earned a respectable place. He was proud to serve on the Parochial Church Council, to be churchwarden, to read the lesson at Sunday matins, to serve as a school governor, to be seen to count for something in the community.
    Freda had come from the next village, the daughter of a carter who ferried goods in a horsedrawn covered wagon. He’d aimed his sights higher when he’d been looking for a wife, but the minute he’d set eyes on her he’d been bowled over. She’d had beautiful long, nut-brown hair in those days and a slim figure with a tiny waist. The hair was cut short now and mostly grey and having Roger and Sally had put paid to the waist, but she was still a fine-looking woman. Sally took after her in looks, though she had gone and dyed her hair blond which he thought was not only a shame but unseemly. He’d been furiously angry about it, but powerless to stop her. She knew her own mind, did Sally, and he had a hard job keeping her in order. She was good with the customers, though, as well as at making the cakes: quick as anything with the serving and the money and all smiles. Too much so with some of the men, for his liking. As soon as she’d left school she’d started in the bakehouse, but he didn’t want her staying there for ever. He’d other things in mind for his only daughter. A respectable marriage to somebody suitable. He’d had his eye on one young man in the village who was away at the Front at present, but it might turn out to be someone from Stamford or Peterborough. Someone from a decent, prosperous family of some standing, like his own. The Barnets had come a long way since his great-grandfather had rolled up his shirtsleeves and plunged his arms into the flour.
    He poured the tea. ‘Where’s Sally?’
    â€˜She’s gone out. Round to see Doris.’
    â€˜She spends too much time with that girl. I’d sooner she kept different sort of company.’
    â€˜What’s wrong with Doris?’
    â€˜She’s in service,’ he said, a shade uncomfortably, knowing that so had Freda’s mother been as a girl.
    â€˜Other jobs are hard to find in these parts and she’s too young to join up. Anyway, she’s more like a daily help, so far as I can see. Doesn’t have to live in and skivvy all hours of the day and night, like my mother had to. It’s different these days.’
    He didn’t want to hear about it and wished Freda would keep quiet about her mother. She’d probably told all and sundry in the village. ‘Well, Sally’ll have to stop going out in the evening once the Americans get here. We can’t have her doing that any longer.’
    â€˜You won’t stop her, Sam. She’s not a child.’
    â€˜She’s only fifteen. That’s too young to be out alone.’
    â€˜I used to go all over the place. No harm in it.’
    He wanted to say, but didn’t, that she’d gone all over the place a sight too much, in his opinion. Left to her own devices, so far as he could tell. Freda’s mother had died when she was ten, leaving six children under twelve and a husband who drank more than a drop too much and was off carting more than he was ever home. He put Freda’s tea and cake on the table beside her and straightened the antimacassar on the back of his armchair before he sat down. ‘All well and good in those days, but things have changed. We can’t trust these Americans.’
    â€˜We don’t know that, Sam. Give them a chance.’
    â€˜Not where Sally’s concerned. I’m not having some Yank trying it on with her.’
    â€˜Bound to, aren’t they? She’s a pretty girl. It’s nature’s way.’
    He said fiercely, ‘I’ll soon see about that. I’ll tell her she’s not to have anything to do with them. Not to speak a word to them.’
    Freda smiled.