The Garden of Stars Read Online Free

outfits each and coats that fitted us well, together with some warm scarves, hats, gloves, and boots, I parted with my hard-earned cash and we made our way back home with bags full of clothes. At least this went some way towards filling our empty wardrobes.
    Once Rosie was in the swing of country school life, I knew I could no longer put what the vicar had told me to the back of mind. I’d spent many sleepless nights deliberating over his words and finally decided it was time to take action, despite my promise to him.
    During my next shift at work, I asked Barbara if she thought the local people might like to come to a coffee morning up at Cherrystone Cottage.
    Â â€˜They’d jump at the chance,’ she said, as she unpacked a box of ripe blackberries. ‘Folk have been wondering about you, and most of them had never even heard of Cherrystone Cottage before you arrived. They wouldn’t say as much to your face but curiosity would get the better of them and they’d all turn up.’
    Â â€˜The only thing is,’ I said, lowering my voice, ‘the vicar and the mayor mustn’t know about it.’
    She gave me one of her knowing looks.
    Â â€˜Better make it early this Sunday, then. I happen to know Mr Johnson’s away for the weekend and Mr Baker – well he always spends all morning in church composing himself for the day’s service. People will all want to go to church, though, so don’t be upset if they all up and leave before eleven.’
    Â â€˜That’s perfect,’ I said. ‘Invite everyone you know to come up at ten.’
    As it approached 10 o’clock the following Sunday morning, I started glancing nervously out of the window. I knew I was betraying my promise to the vicar. But hadn’t he already been dishonest himself? I was grateful to him for not revealing my address but the way he said it sounded like a threat of blackmail. I was not about to be caught up in the very trap that had got him. Besides, I felt strong enough to face whatever came my way. How the local community reacted would be another matter altogether.
    Â The floors were scrubbed, the tablecloth starched and spread, and the table was laden with ginger slices, fruit cake, banana loaf, and black cherry tarts. It did look pretty and I felt myself blush with pride. I’d allowed Rosie to take her pick then carry them up on a tray to her bedroom, asking her to quietly read her book there for an hour. Amazingly, she’d agreed.
    Â Now it was just a matter of whether anyone would turn up. Barbara would, although if one of her sons was playing up even she might cry off. I was just wishing I’d had a telephone installed when I saw people starting to amble in through the clearing and up the side path that led to the kitchen door. 
    Â Mr Morris from the hardware store arrived first, perfectly polished as ever in a brown, pin-stripe suit, bow tie, and oil-slicked moustache.
    Â I opened the door, perhaps a little too extravagantly, and welcomed him in. There was coffee on the stove so the room smelt as inviting as it looked as they walked in out of the blustery September weather.
    Â Gillian, the florist, had brought her daughter Patricia who looked as sour-faced as her mother. It didn’t add to my confidence to see they both looked like they’d have much preferred to be elsewhere. However, I’d learnt from Barbara that Gillian had to be at the epicentre of any gossip, even though she always made out it was beneath her to be in the slightest bit interested. They plonked themselves straight down on the only two comfy armchairs and blankly refused any offer of cakes or biscuits, somehow finding preening their nails far more interesting.
    Â The librarian, Mrs Sprockett, and her helper Janice rushed up the path, making her apologies for being late, even though she was one of the first to arrive. Mrs Sprockett was red-faced and buxom, pulling her