was late autumn, not summer. As he tied the apron strings for her, Dan thought carefully. “I saw a lot of mandarins on the tree out front. I’d hoped you were making marmalade.”
“You always did love my marmalade, didn’t you? Well, if the mandarins are ready.” Handing him a bucket, she led the way outside again, across the damp grass.
“I was a land girl in the war,” she said as they started picking. “My job was to grow crops to feed our boys.” She looked at him through the mandarin tree, her blue-gray eyes bright as a bird’s through the dark green.
Dan smiled at her. “Yes, I know.”
“Tell me, Daniel, are you still intending to join the army?”
And because it was Nan who’d known him since he was five and she wouldn’t remember this conversation he said, “I don’t think I’d make a good soldier anymore.”
“My younger brother Georgie wanted to be a soldier.” The fruit landed in the bucket with a soft thud. “He spent most of the war fretting that he’d miss the fun. He enlisted on his eighteenth birthday…January 5, 1945.”
“That’s when you want to join a war,” Dan commented, “close to winning it.”
Rosemary chuckled. She was picking carelessly, tearing the fruit off stems and leaving behind tufts of exposed inner rind, torn fragments of veined white. “Georgie loathed fruit and vegetables,” she said. “He’d only eat potato. When I was chipping away at the frozen earth to plant the bloody things in Somerset I’d tell myself he needed them in Normandy.”
She cupped a mandarin in her hand, as though trying to warm herself with it. “At least it was summer when he died. The soil would have turned more easily when they buried him.” Nan dropped the mandarin on the grass. “You have to keep planting,” she said, her voice as rusty as an old wheelbarrow, “you have to bring life back from the earth.”
He caught her hands. “I’d like to grow fruit trees,” he said, “but I’m not sure which fruit makes the best jam. I could really do with some advice.”
He could almost see her coming back, her face breaking into a smile of relief as she recognized him. “Well,” she said happily, “you’ve come to the right person. You can make good jam out of any fruit if you know the secret.”
“Secret?” Picking up the bucket, Dan led her back to the house. His heart ached for Georgie, for Steve and Lee, for all the men who died in foreign lands.
“Methylated spirit…” Her eyes sparkled. “You use itto test for pectin. Take one spoon of boiling juice from the pan, then add three spoonfuls of meths when it’s cool. If a large clot forms, then your jam will set well.” They entered the kitchen. “You can put the mandarins in the pantry.”
He hadn’t been in the pantry since he was a kid. Dan found himself looking on the second shelf for the biscuit tin, caught himself and smiled.
“Is that Polly you’re talking to?” he heard Jo say. “Pol, don’t laugh but I tried Nan’s wedding dress on last night and wouldn’t you know it, the zip got stuck.”
Intrigued, Dan walked out of the pantry. His bride stood with her back to him, getting a glass of water, her short curls a riotous tumble and wearing a beautiful, if crumpled, gown.
“Isn’t this bad luck before the wedding?”
Jo gasped and spun around. “You’re early.”
“You know what they say about the early bird.” His appreciative gaze traveled down the dress and up again to Jo’s blushing face. “Wow.”
“Don’t read anything into this,” she warned.
“Actions speak louder than words.” He remembered this feeling—optimism.
“Nan asked me to try it on and—”
“I did no such thing, young lady.” Tutting, Rosemary started smoothing out the wrinkles. “Good heavens, it looks like you slept in it.”
Jo’s blush deepened. “And then I couldn’t get it off.”
Dan smiled. “I’ll help you take it off.”
She frowned at him as Rosemary tugged at the
“You always did love my marmalade, didn’t you? Well, if the mandarins are ready.” Handing him a bucket, she led the way outside again, across the damp grass.
“I was a land girl in the war,” she said as they started picking. “My job was to grow crops to feed our boys.” She looked at him through the mandarin tree, her blue-gray eyes bright as a bird’s through the dark green.
Dan smiled at her. “Yes, I know.”
“Tell me, Daniel, are you still intending to join the army?”
And because it was Nan who’d known him since he was five and she wouldn’t remember this conversation he said, “I don’t think I’d make a good soldier anymore.”
“My younger brother Georgie wanted to be a soldier.” The fruit landed in the bucket with a soft thud. “He spent most of the war fretting that he’d miss the fun. He enlisted on his eighteenth birthday…January 5, 1945.”
“That’s when you want to join a war,” Dan commented, “close to winning it.”
Rosemary chuckled. She was picking carelessly, tearing the fruit off stems and leaving behind tufts of exposed inner rind, torn fragments of veined white. “Georgie loathed fruit and vegetables,” she said. “He’d only eat potato. When I was chipping away at the frozen earth to plant the bloody things in Somerset I’d tell myself he needed them in Normandy.”
She cupped a mandarin in her hand, as though trying to warm herself with it. “At least it was summer when he died. The soil would have turned more easily when they buried him.” Nan dropped the mandarin on the grass. “You have to keep planting,” she said, her voice as rusty as an old wheelbarrow, “you have to bring life back from the earth.”
He caught her hands. “I’d like to grow fruit trees,” he said, “but I’m not sure which fruit makes the best jam. I could really do with some advice.”
He could almost see her coming back, her face breaking into a smile of relief as she recognized him. “Well,” she said happily, “you’ve come to the right person. You can make good jam out of any fruit if you know the secret.”
“Secret?” Picking up the bucket, Dan led her back to the house. His heart ached for Georgie, for Steve and Lee, for all the men who died in foreign lands.
“Methylated spirit…” Her eyes sparkled. “You use itto test for pectin. Take one spoon of boiling juice from the pan, then add three spoonfuls of meths when it’s cool. If a large clot forms, then your jam will set well.” They entered the kitchen. “You can put the mandarins in the pantry.”
He hadn’t been in the pantry since he was a kid. Dan found himself looking on the second shelf for the biscuit tin, caught himself and smiled.
“Is that Polly you’re talking to?” he heard Jo say. “Pol, don’t laugh but I tried Nan’s wedding dress on last night and wouldn’t you know it, the zip got stuck.”
Intrigued, Dan walked out of the pantry. His bride stood with her back to him, getting a glass of water, her short curls a riotous tumble and wearing a beautiful, if crumpled, gown.
“Isn’t this bad luck before the wedding?”
Jo gasped and spun around. “You’re early.”
“You know what they say about the early bird.” His appreciative gaze traveled down the dress and up again to Jo’s blushing face. “Wow.”
“Don’t read anything into this,” she warned.
“Actions speak louder than words.” He remembered this feeling—optimism.
“Nan asked me to try it on and—”
“I did no such thing, young lady.” Tutting, Rosemary started smoothing out the wrinkles. “Good heavens, it looks like you slept in it.”
Jo’s blush deepened. “And then I couldn’t get it off.”
Dan smiled. “I’ll help you take it off.”
She frowned at him as Rosemary tugged at the
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