Tryst #writephoto

Sue’s gorgeous prompt for this week’s #writephoto

summerhouse silhouetted against a dawn sky

Tryst

“Meet me!”
She looked at him, his eyes pleading with her as well as his words.
“Please, Rebecca, meet me tonight.”
It was Jake’s last night here before he left to join the rest of the local young men, joining up to fight for King and country.
For the last few months, their growing attraction to one another had been hard to control. She had fallen for his chocolate brown eyes, ever since she popped into Farmer Smith’s farm shop for her aunt to pick up any eggs he had available.
Even though she was not a child, her parents had sent her to the village where her aunt lived, as a precautionary measure, alongside her younger siblings.
Jake was a farm hand. It was one of the only jobs available for young men in this farming community if they didn’t have land themselves. Jake had been delivering the milk to Mrs Smith who usually stationed herself in the farm shop, where she was able to learn all of the village gossip from her regular customers.
As Rebecca was leaving the shop, she was busying herself with the business of checking the eggs for cracks, so was looking down, and Jake, with a heavy pail of milk, was concentrating hard on not spilling a drop, as he headed inside.
It ended messily.
Eggs and milk spilt to the ground, and two young people were left, looking at one another. Mrs Smith’s raised voice went unheard, as Jake and Rebecca felt something, that first sweet twinge of attraction.
She paid for her accident over and over. Aunt Violet was certainly not happy that her money had gone to waste, and she made sure Rebecca was aware of her misdemeanour one hundred fold.
Jake had to spend the rest of that day scrubbing the floor clean so no residue was left to create a stink in the shop. It was just as well he was left to do something so mundane. His mind kept going back to that pretty girl. Something in her eyes called to him. He hadn’t seen her around before, but he was determined to find out who she was, and where she was staying.
It hadn’t been hard in the long run. Old Violet turned up at the shop one day, complaining as usual, and she happened to mention her no good niece, who had wasted her money, and Mrs Smith’s lovely eggs earlier that week. Of course, it hadn’t taken Mrs Smith long to duet along with Violet, with her lament about that good for nothing Jake, who had spilt all the milk that day too!
Once he knew where she lived, he took it upon himself to offer to do deliveries to Mrs Smith’s regular customers. The war hadn’t affected their farm animals so far, so there was plenty of produce available for the villagers with money, and they happily agreed to the delivery service.
This ensured him a look at Rebecca at least once or twice a week, and that was sufficient, up to a point. There was no conversation, just furtive glances between the two of them.
Over the months, their crossing of paths was inevitable. It was a small town, after all, and small token conversations were exchanged.
Rebecca began to look forward to those stolen moments where they spoke for a few minutes at a time. Why, she wasn’t sure, but when she saw Jake, her heart would go all aflutter.
She had taken to writing a diary of sorts, with all those things written in there, that she wished she could say to him, but which convention would never allow.
As the war raged on, it crept into the village. There were whispers of rationing happening in the cities, and the fear that they would not be so far from all that horror themselves. The bombing in the cities had opened a floodgate of evacuees being sent to the safety of villages.
Then slowly, the men of the village were expected to sign up. No one was spared. The old, the young… if they were of the right age, those call-up papers arrived.
Jake wasn’t spared.
Yet he was proud to have the opportunity fight for his country. But that would mean leaving his Rebecca behind. Funny that he thought of her as ‘his’. She wasn’t really his sweetheart.
He hoped, though, that tonight that would change. If she agreed to meet him at the small pagoda on the edge of the Manor House.
Then, maybe, he’d have someone to call his own, to think of, when he left.
Rebecca looked around. There was no one around to hear them.
“Ok, Jake, I’ll meet you tonight. But I can’t be late. After supper, at 7 o’clock, I usually go out to empty the bins. I’ll sneak out then.”
She scurried to the pagoda, chacking behind her to make sure no one was following her. Her had gripped the small book that she clasped to her chest. She could not stay, but she would give Jake her book, with all of her feelings written inside. Maybe, after this awful war was over, they would be able to really become sweethearts…

 

Day 10 #Loveuary – Finding You/Flame #writephoto

loveuary

A little fiction, based around my prompt words ‘finding you’, and tying my #Loveuary post in with Sue’s #writephoto prompt this week.

flame

Jack looked over at Jamie and Rose, cosying up next to their Grandma Maggie on the small sofa. The flames from the fireplace cast a warming glow over the room.
“Nan nan,  how much do you love me?” six-year-old Jamie turned to his grandma.
“Oh my handsome boy, I love you as far as you can see,” and she smiled, her eyes crinkling at the sides.
Those eyes, Jack thought. They may have old skin around them now, but they still held the same beauty to him, as they had fifty years before.
“But do you love me more than Grandpa Jack?” the cheeky chappy questioned.
Rose’s two-year-old eyes were drooping. She sucked her thumb and snuggled in closer to her Grandma. Maggie put her arm around her infant granddaughter and held her close.
The love in those arms, the same love she showed to our own children, all those years before. Jack almost felt that he was looking at his wife in the throes of motherhood.
What he wouldn’t give to get back to those days… or even just a few years back.
To see those eyes look at him, filled with love, once more. To feel those arms pulling him closer in an embrace.
But he had to be satisfied with this, simply watching… Cruel fate had intervened in their happy life, snatching him from this Earth. He was grateful that he could still be there, watching over her, his Maggie.
I was lucky to find you all those years ago… now I’ll wait, for the time when you come to find me…

 

loveuary-logo writephoto

Remember, feel free to take part in #Loveuary! Just ping back to the daily post, as in this one for today! And if you are at a loss for a prompt, then visit my rules post here for a list of prompt suggestions!

Thursday photo prompt – Low Tide #writephoto

Sue’s photo prompt for #writephoto this week.

low-tide

Not a creative piece as such this time, more of a reminiscence.

When we were younger, we spent many a summer in Kenya, visiting family. Mombasa was a place we would frequent on occasion. Imagine it, a huge band of Indians, all parked on the beach, women attempting to feed the masses, kids enjoying the water and men nursing several beers!
The tide would go out for a certain time, allowing us to walk out into the sea quite a distance.
Please forgive me, I cannot offer your accurate fact, this is the memory of a 41-year-old from when she was nine!
My Pops wanted to walk out as far as he could so a few of us decided to all go together.
There was me, so brave, venturing out into the open sea. It was fine for the first minute, then I kept feeling strange things under my feet!
I saw sea cucumbers and strange creatures. The seabed was obviously uneven, and as my feet stumbled through the dips and raises, my mind worked overtime.
The seabed was obviously uneven, and as my feet stumbled through the dips and raises, my mind worked overtime.
I managed to convince myself that at the bottom of one of these dips, was a shark’s mouth, and if I put my foot down, it would be bitten off!
That was it, I shouted to Pops that I was going back, turned and ran, arms flailing like a little lunatic, back to the safety of the sand!
They all came back around 45 minutes later, walking almost a kilometre (I think!) into the sea, turning before the tide rose again!
Oh, what a wuss I was! Couldn’t even enjoy the low-tide without my imagination running wild!!!

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