"Home Fires of the Great War"

Wow! Thank you all for taking the time to read and vote on which story I should enter in the contest. They are both really close which wasn't exactly what I thought would happen. If you haven't voted, go to the next post and and leave a comment saying which one you like best. Sorry, the poll I put up isn't working right, so I have to count every vote myself. I'll let you know which one gets entered, but then we'll all have to wait until October 15th or there abouts to find out what happens in the contest.

And now, it is Friday again and I should post something. What should I post? I think I'll have to post some of my book as I haven't been working on anything else except that and the contest stories. I only have 10 more "letters" to write before I do a ton on reading and writing about the war. Then I'll put all that info into the "letters," write the background and send it all to those who are will and wanting to read it for me. So, if you know you want to be one of my "test readers" let me know and I'll put you on the list. I am trying to get three "letters" a month done which I have been able to do so far. But here is a bit of the book.



. . . Daddy couldn’t be . . . I just wouldn’t let myself think it. He couldn’t be! Though the tears coursed down my cheeks, I couldn’t cry, not yet. Someone might hear me, and then they all would know. Suddenly there was a knock on the door, and Kirsten said,
“Emma, its time to go.”
“I’m not going,” I managed to say without crying.
“But, Emma,” Kirsten begged, “You have to go. We’re going to get Mama, and the babies and David.”
“Kirsten, “ I implored, “just go on. I can’t go and that's final. I have to make supper.” I added the last as an afterthought for it struck me that Edmund might come up if I had no apparent reason for staying. I fairly held my breath as I listened to her retreating footsteps. Oh, how I longed for them to leave so that I could cry without notice. Unknowingly, I crushed the telegram in my hand and tried to choke back the sobs that rose up. Then, just when I expected to hear the wagon leaving, I heard someone running up the stairs three at a time. It was Edmund. Why did he have to come up? Anyone else wouldn’t be likely to notice the tears in my voice, but I wasn’t so sure about my twin. A sharp rap sounded on the door.
“Emma, its time to leave.” I bit my lip to keep back the sob that seemed to almost strangle me. “Emma, come on.” he ordered as I didn’t reply.
“I can’t come. I’m staying here.”
“Are you sick?”
“No.” Why wouldn’t he leave me alone?
“Then I don’t understand at all. You didn’t say anything last night about staying home. Why won’t you come?” He seemed bent on knowing the reason, but I couldn’t and wouldn’t tell him.
“Never mind why,” I almost snapped. “Just go away or you’ll be late.” There was silence then and after a minute I heard him turn and go slowly down the stairs. I wanted to run after him, to beg him to understand and to forgive my impatience, but I didn’t move. I just buried my face deeper in the pillow for the sobs would come in spite of all my effort to keep them back.
Finally I heard the longed for sound of the wagon rumbling down the lane with the shouts and laughter of the children. I was alone at last. Letting go of the fierce check I had held on my emotions, I cried as I had never done before. Great tearing sobs shook me, and tears soaked the pillow. All the pent up emotions from the last half hour, the weeks and months of nameless fears that had been suppressed for so long came forth. In the midst of it all, I suddenly caught my breath, someone was knocking on the door!
“Lucy,” Edmund called. “Open the door.” Why was he here? How was he left behind? Why didn’t he go with the others. I wouldn’t open the door. “Lucy, what’s wrong?”
“N . . . n . . . nothing,” I stammered. I knew it wasn’t true, but there was nothing he could do, for I wouldn’t tell him.
“Emma, something is wrong. Now open the door,” his voice was quite firm.
“Please, Edmund, “ I implored, “just go away and leave me alone! I won’t open the door. There isn’t anything you can do.” The last ended in a sob. Edmund said no more, and I heard him walk down the hall to his room Why did he have to stay? Why did the telegram have to come at all? Why did Daddy have to go fight? Why was there a war anyway? Why? Why? Why? Tortured by all the questions, my mind was in a turmoil and the whole world seemed crashing down around me. There was nothing to hold on to. I couldn’t even pray except “Help, Lord!” and He did.
Right then, in the depths of my despair, someone sat down on the bed beside me, and a hand was laid on my shoulder. “Emma, what is it?” Edmund’s voice was gentleness itself, and for a minute all I could do was cry. “Lucy,” he pleaded, “won’t you tell me?” . . .

For the rest of the story, request your "test readers copy" today.:)