Soldier's Valentine Read Online Free

seemed to satisfy them.
    However, the sooner the past was buried the better. The sooner Mary Anne was married to somebody else the better. That’s when the idea occurred to her regarding the lonely young man who attended Sunday service so regularly.
    ‘I know his name is Henry, but is there anything else we know about him?’
    Her husband, now deep in notes for next Sunday’s sermon, looked up at her. ‘Who?’
    ‘The young man. Henry whatever his name is.’
    ‘Randall. Henry Randall. All I know is that he lives alone in lodgings somewhere and that he has no relatives. And of course we already know he served on the Western Front.’
    ‘No wonder he spends Sunday with God. Weekends, especially Sundays, are so lonely if one doesn’t have any family – everything being closed and nothing happening anywhere.’
    She smiled while peering at her husband from beneath a fringe of reddish blonde hair which was only a little lighter than her daughter’s. She could still smile prettily and turn on girlish ways when there was something she wanted him to agree to. This was exactly what she did now.
    Her husband shook his head mournfully. ‘Sundays are a day of rest, my dear. The Lord rested on the seventh day following a hard week of creating the Universe. Poor fella! Still, at least he’s hard working. I know that much. Drives a taxicab; one of them blue ones that pick people up from outside Temple Meads Station.’
    ‘Oh really,’ said his wife, sounding surprised, though in reality she already knew that. ‘I wonder, dear, whether we should invite him for tea, not next Sunday, but perhaps the Sunday after? I mean, Mary Anne’s back next week. She needs to settle …’
    The seed was planted. She could tell that by the way he frowned, lightened, then frowned again. ‘He’s very working class.’
    ‘Under the circumstances, I think we have to overlook that particular shortcoming,’ said his wife.
    ‘Yes,’ he replied. ‘I suppose we do.’
    The first Mary Anne knew of Henry Randall was when he shook hands with her father at church the following Sunday.
    On this particular Sunday another lay preacher was giving the sermon, her father consigned to listening and nodding in agreement with certain statements, however clichéd they might be.
    Mary Anne was introduced to Henry immediately following the end of the service.
    Her father cleared his throat. ‘This is our daughter, Mary Anne.’
    Henry Randall seemed taken aback at the sight of her before finally before finding his voice. ‘Pleased to meet you.’
    ‘Likewise,’ said Mary Anne, before retrieving her hand from his firm grip.
    She never thought anything more of it until her mother announced that he was coming to tea the following Sunday.
    ‘Now you’re recovered from your little trip,’ she said smiling.
    Mary Anne grimaced at the knowledge that her confinement would always be referred to as her ‘little trip’. The fact that giving away her baby had left her feeling devastated was brushed over. It was all for the best, that was what they kept telling her. The story they’d toldpeople about having been on a trip to Europe was almost laughable, or would be if she didn’t feel so sad.
    ‘Be kind to Mr Randall,’ her father said to her, his voice was firm. ‘He fought on the Western Front. We haven’t mentioned anything about your engagement to Edward. Your mother and I think it’s best nothing is said. It’s over and what’s past is past.’
    Her mother was supportive of her husband, her gaze flashing nervously between Mr Sweet and their daughter.
    ‘Three-quarters of a million men were killed, Mary Anne; a dreadful tragedy for them their families and the girls that might have become their wives. There are going to be a lot of young girls who will never know the joy of having children …’ She hesitated, suddenly aware of what she was saying. ‘What I mean to say is, if you do marry then you’ll be one of the lucky ones.’
    It was on the tip