Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 128742 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 644(@200wpm)___ 515(@250wpm)___ 429(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128742 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 644(@200wpm)___ 515(@250wpm)___ 429(@300wpm)
“Hi,” I say, breathless when he releases me.
Nate smirks, satisfied with himself. “Hi.” Then he helps me put on my helmet and pushes stray strands of hair off my face to slide a pair of goggles on me too. “You’ll want these. Too cold without them. Your eyes will freeze right in their sockets.”
I fit them on. “How do I look?”
“Brilliant.”
Feeling the bike rumble beneath me as we tear through the streets of London never gets old. Even the freezing air doesn’t bother me, arms wrapped tight around Nate’s waist. The ride reminds me of what I love about this city. The architecture and culture. The distinct neighborhoods with their particular rhythms. I love our ranch in Nashville, but there’s nothing quite like London.
In Tonwell, we take it slow through the cobblestone streets to a small cottage just beyond the village center. A petite woman in her late forties comes to greet us at the door.
“Well, you certainly do make an entrance,” she says after introductions are made. She’s in drab overalls with black stains at the knees and her graying hair tied up in a bandanna. She pulls off a pair of brown work gloves and waves us in. “Come on in and get warm. I’ll put on some tea.”
We follow her inside and take a seat at her kitchen table.
“Sorry I’m in such a state,” she says as she fills a kettle. “I’ve got chickens.”
Out the window, I notice a garden in her backyard and a wooden structure I assume must be her chicken coop.
“Thank you for agreeing to meet with me,” I say gratefully. “I realize it’s a strange request.”
“Oh, I’m delighted.” Ruby puts out a plate of cookies, which Nate gratefully helps himself to. “I haven’t got much family left, so your call gave me an excuse to spend some time getting to know my ancestors.” She gestures across her kitchen to a box on the floor. “That’s them. Go on and help yourself. Jo was a fascinating girl. Wish I’d had the chance to meet her.”
“Do you know what happened to her?” I ask, unable to hide my eagerness. “Where she ended up?”
“Can’t say, I’m afraid. My grandfather Matthew was Josephine’s younger brother. From what I gathered, Matthew was still a young boy when Josephine and their sister, Evelyn, went to work for the Tulleys. They didn’t see so much of each other after that. That wasn’t unusual, you know. When you staffed a family like that, you more or less gave up your own. You sent money in a letter every week, maybe popped in a couple times a year, but for the most part, it was goodbye.”
When the kettle starts whistling, Ruby pours our tea and sets the cups down at the table.
“Milk and sugar?” she offers.
“Please.”
“None for me, thanks,” Nate says, hauling the box over and lifting it into the empty chair between us.
“How did you come into all this?” I reach into the box to pull out some of the letters bundled and tied together.
“From my mum, who passed two summers back. It’s been in my attic since I cleared her place out after that.”
“I’m sorry for your loss.”
She nods at that. “I emailed my cousin this week asking her to check her own attic, so perhaps we’ll come across more documents that could prove useful for you. As it stands, this is all we have. Our family history mostly evaporated after the war. Displaced. What bits we have are scattered, so it was good to realize I had this. I had just assumed it was bank statements and credit card bills.”
Ruby sits with us for a while, telling us more about herself and her family and what little she recalls of her grandfather, Josephine’s brother, growing up. She pulls out some artifacts she found of interest and helps provide some context for the names and relations. Like a letter to Josephine’s mother in which she confesses she’s fallen in love.
“Oh my God, listen to this.” I’m practically bouncing in my chair as I read parts of the letter aloud. “‘He is the most generous man. He adores me. And he treats me as his equal, Mother, as if he’s proud to have me by his side.’” I skim the next couple paragraphs and gasp. “Oooh, and this: ‘His mother does not approve. It has caused a strain on his family.’”
Nate’s answering laugh is wry. “How very unhelpful. Her description of this great love is interchangeable with either Tulley brother.”
“Ugh. Right? Would it have killed her to spell it out for us?” I groan in annoyance, which summons a chortle from Ruby. “‘Dear Mother, I love Robert. Yours truly, Josephine.’ Or ‘Dear Mother, William rocks my world. Your loving daughter, Josephine.’” I grumble. “Women, amirite?”
Nate looks like he’s trying not to double over in laughter.