The Major's Daughter by J. P. Francis Read Free Book Online Page A

the German prisoners up close. They had been through a great deal, obviously, and no one with an ounce of charity in his heart could begrudge them decent food. Besides, the men required the food for work.
    Collie glanced out the window at the gloomy day. The weather was mixed and a cold front had lowered over the mountains to reclaim the last memories of winter. Collie sat with her father beside the sparkling fire. Her father, she saw, dozed off now and then, his head drifting rearward against the large chairback before he snapped forward and straightened it once more. He resisted sleep, she knew, because he wanted to visit the camp again before darkness. She had plans to go riding with the Chapman girls, though she was not certain if the weather would curtail the outing.
    Meanwhile, she wrote a letter to Estelle, outlining in broad strokes what had occurred in the camp over the last several days. It was difficult to know where to draw a line in what she told her friend. She had already clipped out a number of the pertinent stories from the
Littleton Courier
and the
Berlin Reporter
; she had even drawn arrows on the photographs the paper published to show Estelle where the men went and how they lived. It felt like doing a report for school, and she realized, as she came to the last paragraphs of the letter, that she had perhaps taken greater delight in assembling the report than might have been entirely friendly. She had loved doing such work at Smith, and she was aware of allowing her friend to serve as a surrogate professor. Estelle, her faithful friend, would read every word of it and respond in kind. But Collie knew she did the report for her own benefit at least as much as she did to service their communication. She couldn’t help it.
    The phone rang somewhere in the house, and Collie heard Mrs. Hammond’s voice speaking. A moment later Mrs. Hammond came in and said the Chapman girls would arrive by three. The weather, she said, promised to clear. Mrs. Hammond’s voice stirred her father, who groggily climbed to his feet and put his back to the fire.
    â€œExcellent meal,” he told Mrs. Hammond before she departed. “Thank you for a lovely Easter dinner.”
    â€œIt came out fairly well,” Mrs. Hammond said, her face blushing a little at the compliment. “Tell me, though, Major, I’ve heard the Germans have a professional cook up at the camp.”
    â€œIt’s true. He was the head chef at a hotel in Munich. Apparently he’s quite gifted. You have competition in your small valley here, Mrs. Hammond.”
    â€œI’m sure I’m not competition for a professional chef,” Mrs. Hammond said, obviously in a little turmoil at the news. “What hotel was that?”
    â€œI don’t know, but I’ll ask and let you know. I guess he intends to plant a garden for the mess kitchen, which is a good idea in any case. He requisitioned a few packets of seeds.”
    â€œA garden is a good thing.”
    Mrs. Hammond left.
    â€œThat’s quite a letter you have there,” her father said, nodding at the papers surrounding her. “Is that for Estelle or the
New York Times
?”
    â€œEstelle, Papa.”
    â€œWell, she’ll be glad to have your news, I’m sure. This war can’t last forever, you know. You can go back to Smith when it ends.”
    â€œOh, I think that day has passed, Papa.”
    â€œNot necessarily. The Germans can’t hold out too much longer, from what I hear. Their situation isn’t good.”
    â€œWe’ll hope for a quick ending.”
    â€œSo you are going riding with the Chapman girls? It was nice of them to invite you. You’ll be riding the big draft horses, I’m afraid.”
    â€œStill, it will be fun.”
    â€œThere have been cars all day up at the camp. People are using their gas rations to take a ride past the fence and stare at the Germans. It’s like a zoo to them.”
    â€œThe