Hearts Divided (Cedar Cove #5.5)
Debbie Macomber
5-B POPPY LANE
Debbie Macomber
February 2006
My dearest readers,
All I was planning to do was meet my dear friends Katherine Stone and Lois Faye Dyer for lunch. Before I knew it, the three of us were plotting some loosely connected stories about three war brides—and their granddaughters. Katherine had been discussing the idea with her editor (who is also mine) and she asked if Lois and I wanted to be part of it.
My mother was a war bride. Not in the traditional sense, however, as my mother and father married at home during the war. Shortly after their marriage, Dad shipped out to Europe and they didn’t see each other again for three very long years.
The concept for this anthology appealed to me for another reason, too. My father fought in France and was captured by the Germans during the Battle of the Bulge in 1944, near Bastogne. He never spoke of his imprisonment until the end of his life. With his World War II experiences on my mind, I sat in the doctor’s waiting room one day–and stumbled upon a magazine article about the work of the French Resistance. It fascinated me, and my story was born.
I decided to give my fictional war bride a home in Cedar Cove, Washington, the setting of my ongoing series of books, which started with 16 Lighthouse Road. (The sixth title, 6 Ranier Drive, will be released in September 2006.) I thought that Cedar Cove was the right sort of town for Helen, and I hope you’ll agree.
I also hope you enjoy 5-B Poppy Lane. This story is special to me because I wrote it in memory of my parents and the love they shared for over sixty years.
Debbie Macomber
P.S. I love to hear from readers. You can reach me at www.debbiemacomber.com or at P.O. Box 1458, Port Orchard, WA 98366.
To my parents
Ted and Connie Adler
who married July 25, 1942
before my father
headed off to war
Prologue
Helen Shelton
5-B Poppy Lane
Cedar Cove, Washington
April 1
My dear Winifred,
You’ve been on my mind all week, and I decided the best thing to do was simply write. I’m much more comfortable with a pen in my hand than sitting at a computer, not that I have one. I do envy you and Clara communicating via the Internet, though. I got a kick out of Clara’s e-mail address—if that’s the correct term. [email protected]. Yours is obviously because of the secret codes you learned during the war. Unfortunately, those computer machines intimidate me. My granddaughter, Ruth, keeps saying they’re not as difficult as they seem, but I don’t know….
You remember my friend Charlotte Jefferson-Rhodes. She, too, has encouraged me to learn. She tried to persuade me to sign up for a computer class at the Senior Center, and I considered it for a time—a brief time. But somewhat to Charlotte’s chagrin, I decided I’m just too old and set in my ways. I find holding a fountain pen intensely satisfying, old-fashioned or not. I realize my reluctance is a disappointment to you and Clara, and I apologize. I agree it would be a wonderful way for us to keep in touch. The two of you are as dear to me as family. In my heart, you are family. After the war, it was you, and Sam, of course, who showed me that life was still worth living. I’m deeply indebted to you both.
Speaking of the war, I find myself thinking more and more about those years in France. I woke in a cold sweat last night, dreaming of Jean-Claude. I’ve never spoken to my children about my experiences during the Second World War because I didn’t know how to tell them I’d been married before and that I’d loved a man other than their father. As you know so well, Sam was my hero, my second chance at love and life. He saved me, and gave me a reason to live. I’ll always be grateful that he brought me to you and Clara. You are the sisters of my heart.
All these years, I’ve pushed the war memories into the depths of my mind, but now they’re here again, unwanted and unyielding, refusing to leave. I’m thinking that perhaps I should write them down for the family to read after I’m gone. As you’ve so often said, they have a right to know. I’m beginning to agree with you.
Now enough about that! Let me go on to more pleasant subjects. The main one is your birthday. Your 80th! For years you bemoaned the fact that you were younger than Clara and me. I haven’t heard you mention that lately. At any rate, your birthday’s coming soon and it’s the perfect opportunity for the three of us to get together. Winifred, just imagine—eighty years. Who would ever have believed we’d live this long? I know I didn’t. But then, I always assumed I’d die before Sam. That wasn’t to be; God had other plans.
In any event, this is a special birthday and we should celebrate. Traveling isn’t as easy for me as it once was, and I suspect it isn’t for you, either, so that trip we always talked about—the three of us going to Hawaii and Hong Kong—is out. But we’re not dead yet! I’ve still got some spring to my step and so do you! However, I doubt either of us could keep up with Clara.
What would you think if I booked us on the passenger ferry up to Victoria, British Columbia? It’s spectacular there this time of year. We could stay at the Empress Hotel and tour Butchart Gardens. The hotel is lovely, and their high tea is not to be missed. I’ve already written Clara and suggested the three of us go there together. How does that sound? I’ll wait to hear back from you before I make the hotel reservations.