The Bee Line

By Sandra Maggs

Thrown into turmoil by an unforgiving war, the life of Edith Fricker is about to change. Nobody expected her mother to commit the most selfish crime against her children. So when Edith and her younger sister find themselves alone, they are shunted from the drab streets of London to a foster home in the countryside.
Meeting Erik and his grandfather Jakob, Edith discovers a cruel account that even the horrific events of her own life can't compare to. As time passes she learns the secrets of the land and is rewarded with the most cherished gift of all.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sandra Maggs
• Release date: Sep 4, 2018
• ISBN: 9780463324073

Sandra Maggs

I was born in a library and raised on literature. From a young age I wrote my own stories and read them to anyone who would listen. After years of hard work and determination, I'm finally dabbling in the world of Indie Publishing and I love it! My favourite genre is fantasy, but I'll give anything a shot.

Book preview

The Bee Line

Copywrite 2018 Sandra Maggs

Published by Sandra Maggs at Smashwords

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Chapter One

In the beginning, all I knew about Erik’s grandfather was, he was and would always be, Jewish. The past seven years hadn’t been very favourable for Jews and the past year hadn’t been very favourable for me.

War is a very cruel commander, and even those who don’t fight on the front line often have a battle of their own. It was 1945 when peace was declared and the war finished. The soldiers returned and were welcomed home as heroes, well most of them. My dad didn’t come back. Missing in action, that’s what they told my mum. I remember when we got the news. It came in the form of a telegram and as I sat by her side on the sofa, she crumpled the paper in her shaky hands and her heart broke into a thousand tears, which flowed down her cheeks.

As I sat there, I realised I couldn’t cry for my missing father. I had to stay strong for Mum. But my strength wasn’t enough and as her broken heart wouldn’t mend, she chose suicide over her children. I felt any love I had for my mother die when she did, and then resentment towards her set in. The last day of her life was the worst day of mine and I was ashamed of her.

There didn’t seem to be anything unusual about Mum that morning, except, the depression she suffered had somehow been brushed under the rug with some dust and the sad memory of the telegram. While she fussed over us at breakfast and hugged and kissed us goodbye, we didn’t realise it would be the final time. Perhaps I should have seen the warning signs from that tiny change. But when my sister and I arrived home at the end of the day expecting to find her still cheerful, she wouldn’t wake up. I knocked on the wall to old Mrs Gossip next door. That wasn’t her real name, but she always had a tale to tell about someone living in the street. Well, she came over instantly and sent for the doctor to pay a visit to our house. I can’t remember much about the whole ordeal, except that Elsie went into some sort of shock and hasn’t spoken a word since. Elsie is my seven-year-old sister.

I didn’t cry at my mother’s funeral. My heart lay stony beneath the black dress I wore that day, as I sat on the cold wooden pew in the church holding my sister’s hand. In the other hand, Elsie clutched a small, round, blue bag with a picture of a dog on the front. Inside she kept a tattered photograph of my father. Mum had given it to her because she couldn’t really remember his face.

My uncle stood in front of the congregation and spoke of how his sister had been a brave woman and a devoted mother who loved her children, and how she was tragically taken before her time. I wanted to stand up and scream the word liar at him. I wanted to tell them all about how she’d given in and taken the coward’s way out, but I sat there and let him hide the truth in his emotional speech.

There was tea and sandwiches afterwards, and people came to Elsie and me with their comforting voices and expressed their deepest condolences. But I didn’t want sympathy, I wanted my parents back.

My name’s Edith Fricker and I’m thirteen years old. At the end of the war my father was missing in action and my mother had selfishly committed suicide. But this story isn’t really about either of my parents, it’s the story of Erik’s grandfather, oh, and me of course.

Chapter Two

Being an orphan isn’t very nice. We had relatives like everybody else, but because of one reason or another, none of them seemed to be in a position to be able to take care of us both together. So the selfish act my mother had decided was the best thing to do, found us alone in the world, and all sorts of thoughts ran through my head. The most important one was, what is going to happen to me? Did you notice I said me? Not to be self-centred of course, but my sister Elsie is a sweet little girl with blonde curly hair, blue eyes, and the kind of face that makes you want to pinch her cheeks. The authorities would most likely be able to find somewhere nice for her, but nobody wants a thirteen-year-old, especially one with brown lifeless hair and a long thin face, sort of like a horse. Unless of course, they’re going to put you to work pulling a cart or something. I didn’t have any talent when it came to manual labour, all of my skills came from thinking. To be honest, I thought they would separate me and my sister and I would never see her again. But because my father had been so important to the army, a nice man by the name of Sergeant Oliver Luxford stepped in and insisted the family who took us in would care for the both of us and not send me off to an orphanage. Well, that’s exactly what happened. Somebody, somewhere in the vast English countryside, arranged to take the two of us.

It was strange leaving everything behind. I’d only ever lived in one place, and it was then I realised nothing would ever be the