Chapter Nine“The selection gets worse by the day. Even if you have ration stamps, there’s nothing worth purchasing.”
Rosa eyed the woman standing on the other side of the bin that held five mottled potatoes. She poked one of the mealy-looking tubers and nodded. These were definitely not from Basil’s farm.
She nibbled the inside of her lip. When had she begun to think of him as Basil instead of Mr. Quincey? It had been three weeks since he sat on his horse and stared at her from the top of the hill. He visited all of his fields each day. Why should she think he had a special interest in her?
Tucking two of the lesser-bruised potatoes into her canvas bag, Rosa moved to the bread display. It was so much cheaper to make bread, but by the time she got home from work, there were not enough ho
