June 1939
June 1939June 1939“Isabelle?” Elizabeth came down for breakfast and halted as she saw two men out in her aunt’s back garden. Each man had a shovel, and they were digging up Isabelle’s best roses. The blooms and their leafy branches had been tossed into a messy pile a short distance away.
“Isabelle?” she called again, more deeply concerned than ever.
“Yes?” Isabelle swanned into the room. She’d pulled her hair back in a loose knot at the nape of her neck and looked ready to go on a picnic on the Amalfi Coast. The dark-green dress she wore was more sedate than her usual fashion.
Elizabeth pointed toward the kitchen window that overlooked the garden. “What are those men doing?”
Isabelle peered out the window. “Oh, good, they’re here. They’ve come to put our Anderson shelter in.
