The Lost Letters of Aisling by Cynthia Ellingsen EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Authors: Cynthia Ellingsen
- Language: English
- Genre: Women’s Historical Fiction
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 2 MB
- Price: Free
Dublin, May 7, 1945
My mother nudged me as the motorcar sputtered to a stop.
“Evie, wake up,” she whispered.
I’d fallen asleep against her, something I hadn’t done since I was a
child, lulled by the soft fur of her coat against my cheek and the glamour of
her rose-scented perfume. Sitting up, I stared out the window, entranced by
the magnitude of the hotel. It was completely made up of brick and
stretched the length of a full city block, and its windows were surrounded
by carved stone.
Our motorcar had pulled beneath a brightly lit overhang at the
entrance, where doormen stood with the same authority as armed guards,
regal in burgundy uniforms adorned with gold tassels and polished brass
buttons. Well-dressed couples strolled arm in arm, and the anxiety I’d felt
about traveling from our small town to Dublin faded away.
I rubbed my eyes and adjusted my dress, relieved that falling asleep on
my mother had not invited a sharp rebuke. My goal was to stay out of the
way, focus on my studies, and not cause a bit of trouble for my parents.
They often traveled due to the nature of my father’s position, and I was
lucky to have been included on this trip. We had spent the week at my
great-aunt’s home in Wexford, with the famed Declee Hotel in Dublin as
our final stop. I wanted to stay out of the way because I didn’t want my
parents to regret their decision to bring me or, worse, find a reason to send
me back home.
A smartly dressed valet opened the car door, and my father stepped
out first before extending his hand to my mother. They turned to admire the
hotel, talking quietly to one another, and the valet offered me his hand. I
gave him a brief nod, unsure whether it would be proper to accept, then
fumbled my way out of the car on my own.
The air was warm and damp, smelling of petrol and the faded scent of
hops: so different from the fresh sea air of home, where petrol was in
shortage and the villagers managed on cart and foot.
I had just tucked a loose strand of hair beneath my hat when I noticed
a girl who looked near to my age, fourteen, leaning against the wall and
watching our arrival. Her strawberry blonde hair was pinned in soft waves
beneath a forest green pillbox hat, perfectly matched to a pair of leather
gloves, a green leather purse, and a navy-and-green-plaid houndstooth
dress. The sophistication of her clothing and bright-red lipstick enthralled
me, as I was not yet allowed to paint my face.
“Evie.” My mother turned to me. “Stay close.”
The girl’s eyes met mine, and a smirk tugged at her mouth. My cheeks
flushed as I followed my parents to the grand front entrance.
“Welcome, sir.” The hotel porter greeted my father with equal parts
gusto and respect. His burgundy uniform was impeccable, several steps up
from those worn by the American soldiers who had questioned us at the
blockade leading into the city.
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