It took me a while to get used to using the Goodwins first names. They felt foreign to speak and I couldn't shake the feeling that I would get in trouble every time I said it. Mum always said it was impolite to call an adult by their first name unless they were a relation; she would kill me if she heard me talk to the Goodwins in such a relaxed way.
Still, the lack of formality between the three of us certainly helped to lessen the tension that had weighed so heavy over the past few months and even Mrs Goodwin - Barbara - had become more relaxed towards me. To anyone who didn't know our situation, we most likely looked like an ordinary family unit, perhaps extended or adopted family, but a family unit nonetheless. Perhaps I could grow to see them more as an Aunt and Uncle like Eva did, but I would never see them as more than that.
Mum's letters kept arriving, almost one a week since the month-long gap between the first and second one. She even wrote another letter to the Goodwins to find out more about what I had been up to. Not that much had changed since their first letter except that the work around the farmhouse had lessened because most of it had been completed. The walls were painted, the creaking floorboards and stairs repaired and we had even washed the staircase and the wooden flooring. It was far from the dingy house that it had been when I turned up.
I also received a letter from Dad after months of hearing nothing from him. Eva had given it to me on a visit to the Post Office with Barbara but she didn't get the chance to read it for me before someone else walked in who needed her attention. For two days, it had sat in my room with me unable to figure out what it said. I wanted to write back to him, but I couldn't do that if I didn't know what his letter said.
After church on Sunday, I grabbed the letter from my room and took it down to the living room with me. Barbara's rules were that we spent the entire Sunday together so I didn't have much of a choice. I sat on the sofa with the letter open on my lap, struggling to read it. Jonathan, who had sat beside me, peered over at me from the top of his book.
"You alright over there?" he asked.
"Fine," I said.
"Need a hand?"
"I can read it myself."
Jonathan put his book down on the table and sat forward. "I never said you couldn't. Your dad's handwriting looks really hard to decipher, I just thought you might need a little bit of help trying to figure out what he even wrote. It sort of reminds me of a Doctor's note."
I laughed. "My grandmother always said he was in the wrong profession."
"Let's have a look, maybe we can figure this out together."
I reluctantly handed over the letter and sat back to watch Jonathan try and figure out what Dad had written in his letter. His handwriting had been difficult for anyone to understand, even Mum, so for me, it felt like trying to read a different language. None of the letters looked the way I expected them to and some of them even merged into the next making it impossible for me to tell what the word was supposed to be. Although I didn't want to admit to Jonathan the real reason why I couldn't read the letter, I welcomed the help.
"It looks like his training is going well," Jonathan said after a little while. "They haven't been deployed yet but he says he'll tell you the moment he knows if he is. He also says that he's really proud of you for the work you've been doing on the farm. It looks like he'll be coming for a visit once he gets leave as well."
"When will that be?"
"Doesn't say, but I'm sure he'll let you know." He handed the letter back to me.
"Thank you," I said. "For reading it. Dad's handwriting is a mystery to me."
"You know, Sybil, it doesn't hurt to ask for help sometimes, or even to admit that you need it."
With that, Jonathan stood up and headed towards the kitchen to see if Barbra needed any help with anything. I sat there and stared at the letter in front of me, Dad's handwriting just looking like someone had scribbled all over the page with a pen rather than tried to write anything intelligible. Jonathan's words washed over me like one continuous wave and I couldn't shake the feeling that there had been a hidden meaning to them and something that he wanted to say but didn't for some reason or another.
I had seen the occasional glances between the two of them when I had struggled to read something as simple as a word written on a container full of sugar. Barbara had caught me handing a letter to Eva to read but she hadn't said anything, although they both had a rather hushed conversation that evening. It didn't take much for me to figure out that they were probably talking about me and the fact that they had ended up with an idiot for a guest rather than someone with any intellectual ability.
The fact that I had always struggled to read, even beyond the early stages of my childhood, had always been one of the things I hated about myself. I became a target to those who didn't understand. Teachers, Mum, my classmates and anyone else who didn't get how difficult it was just said I was being lazy. They all said I had the ability to read and that I just didn't put the effort into actually learning it, although that had been far from the truth.
My friends were the only ones who tried to help me rather than make assumptions but even with their help, it hadn't made much difference. I stopped talking about it or even mentioning it at school or at home because I knew what the response would be. Although I knew I couldn't help it, I was really trying to figure out how to read, even though I started to think they were all right. That a part of me was broken or damaged because I couldn't do something so easy, so fundamental.
The Goodwin's didn't seem like they would react the same way. Jonathan sounded like he was pushing me to admit it. Maybe I needed to.
I tucked the letter into my pocket and stood up from the sofa, moving into the kitchen where Barbara and Jonathan are preparing our supper. They both looked up when I entered but they didn't say anything, so I did.
"I have something I need to say," I said.
"Well then, say it or I'll burn these potatoes," Jonathan said.
"Right." I took a breath. "I can't actually read. Not very well."
They exchanged glances and I waited for the inevitable blow, the insult that usually comes when someone finds out, but it doesn't come.
"Alright, what exactly do you have trouble with?" Jonathan asked.
"The words seem to move a little and I don't understand how a word can be spelt completely differently from the way it's said. It confuses me."
"Is that why you asked to borrow my dictionary ?" I nodded. "Well, it's not that uncommon of a problem. I encountered several children during my time as a teacher who experienced the same things you do. I think we can help you out, at least to get a better grasp on the basics."
"Really? You don't think I'm a dunce because I can't read?"
"Not at all!" Barbara said. "There was a time when very few people knew how to read and the fact that you asked for the dictionary tells you that you have the intelligence to find a way around the issue. Why on earth would you think we would say something like that?"
I shrugged. "Everyone else does. I had a teacher at school who just referred to me as 'the idiot' for an entire year because I failed the reading test he set us on the first day in his class."
"Then he's not a very good teacher. Your ability to read has no bearing on your intelligence, especially since your skills lie outside academia. That doesn't make you an idiot, or a dunce. Just human." Jonathan offered me a reassuring smile.
"Now go and wash up for supper, you have ink all over your hands."
The pressure that had been bearing down on my chest the moment I walked into the kitchen lifted when I turned towards the sink and started to try and scrub the ink off my hands. I had been so scared to tell them because I thought they would be just like everyone else, but they weren't. Alec had been right; they were good people, better than everyone else I knew and that included Mum.
I couldn't help but smile at the idea of me returning home at the end of the war with a better grasp on reading and writing. She had always pushed me to sit the school certificate despite knowing my difficulties and just thought that I wasn't working to my full capability. Maybe I could prove to her that I wasn't the idiot she thought I was, that it just took someone who believed in me and understood my problems for it to make a difference. The look on her face would be priceless.
After I had washed my hands, I helped lay the table and then sat down, watching as Babara and Jonathan prepared the plates and then set them down on the table. We said Grace, with my stomach deciding that it wanted to join in before we started eating.
"Since you'll be here for Christmas, do you have any ideas as to what you may like?" Jonathan asked. Barbara shot him a look. "Within reason, of course."
I shrugged. "I haven't really thought about it."
"Well, have a think. When it gets closer to the time, we can give you a bit of money to go to the village, consider it a form of wage for the work you've done on the farm."
"It won't be much, mind. Not until we can get the farm well and truly functional," Barbara said.
"I don't mind. I've always been a little creative with my presents. Once, I made a spice rack for Mum."
"Hm, I suppose we shall have to wait and see then." Jonathan winked at me. "You can make something for your Mum as well and we can post it, I'm sure she'd like that."
"First Christmas away from home."
"We'll make it a cracking one."
Jonathan smiled at me and I turned my attention back to the potatoes in front of me, shovelling them into my mouth so I didn't have to say anything else. It felt strange knowing I wouldn't be able to spend the holiday season with Mum and that she would be spending it on her own without me or Dad. Perhaps she would join Eva's Mum for Christmas lunch since they're both going through similar things. I liked the idea of making a gift for her.
What I thought would be a brief, week-long trip to the country felt like it was stretching out forever even though it had only been two months, approaching three. One Christmas away from Mum would be enough but I knew that Enid was right about none of us knowing just how long we were going to be away from home for. This one Christmas could turn into two, or even three and I wasn't sure if I was ready for that.
Still, even though I hadn't been all that keen with the idea of staying with the Goodwin's for longer than a few weeks, the more time that passed the more I grew to like it. The lack of noise in the morning, the clean air and the abundance of work made it all better and easier to deal with. I didn't have to worry about cars on the road or being choked by factory smoke on the way to school. The city would always be my home, but that didn't mean I couldn't grow to like the country.
"What would you say to doing a little bit of reading practise tonight? We can take it slowly, but I'd like to get a better understanding as to where you are currently," Jonathan said.
"I guess so."
"By the time you go home, you'll be a master reader, you mark my words."
"Reading lessons after evening chores, thank you very much."
"Yes, Barb."
"Good. We've only just got the farm up to a decent standard and I won't have you dragging it down because you got distracted.
"Yes, Ma'am!" Jonathan fake saluted.
I laughed slightly. Maybe seeing the Goodwin's like an extended family wouldn't be as bad as I thought it would be and maybe, just maybe, I could become a little more comfortable in the country.
~~~
A/N - Chapter Eighteen of The Last Train Home is here! I'm still going with the writing xD This is turning into a long lone xD
Questions! Are you glad that Sybil finally told the Goodwin's about her reading problems? Did you figure out she's dyslexic?
Comment below!
First Chapter - July 14th, 2021