Quest for Faith: Chapter Two

I'm very sorry that I'm a bit behind on this post. I hope the suspense hasn't been too much for you to endure! Enjoy the next chapter of my story, and look for the next chapter to be posted tomorrow.

Chapter Two:

In the Bookshop

As the boys sat, engrossed in their own textual worlds, the voice of Mr. Lumley – gentle as it was – startled them. “D’ye need a wee bit o’ sustenance, m’boys?” he asked with a good natured chuckle. In his hands, he carried a tray of ginger cookies and two large glasses of milk. The elderly man looked down at the boys with the loving eyes of a friend and a mentor.

Thanking him, the boys took the tray and downed the snack before Mr. Lumley had even returned to his post at the front desk. As it was on most rainy midsummer days, scarcely one person came into the shop. On some days, a friend or neighbour might stop in to say hello to Mr. Lumley or bring him some fresh bread they had baked. But generally during the school holidays, the boys had the run of the place.

The small town was gaining many more children as the war progressed and worried parents from large cities sought a safe environment for their children, away from the horrors of war. Most of the other children stayed outside, playing football or cricket in the fields on the outskirts of the small town. The boys rarely saw the other children, though sometimes they would see the group at the local church on Sunday mornings when they went with Mr. Lumley, but Alastair and James preferred to keep to themselves.

Alastair wiped off his milk moustache with the sleeve of his blue knitted sweater – which was actually a few sizes too large for him – and tried to get the very last drop of milk from the bottom of the glass. Quite contented, he leaned back and let out a long sigh. He gazed out the front window, still lost in story. The rain was beating down on the thick-paned window. The high street was empty and the afternoon wore on. Beyond the quaint storefronts, misty hills rose on the horizon, haunting in the translucent curtain of distant rain.

Alastair turned to look at his brother. James’ hair was much lighter than his own dark hair, and was much curlier as well. It shone, even in the dull afternoon light. Alastair knew from his brother’s face that he was enraptured in a good story. In fact, Alastair had read the book a few weeks ago, and had recommended it to James.