Whisper on the Wind (16 page)

‘If you were my wife, Katarina,’ he said softly, ‘I would treat you good. If you belonged to me –’

He shrugged and refilled his mug. She did not belong to him; she never would. She was a married English woman and he was Italian. They were enemies. It was as simple as that.

Roz whistled loudly and cheerfully.

‘Grace says you’ve had your tea, Kath, so can you give me a hand in the milking parlour? I’ve fed the calves and filled the trough in the foldyard. There’s only the mucking-out to do, then Mat might let us give the men a hand this afternoon. It’s such a lovely day to be outdoors.’

‘Marco could do with some help. He’s there alone. Will Jonty be long away?’

‘No. The smithy’s only half a mile the other side of the village. He’ll be back by dinnertime. Oh, Kath, this day is dragging so.’

‘When are you meeting Paul?’

‘Tomorrow night. God! I’ve missed him. I’m grateful he’s been away from flying, but it hurts like hell when he isn’t near me. Why isn’t it nineteen forty-four?’

‘Is that when the war’s going to end?’

‘Wish I knew. It’s Leap Year I’m talking about. That’s when I’ll propose to Paul, and he won’t be able to refuse me.’

‘Idiot! In nineteen forty-four you’ll be twenty-one, and no one can stop you marrying him. Which date in April is it?’

‘The twenty-fourth. St Mark’s Eve – or so Polly says.’

‘And does that make it special?’

‘Not really. It’s just that on St Mark’s Eve – oh, it’s a long story! I’ll tell you some other time. Let’s get the milking parlour brushed out and then we’ll have done a fair morning’s work for King and Country. Let’s work like mad, Kath, then tomorrow will come sooner. And just think – they’re saying it’ll be a week at least before they can use the runway again.’

‘Wonder why they’ve never thought to take off over the grass,’ Kath reasoned, ever practical, if they really had to, that is.’

‘Couldn’t be done, especially now with the ground so soft and wet. Those Lancasters weigh a lot. Bombed-up and with a full fuel load on they’d get bogged down if they tried it. Oh no, Kath. Paul’s off flying for another week, thank heaven, and if I’m being unpatriotic, then hard luck!’

Whistling, she picked up brush and shovel and Kath watched her go, eyes sad.

She’s so happy. Don’t let her get hurt. Please, God, look after Paul and Barney. And all husbands and sweethearts and sons.

Poor God. His ears must be ringing with prayers.

‘Roz. I think I’ve just done something stupid. It – it’s about Marco.’

‘Oh, yes. And what has Signor So-So been up to, then?’

‘That wasn’t kind, Roz, and he hasn’t done anything. It was me; something I said that I shouldn’t have.’

‘Like Italians go home?’

‘All right – if you don’t want to listen –’

‘I do. Tell me.’

‘Well – it was just that we got to talking about letters – and by the way, he’s had bad news from home about his cousin. Anyway, I mentioned that Barney got upset about women in uniform and young men who didn’t join up …’

‘Like Jonty?’

‘Yes. I haven’t told Barney about Jonty, you see, and if I told him about Marco, Lord knows what would happen. And as for telling him about what happened on threshing day – well –’

‘You’re afraid of him, aren’t you; you’re scared to tell him in case he gets upset, and nothing must upset Barney, must it? Queen Victoria’s been gone a long time, y’know. You should stand up to him.’

‘Roz, no! You’ve got it all wrong. Barney is good and kind – it’s just that he has strong views about certain things.’ She laid aside her brush and took a cigarette packet from the pocket of her dungarees. ‘Oh, let’s have a smoke! Go on, I can spare it. The WVS ladies came to the hostel last night and they let me have ten. No, it’s just that I want him to be proud of me for joining up, that’s all. I wanted to be a landgirl so much.’ Sighing, she struck a match.

‘And so he should be proud of you. But your trouble, Kath Allen, is that you think you owe Barney something for marrying you – but you don’t need me to tell you that, do you? And d’you know what I think you should do? I think you should take a long, smug look in a mirror, then tell that Barney of yours to grow up.’

‘
Roz
!’ Oh my goodness, hadn’t Marco said much the same thing?

‘I mean it, Kath. You could have married any man you wanted but you settled for someone like Barney. When are you going to accept that what happened when you were a baby wasn’t any of your fault? And that’s something else. You said you’d go to the Friday-night dances at Peddlesbury, and you haven’t been. Wouldn’t Barney like that, either?’

‘I honestly don’t know. Maybe it’s me. Maybe I feel it isn’t right for a married woman to go to dances without her husband; not right for me, that is. Yet there are married girls at the hostel who go and nobody bothers about it.’

‘So why don’t you come on Friday and meet Paul? You’d enjoy yourself, and a good night out with the girls might stop you feeling so guilty about nothing, or maybe,’ she grinned, ‘with a bit of luck it just might give you something to feel guilty
about.
’

‘You’re wicked, Roz Fairchild, and I’ll go to that dance, just to show you!’

‘Great. You’ll have a smashing time. The band’s really good and there’s loads of partners.’

‘You’ve persuaded me. I do like dancing and I miss not going. And as long as I’m wearing my wedding ring, I suppose it’ll –’

‘Oh, wear the thing through your nose if it’ll make you feel any happier, but
come
! Promise you will?’

‘Promise.’

‘And you don’t have to tell Barney, you know.’

‘The way he’s acting now,’ Kath tilted her chin defiantly, ‘I don’t think I will.’

‘Great! A bit of sense at last! But let’s get on with it. Leaning on shovels isn’t going to get this war won.’

Kath did not reply. She was thinking about the dance, wishing she’d thought to bring just one nice dress with her, and her dancing shoes. She could, of course, send stamps to Aunt Min and ask her to post them, but Aunt Min might want to know why she needed her gold slippers, and that would never do.

‘I think,’ she murmured, ‘that when I’m due for some time off, I’ll look out a few civvy clothes to bring back with me.’

Sneakily, of course. So Aunt Min wouldn’t know.

They were walking through the orchard when Kath saw the little white flower. It stood small and frail beneath the holly hedge.

‘Roz! A snowdrop. Isn’t it beautiful?’

‘It is, and a sure sign that winter’s on the way out. Think I’ll take it in for Gran – cheer her up.’ She bent to pick it carefully. ‘She’s been a bit quiet these last few days. I’ll put it in an egg cup in the kitchen window. Come in and say hullo. She’d like that.’

‘It was good of Mr Ramsden to let us help the men this afternoon, wasn’t it?’ Kath kicked off her boots at Ridings’ back door.

‘It was. He’s a lovely man.’

‘An older edition of Jonty, I suppose. They say,’ Kath murmured obliquely, ‘that when a man chooses a wife he should take a long, hard look at her mother, because that’s how his bride might look in about twenty-five years.’

‘Ah, but I don’t intend marrying Jonty, so it doesn’t apply, does it?’ Roz filled a blue and white egg cup with water. ‘And where is everybody? We could make off with the sugar ration and they’d be none the wiser. Still, can’t wait.’ She placed the little flower on the window sill. ‘Polly’ll think the little people have left it.’

Polly Appleby thought no such thing. They were only half way across Ridings’ cobbled yard when a cry of rage made them turn to see a blue and white egg cup being deposited on the doorstep.

‘Who was it, then?’ Polly pointed to the flower. ‘Who brought that thing into the house?’

‘But, Poll, it’s only a little snowdrop.’ Roz laughed.

‘Aye.
One
snowdrop. I thought you’d have had more sense, Roz Fairchild. Asking for trouble, that’s what. And the times I’ve told you!’

‘It was a surprise,’ Kath insisted, wondering at Polly’s dismay. ‘To cheer up Mrs Fairchild.’

‘Cheer her up? She can do with cheering up when you invite death into the house!’

‘Oh Lord, I’d forgotten,’ Roz whispered. ‘I really had, Poll. I’m sorry, I truly am.’

‘And so you ought to be.’

‘I’ll go and find another. Two would make it all right, wouldn’t it?’

‘Find as many as you will. The damage is done now, you foolish girl. Oh, be off with you. I’ll get rid of it. And next time just think on, will you? Your gran has enough to worry over without you adding to it.’

Indignantly Polly slammed the door; white-faced, Roz whispered, ‘How could I have been so stupid?’

‘But what did we do?’ Kath demanded. ‘A little flower; a pretty little flower and Polly gets herself all het up.’

‘A snowdrop – one snowdrop on its own – is bad luck brought into the house. Poll even goes so far as to say it’s a death sign, but she’s so superstitious you wouldn’t believe it.’

‘Well,
I
don’t believe it,’ Kath countered hotly. ‘I never heard of such a thing. One tiny flower, that’s all it was.’

‘I know.
One.
You can bring in two snowdrops, you can bring in a bunch, but one –
never.
I should have remembered.’

‘I’m surprised at you, I really am,’ Kath chided. ‘Of course a flower can’t bring death. I don’t believe it.’

‘Nor should I, but Gran does. The last time it happened my parents were killed before the year was out.’

‘And your grandfather?’

‘I don’t know about then. I only know I should have thought. But Polly believes what she calls the signs. Like the St Mark’s Eve thing. She swears that’s true, as well.’

‘St Mark’s Eve? You were going to tell me, weren’t you?’ Kath reminded.

‘Oh, forget it,’ Roz snapped. ‘It’s nonsense. Superstition, that’s all. For heaven’s sake, let’s get down to the men before the sun goes in. Let’s breathe in some clean, no-nonsense fresh air.’

‘But you’ve got me curious. I want to know.’

‘
Later
, I said,’ Roz ground. ‘We’ve had enough superstition for one day. Just leave it, okay? Lord, how I want Paul.’

How she wanted him, needed him. Needed his arms around her and his lips against her cheek telling her it was all right, that one small flower could harm no one.

‘Paul!’ she gasped, horrified. ‘It could be Paul!’

‘It could
not
be Paul; it
will
not be Paul. I helped you pick it, Roz, and I helped you put it in water and I’m not one bit afraid. Be reasonable, girl. Say the Lord’s prayer, or something. Say something holy and that’ll be the end of it. Go on. Do as I say, and it’ll be all right.’

‘You’re sure?’

‘I’m absolutely sure. Nothing’s stronger than
Our Father …
’

Closing her eyes, Roz did as she was told. Of course Kath was right and Polly was a silly, superstitious woman. One little flower? One pretty little flower?

‘Who was that?’ Hester Fairchild demanded, closing the kitchen door behind her, holding her hands to the fire. ‘Who were you talking to, Poll?’

‘Only Roz and Kath,’ she replied without looking up. ‘On their way to the game-cover. Just called, in passing.’

‘The game-cover. Why on earth do we call it that? There’s been no game in it since Martin died.’

‘There’s been partridge and a few wild pheasants and rabbits, too, though they’ll be gone, now. The girls are fetching some wood, so go easy on the coal; there’s bad weather ahead of us and you don’t want to face it with an empty coalhouse, now do you?’

The mistress of Ridings did not, and though she had resented the tearing out of the game-cover she knew full well that next winter there would be logs enough to warm the whole house. It would be something to look forward to, with coal so hard to come by.

‘They should ration coal,’ she murmured, frowning. ‘Ration it officially, that is, then we’d all know where we stood.’

‘Happen they should, at that.’ Polly was still upset about the snowdrop but she had managed to throw it away and wash out the egg cup before Hester came downstairs. ‘Happen they will. And I’ve seen to the water like Roz asked me. It’s in the white bucket outside.’

‘Water?’

‘Rainwater,’ Poll supplied. ‘From the backyard tub. She wants to wash her hair tonight.’

‘I see.’ So tonight would be the last of her granddaughter’s evenings at home. Tomorrow, it seemed, the airman would be back from leave and the untruths and prevarications would start all over again.

She walked to the window that overlooked the orchard and gazed at the yellow carpet of aconites and the pale green sheen that covered the hedge bottoms; the green that promised snowdrops soon to flower.

Once – last year, even – the sight would have given her happiness, but not any longer. To see the first stirrings of spring left an emptiness inside her because now it meant only another year to be endured. She was, Hester admitted, getting tired. Her love of living had ended with Martin’s death, but there had been a daughter to rear and a granddaughter, too; a granddaughter who had changed overnight, almost, from child to woman.