‘Yes, I do see. When I was in France, Blighty was always Rowangarth on a summer evening such as this. Never Pendenys. I’d think of us all when young – Giles and me, especially – and you, of course, always tagging along behind us. You were a terrible nuisance, in those days.’
‘Mm.’ She smiled, relaxing a little. ‘I forget, sometimes, how close you and Giles were. Always together. It must have been awful for you to – to’
‘Conduct his burial service? Yes, it was. He was closer to me than either of my brothers. I still can’t remember a time when he wasn’t there, which is just as it should be, considering we were born only weeks apart. But about Étaples …’
‘What about Étaples? You know what a war cemetery is like. You’ve visited.’
‘Only the once to Ypres, ten years ago. I suppose, though, that one is much the same as the other.’
‘I wouldn’t know about that. The one at Étaples was one too many for me. Row after row. It made me angry, at first. My heart started banging, then I took a deep breath and tried to take stock.
‘At least he isn’t alone, Nathan, but I wished I could really have tuned-in to that place, asked them all how it was for them. I had the right, you know. I was one of them, once. I cared about them, even though my motives were selfish at first – getting nearer to Andrew, I mean. But I did care, Nathan, just as Andrew did. Nursing got to me. In the end, I’d hurt inside when we lost a patient. I couldn’t bear it, when one died …’
‘You saved Giles,’ he prompted.
‘No. That was Alice and Ruth Love. Sister made me distance myself from him till he started to pull round. Alice hardly left him – asked if she could special him. Strange, wasn’t it, that he should be brought to our ward.’
‘Yes – but wonderful.’
‘I know, yet we saved him for nothing. Imagine after all he went through, him dying of ’flu.’
‘He died of ’flu because his war wounds left him too weak to fight it. You were meant to save him, at Celverte. Perhaps you doubt your faith, sometimes, but Someone up there knew an unborn child was in need of a father and Someone knew that a young woman, soon to be mad with grief, would need something to live for …’
‘Drew,’ she whispered fondly. ‘Alice didn’t want anything to do with him when he was born, you know, but I’m glad she called him for Andrew.’
Andrew. She gazed into her glass. Such a beautiful colour, the wine …
‘It was better at the cemetery than I thought, Nathan. I’d intended taking photographs, but I didn’t. I heard his voice again, you see. I’d never been able, before, to remember it – that soft, Scottish lilt, the sound of it. Then all at once I heard it again – in my mind, I mean. I even heard him laughing, the way he used to.
“That was when I really saw that place. It wasn’t like cemeteries, here; not all sombre, sagging gravestones and yew trees. It was really well kept. Someone cares, thank God, and they were all together, in straight rows, just as if they’d been on parade. They weren’t lonely, Nathan, or forgotten.
‘There were flowers and shrubs and trees, but it was the bird that finally did it. I don’t know if they have blackbirds in France, but it sounded like the Rowangarth blackbird – the one that always sings at twilight at the end of the linden walk. There was one at Étaples, singing Sunset for those men. I wanted to weep, with relief. Andrew is all right, Nathan.’
And you, Julia?’
The clock ticked gently, the curtains moved a little in the breeze that brought summer evening scents into the room. The peace of it was such that she wanted to hold her breath, lest she disturb it.
‘Me? I realized I am Andrew’s widow, not his wife. It took me nineteen years to face up to it. I didn’t come to that decision all by myself, either. Andrew did it. He told me. I even knew he didn’t want me to photograph him as a name on a gravestone.
‘It was Andrew, you see, who caused that blackbird to be singing there. He isn’t in France, Nathan; he’s as near as I want him to be. He absolved my bitterness. Can you understand?’
‘I think I can. Love is stronger than anything I know. It’s powerful stuff …’
‘Yes. You should know. It helped you bless me and Andrew when we were married, even though –’
‘Even though I too loved you,’ he finished for her.
‘Mm. Can I have some more wine, please?’ She turned to smile up at him.
‘Only if you eat some of the sandwiches Cook left. Can’t have you weaving home through the village under the influence.’
He was walking into the kitchen as he said it, so she couldn’t read his face. It would be all right, though. Andrew had set her free to love again and one day she would love Nathan – not as she had loved Andrew; not wildly and without reason, but gently and safely and for what remained of the rest of her life. Nathan would know when die time was right.
He returned with a tray, then half filled their glasses.
‘To all those we have loved and lost,’ he smiled gently and she raised her own glass and said, ‘God keep them.’
For just a moment he held her gaze steadfastly, as if he were putting his mark on her, claiming her. Then he said, ‘Now for heaven’s sake, will you eat some of these sandwiches, woman?’
September
‘I wanted us to talk, just you and I, before we leave,’ Amelia had said, sitting at the bothy kitchen table, drinking tea from Polly’s best china cups. ‘You know we’ll take real good care of Keth; he’s important to us, and we all like him.’
‘I know that, ma’am. I’m grateful, though it’s hard to tell you how much. You didn’t have to do it.’
‘But I did! Your son risked his life for Bas. My husband watched, helpless, knowing that any minute they could both crash down. Thank heaven I was at Rowangarth …’
She stopped, shuddering visibly, eyes closed.
‘There now – don’t take on, Mrs Sutton.’ Polly placed a hesitant arm across the shaking shoulders. ‘’Twas all right, in the end.’
‘But you weren’t there, Mrs Purvis. It was the longest five minutes of my husband’s life, he said, watching them on that ledge.’
‘Good job I wasn’t there,’ Polly smiled cheerfully. ‘Mind, when I saw the state of him when he got home and found out what he’d been up to, I could’ve cuffed his ear for being such a darned young fool.’
‘But such a brave young fool. He’s one of us, now, so don’t say I mustn’t help with his education, will you? I want to – need to. It’ll be like paying God back – saying thank you to Him.
‘We leave in two days; sail from Liverpool this time, on the Berengaria – and there’s just one thing. We are having Christmas at home in Kentucky, this year. Albert wants it, you see. We’ve come over here since Kitty was a baby; he says he’s getting too old for the twice-yearly migration, as he calls it.
‘I worry about father-in-law, but there it is – family comes first. Keth will have his vacations with us. He’ll be away three years – you realize that, don’t you?’
‘Aye. But it isn’t likely he could afford to keep popping home. It wouldn’t be like taking the bus from Holdenby to Leeds, would it now? Three years will soon pass. It’ll be an adventure for him, starting with the crossing. I’m sorry he doesn’t have a fancy suit to wear at table …’
‘People aren’t obliged to dress for meals on board. Keth’s Sunday suit will do nicely. Bas’s dinner jacket suddenly doesn’t fit him, so he won’t be dressed up, either. Don’t worry so, Mrs Purvis.’
‘It’s a fine University he’ll be going to. One of the very best, Mrs MacMalcolm told me.’
‘A very good one. Pennsylvania University, at Philadelphia. My father and his brother both went there. Every bit as good, Albert says, as your Oxford and Cambridge.’
‘There now!’ Polly was impressed.
‘He and Bas will be in different faculties, but together, for all that – and perhaps we’ll all get over in ’thirty-nine. We’ll have to see how things go.’
‘On all sorts of things. There’s Europe, too. I think that’s what my husband is most apprehensive about, truth known.’
‘About that Hitler and his ranting and goose-stepping, you mean? Aye, he bothers me, an’ all. He bothers any woman who’s got a son.’
‘Oh, I don’t think anything will happen – not really – yet it’s always there, at the back of my mind. But America would keep out of it this time, if war broke out in Europe, I’m pretty sure of it. So if the worst happened, Keth would be better off with us, you know.’
‘There are all ways of looking at it,’ said Polly, soberly. ‘I’d wish him in Timbuktu – anywhere – if the balloon went up again. I haven’t forgotten, yet, the state they sent my Dickon back home in. But you don’t think …?’
‘No. Not really. It’s just that – well, it’s men who start wars, but it’s we women who bear the sons they take for their armies, so we worry more. I just wish Hitler would stop his demanding bits of this country and bits of that country. And there are things going on in Germany, I believe, that we can only guess at.
‘But let’s not talk about Hitler. An upstart, that’s what Albert calls him. A guy with a chip on his shoulder. Let’s talk about Keth? He’s got everything packed?’
‘That he has. Tom and Alice and Daisy bought him a cabin trunk as a going-away present – real smart, it looks. And talking about Daisy, she’s going to miss him cruel. They’re very close, she and Keth.’
‘Mm. I’d noticed.’
‘Aye – well, it’s like Alice says. Three years apart will give them both time to see if they want each other at the end of it. Alice reckons it’s all for the best, Keth going. She and Tom’ll give them their blessing if they still want to wed when Keth comes home – and so will I, an’ all.’
‘Daisy is a lovely girl. She’s going to grow up into a beauty. She and Kitty are close, you know. It’s going to be strange for the Clan at Christmas, Kitty says, them not being together. Oh, and Keth’s passport! He’s got it okay?’
‘He has. Keeps looking at it. Says he can’t imagine him ever having one. Makes him feel important, I think.’
‘Well, there’ll be no trouble at Immigration when we get to New York. Albert has everything seen to. It’ll all go smoothly.’
‘It’s beyond thinking about,’ Polly said, bemused just to imagine how it would be. ‘And I’ve told Keth he’s to answer to you and Mr Sutton. Don’t take any back-answers, though I don’t think he’ll give any. You chastise him, though, if he steps out of line. Don’t spoil him, will you?’
‘I’ll tell him off good, don’t worry. And I’ll stand on a chair,’ Amelia laughed, ‘and box his ears if he gets sassy!’
‘You do that, Mrs Sutton – with my blessing. And I can’t thank you enough for what you are doing for my boy. I’m not good at words, but I’m grateful.’
‘It works both ways.’ Amelia rose to her feet, wrapping Polly warmly in her arms. ‘We’ll take good care of your son, never fear, and I’ll see he writes home regularly. We’ll send a cable, the minute we’re home. The car will call, day after tomorrow, at six. We’re taking Pendenys’ little pick-up, too, for all the luggage.
‘Getting the milk train from Holdenby and the eight-fifteen from York to Liverpool. Don’t know exactly what time we sail. On the afternoon tide, it’ll be.
‘Now would you like to come to York, to wave us off – or you could come to Liverpool, if you’d like? You’d be welcome. I should’ve thought of it before this.’
‘No, thank you. I’d have asked, if I’d wanted to. Truth known, I’d rather wave him off from here. Happen when he comes home, though, I could be there to meet him. Would be something to look forward to.’
‘Just as you say. Well – see you on Wednesday morning then, bright and early.’
‘Bright and early,’ Polly said gravely.
‘You’ve got my photograph?’ Daisy whispered.
‘You know I have. I’ve got two of you – and the big one Mrs MacMalcolm took last Christmas. Remember – all the Clan together? It’ll remind me of Rowangarth, and home.’
‘And of me?’
This was their last night together. She had known it would come, but not for a minute had she thought it would come so quickly or feel so final, when it did.
There was so much to say but she couldn’t remember a word of it. Now, she just wanted to stay here in his arms, feel his closeness, store up kisses.
Last night had shocked and surprised and delighted her all at the same time when things became bewilderingly passionate between them; out of hand, almost.
‘Darling,’ Keth had pleaded. ‘I want you.’
Yet from the giddy heights of her need of him she had whispered, ‘No, Keth. We can’t. It isn’t allowed, you know it isn’t …’
‘Hell, of course I know, but I’d be careful.’
‘I know you would.’ They had talked about it. Going to Creesby, but getting off at Holdenby, it would be like, and fingers crossed that they both got off in time. And there were other ways, she had heard, yet still they had held back. ‘You see, Keth, I’ve never – we’ve never …’
‘I know, sweetheart. Neither of us have, but that’s the way I want it to be – don’t you?’
‘Y-yes.’ She wouldn’t want to think there had ever been anyone else. ‘But if we did – if we tried – I’d spoil it, I’m sure I would. I don’t know what to do, you see. Fumbling in dark corners, Mam said it would be like.’
‘You’ve told your Mam about us!’ It came as a shock that she could do such a thing.
‘Of course. Ages ago. And Mam understood, Keth. Her and Dada did it once and she was sorry, afterwards. She said it’s best to wait. It’s lovely, she said – heaps better – when you’re married.’
‘Daisy! What if she told your dad …?’
‘She didn’t tell him. Women’s talk, she said. There are things we don’t tell the menfolk.’ She felt the tension and the need leave him, then, and she smiled and whispered, ‘Mam understands, Keth.’
‘Sorry, Daisy. I shouldn’t have said what I did. It’s just that I love you so. Three years – it’s a lifetime.’ He knew how beautiful she was. She would grow even more beautiful and other men would want her and he wouldn’t be there to stop them. ‘You’ll never stop loving me? Say you won‘t?’
‘Never, Keth Purvis. It’s always been you. I won’t change, I promise. I want you just as much as you want me; it’s just that deep down, I want us to wait.’
‘But I do worry. That money of yours, for one thing.’
‘Then don’t let it bother you, Keth. I’ve got used to it. I wish you would try to.’
‘I will, though sometimes I don’t know why you bother with me and my moods.’
‘I don’t like it when you’re jealous, I’ll admit it. People say jealousy is a part of loving, but it isn’t. Look at me, darling?’ In the fading light of Brattocks Wood she cupped his face in her hands, forcing his eyes to meet hers. ‘I love you,’ she said softly, insistently. ‘There won’t ever be anyone else for me. Not ever. I want you to go to America and get your degree and we’ll be married when you get back. I love you, love you, and I want you, I really do, but thank you for not making me …’
That had been last evening. Tonight was different. Tonight, Keth had promised not to say goodbye to her, not actually say it. ‘See you,’ perhaps, or ‘So long,’ but not goodbye. They had tried never to say it in the war, Mam said. ‘Never say goodbye,’ she smiled sadly.
Tonight, there were few words between them. Just a throbbing sadness, a longing for it to be over so the pain would go, yet a need to stay locked together for all time so there would be no need for parting.
‘You ought to have a ring,’ Keth whispered, lips against hers.
‘I don’t want one. I know we’re engaged. Rings are to let other people know.’
She had the daisychain he gave her on h
er birthday. He’d fastened it around her wrist. Gold, he’d said it was really made of, and sapphires and pearls. And she had taken it off carefully when she got home and laid it in her Bible, just as Mam had done with Dada’s buttercups. She had his butterfly, too. He had forgotten about the butterfly in the matchbox.
‘It’s time to go.’ She was shaking. Was it the sudden chill of a September evening or was it because she knew that soon, when they had kissed, he would walk away from her and they would not meet nor touch nor kiss for three years?
July, he’d said it would be. In the summer of nineteen-forty he would be home. There would only be a year to wait until she came of age. They could be engaged officially, he said, and she’d replied that that would be marvellous; a year for Keth to find a job and for her and Mam to plan the wedding, make her dress.
The summer of ’forty. It would be her watchword, hers to wear like a talisman, words to say over and over when she missed him and wanted him unbearably.
‘Kiss me just once more?’ she whispered, offering her lips.
Their kiss was without passion. Gentle, despairing maybe, sad without doubt. Their lips lingered, putting off the moment, yet it was Keth who broke free, Keth who whispered, ‘I love you, Daisy Dwerryhouse,’ breaking the lock of the fingers clenched behind his neck, stepping back from her. ‘I’ll love you always.’
He left her, then, walking quickly, his heels slamming angrily against the grass of the wood, and she stood there waiting with breath indrawn in case he should call one last goodbye.
But there was nothing. He had gone. For three years they would never laugh together nor touch nor kiss. They would want each other but it would be a want diluted by the vastness of the ocean between them.
‘Take care,’ she whispered into the twilight. ‘See you …’
Keth had awakened at four and could not go back to sleep again. Beside him, the alarm clock ticked loudly and he had swung his feet to the floor, then pressed the fat button to cancel the ring.
Best he should get up and light the kitchen fire for Mam. Then he would wash and shave and take her a cup of tea to bed at five, before her own alarm sounded.
Daisychain Summer Page 61