Crack-crack-crack-crack-crack-crack!
Lorna was on her feet, yelling. “NELLIE! NELLIE! GET DOWN!”
The Messerschmitt was level with Lorna now, passing so low she could see the pilot within the long glass dome of the cockpit. He leaned forward, his shoulders hunched in concentration.
Crack-crack-crack-crack-crack-crack!
The puffs of dirt had almost reached Nellie. The cows were scattering, panicked into bursts of heavy speed, and Nellie disappeared behind the heifers as they lumbered past her. Then the machine-gun bullets reached them.
One of the cows staggered. Her back legs crumpled, as a slash of red scorched the dirty white of her hide. She dropped like a rock, her front legs still moving, tearing at the grass, desperate to escape this dreadful predator. Then she raised her head and bellowed.
A second cow fell just beyond and lay completely still, head torn back and contorted into a position no living cow could have endured. The others had stampeded to the farthest corners of the field and were gathering together in the lee of the hedgerow, instinctively trusting their safety to the herd.
But the Messerschmitt was already beyond them, the urgency of the engines fading as the pilot banked sharply to the north, lowering his right wing until it pointed almost directly at the ground. The shape of the plane’s squared-off wings and elongated body was clear to Lorna now, exactly as if it were printed on that tattered Aeroplane Spotter card in Sandy’s collection.
But where was Nellie? Lorna couldn’t see her. She ran down the path but managed no more than ten yards before it came again.
Crack-crack-crack-crack-crack-crack!
More machine-gun fire crackled in the air as another plane screamed directly over Lorna, then a second, then a third.
Lorna threw herself on the ground, arms over her head, as if that would somehow protect her, and waited for more gunfire. When none came, she tentatively looked up, to find and then follow this trio of planes. Her terror was instantly diluted by relief. There were red, white, and blue roundels under the wings of the lead plane.
A Spitfire! Or rather, three Spitfires, snapping at the trespasser’s heels, as Canny and Caddy would chase a fox off their land.
The Spitfires tore after the Messerschmitt, by then barely more than a smudge of black in the blue sky, as it headed north over Fife. Then it suddenly banked again to the east and disappeared over the North Sea, its sheepdogs not far behind.
Lorna clambered to her feet and ran. She could see the two cows. One was motionless, but the other still writhed and twitched, though its agonized bellows were growing fainter. But Lorna could not see Nellie.
Lorna was almost at the gate into the farmyard before she had a clear view past the cows to the bundle of brown sacking heaped on the grass. But Lorna knew that it was not sacking. That was Nellie in her Land Army uniform, and she wasn’t moving.
Lorna threw her coat and bag to the ground and sprinted through the gate. The quickest route was through the yard, past the house, but the buildings would put Nellie out of her sight for a few seconds, so Lorna started shouting.
“Nellie, I’m coming. Nellie, hold on. Help, please, someone! Dad! Paul! Anyone! Please! Help us!”
Lorna flew round the corner of the house, her chest heaving, and there was Paul ahead of her, running to where Nellie lay, flanked by the two cows. Not one of the three was moving.
Nellie was lying on her side, curled into a ball, with her knees up and her arms wrapped tightly around her chest. When Paul reached her, he crouched down and put his hand to Nellie’s head, then her throat.
Thank God Paul was there so Lorna didn’t have to do this on her own. But what if Nellie was already dead? “Please, God, no!”
Paul was talking quietly to Nellie as Lorna approached. That had to mean Nellie was alive, right? Paul wouldn’t be talking to Nellie if he hadn’t found a pulse, would he?
“Nellie, can you hear me?” His fingers were still pressed to Nellie’s neck. “Nellie, it is Paul. Can you talk to me?”
There was no response, Paul looked up desperately at Lorna. Nellie remained absolutely motionless.
“Nellie, I know you are still with us,” Paul continued. “I can feel your heart keeping you with us. Lorna is here too. Can you open your eyes so you can see her?”
He glanced back to the house and farm buildings.
“We need to—” Paul got no further for suddenly, Nellie groaned. Her whole body shuddered, and she vomited.
The vile yellow liquid spewed onto the grass, and Paul fell back out of its path. Nellie gasped. Then, as if a blast of pain were racking her body, she let out a terrible moan. She rolled onto her back as if that might stop the agony, and Lorna could see that Nellie’s arms weren’t wrapped around her chest as she’d thought. They were wrapped around her belly.
And there was blood!
A deep red stain darkened Nellie’s pants.
Lorna took an involuntary step back.
“Paul!” she croaked. “She’s been hit. Nellie’s bleeding! He shot Nellie!”
With a shaking finger, Lorna pointed at the dark stain.
“Oh my God, Paul! What do we do? What do we do?”
She could feel hysteria rising to choke her as Paul moved to see what Lorna was pointing at.
“Noooooo,” Nellie groaned. “Not shot.”
“But Nellie,” said Paul. “You are bleeding, so—”
“Oh my God!” Lorna suddenly knew. “She’s losing the baby!”
Paul’s head snapped up to look at Lorna.
“Baby?”
“Nellie’s pregnant. But now she’s . . .” Lorna couldn’t bring herself to say the word “miscarrying” but pointed to Nellie again and whispered, “Paul, it’s the baby.”
Paul seemed frozen.
“We need to help her,” she pleaded. “We can’t let her die.”
At last, Paul nodded.
“Yes,” he said, “we must get her warm and under cover. Quickly.”
“The shed’s closest. There’s still straw in there, from the lambing, remember? The heat lamp is still in there, and I’ll get some blankets.”
Paul nodded. “But first, will you help me to lift her up? Please steady her, so I do not give her more pain.”
Nellie’s eyes were still shut tight, her skin deathly white and her lips almost blue.
“Nellie, can you hear me?” Paul spoke slowly and clearly. “In a moment, I will lift you and carry you to where you will be warm and comfortable. Then we will fetch the doctor.”
There was no outward sign that Nellie could hear, and Lorna wondered if she had passed out again, but Paul continued anyway.
“Tell me if I hurt you, Nellie. I will lift you up now.”
With Lorna’s help, Paul slid one arm under Nellie’s shoulders and hooked his other arm under her knees. With some effort, he pushed himself up to standing, Nellie cradled against his chest.
Lorna laid her hand on Nellie’s forehead. It was hot and clammy.
“Paul’s got you safe,” she whispered. “It’ll be all right.”
Still no response, so Paul took a couple of tentative steps toward the farm buildings. The grass was muddy and slick after the morning’s rain, and Paul had to step carefully.
“I’ll meet you in the shed in a minute,” Lorna said to Paul. “Will you be all right with her?”
She waited long enough to see Paul nod, then raced across the field. Just before she reached the yard, she looked back. The deadweight of Nellie’s body had sunk lower in Paul’s arms, but still he plodded on.
Quickly Lorna gathered bedsheets and towels from the house, as well as a couple of thick blankets. Balancing the pile on one arm, she grabbed the kettle from the stove before hurrying back to the lambing shed. As she got there, Paul rounded the corner, mouth grimly set and muscles straining.
Lorna placed the kettle and bed linen between two of the pens and cut through the binding round a sheaf of hay. Laying it in a thick layer, she covered it w
ith a blanket and two sheets.
Paul appeared at the door with Nellie and laid her carefully down onto the makeshift bed. Lorna covered her with the other blanket as Paul stood, rubbing the muscles of his arms.
Nellie was shivering, so Lorna lit the heat lamp and brought it to stand nearby.
“Can you stay with Nellie while I run to the village to telephone the doctor?”
“Of course,” Paul said. “I will not leave her.”
At the door of the shed, Lorna hesitated. The last few minutes—the plane, the guns, the cows, Nellie—had been so intense, so terrifying, that it was only now that Lorna remembered this was the first time she had been with Paul since she had shouted at him.
But now, there seemed to be no resentment, no anger.
“Paul?” she said. “I am so sorry. About everything.”
Paul held her gaze for a moment.
“I know,” he said, “but now you must go.”
As she ran toward Aberlady, Lorna held on tight to Paul’s forgiveness, again so grateful that he was there with her.
Twenty-Five
After spending almost an hour with Nellie, the doctor decided that she didn’t require immediate hospitalization and that she could be moved to her own bed. He insisted, however, that Nellie stay in bed for at least a week, and he confined her to the house for even longer.
“She’s a lucky young lady, Jock,” said Dr. Mackenzie to Lorna’s father, as Lorna handed them each a mug of tea. “Without the quick thinking of your Lorna and the German lad, she wouldn’t have lasted more than half an hour in that field, and she certainly wouldn’t have kept hold of her baby.”
For Nellie’s baby was still alive, he told them, against all the odds, and with rest, he saw no reason why Nellie wouldn’t take the pregnancy to full term.
Lorna glanced at her dad, expecting an explosion at the news that Nellie was carrying a baby, but he just nodded and muttered an “Aye, well.” Soon the conversation turned to the weather and the chance of a late frost damaging the strawberry crop. When their mugs were empty, Lorna’s dad thanked Dr. Mackenzie with a handshake and waved him off at the door.
“You knew Nellie was pregnant before today?” Lorna couldn’t hold it back any longer.
Her father sighed.
“I’m the father to three children, the uncle and godfather to half a dozen more. And I’m a farmer. D’you not think I might know the signs that a lassie’s carrying?”
“But you didn’t say anything.”
“No, because sometimes discretion is the better part of valor, and Nellie was still doing her work. But now, she’ll have to go back to London so her own parents can deal with her. If nothing else, it’ll save us any more gossip.”
Lorna was shaken by her father saying “any more gossip,” but she pressed on about Nellie.
“She can’t go home. Her mum’s dead and her father would beat her up and throw her out. We can’t turn her away; she needs us. And since when do you care about what the gossipy old women think?”
“Perhaps I don’t care. But I could do without the wrath of heaven that’ll be brought down on us when word of this reaches Reverend Urquhart, or worse, his charming wife.”
“Since when do you care about the wrath of any of them?” Lorna retorted. “You haven’t set foot in that church since Mum’s . . . well, not for years. I’m surprised you can even remember the minister’s name.”
“You forget, Fat Bob Urquhart was at school with me. But whether I choose to sit through his dull sermons week after week is my business. This conversation is about a farmhand who can’t work anymore. This is a farm, not a home for wayward lassies.”
“Nellie’s not a ‘wayward lassie,’ she’s just . . .” Lorna wasn’t sure how to put it. “She’s just had bad luck.”
Lorna’s father only harrumphed in reply and scowled his way to his chair with his newspaper.
After a few days, Lorna’s father finally agreed that Nellie could stay, though Lorna suspected his decision had more to do with Mrs. Mack threatening to quit than anything Lorna had said. Either way, Nellie could stay, at least until the baby was born.
“And then we’ll see,” he said. “I’m making no promises, mind.”
He wrote to the Land Army to explain that while Nellie wasn’t fit to work, he would be willing to keep her with board and lodging at the farm. He also requested they send two new Land Girls to Craigielaw for the summer. In the meantime, Lorna would cover Nellie’s work.
Doing the early morning and afternoon milking, as well as her own schoolwork and chores, soon took their toll on Lorna. Gray circles underscored her eyes, and she was often too tired to eat but yearned to go to bed instead. She tried to find a few minutes to spend with Paul each day, when she took him his tea or collected his plates again, but she wasn’t actually sure Paul wanted to see her anymore.
Once they’d known Nellie was safe, Lorna had tried to apologize again to Paul for what she’d said on her birthday, but he’d waved away her words.
“Lorna, do not apologize. Our countries are at war. That is how it is.”
Lorna had held out her hand to him, but Paul had walked away with only a “Good night.”
Over the two weeks since then, Paul had seemed happy to talk to her about the farm, the weather, or Nellie’s recovery. But nothing else. And if, God forbid, Lorna tried to touch him, he’d immediately sped off to deal with something of vital importance.
Yet he seemed to have no problem being around Mrs. Mack and Nellie. Lorna had seen him going in or out of the house several times in one day. Sometimes Nellie would meet him at the door, or wave at him from the window, and he’d smile and wave back. But with Lorna, he’d barely even acknowledge her existence anymore.
Lorna didn’t know whether to be hurt or angry, so she let herself be both. She yearned to talk to Iris about it all, to pour her sorry heart out to her best friend, but these days Iris was permanently wrapped round William Urquhart. And if Lorna caught her eye across the classroom, Iris would just look away.
One afternoon, Lorna decided she’d finally had enough. She excused herself from Mr. Wilks’s class with an upset stomach and walked home.
It was May now, and just walking in the sun helped clear some of the miserable fog clouding Lorna’s mind. She came to a stop on the farmhouse doorstep, however, at the sound of voices in the kitchen. The words were muffled by the heavy oak door, but clearly two people were in conversation.
Then came Nellie’s tinkling laugh, and for a moment, Lorna was pleased to hear her sound more like her old self than she had in weeks.
But suddenly Lorna knew who Nellie was flirting with, and her hand tightened on the handle.
How dare she? Just because Nellie didn’t have Chuck anymore, it didn’t mean she had to turn her attention to Paul.
Abruptly, the door to the kitchen opened. Paul was still talking to Nellie instead of looking where he was going, and in her surprise, Lorna couldn’t get out of his way.
Before she knew what was happening, Lorna was falling backward. Her eyes shut instinctively, waiting for her head to slam against the stone, knowing there was absolutely nothing she could do to stop it.
And then Paul’s arms were around her, catching her inches from the cobbles, and Lorna’s hands were clinging to the sleeves of his sweater as if she were suspended over a cliff edge. Even after he’d lifted her onto her feet, she couldn’t release her grip. Her heart was pounding, her knees wobbly, so she pressed her face hard against his shoulder to steady herself.
After a moment’s hesitation, Paul relaxed a little and rested his cheek against her hair. He smelled wonderful. She had missed him so much.
But then Paul was pulling away, unlocking her hold.
“I apologize,” he mumbled, and walked quickly across the yard, head down, hands in pockets.
Lorna’s head swam. What had just happened?
He’d held her close, he’d almost kissed her hair, and then he’d gone. He’d chatted with Nel
lie, and laughed with her, but he couldn’t even give Lorna a smile?
She just didn’t understand.
There was a noise nearby, and Lorna looked up to see Nellie standing just inside the house, eyebrows raised, her mouth twitching as if she were trying to fight a smile. Not only was she trying to steal Paul from Lorna, but she was finding it funny too.
“And what are you laughing at?”
Nellie looked surprised by Lorna’s tone, but instead of replying, she just went back into the house with a dismissive wave.
How dare she?
Lorna followed Nellie inside, slamming the door behind her.
“Nellie, I mean it. What do you and Paul find so hilarious?”
Nellie sat down in a chair by the fire and picked up a sock and a darning needle from her sewing bag. A sly smile crept across her face.
“Oh, you know, this and that,” she said.
“Well, it’s an awful lot of ‘this and that,’” Lorna retorted, “considering all the time he spends in here.”
She pulled a chair from the table and dropped down into it. In spite of her annoyance, it felt good to sit for a moment or two.
“And why would you be bothered if I spend time with a fellow farmhand, eh?” Nellie asked. “I can see the green tinge from here, duckie. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re a wee bit jealous, ma wee lassie.”
Nellie’s attempt at a Scottish accent made Lorna cringe, though the usual flush was rising up her neck at Nellie’s accusation.
“Jealous?” Lorna said. “Why would I care what you and Paul get up to?”
Nellie suddenly bent double, clasping her belly with one hand. Lorna dashed over to her.
“Nellie, what’s wrong?”
But Nellie was laughing, her face bright pink.
“Oh, Lorna, you are so funny,” she choked out, “saying ‘why would I care?’ So funny!”
It was good to see Nellie laughing again, but since Lorna was the butt of the joke, she refused to join in.
“I really don’t see—”
“Oh my sweet girl,” Nellie said fondly, wiping tears away with the sleeve of her cardigan. “You are clueless sometimes. Why would a lad like Paul look twice at me? In case you had forgotten, I am in the pudding club with some other bloke’s baby.”
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