Wheels of Grace

by Crosse, Tania

  ‘Lovely, isn’t it?’ Larry said, his eyes sparkling with a gleam of appreciation, before he picked up the spoke-shave again and depressed the foot treadle to clamp the new tenon in place.

  Grace knew, reluctantly, that she should leave Larry to get on with his work. Her eyes wandered around the workshop, all so familiar, so comforting, the scent of the freshly sawn wood wafting into her nostrils. She loved it here, and even with John’s uneasy presence, she realized how she had been missing the place. It seemed strange, though, without Martin’s constant banter, Stephen’s quiet smile and now Reg….

  The idea flashed across her brain with such force that she visibly jumped. Oh. Oh, of course!

  ‘I could help,’ she blurted out before she allowed herself time to ponder further. And even the fleeting consideration of John Sampson did not deter her. She must have spoken with considerable conviction as Larry stopped in midstroke and blinked up at her in astonishment.

  ‘Bob, turn that off a minute, would you?’ he called across to the older fellow working the saw. It ground to a stop, and in the ensuing quiet, Larry fixed Grace with a steady gaze. ‘Go on,’ he prompted.

  ‘I could certainly help with the paperwork. I were really quick at picking things up at school, so I’m sure if you or your father were to show me what to do, I could do a lot of it for you. And I know what timber you need for the yard. At least I would if I knew what orders were coming in. And I could do the wages and all. I mightn’t have your skills in the workshop, but I know exactly what goes on in here,’ she concluded breathlessly, astounding herself with her own ideas; it was as though someone else had taken over her brain.

  She felt annoyed and embarrassed at herself as Larry frowned back at her. ‘And when would you do all this?’ he asked, though not unkindly.

  ‘In my time off.’ Grace bit her lip, since to be honest, Larry knew as well as she did that she didn’t actually have that much leisure time. ‘But,’ she went on, her forehead wrinkling, ‘I’m sure Mrs Snell could spare me more often than she does. The house doesn’t need to be so clean as I keep it for her. Having me there all the time is a luxury, she often says so. Your mother manages without a maid, doesn’t she? I’m sure Mrs Snell would agree, and I wouldn’t mind if she paid me less.’

  ‘Well, we’d make up your wages, of course.’

  ‘Or if there were so much work that you needed me all the time, she could find someone to take my place altogether.’

  Her tongue came to an abrupt halt as she realized Larry was staring at her, his head cocked to one side. Oh, Lord, had she made a complete fool of herself, jumping in with both feet, just as Larry had said of her not so long ago, she remembered? She realised that silence had fallen on the workshop and everyone, including John Sampson, was listening to her. Oh, wouldn’t he love the fact that she had just made a complete and utter fool of herself?

  ‘You know, that’s not at all a bad idea,’ Larry said slowly. ‘It might just work. And it would all be for the war, really. The country still needs to eat, so farm-wagons are just as important as ever, and with us struggling to keep up with being three men down … Wouldn’t hurt to have a word with Mrs Snell, would it? See if she’d agree. She’s a good sort, after all. Hey, Dad, what do you think?’

  Grace turned her head as Geoffrey Vencombe, having heard their conversation, came towards them, a thoughtful expression on his face. Grace’s heart soared with pride. Perhaps she wasn’t so silly after all.

  ‘And I bet George would jump at the chance to help,’ she announced, quite inspired now. ‘He’s always said he wants to do an apprenticeship with you when he’s old enough. He could be an errand boy, sweep up the shavings and off-cuts, all that sort of thing. Term starts again next week, but he could come in for a few hours after school each day. He’d love it, and it would all help save time.’

  She watched, holding her breath, as Larry and his father exchanged glances. And then a warm tide of happiness engulfed her as Larry laughed, ‘Do you know, Gracie, you’re a genius!’

  ‘There you are, Mr Vencombe. All the invoices up to date. And I’ve checked what we have in the timber yard against all the orders, and that’s a list of what I reckon we need to buy in, all ready for you to check.’

  ‘I hardly think I need to check it,’ Geoffrey Vencombe chuckled. ‘You run everything as well as I ever did, only you’re more methodical. I think you could put your hand on any piece of paper you wanted in seconds with that new filing system of yours.’

  Grace was aware of a rosy hue flooding into her cheeks. ‘But what I can’t do is sign those cheques for our suppliers. If you sign them later, I’ll post them tomorrow. Oh, yes, we had a letter from Symonds’s today. They can’t supply us with any more oak for about a month. At least, not sufficiently seasoned and we’m going to need it straight away. So I’ve made out an order to get it from Williams’s instead. But we could get some from Symonds’s and keep it ourselves until it’s ready. There’s room to store it, and it works out cheaper.’

  ‘Good thinking, cheel. My, I have to say I never thought a maid could take on what you have and make such a success of it. We’re having to work like slaves in the workshop, but we’re just about keeping pace with everything, thanks to you.’

  Grace felt herself glow with pride as she reached for her coat. It was beginning to turn chilly, and although it was not far to walk back to the farm, she needed the extra layer.

  ‘See you tomorrow, then, nine o’clock sharp,’ she said cheerfully. ‘I reckon I need an hour or two here in the office, and then I’ll help out in the workshop.’

  ‘Larry says we’ll make a carpenter of you yet. And you made a beautiful job of lining the coffin for Mrs Soakes, and varnishing it, too.’

  Grace’s basking pride fell somewhat at the mention of the old lady who had lived in one of the cottages adjoining the inn. Vencombes made coffins as well as gates and fences and almost anything made of wood, but being involved in local funerals brought its own sadness. ‘Well, I wanted it to be nice for her,’ she replied as Mr Vencombe followed her out into the workshop. ‘I’ll put the final coat of varnish on tomorrow, too.’

  ‘You’d better watch out, John,’ Mr Vencombe joked, addressing John Sampson who, as general labourer, would normally have done that particular task. ‘She’ll be doing you out of a job soon!’

  Grace feigned a laugh, but secretly she was cringing. Although John had never made any allusion to the incident at the stables, Grace did not want to reignite his hostility towards her. She hastily made her way across the workshop where the men were hard at their various jobs. A half-made wheel, the spokes driven into the hub, was clamped sturdily in place, and Larry was carefully chiselling out an oval tang on the outer end of each spoke that would fit exactly into the hole he would drill in the corresponding felloe or section of the wheel’s rim. It was exacting, precise work that required intense concentration, for unlike ordinary joiners, wheelwrights used no glue, a fact which always filled Grace with admiration.

  As Grace drew level with Larry, she turned back round to call out her usual goodbye. A chorus of voices answered, and she stepped jauntily backwards. She didn’t see the small toolbox that John Sampson had surreptitiously kicked behind her without anybody noticing, and she tripped over it, tumbling backwards and knocking Larry clean off his stool. A split second later, they landed together with a crash on the floor.

  Grace was stunned for only an instant before she came to her wits and scrambled off Larry and onto her feet. ‘Oh, Larry, I’m so sorry!’ she cried in embarrassment.

  Her first thought had been for the tang he had been working on. One blow in the wrong place could damage it sufficiently to ruin the entire spoke, and once a spoke had been driven into the hub, it was the devil’s own job to remove it. Fortunately, one glance told her there was no damage done. But as she watched Larry picking himself up from the floor – wishing the ground would open up and swallow her – she realized with a shudder of horror that he was cradling his
left hand and blood was dripping over his fingers. She looked down at the floor and knew instantly what had happened. As Larry had fallen, he must have put out his hand to save himself, and it had landed on a spare fret-saw blade that had also been knocked to the floor.

  Grace’s stomach cramped with guilt. ‘Oh, Lord, Larry, let me see,’ she groaned in disbelief.

  Larry uncurled the fingers of his right hand, revealing a deep, ragged gash around the fleshy mound on the outer side of his left palm, and Grace had to gulp down her self-recrimination.

  ‘Better let your mother bandage that up,’ Geoffrey announced, appearing at Grace’s elbow.

  ‘It’ll need more than that,’ Grace dared to utter. ‘It’ll need stitching. Oh, Larry, I can’t tell you how mortal sorry—’

  ‘Huh! That’s what comes of having women in the workshop,’ John Sampson grumbled loudly as he got on with his work. His words had certainly hit their intended target, cutting into Grace’s heart.

  ‘It’s all right, Grace. It was an accident.’

  ‘No, it were my fault, Larry—’

  ‘Should’ve been looking where you was going. That’s women for you.’

  ‘That’s enough, John.’ Larry turned to Grace, the understanding expression in his eyes doing little to reassure her. ‘You’re not to blame. That toolbox shouldn’t have been there.’

  ‘Never mind about that, son,’ Geoffrey said sharply. ‘You’d better get yourself along to the doctor in Yelverton. Take the trap. It’ll be quicker.’

  ‘I’ll bring Sunny in from the field and tack up for you,’ Grace offered, desperate to make amends. ‘It’s the least I can do.’

  ‘Thanks, Grace.’ And for the first time, Larry winced as he glanced down at his hand. ‘You do that while I get Mother to wrap something round this.’

  ‘And I’ll come along of you to the doctor’s. Oh, I feel proper dreadful about this, really I do. And just when you need everyone working at full tilt.’

  Her face was taut with remorse. She was supposed to be helping at Vencombes’, and now she may well have put Larry out of commission for a few days at least! Oh, she felt sick with herself.

  ‘You mustn’t worry,’ Larry insisted. ‘It’s only a scratch. If you can get the trap ready, that’ll be a great help, but I think I can manage to get to the doctor’s on my own. And Mrs Snell will be waiting for you.’

  ‘Well … all right,’ Grace submitted with reluctance. ‘But … how can you ever forgive me?’

  ‘There’s nothing to forgive. Honestly.’ And Larry’s kind brown eyes smiled down at her.

  CHAPTER SIX

  GRACE WATCHED LARRY urge Sunny into a trot and the trap bowled off through the village. How could she possibly face going back to the wheelwrights’ after this? But she would have to. They really needed her.

  She released a deep sigh, realizing that she was far more dejected than the incident in the workshop should have made her feel. She supposed it was because of the young men leaving the village and all the uncertainty of what the war would mean. But it wasn’t only that. She had been pleased with what she had achieved at Vencombes’. She felt as if she was doing something really useful. Even though the opportunity had come about because of this awful conflict in Europe. The war wasn’t her fault, but the pleasure her achievements had brought her almost made her feel guilty. And now this incident with poor Larry.

  A gust of wind flapped at the hem of her coat as she crossed the little bridge, and she put up her hand to hold onto her hat. The village was its usual tranquil self and outwardly nothing appeared to have changed. But it had, and who knew if things would ever be the same again.

  Stephen. Grace’s stomach began to churn as her thoughts went to her dear brother. Their parents had received a letter from him the previous day, so they knew he was still training safely on Salisbury Plain. But that could easily change, the way things were going. What if he put in for a transfer to one of the Devonshire battalions that would surely be destined for the Western Front when it was fully trained? See the world? See hundreds of shell craters, the inside of deep, muddy trenches and miles of barbed wire, more like!

  Heavy rain had battered from the sky earlier, but the brisk, early October wind had driven away the clouds and now brilliant sunshine was reflecting off the puddles and dazzling directly into Grace’s eyes. She blinked as the sunlight played tricks on her vision. It must have been thinking so intensely about her brother that made her imagine she had seen him walking towards her. It was probably just a shadow, and Grace shook her head sadly. But when she squinted back into the brightness, she realized that there were two men in uniform coming down the hill. And, yes! One of them was indeed Stephen!

  A fountain of joy erupted inside her as she catapulted forward. ‘Steve!’ she cried, and a second later, her feet left the ground as he swung her round in a circle. ‘Oh, it’s so good to see you!’ Her hat had been jolted from her head and had landed on the wet road, but she didn’t care. Stephen was back, and she gazed at him in breathless delight.

  ‘Got a few days’ leave, us has, Joe and me,’ he grinned back. ‘So us got ourselves back here as quick as us could.’

  ‘Afternoon, Joe. You all right?’

  ‘Proper clever, thanks, Grace. See you later, Steve.’

  Joe began to whistle tunelessly as he sauntered on to his cottage in the centre of the village, and as Grace and Stephen stood outside their own family home, Grace paused to make sure her brother was real and not about to disappear into the ether. She put her hand on his arm and squeezed it tightly just to make sure.

  ‘Mummy’s going to be mortal happy to see you! We’ve all been so worried.’

  ‘Told you I’d be all right, didn’t I?’

  Just for a moment Grace wasn’t sure his voice was as casual as he meant it to be. But the doubt only lasted a split second, and in her jubilation, she thrust it aside. ‘I can’t wait to see Mummy’s face!’ she crowed instead.

  ‘It were good of Mr Vencombe to let you have the morning off.’

  ‘I’m a volunteer rather than an employee, even if he does pay me.’ Grace linked her arm through Stephen’s as they strode uphill. ‘After what happened yesterday, mind, I were surprised he wanted me back at all.’

  ‘I doesn’t see why. You knows I met Larry in the trap as us was coming down the hill. He told us what had happened, but he didn’t blame you at all.’

  ‘But I blame myself, and Larry being so sweet about it almost makes it worse.’

  ‘He’s a good sort, is Larry. And his father. It don’t surprise me he let you have some time off to spend with me.’

  ‘I’d have taken it anyway,’ Grace assured him. ‘It’s not every day my handsome soldier brother comes home on leave.’

  Her remorse over the previous day’s incident was fading, and for a while at least she was able to put thoughts of the war aside. She raised an impish eyebrow at Stephen, and he responded by pulling her hat down over her eyes.

  ‘You rotter!’ she laughed aloud, rescuing her vision. Then, already skipping ahead, she challenged him, ‘Race you to the top. Bet you can’t catch me!’ she shouted over her shoulder as she streaked ahead.

  They had walked up the steep, narrow lane passing the church on the left, and soon turned off right, clambering through the post and wire fencing to cross the single-track railway – not an easy operation for Grace in her ankle-length skirt and coat. Out on the open moor, they had crossed the Princetown to Yelverton road across the bleak, open upland. Now they were heading even more steeply uphill towards one of Grace’s favourite spots on the moor, the crest of Peek Hill. She raced ahead of Stephen, but the increasingly uneven terrain and the encumbrance of her long clothes slowed her down. Stephen, on the other hand, after weeks of vigorous training, was supremely fit and soon gained on her, scarcely out of breath.

  ‘Thought as you’d beat me, eh?’ he teased, grasping her about the waist.

  She giggled back at him, and then drew in a huge breath before
releasing it in a wistful sigh. She was so happy, but at the back of her mind niggled that lingering sadness. Stephen was only on leave.

  ‘Come on, let’s get to the top,’ she said, pushing her unease aside.

  They climbed to the very summit, and the magnificent vista opened up before them. Below them lay the glittering waters of Burrator reservoir surrounded by rolling hills. The azure blue sky of the previous afternoon had returned, illuminating the dying bracken and autumn leaves in brilliant shades of gold and cinnamon, while in the distance, the open sea beyond Plymouth shimmered like a flat lake. But – was that a warship Grace could see, sailing out from Devonport? She shuddered at the unwelcome reminder.

  ‘Unbelievable, isn’t it,’ she said quietly, ‘to think what’s going on just across the Channel? Those two battles, the Marne and the Aisne. Everyone thought the BEF would give the Germans a bloody nose and send them packing, didn’t they? And now look what’s happened. Both sides dug into trenches and fighting over scraps of land with men getting killed and maimed … It were reported in the Tavistock Gazette last week. The first fellow from the town to die. A lieutenant, I think, in the regular army. What a waste of a life.’

  ‘Not if you’m fighting for your country. And Britain might be next on the list for invasion.’

  Grace’s eyes shifted sideways, but she dared not voice the unspeakable. If Germany did try to invade Britain, Stephen might have to fight tooth and nail after all and his obituary might be in the paper before long, too. He must have read her thoughts.

  ‘Grace,’ he faltered, his voice unusually low and hesitant. ‘I’ve got summat to tell you.’

  ‘Oh.’ Sweet Jesus, this was it, wasn’t it? What she had always feared. This adventure-seeking brother of hers had indeed sought a transfer. Perhaps Martin had written to him and persuaded his young friend to join him. So it was still her fault, wasn’t it? Grace’s heart began to hammer in her chest.