Wheels of Grace

by Crosse, Tania

  ‘Grace, cheel, would you go out on the down and drive in they three bullocks?’ Farmer Snell asked a couple of days later. ‘I want to take them to market tomorrow, only my hip’s giving me jip and your father’s out checking the meadows for me. Seeing if the grass has dried out enough to start hay-making.’

  ‘Yes, of course. If that’s all right with you, Mrs Snell?’ Grace added, turning to her mistress.

  ‘Whatever Farmer Snell wants, my flower,’ Felicity Snell beamed back.

  ‘You’ll probably find them down by the ford. Like it there, they do. And with the weather having turned so hot this afternoon like, after all that rain.’

  ‘Righty-ho,’ Grace called as she waltzed out into the rear passageway of the farmhouse, her heart still resounding with the happy morning she had spent at the wheelwrights’ listening to the banter between the Vencombe brothers. They were so different, and yet when they were together, lively conversation seemed to bounce naturally between them.

  Grace rammed her straw boater on her head. It was strange the way that when she wore her trousers to go to the workshop, she didn’t feel the need for a hat. Indeed, the thought of a hat seemed faintly ridiculous. Instead, she tied her golden curls up into a knot beneath a scarf. She had wondered about cutting her hair off short as many women were doing, especially in the factories, but when she had mentioned it, Larry had been aghast.

  ‘Don’t you dare!’ he had cried so adamantly that Grace had recoiled. ‘Just make sure it’s tied back safely when you’re working here.’

  Grace was glad now that his reaction had swayed her decision. As she stepped out into the July sunshine, so different from the afternoon of the picnic only a few days earlier, she felt distinctly feminine, back in her plain blouse and skirt and with her long tresses rippling down her back. She was eighteen years old, a young woman with growing feelings towards the opposite sex, although such matters hadn’t really come into her life just yet. How could they when niggling at the back of her mind was always the war. Time to go in search of love when the fighting was over.

  The farmhouse backed directly onto Knowle Down on the fringe of Dartmoor. Farmer Snell had adjacent fields where he kept his animals and grew hay and other fodder crops. But he also enjoyed grazing rights on parts of the moor and on the down that stretched as far as the next village of Horrabridge. Indeed, part of the down that dipped steeply to the Black Brook as it plunged its way downhill from the centre of Walkhampton, actually belonged to the farm.

  Grace scrambled down the track through the tall bracken that cloaked the dizzy incline. Her heart was light, burying her qualms deep in her soul. Martin had two more days of leave, it was a beautiful day and the sun was scorching down from a clear, gentian sky.

  Sure enough, Grace found the three bullocks grazing on the flat area of grass beside the stream. It was probably Grace’s favourite spot around the village, tucked away, idyllic. The clear, sparkling water tumbled over a shallow cascade beneath the shade of low, gnarled trees. Their ancient branches hung in full leaf out over the bank as if dipping their fingertips into the flow and forming an emerald canopy. A few feet further down, just before the stream opened out into a shallow ford, stepping stones spanned its gushing eddies. And on the opposite bank, half hidden among the stunted trees and other vegetation, a stone wall that enclosed some of Farmer Snell’s fields lent some privacy from the outside world, like a little hide-away.

  To Grace, this had always been a special place, magical and enchanted. She had spent such wondrous times there throughout her life, playing hide-and-seek, paddling in the ford, or scooping up a handful of water and launching it into the air in a glittering arc. Surely it wouldn’t matter if she spent just a couple of minutes enjoying its peace and beauty on this lovely afternoon, and reaching the bank, she hopped across the stepping stones to the other side.

  It was then that she saw them, the man and the woman lying together, nestled against the wall and hidden by the trees – or so they thought. The man was on top of the woman, half-kneeling, his under-drawers and khaki trousers around his thighs so that his rump was exposed to the air, and the woman’s spread legs were also bare.

  Grace’s heart began to pound sickeningly. Shock, disgust, outrage stung into the very core of her, and though she yearned desperately to turn and flee, her feet were rooted to the ground. An involuntary gasp crackled in her throat, making a blackbird on one of the branches take flight. The man reacted by glancing over his shoulder, the dread of discovery on his face, and the woman sat up, wide-eyed, as she pulled down the hem of her skirt. Aggie, and … and Martin.

  In that instant, the gentle innocence that was Grace Dannings was lost for ever. She knew what the act of love-making entailed, but it was something pure, meant for two people whose souls were entwined in eternal love vowed at the altar. To discover that Aggie … Well, she didn’t care about her, but Martin, whom she had grown up with, worshipped for the fun he constantly brought to her life, loved as a brother. It was just too much, and all Grace could do was stare at them through eyes blurred with disillusionment.

  She suddenly became aware that Martin was coming towards her, tucking his shirt into his trousers that were now back about his waist. His expression was tense and mortified, but when he put his hand out to her, Grace shrank away. Martin let his hand fall to his side. ‘Oh, Gracie, I’m so sorry. I never wanted—’

  Before he could finish, Aggie sprang up behind him, her eyes wild and begging in a face contorted with terror. ‘Grace, for God’s sake, please don’t tell anyone!’ she squealed desperately. ‘If my father found out, he’d kill me. You don’t know what he’s like. No one does. Oh, Grace, please!’

  Grace blinked at their pleading, horrified expressions, and the sense slowly trickled back into her shocked brain. She couldn’t believe what she had just seen. She felt betrayed, let down, and the bitterness of it finally spurred her tongue into action.

  ‘You should’ve thought of that afore, don’t you think? And what if you get pregnant?’ she demanded, her eyes stabbing into Aggie’s. ‘Your father’d know about it then, wouldn’t he?’

  ‘I was making sure she wouldn’t,’ Martin admitted, lamely it seemed to Grace. Like a naughty boy being reprimanded by his teacher. ‘I was just putting on….’

  ‘You mean you hadn’t actually…? Well, it’s lucky I came along when I did, isn’t it? And as for you, Martin Vencombe, well, I’m proper ashamed of you.’

  ‘But, Grace, please, I beg you!’ Aggie wailed again. ‘I’ll do anything….’

  But Grace didn’t want to hear another word. All she wanted was to escape this horrible, unforgivable thing she had just witnessed. Spinning on her heel, she sprang back across the stepping stones. As the bullocks, startled by her haste, backed nervously away, she heard footfall on the grass behind her.

  ‘Grace, I need to explain.’ Martin’s voice was low and husky. ‘This time next week probably, I’ll be in France. Sent up to the front line. And I might …’ He paused. Gulped. ‘There’s a strong possibility I may never come back. And I don’t want to die not knowing what it’s like to … to … And Aggie … was willing. So, please, Grace, don’t judge me too harshly. Try to understand.’

  His words clawed at Grace’s heart, breaking her. This appalling war, wrecking people’s lives in more ways than one. But she couldn’t turn back to face him, and spreading her arms wide, began to herd the three bullocks up the steep slope, her vision blinded by angry, bitter tears.

  CHAPTER NINE

  ‘WELL DONE, GEORGE, lad,’ Geoffrey Vencombe chuckled, ruffling the boy’s fair curls. ‘You keep this place clean as a new pin. And all the little carpentry jobs we’ve given you, well, you’ve done them perfectly. We’ll make a wheelwright of you in no time. It must run in the family, first Stephen, then Grace, and now you.’

  Larry glanced up from his work on the spoke-horse. ‘What do you think, Dad, about offering the lad an apprenticeship when he finishes school next year?’ He kept a straig
ht face as his eyes held George’s astounded expression – after giving his father a surreptitious wink since the two of them had already discussed the matter.

  ‘Well …’ Geoffrey frowned, rubbing his hand thoughtfully along his chin before grinning from ear to ear. ‘It’s yours, laddie, if your father agrees.’

  George’s young face was a study of delighted incredulity. ‘D-does you mean it?’ he finally stammered. ‘And … and does you think,’ he went on, growing in confidence, ‘that I could have Stephen’s old room over the workshop? Until he comes back from India, anyways, like?’ he added, glancing across at Grace’s equally astounded face.

  ‘I don’t see why not,’ Geoffrey considered. ‘And even when he does come back, there’s room enough for two.’

  ‘Only I’s getting a bit too old to be sharing a bed with the tackers much longer, and them being maids and all, bain’t I, Gracie?’

  His smooth skin creased into a questioning frown as he studied his elder sister. Proper maudlin she’d been ever since Martin had gone back to the army. Well, he knew she and Stephen had always been really close to the Vencombe brothers, but she’d gone master quiet since Martin had gone over to France. Aw, she weren’t soft on Martin, were she? George’s chest inflated with wonderment. He could imagine Stephen wanting to have a girl in his life, but Gracie? In love? The idea was inconceivable. Anyway, all George was interested in was this new adventure that had so suddenly opened up before him.

  But George’s euphoria was quickly deflated by Grace’s stern look. ‘Don’t you think you should be thanking Mr Vencombe before you start making sleeping arrangements?’ she said tartly. ‘And don’t forget you need Daddy’s permission, too.’

  George went to pull a face, but stopped himself. Poor Gracie. Her uncharacteristic shortness of temper was just further proof of her secret feelings for Martin and her fear for him. After all, soldiers were being killed right, left and centre in France, whereas in India where their Stephen was, there had hardly been any fighting at all.

  ‘Aw, he’s bound to agree.’ Joy exploded onto George’s face as he ignored his sister and instead bobbed his head vigorously in Geoffrey’s direction. ‘And thanks ever so much. I can’t wait to leave school now. And I’ll work harder for you than anyone else ever has, I promises!’

  Geoffrey gave a throaty chuckle. ‘Well, you get on with your work, and I’ll have a word with your father this evening. Doesn’t mean you can slack off at school next year, mind. In fact, you need to work really hard, particularly with your reckoning. Need to be good up here,’ he stated, tapping the side of his head, ‘as well as with your hands to make a good carpenter or wheelwright.’

  ‘Yes, Mr Vencombe. And thanks again!’

  ‘It’ll be a pleasure to train you up.’ And Geoffrey turned back to the workbench.

  Grace had been marking the screw-holes for the hinges on a farm-gate she had helped to make, and put down the bradawl she had been using.

  ‘Thank you very much, Mr Vencombe,’ she repeated George’s words. ‘But … you don’t see George as a replacement for Stephen, do you? I mean, Stephen will be coming back.’

  Geoffrey blinked his cinnamon brown eyes at her. The same steady eyes that Larry had inherited. Could Grace detect a shining trace of moisture in them?

  ‘I’m planning for a future with a full house again, maid,’ he answered huskily. And then the hint of a smile coloured his expression. ‘You, too, if you want to stay on after the war and some lucky young fellow hasn’t whisked you away.’

  He was curious to see Grace’s face stiffen. ‘You won’t find me tied to a kitchen table with half a dozen chiller under my feet, I can assure you!’

  Geoffrey was somewhat taken aback and Larry, who had heard the brief conversation, drew his head back on his neck. Grace hadn’t been the same since Martin had left. They were all worried sick about him, himself and his parents, just as Bob feared for his son and Sybil for Reg. And almost everyone in the parish, which extended to remote farmsteads right up on the moor, was in the same boat for more young men had joined up since the initial wave of enlistment. But worrying didn’t get you anywhere, and Larry was both surprised and concerned that Grace had taken Martin’s departure so hard. Although come to think of it, she had been behaving strangely since a couple of days before Martin had left. They hadn’t had some sort of argument, had they?

  But Larry never found an answer to his ponderings for just then he spied two small figures nervously holding hands as they inched onto the threshold, eyes wide and like shiny pebbles in their little faces.

  ‘Good day to you, young maids.’ Larry got to his feet and made towards the open workshop doors. Faith and Maggie clung onto each other even more tightly. They were well acquainted with the tall man with the funny walk who was coming towards them. He had played with them often enough, and he was Stephen and Grace’s friend. But they had never entered the busy workshop before, and everything was strange and overwhelming. The elder of them, Faith, had the wit to lift her hand and point at her big sister.

  ‘Grace,’ she whispered. ‘Gracie, you’d better come. A boy came to the door. And now Mummy’s gone … proper crazy, like. And us was afeared …’

  ‘What?’ Grace’s eyebrows swooped downwards. Entangled in her own jumble of emotions, she hadn’t caught all of Faith’s muddled words, but she had heard enough to know that something was amiss. ‘Do you mind if I pop home for a minute?’ she asked, sorry that she was having to take advantage of Mr Vencombe’s generosity.

  ‘Of course not, cheel.’

  ‘Do you want me to come?’

  ‘No thanks, Larry. It’s probably nort.’

  ‘I’ll come,’ George put in. ‘I can tell Mummy the good news, and that’ll cheer her up a bit.’

  ‘Off you go, then.’

  Grace’s expression was set as the four of them traipsed out through the yard. She knew her mother sometimes still became upset if the memory of her two dead children chanced to sear into her mind. Grace herself had vague recollections of her lost siblings which saddened her at times. But the double tragedy had occurred years before, and surely Temperance could contain her grief in front of little Maggie and Faith who was at home because school was still closed for the long summer holiday.

  ‘So what did you say happened?’ Grace questioned Faith who was trotting along behind her.

  ‘A boy came,’ Faith faltered, somewhat perturbed by the sharp attitude of her big sister who was usually so loving. ‘He gave Mummy a letter. And when he’d gone, Mummy opened it and she went master quiet, like, and then she started screaming.’

  A sudden iciness crept through Grace’s flesh. Was it … a telegram? Her thoughts flew at once to Stephen. No, it couldn’t be. To her knowledge, there had been little if any fighting in India, despite the close proximity of the Ottoman forces. But that wasn’t to say … And news didn’t always travel fast.

  Oh, God. She forgot George and her little sisters, her mind closed to everything but the dread that rampaged through her body. Oh, please … But as she ran up to the front door, she could hear the blood-curdling shrieks from inside. She paused for just an instant, scraping up her courage.

  ‘You stay here,’ she instructed, but from George’s suddenly white face and the way the girls were cowering together, it was hardly necessary.

  Grace pushed the door open just a fraction, and her mother’s hysterical wails spilled out into the August air. Panic locked Grace’s heart in fear, but she had to do this, and gulping hard, she slipped inside this loving home that had suddenly become cold and hostile.

  Temperance stood at the far side of the table, her eyes wild and bolting. Her expression seemed to register the fact that Grace was there. But then, with some crazed voracity, she filled her lungs to let out another ear-splitting screech, all the while staring into her eldest daughter’s face.

  Grace had to claw her way through a fog of shock. On the table was a crumpled scrap of paper. A telegram. Her pulse crashed at her tem
ples as she slowly moved her trembling fingers towards it while keeping her eyes on Temperance who continued to stand there, just screaming and screaming as if every fibre of her being was directed into that and nothing else. And then the moment came when Grace must read the print that wavered in her hand as she smoothed out the paper.

  DEEPEST SYMPATHIES STOP PRIVATE STEPHEN DANNINGS DIED PEACEFULLY OF MALARIA ON 20TH AUGUST STOP FULL CHRISTIAN BURIAL IN THE CEMETERY AT BARRACKPORE

  So, that was it. At first, Grace felt nothing at all. Stephen, her beloved brother, was no more. His life, in a little box, put to one side. Fact. And life would go on. It just would. Another fact. And then, as Grace lifted her eyes, here was this raving, deranged woman whom she alone must cope with in the next few moments. No space for her own fractured emotions. Her own grief. And she watched in appalled horror as the lunatic hurled a cup across the room. Grace ducked out of its path and the missile crashed against the wall where it smashed into a thousand pieces. Grace stared as her mother snatched up a second cup, and then she was aware of George creeping into the room behind her.

  ‘Take the girls next door to Martha,’ she ordered over her shoulder. ‘Then get Mr Vencombe to send for the doctor, and then go and find Daddy.’

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw George back out of the door just as the second cup landed by the first with the unmistakable tinkling of shattering china. Good Lord, what should she do? Desperation scored into her heart as Temperance went to one end of the table, arm outstretched, and swept everything off the opposite end with an almost triumphant cry. Grace seized the opportunity to skate round behind her and snap her arms round her mother’s form, pinning hers to her sides. Temperance struggled like a thing possessed, kicking and screaming, but Grace gritted her teeth, ignoring the pain of her mother’s booted heels against her shins and hanging on determinedly. Slowly, very slowly, Temperance’s rigid stance softened, her shouts lessened to a howl and finally to racking sobs as mother and daughter sank onto their knees together.