Wheels of Grace

by Crosse, Tania

  His voice had hardened, devoid of emotion. As if the horror of it was so deep that his mind had shut down to it. Grace stared at his ashen face, motionless, thundering waves swamping her brain until she sank beneath them and slithered to the ground. Larry was at once beside her, arm around her, supporting her, and she slumped against him while her swimming head slowed.

  ‘You should have told me before, Martin,’ Larry’s quiet voice seeped into her consciousness. ‘And not in front of Grace.’

  ‘But, you see? She blames me as much as I do myself.’

  His mangled tone made Grace force open her eyes and she peered at him from the protection of Larry’s shoulder as Martin, too, dropped onto his knees.

  ‘No, I don’t blame you,’ she heard a voice – her own voice – assure him. ‘It’s just so horrible. I think … you were both so brave. You and Paul, both.’

  ‘She’s right. It must have taken immeasurable courage to do what you did. And it was the right thing to do.’

  ‘But you understand why I need to go back? To make up for my guilt, or whatever it is.’

  ‘Yes. Of course.’

  Larry stretched his other arm wide, and his younger brother came into his embrace. Larry held them both close, in the circle of his strong, stalwart arms. And he stared over their heads out over the misted valley, his face like hewn stone.

  The telegram came just in time for Christmas, the same day that Nan Sampson gave birth six weeks early to her fourth child who, by some miracle, managed to survive.

  ‘Grace?’

  She looked up as Larry quietly entered the office. For the past few months, an unspoken grief had pervaded the wheelwrights’, oozing malignly into every nook and cranny. Smothering and inescapable. Even though spring was not so far away, its approach had done nothing to lift anyone’s spirits. For never again would the teasing, jocular younger son of the establishment lighten the long working day. It was Vencombe and Son now, not Sons, Grace reflected morosely, although she would never suggest blanking out the ‘s’ on the firm’s stationery. It was too final.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Have you got a minute?’ Larry’s taut expression told her it was something serious.

  ‘For you, always.’ Grace gave a subdued smile, since the time for anything happier hadn’t yet come.

  ‘I wanted a word while Dad’s not around. In fact …’ Larry paused, clicking the door shut behind him. ‘To be honest, I’m not sure I should be telling you, either. But … Well, only you and I know what Martin told us up on the moor that day. And I thought, in an odd sort of way, it might help. To know that Martin achieved what he wanted.’

  Grace frowned, and her heart began to beat nervously. ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘You will, when you read this. You know Sybil called in earlier to tell us Reg has been wounded? Well, he’d sent her a letter for me. You’ll see why when you read it.’

  He held out a flimsy piece of paper, and Grace took it from him in a hand that shook slightly. ‘Are you sure I should read it?’

  ‘Not entirely. It’s going to upset you, but I think you should know. Only please forgive me if I’m wrong.’

  ‘Of course—’

  Larry held up his hand in protest. ‘Not until you’ve read it.’

  Grace blinked at him, a hesitant swoop of her lashes, before she placed the letter on the desk and smoothed it out. Larry’s face was a picture of consternation as she turned her eyes away from him and began to read.

  Dear Larry

  I’m writing to you from a clearing hospital. I only have a minor injury and I don’t suppose it will be many days before I’m sent back to my unit. So I’m taking the opportunity to let you know exactly how Martin died. I’m sure they told you it was rescuing another soldier, but I feel you should know the details leading up to it. I thought you should be the one to know, and can decide whether or not to tell your parents.

  I was with Martin from the beginning, as you know. There was a terrible event at the Battle of Loos not that long after we came out here. He kept it to himself, but I reckon that Martin was understandably very upset by it. He became generally bitter, and his personality seemed to change. He’d been trained to lead us, and he was good at it. He made sound decisions on the battlefield, given the circumstances and also orders from above. We trusted him, but I think being in charge of the fate of friends was hard. Harder than if we were strangers. So sometimes the ‘pals’ system has its draw-backs, although it has to be said that since last summer, we’ve been getting in drafts from all over the place. But Martin was just as scared as the rest of us. He tried not to show it, but I could tell that he was.

  By the time he came back after recovering from his wounds, the months of bitter fighting that they’re now calling the Battle of the Somme had died down. The weather had got so bad and it’s been a fight for both sides just to survive the cold. But there were still small skirmishes, sniper fire and the like. Martin volunteered for every dangerous mission there was, as if he was trying to make up for something. I don’t know how to describe it exactly. He became reckless. Not where others were concerned, but for himself. Almost as if he was deliberately playing with death. And that was how he died. Trying to rescue a wounded man when it was obvious that if anyone tried, they’d get killed, too. We tried to stop him, but he got away from us, and thirty seconds later, he was dead.

  They could only let me have this one sheet of paper so I can’t write more. I hope none of what I’ve put will get censored out. Look after yourself and say a prayer for me that I will survive this mayhem.

  Your friend,

  Reg

  A heavy, sinking sensation had tightened Grace’s stomach as she read the letter. Now she folded it carefully which seemed somewhat ludicrous as it was already so crumpled, and then she handed it back to Larry.

  ‘So,’ she faltered, her voice tiny. ‘You think he almost wanted to die? To make amends for what happened at Loos?’

  Larry lowered his eyes. ‘Yes. At least, I reckon he felt that if he was risking his life, it was saving someone else from risking theirs. And at the same time, he was challenging fate. Defying the devil, but knowing the devil would win eventually.’ Larry paused, sucking a sharp breath in between his teeth. ‘God, he should never have gone back, the state his nerves were in.’

  ‘But … it were what he wanted.’

  ‘Yes. I know. And what Reg says confirms it. I-I did do right to show you the letter?’

  Grace nodded slowly. ‘Yes. But I’m not sure your parents should know ort about it. They don’t know about Paul, do they? No one does. Just us.’

  ‘And Reg. He was there. That’s what he means by the event at Loos, I’m sure of it. But he can be trusted never to say anything.’

  ‘Yes, I’m sure.’ Grace sighed, closing her eyes. ‘It’s just all so horrible. Such a mess, isn’t it?’

  ‘All such a bloody mess, war, yes,’ Larry murmured half under his breath, though the bitterness of his meaning was all too clear. ‘But what choice have we ever had but to fight back? I just wonder how many more men we’re going to lose from the village before it all stops. You and I, we’ve both lost both a brother and someone who was like a brother. Or … I mean …’ He hesitated only a moment, as if the time for utter frankness had come. ‘You didn’t have stronger feelings for Martin, did you? You’re a grown woman, and Martin was so likable – even if he did drive me to distraction at times.’

  His question was so direct that it sent a flush of heat through Grace’s body, although she couldn’t have said precisely why. She experienced a stab of unwanted confusion as she answered truthfully, ‘No. Nothing like that. I know Martin were very attractive to women. I could see that myself. But I only ever loved him in the same way as I love you. As a brother.’

  She glanced away, and didn’t see the momentary spasm that flitted across Larry’s face. ‘Ah,’ he said softly. ‘That’s good. In a way, I suppose. That might have made it even more painful. To lose a brother is
devastating enough, but someone …’ He broke off, wet his lips in a nervous gesture. ‘If only we had bodies to bury. Graves to focus our grief on, rather than all that sadness and anger just going nowhere.’

  Grace closed her lips wryly. As ever, Larry had put his finger spot on it, expressing perfectly the frustrated emotions she shared with him. ‘If only that army doctor hadn’t passed Martin as fit to return to duty,’ she muttered miserably.

  ‘Yes. It would almost have been better if his nerves had been affected in the same way as some of those poor devils we saw at the hospital, and then he’d never have been sent back. You know, I read in one of the national newspapers the other day that the army doctors have coined a phrase for it at last. They’re starting to call it shell-shock.’

  ‘Shell-shock? I guess that’s a good name for it. You know, I’ve often thought about them. The men we saw at the hospital. I’ve not said ort before, but what with them and the state Martin were in, well, that’s what I’d really like to be doing. Helping the soldiers directly. I’d like to train as a VAD nurse.’

  ‘Really?’

  She met the surprise on Larry’s face with a positive nod of her head. ‘Yes. I know my work here is really important. More so now the U-boats have recently doubled the amount of shipping they’ve been sinking, and our farmers are under greater pressure than ever before and needing new carts and wheels as fast as we can make them. But I feel I’d be more use at a hospital like the one in Tavistock. I’ve had enough experience dealing with Mummy, and I think I could really do some good. A silly idea, I know.’ She shrugged, pulling a rueful face. ‘And I’ve still got Mummy to look after every afternoon. I couldn’t expect Martha to look after her all day, and who’d do all the chores around the house? All the cooking and washing and ironing? Faith helps as much as she can, and Maggie, but they’re both at school all day, and they’re too young to do most things. And you know I’ve been helping Nan as well since she had the last baby. And anyway,’ Grace sighed, ‘only women from wealthier families can become VADs. You have to be rich enough to be able to support yourself, and I can’t do that. No.’ She gave a half smile. ‘I’ll content myself with my job here. Talking of which, both you and I need to get back to work.’

  Larry returned her smile. ‘Yes, we do. And thanks, Gracie. I don’t know what I’d do without you to talk to. But we are agreed that we keep this to ourselves?’

  ‘Definitely. But thank you for sharing it with me. Poor Martin.’

  ‘Yes, poor Martin.’

  Larry lingered for a moment with his hand on the door handle before going back out into the workshop, leaving Grace to turn her attention back to the paperwork on the desk. But the figures and letters on the pages blurred in front of her eyes, transforming themselves instead into an image of two young boys playing by the river: the older, dark-haired one, laughing and teasing, while the younger, fair-headed lad followed him with shining, happy admiration in his cornflower blue eyes. And then the picture faded and was gone.

  Grace felt her empty heart tear.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  ‘MISS SAID TODAY that now America’s joined in the war, the Germans need to watch out!’ Faith announced knowledgeably after school one afternoon. ‘She said they was taking a huge risk sinking so many more American ships bringing us food, and now they’ll never stand up to the Americans.’

  ‘Well, I hope she’s right,’ Grace answered sceptically.

  ‘Of course she is,’ Faith went on in a matter-of-fact tone. ‘There’s lots of them, the Americans. And they has lots of money so they can afford lots of guns and things. So Miss says that with them on our side, we should be able to beat the Germans and the rest proper quick, like. That’s mortal good news, bain’t it, Mummy?’

  Temperance turned her head from her usual place in the rocking chair, and Grace caught her disconsolate gaze across the room. She knew exactly what her mother was thinking. The end of the war, whenever it came, wouldn’t bring back her beloved eldest son. Nothing could do that.

  Besides, Grace considered bitterly, the Americans had taken their time. If they’d supported the Allies a deal earlier, the war might have been over by now. As it was, over the winter, the Germans had constructed a formidably strong position miles to the rear of the Front, and had withdrawn behind its impenetrable defences. This new Hindenburg Line, as the British had christened it, was going to cause the Allies even more problems than ever – as if the prolonged, bitter fighting at the Somme hadn’t been cataclysmic enough already.

  Then there had been the uprising in Russia a month previously that some were calling a revolution and that had caused the Czar to abdicate. Who knew what that might mean to Russia’s role as an ally? And as well as the Western Front, there was everything that was going on in the Middle East. The assault on Gaza had only narrowly failed, and the recent defeat of the Turks at Baghdad and with it, the capture of the Berlin to Baghdad railway, had boosted morale. But as far as Grace could see, the conflict in all its locations in the world was far from over. And in her opinion, it would be a long time before America’s belated pledge could have any effect whatsoever!

  ‘Well, let’s hope it does some good,’ she said to Faith. ‘Now, why don’t you and Maggie tell Mummy what else you did at school today?’

  Before the little girls had a chance to open their mouths, however, the front door burst open, banging back on its hinges. Four astounded pairs of eyes swivelled to the forlorn figure that wavered on the threshold, looking like some demented apparition, hair awry around a face crumpled with tears. Three small children clung about the young woman’s skirt, while an infant bawled in her arms.

  Grace was filled with alarm as she stepped forward. ‘Nan, whatever’s the matter?’ she cried, and then her heart crashed to her feet as she spied the unmistakable paper screwed in Nan’s fist. Oh, no. A telegram. For a few seconds, Grace felt numbed. She had been there herself, first with Stephen and more recently with Martin. She knew what it was to be shocked with grief. But while she had her family with whom to share her bereavement, poor Nan was alone in the world and had no one else to turn to.

  ‘I-I didn’t know where else to go,’ Nan faltered, her words a forced squeal as she squeezed them from her throat.

  ‘Oh, Nan, come here.’ Grace put her arm around the other girl’s trembling shoulders. ‘Come and sit down. Faith, do some bread and dripping for the tackers, only mind your fingers on the knife.’

  Faith leapt at once to the task, enjoying the responsibility and pulling Maggie from the bench to make room for the three children. The two elder ones sidled onto the rough wooden seat, their eyes wide in bewilderment, and Maggie hoisted up the youngest to join his siblings.

  ‘What wrong with Mummy?’ Billy asked, his little face screwed up in confusion as he nevertheless crammed into his mouth the bread Faith had given him.

  ‘She’m not feeling very well,’ Grace answered quickly, sitting Nan down in Ernest’s chair. ‘Oh, Nan, I’m so very sorry,’ she said to the young mother who sobbed broken-heartedly while the baby struggled and yelled on her lap.

  ‘M-missing, pre-sumed dead,’ Nan spluttered.

  ‘Oh, dear Lord.’ Grace gave a heartfelt sigh as she still cradled Nan against her shoulder. ‘But … missing isn’t the same as … well, you know. So there’s still hope,’ she attempted to encourage her.

  ‘No. He’m dead, I’s certain of it. Oh, Gracie, what am I to do without him?’’ Nan rasped as her tears, calmed for a moment, broke out afresh. ‘I thought … as I could manage … for a bit,’ she wheezed, ‘until he comes home again. And you’ve been so good to me. But … I doesn’t think I can go on without him anymore!’ Her voice rose on a crescendo, a wail of misery, and she seemed unaware of the infant who was now screaming against her chest, not understanding why his violent demands to be fed were not being answered.

  ‘Oh, er, let me have the baby,’ Grace offered, although when Nan gratefully relinquished the wriggling bundle into her arms, she didn’
t have a clue what she was to do with it, either. ‘Er, pour yourself some tea. There’s some left in the pot. It’s a bit weak, mind. Like everyone, we’m having to use the leaves over and over again.’

  Grace jiggled the child up and down, watching in trepidation as Nan reached out with hands shaking convulsively. She prayed Nan wouldn’t drop the teapot and break it. Under present circumstances, it might not be easy to replace. And although they got by – aided by the daily pint of milk Mrs Snell kindly gave them – there was never any money to spare.

  It was as Grace really was beginning to wonder quite desperately what she should do with the caterwauling baby that she realized her mother had risen silently and unnoticed to her feet and had come up beside her.

  ‘Let me have the poor little mite,’ Temperance said with such calm serenity that Grace blinked at her in astonishment. It was the longest sentence her mother had spoken in months and her tone was so confident and normal that Grace couldn’t believe her ears. She handed over the baby with a silent sigh of disbelief, and then turned her full attention to Nan.

  ‘You mustn’t give up hope just like that,’ she attempted to soothe Nan’s misery. ‘You’ve only had the telegram, I take it? Well, someone’ll write to you later with more details. No one can have reported seeing exactly what happened. It’s absolute chaos out there, you know. Martin … told us so,’ she explained, ignoring the stab of pain in her own heart. ‘John could be wounded in a field station, got mixed up with another company, all sorts of reasons why he’s not where he should be.’

  ‘Does you … really think so?’ Nan sniffed as her tears began to dry.

  ‘Well, I know that you mustn’t believe the worst. You’ve the tackers to think of. They’m too young to understand, so you must be strong for them.’

  ‘But he don’t even know about Jonty. It were awful, you knows, choosing a name without John being here. That’s why I called him Jonty, after his daddy.’