“And what if we serve so long and we find a beau and get married?”
“Then you will be your husband’s problem, Miss Adams, and not mine.”
“So, if we get married, we have to leave?”
“No, you don’t have to leave. Some just choose to. Ethel and Annie are married, and their husbands are serving in the Army. They have chosen to stay on.” She paused a moment, shifting her attention from Isabella to Claire and me. “We will dock your pay for any spilled milk, damaged produce, or broken eggs, so make sure you are careful. Other than that, as long as you ladies do your job, then we shouldn’t have any problems.” She grabbed each of the stacks of clothes and handed them to us. “Now, if you will follow me to the farm, I will show you the house.”
The walk to the farmhouse wasn’t far. About a mile, give or take, and as we entered the gate and walked toward the house, the chickens roaming around the front yard scattered. They squawked and flapped their wings, causing Isabella to tuck her arms up against her chest and jump around. She made a few awkward screamed sounds.
“They won’t hurt you,” I said to her, trying to hold in my laughter. “In fact, they are more scared of you than you are of them.”
“I still don’t like the look of them. Unpredictable, flying things. My sister once told me she heard about a man who had his eyes pecked out by a chicken.”
“I call rubbish,” I said. “I’ve grown up around dozens and dozens of chickens, probably even close to one hundred in my lifetime, and none of them have ever been mean . . .” I paused, for at that moment I remembered one chicken who could prove me wrong. “Except for Mrs. Clucker.”
“Who was Mrs. Clucker?” Claire asked.
“She was my mum’s favorite chicken. Although, why she cared for the hen, I do not know. The bird would chase Evelyn and me all over the farm, flapping her wings and squawking at us with this high-pitched scream. She was big and red, and she hated everyone except my mum. We both hated that bird.”
“See,” Isabella pointed at me, “there is such a thing as a mean chicken.”
“You will find that all the animals are tame around here,” Bea said, stopping at a rock wall that paralleled the barn. “Except for Angus.”
“Who is Angus?” Isabella asked.
“Mr. Barnes’ prize pig.”
“Isn’t he apart of the registered animals for slaughter?”
“Oh, no, not Angus. He’s a show pig. Won first prize at the county fair. Which makes him prime breeding stock. He’s the daddy to all the pigs we do register for the food stock.” She spun back around, continuing, “And he’s got a bloody attitude like he knows it.”
Claire and I shared a look then turned back at Isabella who stood with her mouth gaped open. She blinked several times, then pointed toward us. Her voice growled. “You can make me tend to the chickens. You can make me tend to the cows. But know this, I will not feed or tend to the pigs.”
The farmhouse resembled every farmhouse I’d ever known. A giant kitchen with a wood fire stove and large table sitting in the middle of the room, a tiny but cozy sitting room with a couch, a couple of chairs, a fireplace on one wall, and a bookcase on the other, stacked with several books that had more dust on them than not.
“The bedrooms are upstairs. You three get the room that is the second door on the left. My door is the first door on the right, the second on the right is the water closet, and the first door on the left is Ethel and Annie’s bedroom. The girls are out doing chores now. It’s the start of the late harvest and, well, I’m afraid it’s quite busy. You might want to get unpacked and settled in before our five o’clock in the morning start.”
“Did you say five o’clock in the morning?” Isabella asked.
Bea shook her head. “I knew at least one of you would probably be more trouble than you were worth. I hope I’m wrong, though. I’ll see you for supper.”
After she left the sitting room and went back through the kitchen, the three of us made our way upstairs. The wooden steps creaked under our feet and the place had a musty farm smell to it, as though the wood had soaked up the scents of the animals and manure over the years it’d lived on the farm. I followed Claire up, and finding our room, we went inside. Modest and small, it consisted of three beds, three nightstands, one near each bed, and a chest of drawers for our clothes. In the corner, a line hung from one wall to another with a few towels draped over it. I took the bed next to the window and began unpacking what little clothes I’d brought with me into the top drawer.
After unpacking, the three of us changed our clothes, stepping into our uniforms for the first time before we went back downstairs and took advantage of a vacant house with no one there to know what we were doing.
“So what should we do?” Claire asked, spinning in circles.
An evil smile spread across Isabella’s face. “We could go back upstairs and look through the other rooms?”
Claire slapped at our friend’s arm. “That’s wrong to do. You shouldn’t even suggest it.”
“Is it, though?”
Claire parked her rump on the couch, leaning over to the small table sitting to the left. She grabbed one of the books on the table, reading the cover for a moment before tossing it off to the side.
“Oh, what is this one?” She grabbed the second book and straightened back up, showing us the cover. She flipped it open and her face turned pink. She giggled. “It’s what my mum calls erotic literature.”
Isabella’s eyes widened, and she dashed over to the couch, trying to take it from Claire’s hands. “My mum reads books like these. I’ve always wanted to read one, but she won’t let me. She tells me only after I get married can I read them.”
While the two began flipping through the pages, I circled around the sitting room, passing by a large window that looked out over a tiny yard. A few chickens pecked and scratched on the ground. Their heads bobbed up and down while their nails made trails in the grass and patches of dirt.
“I think I’m going to take a tour of the farm,” I said, spinning around to face Claire and Isabella.
With both of their noses in the book, Isabella just waved at me, while Claire said. “All right. Have fun.” Their attention focused on the book, both of their lips moved as they read the words.
Ignoring their few giggles, I marched from the sitting room and out into the yard of the farm. The sunlight blinded me a little, as it had already lowered a bit in the sky. All around me were the sounds of farm life. Cows mooing, chickens making those bawk bawk bawk sounds with the occasional squawk when something scared them, and pigs oinking and squealing as they moved around the pen, pushing the mud around with their noses.
I walked past the chicken coop and heard a voice. “Bloody birds. You are supposed to lay the eggs in the box, not in the walkway.”
I stopped and reached for the coop door, opening it. “Hello?”
The young Black woman standing inside the small shed screamed and spun to face me. In her haste she dropped an egg and it splattered all over the floor of the coop. “Well, isn’t that bloody fantastic? I have to pay for those you know.”
“I’m sorry. I bent down, grabbing the shells. Don’t worry about paying for it. I will pay for it. It was my fault you dropped it.”
“Well, that is kind of you. Thank you.”
“No problem.”
“Just . . . throw some straw on the whites and yoke. It will soak them up and then we can shovel it out.”
She moved her chin, pointing toward a shovel propped up on the inside of the coop door.
“So, this happens often, then, does it?”
“How could you tell?” She laughed.
“I’m Amelia. I’m one of the new land girls.”
“Ah. Yeah. Bea mentioned some new girls were coming. I didn’t think she said it was today.” The young lady moved out from the door, and she stuck her hand out for me to shake. “I’m Ethel Tillman. It’s nice to meet you.”
“You too. Such a lovely name
, Ethel.”
“My parents named me after Ethel Waters.”
“Who is she?”
“A blues, jazz, and gospel vocalist. She began recording the year I was born in America. My parents came across one song of hers that they loved so much. She’s worked for a few clubs in Hollywood and on Broadway. I believe this year they even nominated her for an Oscar.”
“Quite the career.”
“She is quite a woman.” Ethel waved at me to follow her.
We entered a vast barn, and she walked down the middle toward several bins. Grabbing one of the lids, she opened it and began scooping heaping cups full of corn and what looked like oatmeal into two buckets.
“So, what made you join the WLA?”
“Just wanted to do my part for the country and the war.”
“That’s good. Halifax is a great farm to work for. It’s a little ways away from any major cities so it can get lonely outside the small town of Stubton. If you like the nightlife.”
“I don’t.”
“Good. The last thing we need is any more drama in this house.”
“Drama?”
She waved her hand. “Oh, it was nothing. You should fit right in.” She poured another two scoops into each of the buckets and handed me one. “Carry it back to the chickens for me?”
“Sure.”
It wasn’t until the sun had set that Ethel and I returned to the farmhouse. Bea, along with another girl, followed behind us. Their clothes were covered in a thick layer of dirt, just like Ethel’s, and their foreheads and necks glistened with the sheen of sweat. They were chatting and laughing as they came into the kitchen.
“Ladies, I would like for you to meet Claire Abbot, Isabella Adams, and Amelia Ashton.” Bea pointed at us then pointed at the two women. “And this is Ethel Tillman and Annie Smithson.”
“Amelia and I met in the chicken coop. She owes you for an egg, by the way.” Ethel gave me a wink.
“Breaking eggs all ready.” Bea wiggled her finger, but also gave me a smile and a wink. “I expected better from you, Guernsey girl.”
Aside from the usual back and forth greeting when meeting someone new, the two women were friendly enough, and welcomed us before dashing upstairs to change and wash up for supper. Bea got right to work in the kitchen, chopping up potatoes and letting them plunk down in a pot of water.
“You ladies like spam and mash?”
“What’s that?” Claire asked.
“It’s tinned meat from America. I fry it up and it’s quite tasty.” Bea reached for her apron, and after tying it around her waist in the back, she held up her finger. “Hold on a second. I almost forgot.” She left the kitchen, heading into a small room just off it. From the cracked opening in the door, I saw her grab a couple of things off a desk sitting in the middle of the room.
“Here are your ration books,” she said, returning to the room. She made her way to the table, handing us each a booklet. “I’ve already filled it out for supper this evening. I also forgot to mention if you want to post a letter to your family—or to anyone else—I go to the post on Tuesdays and Saturdays and I can take your letters for you.”
While she continued to work on supper, I flipped through the book. I had seen mine when I lived with the Davenports; however, I had never filled it out or turned it in. Eleanor handled everything, only showing it to me as she explained how she would use it. A lesson I forgot within minutes of her teaching. It wasn’t that I didn’t care, or that it didn’t interest me, but I had other things on my mind, studies and school and spending time with friends. Looking at this book, for the first time in I didn’t know how long—perhaps my entire life—I suddenly felt unprepared for being an adult. The responsibilities of my days and nights solely rested on my shoulders. I was a working woman, earning an income, and responsible of taking care of myself. While I was living with a warden, I wasn’t living with a parent, and after getting my duties done each day, I had the say in what I did and where I went. The freedom of it all scared me, and yet, it excited me, too.
It wasn’t long before Ethel and Annie came back downstairs. With their hair tucked in towels and wearing a change of clothes, they smelled a little better, and they sat down across from us as Bea served supper.
“So, are any of you married?” Ethel asked.
We all shook our heads.
“Both of us are.”
“Bea mentioned that and that they were in the Army. Do you know where they are stationed?” Isabella picked up her fork, digging it into the pile of mash. She paused before eating it, though, as she waited for their answers.
“My husband is in the Navy.” Ethel brushed her hand against her chest. “And Annie’s husband is in the Air Force.”
“He’s a pilot,” Annie added, plunging her own utensil into her food. She didn’t wait to take a bite. “I’m not sure where he is right now.”
“And how long have you been land girls?” Claire asked.
“I joined about eight months ago. When Fred left for training.” Annie finished chewing her bite, then took a sip of water from her glass.
“And I arrived, what,” Ethel turned toward Annie, “Two months after you?”
“I think about then. It was just before Doris and Winifred left.”
Bea dumped the last of the mash onto a final plate and set the pot in the sink before sitting at the table with us in the chair on the end. After setting her plate down, she licked her thumb as though food had gotten on it.
“Why did they leave?” I asked.
Bea glanced at Ethel and Annie and they both ducked their chins, focusing on their dinners.
“They moved on to other farms,” she said. “Some girls do that from time to time when one farm isn’t a good fit, or they prefer certain work.”
“As in?”
“Some farms have more pigs than others, or some farms have only cattle.”
“So, they desired to be around more pigs and cows?” Isabella cocked one of her eyebrows, pausing just before she took a bite of tinned meat. Her mouth gaped open.
“Something like that.” Bea glanced at Ethel and Annie again before continuing to eat her own supper. Although I—and surely Claire and Isabella—had more questions about the other girls, the look on Bea’s face said not to ask anymore and the subject was off limits.
The three of us made eye contact but said nothing else, and the whole table finished in silence, and nothing but the sounds of the utensils clanking against the dishes.
It wasn’t until after we’d all finished that Bea uttered another word. “I’ll clean up tonight. You girls have a long day ahead of you tomorrow, so it might be best for you to all turn in early for the evening. Wake up is at five in the morning, and I’ll have breakfast ready about ten after, so I expect you all down here by then.”
“Yes, Bea,” Ethel said, placing her dish in the sink.
“Oh, and if you want any letters to go out in tomorrow’s post, I need them bright and early.”
“We should probably write our parents,” Claire nudged Isabella, “to let them know we made it safely to Stubton.”
“Good idea.”
My stomach twisted with a twinge of guilt. I should write to the Davenports, letting them know I arrived and I’m safe. While I didn’t wish to read any letter that would surely come back my way, it wouldn’t be right of me not to let them know.
At least this one time.
I wasn’t sure what I was going to say, and even mentally wrote and crossed out several paragraphs on my way up the stairs. As we reached the bedroom, and after I changed my clothes and snuggled down into the bed, I at least had an opening line.
Dear Eleanor and Robert,
I just wanted you to know I have safely made it to Halifax Farms. It’s in the small town of Stubton, and oh how it reminds me of home. I never thought I would want to work on a farm again; the chores always seem a little daunting when thought of, really. However, I have to admit that I look forward to them in the morning, with
a sense of contentment, as though I’m home again, even if I’m not.
I also wanted to apologize for just leaving this morning in the manner in which I did. It was wrong of me and I will forever feel guilty after all the wonderful things you did for me when I was so far away from my own parents. Please forgive me. I never meant to hurt either of you.
Well, I suppose I should go now. I have to be up at five o’clock in the morning and I’m not sure I will even be able to pry myself out of bed with how exhausted I am at the moment. At least I know when I lay my head on the pillow, sleep won’t be hard to find.
I hope to hear from you soon, and I will also write again—if you wish for me to.
Write to you again soon.
Sincerely,
Amelia
The train pulled into the station in Stubton not long after it left the station in Derbyshire. While I’d hoped for more distance between us, as the worry Eleanor would come looking for me only seemed to deepen with each passing minute, I also felt a sense of comfort in the knowledge they weren’t far from me. Perhaps with enough begging, she would forgive me should I ever need to go back.
Hopefully.
While Isabella chatted with a couple of soldiers she’d talked into helping her with her bags, Claire went into the station to ask the clerk for directions. I, after disembarking the train, made my way around the building, eager to see another part of the country I hadn’t seen before. Countryside met me on the other side, along with nothing but rolling green hills and the scent of dirt, grass, and cows. It reminded me of Guernsey, and I couldn’t help but tear up at the thought of my home.
“The clerk said it was only about a two-mile walk,” Claire said as she and Isabella came around the corner.
“But that’s still too far. Maybe I can get those soldiers to give us a ride.”
“They have orders, Isabella, and they aren’t to take three girls to a farm in the opposite direction as the base.”
Yours: An Emotional and Gripping WWII Family Saga (The Promises Between Us Trilogy Book 1) Page 16