Freedom's Land

by Anna Jacobs

  Mute and hunched, Janie watched them all eat. With all the milk to spare, Norah gave the boys as much to drink as they wanted, already planning to buy some rice and make puddings with it regularly.

  In the morning, she got her daughter up early, gave her a glass of milk and took her along to the cowshed. ‘We’ll do the milking together and you’ll see that there’s nothing to be afraid of.’

  Janie was stiff at first, wincing each time the cow moved, but like the boys she was big for her age, taking after her mother, and old enough to help.

  When Andrew and the boys joined them, no one commented on the fact that Janie was milking, so they had another lesson and between them, got the three cows finished quickly. After that Andrew carried the lidded cream cans to the entrance to their block and set them on the rough bench he’d made.

  Within half an hour the dairy truck had collected the cream and the boys were fetching the empty cans back, claiming further glasses of the morning’s skim milk and chatting about what they and their father would be doing during the day.

  Soon they fell into a routine, and by the end of the week, even Janie had lost her nervousness with the cows and was milking them when asked. She never managed to work as quickly as the two boys, but she did what she had to, and made considerably less mess when she helped clear up and wash out the pails and separator and cream cans.

  But underneath, the child was unhappy. It showed in the droop of her mouth and the listless way she moved around. She was so unlike her old self it worried Norah a lot. Nothing they said or did seemed to make a difference to her.

  They could only hope that time would work a gradual cure.

  Gil watched his group carefully, noticing more than most people realised. The one he worried about most at the moment was Freddie Dawson. What was wrong with the man? He’d chosen to come here, it was rebuilding his wife’s health, why was he so surly? He was a misery to work with these days.

  Something about Irene still drew Gil’s eyes to her whenever they were together. But she had eyes only for Freddie, didn’t notice the foreman’s interest in her.

  Well, why should she? Gil thought. She wasn’t a loose woman like that Susan Grenville had been. No doubt the Dawsons would sort themselves out one way or the other, people usually did. And if he could help them, he would.

  He bought the piglets and left word here and there that he was looking for more, before delivering the little creatures. Andrew had converted his original cow shelter into a pen for the two piglets. Freddie was working with a gang of men today, but had assured the foreman that he too had an enclosure ready for the piglets. But it was such a sorry excuse for an enclosure, one which even small piglets would soon escape from, that Gil nearly took the lively little creatures away again.

  Then he looked at Irene and her unhappy expression stopped him speaking his mind.

  ‘It’s not good enough, is it?’ she said.

  ‘No. The piglets will get stronger and they’ll soon be able to push their way out of that.’

  Tears filled her eyes and she bit her lip.

  He couldn’t bear to see her upset. ‘I’ll help you sort it out, shall I?’

  ‘Why? You’ve got enough work of your own to keep you busy from dawn till dusk.’

  ‘I don’t mind. The cows look good. Milk coming nicely?’

  ‘Oh yes. We’ve plenty to spare for the pigs.’ Her smile was genuine this time. ‘I like milking the cows. They’re such gentle creatures.’

  He’d chosen their two with care, for that very reason. ‘Good. And as for your pig pen, I can always spare a few minutes to help a neighbour.’

  ‘Thank you. I’ll do what I can to help you—’

  ‘In your condition, you need to be careful.’

  ‘Oh. You know, then? I wasn’t going to tell anyone yet.’

  He smiled. ‘We all live so close together that if someone sneezes the rest hear it. Congratulations.’

  But more tears welled up in her eyes and escaped, and she pressed one hand against her lips as if to hold them back. He couldn’t bear it and before he knew it, had his arms round her and she was sobbing against his chest.

  ‘Tell me,’ he said when she stopped weeping.

  ‘Freddie doesn’t want the baby.’

  Gil knew that, thought less of the man for it, and didn’t know how to comfort her. ‘He’ll come round.’

  ‘He’s showing no signs of it.’ She fumbled in her apron pocket and found a handkerchief, blowing her nose and scrubbing at her eyes, then straightening her shoulders. ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be burdening you with my troubles.’

  ‘A foreman’s here to help and you’d be surprised what people tell me.’

  ‘No.’ Her voice was soft and there was even a faint smile on her face. ‘I’d not be surprised. You’re equal to anything.’ She moved away from him.

  His arms felt empty without her. He was annoyed at himself for feeling like that but he couldn’t help it. She was such an attractive woman, the prettiest in the group, but what attracted him more than that was the sort of woman she was, gentle but hard-working, ready to try anything, pleasant to others. He could see no fault in her.

  Taking a deep breath, he said as cheerfully as he could manage, ‘Let’s see to this pig enclosure then, shall we? And don’t forget the manure will be really useful. You’ll need to shovel it out and make yourself a muck heap.’

  Talking to fill in the silence that seemed fraught with her pain and emotion still, he set to work, remaking the fences and putting on timber cross pieces to stabilise the pig shelter. This was a simple structure, made mainly of corrugated iron that formed a wall and bent over in a quarter circle to form a roof high enough for pigs but not high enough for a man to stand under. It was built to shelter the animals against the prevailing winds, and at least Freddie had got that right. Well, more or less right.

  By the time Gil had finished, the shelter was built to last a good few years and he and Irene were in a fair way to becoming friends, chatting comfortably as she passed him things.

  Which was better than nothing, surely?

  A couple of weeks later, on May 7th, there was an official proclamation and naming of the townsite.

  ‘It was already called Northcliffe,’ Gil said, shaking his head in amusement. ‘Trust government officials to be behind the times.’

  But the group used this occasion as an excuse to have a Saturday gathering and as the weather co-operated, a good time was had by all.

  Some of the men joined the new Returned Soldiers’ League, which had formed a chapter in Northcliffe, but not all of them bothered. They were too busy, working on their new farms.

  Or in the case of Freddie, too disenchanted with everything to bother.

  15

  The huge tree on Pam and Ted’s block was in exactly the wrong place, right in the middle of the approach to the house if they were to have pastures of decent size on either side. Ted wanted the tree felled as soon as possible and when the rainy weather eased, Gil agreed to bring a team to have a go at it.

  ‘You’ll need to take care,’ he warned the men. ‘Trees like these are known as “widowmakers”. They can drop branches without much warning. So if I yell “Run!” then you move away from it as fast as you can. Right?’

  Things started well and the men worked up a sweat, using their axes to chop out the base of the massive trunk. They were all learning to fell trees, a necessary skill here.

  Gil mostly left them to it, because they had to learn to do this sort of thing without him. He kept a careful eye on their progress, however. He didn’t trust the bigger trees.

  They were nearly there, ready for the tree to fall in the direction they’d planned when suddenly there was a loud crack and one of the big lower branches shuddered. As everyone knew, branches like this could weigh a ton, especially after a rainy period, so Gil yelled, ‘Run!’ at the top of his voice.

  The men scattered, but as Andrew, who was directly underneath it, swung round, his f
oot turned over on a small stone and he fell headlong. There was another cracking noise right above his head and he tried to roll to one side to avoid the branch, but didn’t manage to do so completely. The earth shuddered as the heavy branch thumped down on to the ground and the fallen man vanished from sight beneath the thrashing foliage of its side branches.

  ‘Andrew! Are you all right?’ Gil shouted.

  There was no answer.

  ‘Stay back!’ he ordered the others. ‘The rest of the tree’s going.’ He could have wept for his own helplessness, couldn’t see whether his friend was all right, but didn’t dare move forward.

  The huge tree creaked and groaned, falling slowly down amid the noise of branches breaking as they hit the ground. They sounded like gunshots and for a moment Gil was reminded of the war.

  The tree had fallen slightly to the side of where they’d planned, coming down very close to where Andrew must be lying.

  Gil prayed as he’d never prayed before that his friend would be still alive, but not till the last sounds had died away did he move. Even then he kept looking anxiously at the other branches jutting upwards from the fallen forest giant. ‘Keep back. Let me check that it’s safe first.’

  As he approached the foliage and branches under which his friend lay, he was able to see that Andrew had been protected from the rest of the tree by the huge branch. Taking great care of where he set his feet, Gil crept closer.

  ‘Is he all right?’ someone called.

  ‘Can’t see his face yet, but he’s not moving.’

  Step by step Gil threaded his way through the mess of branches, some broken off, some still attached to the fallen tree. And at last he was able to push the final piece of foliage aside. Andrew’s chest was moving slightly. He closed his eyes for a second, groaning in sheer relief. His friend was alive!

  Praying that the other wasn’t too badly injured, Gil looked round at the bigger branches nearby, which were jutting up at all different angles. None of them seemed poised to fall in this direction, so he pushed through to kneel beside the still figure. Andrew was still unconscious. There was a bad bruise and grazing on his forehead and his left arm was trapped beneath a side branch, but fortunately not beneath the main piece that had fallen. The side branch was big enough to do serious damage to a man’s soft body, though.

  He turned to call back. ‘He’s unconscious but trapped. Two of you come and help me get him out. The rest stay back.’

  Two others pushed their way through to join him.

  ‘We need to get the branch off him first,’ one said.

  Gil stuck his arm out to stop them rushing in. ‘Don’t try to lift it yet. It’s heavy and if you let it drop, you could do more damage to him. Get something to wedge underneath it then it can’t fall back on him.’

  He waited, alternately giving directions and keeping an eye on the injured man.

  When the others brought some sawn-off pieces of a smaller tree, he helped wedge these under the heavy branch. Two stood ready to slip other pieces of trunk underneath as they eased away the branch that had done all the damage. Even to move it slightly was an effort.

  Pam had come running from the house and was standing just beyond the fallen tree, watching, her tightly clasped hands up near her mouth. Gil was relieved that she had enough sense not to try to help.

  The way Andrew’s arm had been trapped suggested to Gil that it might be broken, but to his relief it was only the forearm that was trapped, not the shoulder. Only! He cursed under his breath. Of all the rotten luck. A man engaged in physical work needed both arms. If it was broken, Andrew would be out of operation for weeks. He tested the safety of the propped-up branch. ‘Right. Let’s pull him away.’

  Even when they moved Andrew, he didn’t stir or groan, which worried Gil far more than the prospect of a broken arm.

  Once they were away from the tree, he stopped them. ‘Lay him down carefully and let me look at his arm. It has to be broken, or at least fractured after being walloped by that branch.’

  ‘Shouldn’t we wait for the doctor?’ Pam worried.

  ‘What doctor? The one from Pemberton?’

  ‘Well, the nurse at the hospital, then.’

  ‘Do you want Andrew to be jolted into town in my cart? That’d make the injury worse, I’m sure. Look, I’ve dealt with broken legs on animals, and done quite a bit of first aid during the war. Sometimes, if it’s a clean break, you can jiggle it back in place. I can’t do much if it’s shattered, though. He might even lose his arm if that’s the case. If I’m in any doubt, I’ll do nothing and we’ll send for the nurse or doctor.’

  He began to get Andrew’s shirt off. ‘It hurts like hell to touch a broken limb, so I want to check it before he regains consciousness. Ah. The skin isn’t broken. That’s good. If he’s lucky, it’s just a fracture.’

  Surrounded by a totally silent group of people, he felt his way carefully along the forearm, then felt it again and sat back on his heels with a sigh of relief. ‘It’s not shattered, but I can feel a bump where the bones are bent. I’m going to straighten it if I can and bind it to a splint while he’s unconscious.’

  He stood up and looked round. ‘Someone get me one of those pieces of scantling off the cart – they’re the thinnest planks we have. Saw it to the right length for fingertips to elbow. Pam, have you got something we can bind the arm in place with?’

  ‘Yes. I’ve an old sheet I use for cleaning rags. I can tear that up. And shall I send my Joe to tell Norah?’

  Her son was standing by her side, watching wide-eyed. He was ten and a sensible lad, so Gil turned to him. ‘Just tell Mrs Boyd that her husband’s hurt but alive. He has a broken arm and we’re bringing him home. Tell her to stay there and get ready for him.’ He made the boy repeat the message and then saw him run off along the track in the direction of the Boyds’ house.

  There was a sound of sawing and as Gil stood waiting for the splint, he kept an eye on his friend. It was still worrying him that Andrew hadn’t regained consciousness, hadn’t even groaned when they moved him and set the arm. That always hurt like hell. He’d seen a lot of injuries during the war and done a fair amount of first aid. Give him a screaming patient over a totally unconscious one any day, if you wanted the man to recover.

  What the hell was Norah going to do if Andrew died? No, don’t think of that. His friend wasn’t going to die.

  They brought Gil the materials for the splint and stood round as he felt the arm again, then took a firm grasp and pulled carefully until the bone was as straight as human touch could make it. If Andrew had been conscious, he’d have been screaming in agony and they’d have had to hold him down. Gil had seen that happen more than once.

  But Andrew didn’t even react.

  When there was nothing more he could do, Gil bound the arm carefully to the narrow piece of wood and let out a sigh to release the tension. ‘Now, let’s get him on the cart. And make sure that arm doesn’t get jolted in any way.’

  ‘Do we need to take him to the hospital?’ someone asked.

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘I still think we should take him to the doctor in Pemberton,’ Ted said.

  ‘That’d be dangerous. Head injuries are unpredictable. I think we should get him on the cart and take him home, then someone should fetch the nurse to look at him. And if she thinks we should get the doctor, we will. But I’m not jolting him around, not while he’s unconscious.’

  ‘I’ll get some blankets for him to lie on,’ Pam said. ‘And a pillow for his arm.’

  When the cart was ready, they lifted the unconscious man gently. Even when one of the bearers stumbled as they carried him to the cart, Andrew still didn’t react.

  Bad, Gil thought. That’s bad.

  He drove along the track slowly and carefully, with Ted sitting in the back making sure the injured man didn’t bounce around more than was unavoidable.

  Norah was waiting in the doorway, looking pale but in command of herself. She ran to the cart
as it drew to a halt. ‘How is he?’

  ‘Broken arm and knocked unconscious,’ Gil said briefly. ‘I’ve set the arm. One of the lads is going for the nurse.’

  As Norah looked at her husband, anxiety sat like lead weights in her stomach. He was pale, his hair wet and dirty. She reached out to take a dead leaf out of his hair, upset by the livid bruise on his face, with the dried blood where the skin had been torn open by something sharp.

  She’d never seen him so still and it seemed wrong. Every minute he was awake, he was doing something. He was the most active, energetic man she’d ever met.

  Gil touched her arm gently. ‘Let’s get him inside and warm him up, Norah. Have you got any hot-water bottles?’

  ‘One.’ It was a modern rubber one, too, not an old-fashioned earthenware one. Andrew had shoved it in as an afterthought to protect something else. They’d not expected to need hot-water bottles in a warm country. No one had told them how cold the nights were in winter.

  ‘Show us which bed, then heat some water and fill the bottle. We’ll ask round and see if anyone else can lend you another bottle or two. We have to keep him warm, especially during the coming night. I don’t need a doctor to tell me that.’

  ‘Janie, go and get the kitchen fire burning up.’ She tried to speak calmly, but heard the wobble in her voice. ‘And if there’s not enough water, fetch some more from the well.’

  For once, her daughter did as she was told without arguing.

  Norah helped them settle Andrew, then went into the lean-to kitchen. It seemed to take a long time for the kettle to boil and she kept wanting to go back inside, to be with him.

  Janie hovered beside her. ‘Is he going to die?’

  ‘No!’

  Norah carried the filled hot-water bottle into the humpy, wishing there were some way of heating the place up. They’d talked of ordering a stove, but had decided to see how they went on without. The warmth from the fire in the lean-to did come through the metal wall that backed on to it.

  ‘Ted’s gone off to get you some more hot-water bottles,’ Gil said.