‘Yes,’ said Tam, quietly. ‘You did.’
‘I mean we. We did well. I couldn’t have got this far without you.’ She hugged his arm close and smiled up at him, finally getting a like response.
‘So now you can buy in your new stock.’
‘Yes. I’ve been thinking about that. I shall buy half now, and half later. Perhaps next spring, just before they lamb. Then I can keep an eye on them easier. I’ll need to gather the new sheep in every day, shepherd them well to make sure they stay. Once they’ve had lambs the progeny won’t know any other heaf so it will get easier. I can do it, I know I can.’
‘Whatever you say.’
‘Then in a year or two I can sell on the progeny that I don’t need. Probably make me more money than selling for meat.’
‘You seem to have it all worked out.’
She glanced up at him, eyes shining. ‘Oh, I have, I have. Everything is going right at last. The tractor will have to wait, but never mind. You can’t have everything.’ She took a sip of her beer then frowned at him. ‘What is it? Why are you looking at me like that?’
‘I’m pleased for you, that’s all.’
She glanced at him again, finding herself catching the excitement that seemed to emanate from him. ‘Tell me. Is it something I’ve said?’
Tam shook his head. ‘Not that I’m aware of. Eat your sandwich. Then I’ll show you what I’ve been up to this morning. I’ve a surprise of me own.’
It was a pony and trap. The fell pony stood, its grey coat already developing a winter fluffiness, patiently waiting in the yard behind the inn.
Meg could hardly believe her eyes. She walked up to it, then reached out to rub its nose with tentative fingers, constantly glancing at Tam.
‘Is this ours?’
‘If we can’t afford a tractor we’ll have to stick with the old ways for a bit longer. Petrol’s hard to come by anyway. But I thought it was time Broombank had its own transport. We can’t keep relying on other people.’
‘But how did you find the money?’
‘Don’t worry about the money, I got it cheap from a bloke I know, complete with the old trap. It should make life easier. Now horses I do know about. She’s a grand mare, don’t you think? We can get her covered and sell on the foals. Make a bit that way.’
Meg’s eyes were shining. ‘Oh, Tam, you are clever.’ She hugged him. He was so thoughtful and kind and strong, a gentle, quiet man, just like this grand horse. Maybe she would let herself love him, just a little, though nothing in any way serious. ‘What progress we’re making. Come on, let’s go home then I can really thank you.’
‘We can go home in style today. Climb aboard, ma’am.’
They rode the long miles back up to Broombank with no trouble at all. Which was a relief, since it was all uphill with the wind in their faces, and Meg was far too excited to find her breath.
The mare was called Carrie, which seemed appropriate as she did a good deal of that. Winter was coming on and the ground was iron hard. Meg and Tam were collecting the last harvest of the year. Together they scythed the tawny bracken, packing it on to the sled which Carrie would pull down to the farm so they could use the fronds as winter bedding for the cows. The late sun was warm on her bare head and Meg could hear the drone of bees, busy with their own harvest in the heather blossom. It made her think of another harvest, another time when she had lain in the bracken with Jack and he had given her a ring.
The tiny sapphire and diamond ring was now tucked away in a dressing table drawer. She supposed she should write to Connie about it one day, for it had belonged to her mother. Make sure she got it back. But she couldn’t do that until she’d spoken to Jack. It wouldn’t be right.
Why should she think of him now, when she had her lovely Tam and things were going so well? She lay with her lover nightly in the great bed and never thought of Jack then.
She wondered sometimes if she still held some love in her heart for him, or whether it was simply nostalgia and the tug of old loyalties.
Jack Lawson had been so much a part of her life for so long it was hard to put him from her mind. If there hadn’t been the war it would have been easier to hate him for what he’d done to her. It was hard to be angry with a man far away, who might die at any moment.
Where was he? Was he still overseas? Why had he never come home on leave? Had he been captured perhaps? Made a prisoner-of-war?
If he had come home, as promised, they could have talked things over, as old friends perhaps. They could have discussed in reasonable fashion what was best for Lissa, and whether Jack objected to Meg’s still planning to buy Broombank. They could have come to terms and agreed to go their separate ways. Instead, her life and future was left undecided with nothing settled between them.
‘Penny for them?’ Tam was easing his back, resting from the arduous task of scything, and Meg went to him at once, slipping her hands about his waist, pressing her cheek against the strength of his body.
‘They’re worth much more and I’ve no intention of flattering you by revealing what they are,’ she said, crossing her fingers against the white lie.
He turned and crunched her in his arms, making her squeal, then kissed her till she was beating him with her fists, appealing for him to let her draw breath, just a little.
‘Then I can start over again?’
‘Hm, please.’
He handed her the scythe. ‘Back to work, shameless hussy. The days are too short to waste in play.’
And so they were, all too short. The swallows had left already for warmer climes though Meg could still hear the chack-chack of fieldfares and the clear throated tones of the robin to cheer her days.
Close by her feet, harvest mice and voles gobbled up the insects disturbed by the scything, filling their stomachs with as much food as they could find in readiness for the long hard winter ahead. Not for them the endless queuing.
Watching them, taking care not to disturb a vole’s lunch, Meg prayed this winter would be kinder than the last. Never had she known such hard winters as they had experienced since the onset of the war. It was as if the weather wished to echo everyone’s gloom.
‘I think I’d better go and round up the new Swaledales.’ Rust was at her feet in a second, understanding every word. ‘Come on, Tess, Ben.’
‘Right,’ Tam agreed, frowning slightly but accepting her sudden need to be alone.
‘I won’t be long. You know I have to do it regularly.’
‘I know.’
Meg thankfully set down her scythe and strode off, up to the heaf. Would the new sheep stay? Would they thrive? Or would they up and leave her as Jack had done, and Kath? As Tam might do, one day.
High up on the fells could be heard the deeper-throated carrion crow, and the funereal black raven. These birds brought a shiver to any farmer for the damage they could do to stock trapped or injured on a crag. Nothing of the sort must happen to her new flock.
She reached down a hand, feeling the wetness of Rust’s nose nudge against it. At least her lovely dog stayed with her always, for all his three-legged gait. Even horrific injury had not kept him from her side. He’d been saved from the crows and from her brother’s jealousy. Dan had learned his lesson and not bothered her since. She hadn’t given in to his bullying then, nor would she.
As she looked over her land and gathered her sheep, finding only one or two had strayed and would need fetching back from their old heaf, Meg knew she was as ambitious as ever, if not more so. Life might be hard with the worry of the war, the grinding work, bad weather, little ready money and a whole list of shortages, not to mention her anxieties over Charlie and Kath, but despite all of that, her world was about as perfect as it could be.
Lanky had wanted her to have Broombank, not his son. She should remember and honour his belief in her. Her new sheep were doing well. She had Effie and Tam. She had her Luckpenny still, didn’t she? Everyone was happy. So what could go wrong?
As she sat at supper that ev
ening, almost too exhausted to eat, it seemed Meg had made her judgement too soon. One person was not happy. Upstairs in her cot, handmade from finest birchwood by Tam, Lissa began to cry.
‘Go to her, Effie, will you?’ Meg asked, pulling the string from her hair with a tired hand, and shaking out her curls.
‘I’ve been up six times already,’ Effie complained. ‘The little madam’s playing me up something shocking. I love the bones of her, but she won’t do anything I say these days.’
Meg sighed. ‘Well, what’s wrong with her? Is she hungry?’
‘No, course she ain’t hungry.’ Effie was affronted. ‘Would I send a child hungry to bed?’
‘What is it then?’
‘Don’t you realise that Lissa has needs too? She’s crying for you,’ Tam said, not looking up from his mutton hot pot. More potato than mutton in it, but it tasted good after a hard day’s work all the same.
‘I can hear she’s crying.’ Meg’s own appetite had quite deserted her. Why did she fail to make Lissa happy? The child was well fed and nurtured. What was wrong? Even Effie was implying that the fault was hers.
‘Then go to her.’
Meg glanced up in surprise at the tone of Tam’s voice, but still she did not move. She could feel a headache starting and all she wanted was to fall into bed and sleep. ‘Scything bracken is a hell of a job. And I have to do this extra shepherding every day. I’m tired.’
‘Damn you, woman, can’t you think of someone else besides those sheep? Lissa needs you.’
She turned on him then, furious as a spitting cat, ready to scratch his eyes out. ‘Don’t you tell me what to do! Or imply that I don’t care, because it’s not true. I do care, I do!’
‘Then prove it.’ Tossing down his fork he caught her flailing hand in his own. Sensual lips curled into a harsh line upon the disturbingly handsome face. ‘Show it.’
Meg longed to smack that face, hard, but this was their first real argument and it terrified her.
Then the soft, Irish tones melted her anger to butter. ‘Don’t take it out on me, Meg, or that child, for the damage Jack did to you. Lissa needs your love. It’s unworthy of you to deny it.’ The words cut deep into the heart of her and when he gently let her hand go, Meg hesitated for a long moment, then pushed back her chair and went upstairs.
She stood and gazed upon Lissa. The child sat in her cot, fat tears rolling down her chubby cheeks, small hiccuping sobs filling the room with heartbreaking sadness.
She looked so desperately unhappy. Kath’s child? Or her own now?
‘What is it, sweetheart?’ Unable to prevent herself, Meg reached over and picked up Jack’s child, of her own accord, for the very first time.
Lissa’s sobs quieted instantly and violet-blue eyes swimming with tears gazed up into Meg’s in a silent plea for loving. As small arms curled, warm and damp, about her neck, Meg closed her eyes against the agony of it, unaware of Tam and Effie watching with smiles on their faces from the door.
Soft fingers curled about her ear, baby lips pressed against her cheek and a tiny, snuffling sigh was expelled on a hiccup of relief. Only then did her own tears come. Whether she was crying for the baby’s father, whose silence seemed deafening in this dreadful war, or washing away the last of the pain for a man she had once loved, Meg did not rightly know or care. The relief was wondrous.
Only then did she realise that self-pity and bitterness was destructive, not only to herself but to those about her. It was true that Lissa was too often watchful and silent, as if she were not entirely sure if she were a part of things and was trying to work it all out. As if she felt she did not quite belong. Meg hugged her closer, breathing in the sweet baby scent of her.
‘If only Kath had written,’ she said now, looking at her two friends with pleading in her eyes, begging them to understand. ‘I was so afraid. Still am. If I only knew what the future holds. If I knew I could keep her.’
Tam came and put his arms about them both. ‘We can none of us know that. Life is a risk for us all.’
‘What will I tell Lissa, when she asks?’ A day Meg dreaded. ‘I can only explain that she was sent to the Liverpool orphanage because her mother wasn’t allowed to keep her at Greenlawns, and so never – never bonded with her.’
‘Then that is what you must say. But if she must accept that her mother didn’t love her, it does no good for her to think you don’t love her either.’
‘Oh, but I do, I do!’ Meg cradled the child close, tears bursting out afresh. The tiny eyelids fluttered closed, grew heavy. As translucent as porcelain, blue-veined and beautiful. A small contented sigh banished the last of the heartbreaking sobs.
Though it troubled Meg that Lissa might not be told the full story, what else could she do, in the circumstances?
‘Once, I told my father that I would never put the land before those I loved. Yet look at me, I’ve done exactly that.
‘When Kath needed me, where was I? Did I hurry to get her out of that dreadful place? No. I stayed home to see to the lambing. Have I given any time or thought to Lissa’s needs? No. I’ve left her to you, Effie, and Tam. Yet it is people who are really important, not land. We can only borrow land, for the length of our lifetime. After that it belongs to someone else. But people live on in your heart even after death, don’t they?’
Tan smiled. ‘It’s never too late to learn a lesson.’
Meg dried her eyes. ‘Do you truly think so? Will she ever forgive me?’
Effie, anxious as always to be a part of the scene, came into the room. ‘Course she will. Lissa loves you. She always has.’
Meg smiled down at the now sleeping child curled contentedly in her arms, belonging at last. ‘I understand. I’m all right now. You go and finish your supper, the pair of you. I’ll sit with Lissa for a while, make sure she’s all right too.’
She laid the baby down in the cot and drew the covers up to her chin. So much time she had wasted. Yet if she hadn’t worked hard, where would they all be now? But she must always remember that however important her farm and her sheep, Lissa was more so. As were Effie and Tam. She must remember that.
Never must she make this mistake again.
Chapter Seven
Charlie came that autumn, seeming bigger and more mature than the young boy of memory who’d liked to avoid chores and play with cigarette cards. With him came his new bride, a shy and smiling fair haired girl whom he called Sue with such affection in his voice, and so rarely released her hand, that Meg felt quite choked with emotion just watching them together.
They stayed for three days and it was such fun, just like old times with Charlie eating them out of house and home, and talking twenty to the dozen about his plans for the future.
‘I’ll have finished my thirty missions as navigator soon. Then I could do a second tour or go on and learn more about engineering. Once the war is over that will be the way forward, I’m sure of it.’
‘Meg wants to know if you eat carrots,’ Tam said, and as they all laughed, a blushing Meg was forced to explain.
‘Actually, many pilots did at first, thinking it might help. But now we have pathfinders. They drop markers so we know where to drop the bomb. Makes it much easier and there’s less likelihood of hitting civilian targets by mistake.’
Meg shivered. ‘Does it bother you, dropping bombs?’
Charlie’s jaw tightened and she knew she’d asked the wrong question. ‘I’ve nothing against the German people. Many of them want rid of Hitler just as much as we do. So I’d rather not hit them.’
‘Of course. I didn’t think. I’m sorry. But you’ll be glad of a quiet job for a change.’
‘Maybe. But all jobs are important. We’d be nothing without the ground crew. Anyway, I might change my mind. I might do another tour.’
He looked like a flyer. He had about him that casual, devil-may-care appearance that all flyers had. It declared him a veteran of many missions and promised he would win this war, no matter what.
Tam
, noticing that the new young bride was looking less than happy at this talk of a second tour, changed the subject and they talked about farming for a while, telling how Meg had tried and failed to buy a tractor.
‘Are you anywhere near buying Broombank?’ asked Charlie, and she shook her head.
‘Not yet. Not till I raise the money.’ The bank manager would give you anything, she thought. A man, so young and handsome, and with such an air of determination about him. But not me, a mere woman.
‘I have absolute faith in you, Meg. Whatever you make up your mind to do, you’ll do it. You’re right, mechanisation is the way to go. You never know, you might even get electricity up on these fells one day. Never say die.’
Never say die. No, thought Meg. Nor you either, my lovely boy. She was forced to flee to the kitchen and fuss over the huge pie she’d baked to hide her sudden flood of emotion. It was cooked to perfection, crust lightly browned with a bubble of gravy coming from the steaming hole in its centre. It consisted chiefly of vegetables but with just a flavour of rabbit. And the pastry was good, made with their own pork dripping. It would go down a treat.
But as she set out the warmed plates and called for everyone to come and eat, she couldn’t help but think how unfair it was, that their youth and love should be threatened by this awful war. Would it never end? Did she have the courage to see it through?
It was late on a November afternoon when Jeffrey Ellis finally plucked up the courage to call and see Meg. He had walked all the way from Larkrigg, glad of the exercise, smiling at the thrushes feasting on the bright rowanberries. He hoped the thick flush of scarlet berries did not betoken a harsh winter ahead. He was tired, as the whole country was. Beginning to realise that they were in for a long haul and there would be no quick solution to Hitler’s threat.
Storm Clouds Over Broombank Page 9