Never Just a Memory

by Gloria Cook

  Chapter Twenty

  Lottie had the engine of the Ferguson tractor stripped down. This she did every three months and she was more skilled than Tom at servicing and repairing the vehicle, known affectionately as Old Chugger. She thought about Nate and his careful driving, which wasn’t usually the case with the Americans – Sidney Eathorne was right – they were apt to throw their heavy vehicles foolishly round the inadequate roads, gouging chunks out of hedges and risking collisions. Nate was a steady man, but now and then he’d show a reckless streak, scaring her the time he’d clambered up a tree to rescue one of the silly barn cats and had swung down to the ground with it, branch by branch, using one arm. If one of the branches near the top of the ancient oak had snapped off or he’d slipped, it would have been curtains for him. For a quiet man he had a wicked sense of humour, laughing when poor embarrassed Tilda had tried to hide her voluminous underwear from him on the washing line. In a dry, Bob Hope-style quip, he’d said, ‘Don’t worry, my dear, I’ve seen hammocks before.’

  It had been ten days since she’d last seen Nate. He was involved in more serious training exercises, often on the coast by the telltale residue of salt water left on his jeep. She imagined him somewhere now, perhaps on the north coast, where the beaches were larger, the seas heavier and needing more precise navigation, perhaps at Perranporth or Newquay, setting up mock casualty clearing stations and enacting the treatment of badly wounded casualties.

  She had asked him once why he had chosen to be a medic. ‘Don’t get me wrong,’ he’d replied. ‘I don’t think myself above taking out the enemy. I was good at nursing sick critters back on the range, and the hands and I often had to see to our own first aid. Seemed obvious that was what I’d do. I think I’ve got the strength of mind to deal with the wounded and dying. It’s a sorry thing, there’s been more than one fatal road accident over here with our troops. Sure isn’t easy finding the way round your tiny country lanes. Now that seems a dreadful waste to me, men being killed and not ever setting foot on a battleground. Most of them are only boys, Lottie. Seventeen, eighteen years, just left their momma’s sides. There’s so many young ones in the British ranks too.’

  ‘Don’t go on, Nate. I don’t want to think about what’s coming.’

  ‘Don’t fret, honey. I’m sorry. I don’t like to upset you. I’ll try my darndest to get back to you as quickly as I can.’ It was the only reference they’d ever made to the forthcoming plans for European liberation.

  Every time he went back to base she had no idea when she’d see him next. He rang as often as he could. Sometimes, precious times, to say he was on the way over. Occasionally he’d just turn up. He’d spend time talking to her mother and Perry. Each time they seemed a little easier about him, but she refused to discuss Nate with either of them, not wanting to hear their inevitable words of caution. She knew well enough that she might not have Nate for ever.

  She longed for Nate to ring or come soon. To hear the news about Paul, to see how beautiful her baby brother was. She’d been anxious for the birth to be over, not caring too much about the baby, just wanting her mum to deliver without complications and be all right. She’d had no idea how much she would love the little mite, enjoy watching him stretch and ball his tiny fists. Her late-night habit meant she’d often give him his last nightly feed from her mother’s expressed milk, giving her more rest, then she’d lay him down in the nursery, asleep and content, innocent of the death and destruction going on to provide him with a safer world. She wanted a large family of her own. Please God, spare Nate. I love him so much.

  Rubbing at her brow, making herself black and greasy, she set about wiping the spark plugs with a rag. A vehicle swept up ridiculously fast beside her, sending small stones and mud scattering over her coverall trousers. ‘Hey! Nate! You startled me.’

  ‘Hmmm.’ He got out of the jeep with its familiar star and identity number, its unique name, Tumbleweed, chosen and painted on it by Nate. He studied her with a grin. ‘I know that look. Anyone but me would’ve had their head chewed off. Sorry, honey. Couldn’t resist it. You look gorgeous! Come here and give me a kiss.’

  She ran to him and, holding the greasy objects out of the way, offered her lips for a loving kiss. ‘You don’t usually swagger about. You look very happy. Why?’

  ‘I’ve got a whole twenty-four-hour pass. A whole day and night to spend with you.’

  ‘Oh, damn it! I can’t really get any time off. Mum can’t help with the spud planting – oh, you don’t know the wonderful news. I’ve got a baby brother! Paul Michael. He’s seven days old. He’s brilliant. You must come inside and see him. I watched him being born. Oh, Nate, it was so much more special than helping with an animal birthing.’

  Nate squeezed her until she thought she’d burst. ‘I didn’t expect you to be free. I’ll work with you. I’m sure Tom can lend me some old togs. That should be worth some time alone with you. Do you think your mom would mind if I bed down in the barn?’

  ‘You can share with Tom, silly.’ She gazed at him, drank him in, thrilled beyond words that he was here. ‘This is going to be a wonderful day.’

  ‘I’m counting on it.’ He kissed her soundly, taking her breath away. ‘You finish off here. I’ll go in and say hello to the folks.’

  Emilia was in her chair in the kitchen. She had just finished feeding the baby and had him up on her shoulder, patting his back. ‘Hello, Nate. Have you seen Lottie?’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’ He came close enough to gain a view of the baby’s face. The few babies he’d seen before were practically bald and he was taken aback to see this one had a mop of black hair. ‘I wish I’d known about the little fellow, I’d have brought him something. He’s really cute. Looks like his father. Lottie sure is excited about him. Excuse me, ma’am, why are you beating on his back?’

  ‘I’m bringing up his wind. All babies get wind when they’re feeding. Would you like to hold him?’

  Nate was a little scared and fixed his eyes on his hands as if they were useless objects. He no longer felt strong and capable but like wobbly rubber. ‘Um, yes, I guess. I might hurt him.’

  ‘Babies aren’t made of china.’ Emilia laughed. ‘Take my chair. You’ll find it easier the first time if you’re sitting down.’

  They exchanged places. Nate wiped his hands down his shirt then lifted his arms up cautiously for the baby. Emilia eased Paul down into a comfortable position for him. Except for Lottie, never had he felt anyone to be so warm and soft, who smelled as sweet. ‘Gosh, ma’am, this is really nice. Congratulations. I forgot to mention it.’

  ‘Thank you, Nate.’ She met his smile with one of her own, thinking as she made coffee how boyish he looked. Nate was twenty-three years old. Emilia was saddened that he, like Will, like so many thousands and thousands of other young men, might be deprived the pleasures of fatherhood. She had grown fond of the Texan, but things weren’t, as she’d heard another American say, ‘all peachy’. It was time something was said.

  She put a mug of coffee on a shelf close by him. ‘Nate, I’d like to have a serious word with you.’

  ‘Please, ma’am, Mrs Bosweld.’ He looked up from caressing Paul’s minuscule ear, from watching his dark eyes trying to focus. ‘I think I know what you’re about to say, what you’ve got the right to say. About Lottie and me. About my intentions and so forth. Well, I want you to know I love her very much. I cherish every last little thing about her. I guess you’ve been worrying about me taking Lottie away from you. I got to be honest and say that before I left home there would’ve been nothing to stop me going back. I’d planned to do the usual things, look for a wife, rear a family to carry on the Harmon name. There’s been Harmons on that piece of land for five generations. They first farmed there with the cost of their own blood. But when I met your daughter, the instant I set my eyes on her, everything I held dear no longer looked the same way. I was so scared of those feelings, I took off. The next time I saw her in town, I drove off to think it through. But I had to
seek her out, ma’am. It seemed a foolish thing to do, getting involved with a girl so far away from home, at a time when the war means I might not be able to give her a future.

  ‘So what I’m saying is that I’d give up everything for Lottie. It’s been hard, but I’ve kept my distance from her, ma’am, I swear. I’ve been mindful of her, if you take my meaning. But I can’t live without her. That’s the most terrifying thought of all. Please, I beg you, let me and Lottie get married. I got to go across the waters soon. I want to go knowing Lottie is my wife. That she’s my next of kin. If you want, I’ll make the arrangements to sell the ranch today. I’ll do anything, you just give me the word. Please don’t just turn me down, at least think about it, please, ma’am. Will you speak to Mr Bosweld or shall I? Say something, ma’am.’

  During his speech, Emilia had sat down. There was no doubt in her mind that every word he’d spoken was true, but there was a lot to consider. ‘Have you asked Lottie to marry you?’

  ‘Not yet. I wanted to speak to you first, do it all proper.’

  ‘But Lottie’s so young.’

  ‘Pardon me, ma’am, but I understand you were even a little younger when you married her daddy.’

  ‘Well, yes, that’s true, but… well, Nate, you’ve taken me by surprise, although not totally, I have to admit. It’s easy to see you adore Lottie. I need to speak to Perry.’

  ‘Of course, you do that, soon as possible, if you please. I’m sorry if this is difficult for you but I’d like to ask Lottie to marry me today. I’m praying this will be one of the happiest days of our lives.’

  Emilia wanted to say all manner of things. Issue warnings and advice. Ask him to think again. To at least wait until the end of the war. But Lottie had a right to her own life. Lottie wasn’t keen to talk about Nate, yet it was obvious she loved him. She had the right to consider if she loved him enough to marry him sooner rather than later. ‘Ask Perry if you can talk. Let Perry have his say. If he agrees, tell him, although I have reservations, it’s fine with me.’

  ‘Darling, I’m back,’ Perry called out from the front door. He’d returned from visiting a sick tenant in the village, a grouchy old woman who had taken to his chivalrous charm. ‘Mrs Couch is still laid up, still refusing to move in with her daughter, but she’s made these little bootees for Paul.’

  Nate stood up with the baby and passed him to Emilia.

  Perry’s face fell a fraction. ‘Oh, Nate, I didn’t expect to find you here.’

  Nate was horribly nervous but he jumped straight in. ‘Would this be a good time to speak to you, Mr Bosweld?’

  ‘I’ve got to get back to the garden. Got cabbages to plant.’ Perry’s whole bearing was uncharacteristically uncivil.

  ‘Perry. Give him a few minutes, please.’ Emilia smiled wanly.

  ‘Oh, very well.’ Perry did something she had never seen him do before, he scowled. ‘You’d better come to the den.’

  Emilia put Paul down in his pram and he slept peacefully. She left the door open to listen in on the men. There were many loud exclamations from Perry – he was giving Nate a hard time. Nate seemed to be saying little. When the voices died down low, she strained to hear the tone of the interview. Very serious, she decided. She was rolling out pastry for a meat and potato pie when the den door was thrown open.

  Nate hurried into the kitchen. He had a huge grin. He straightened his tie. ‘Do I look all right, ma’am?’

  ‘Very handsome.’

  The interview had obviously gone his way: he was like a whirl of sunshine. ‘Here goes. Wish me luck.’ He sped out the back door.

  Emilia didn’t know if she felt happy or sad. Ten minutes ticked by. A bad sign. Perry was taking his time coming in from the den. Emilia had the pie in the oven and she was carrying the heavy wooden board and other utensils into the back kitchen when he appeared. He was awkward on his legs, limping, the prosthetic evidently chafing him. He hauled the things out of her hands, strode off with them and dumped them down on the draining board. It was rare for Perry to get into any sort of bad mood. Right now he was shaking with anger. Calmly, Emilia wiped the flour off her hands. Perry was glaring at her, dark with resentment, but he looked so gorgeous all she wanted to do was kiss him. He never failed to stir her passion for him.

  ‘Why are you doing that?’ he asked in clipped tones.

  ‘It needed to be done.’

  ‘Where’s Tilda?’

  ‘In the village. Queuing for food.’

  ‘Damn it, Em! Paul’s only a week old. You know you should be resting. Why am I surrounded by headstrong women?’

  ‘Because you love to be. I take it you’ve given Nate your blessing to propose to Lottie?’

  ‘Blessing?’ He curled his fists. ‘Hell, no. I couldn’t think how to refuse his bloody stupid damned request because you didn’t do so beforehand. You’re Lottie’s mother. I haven’t got the right to go against your wishes.’

  ‘You’ve got the right to have your say.’ She went to him, only a breath away.

  ‘Oh, I had that all right. Had the chap standing there quaking. For all of five minutes! He knows as much as I do that you can’t win against a determined woman. For goodness sake, Em, you should have sent him away. Threatened to set the dogs on him. Don’t look at me like that. You know I can’t hold out against you when you look at me like that. You’re being wilful. Unfair. Em, don’t—’

  ‘I don’t want her to marry yet, Perry.’ She reached up and put her hands either side of his face. ‘At least she won’t be going to America.’

  Capitulating, he put his arms round her and they cuddled up close. ‘What if she wants to go? Lottie’s so adventurous. She might like the idea of a new challenge. He’s giving up his home and country for her; I’ve got to give him that. What if she decides she’d like to make the sacrifice instead?’

  Emilia was quiet, worried about this new possibility. ‘Let’s wait and see. Will and so many young people won’t ever get the chance to marry. Nate might not come through and Lottie’s going to need all our support. Darling, let’s be happy for them. Make it a happy time. It might be all they’re going to get.’

  He sighed long and hard. ‘You’re right as usual. It’s no wonder I love you so much.’

  * * *

  Nate found Lottie, with Jill close by, up to her ankles in mud, planting seed potatoes down near the woods, in banked-up ground that had once been left gloriously to the wild. Tom was working in the next row, a little ahead. ‘I’ve come to help,’ Nate called across to him, ‘but is it OK if I take your sister off for a little while?’

  Tom saw his excitement. He knew at once that this was going to be more than the American asking Lottie if she’d like to go to the pictures. He felt a sense of loss, an instinct to protect her. ‘We’ve already had our crib.’

  ‘I promise it won’t take long,’ Nate persisted.

  Curtly, Tom nodded and carried on working. Oh God. Will was dead. He, himself – if Louisa ever made up her mind – might soon be engaged to be married. He had a new brother. Faye was an unmarried mother. Uncle Ben had disappeared. Life was changing far too much for comfort.

  ‘We ought to get on, Nate,’ Lottie said, for once not as perceptive as her brother. ‘Rain is on the way.’

  ‘Honey, I really need to talk to you. Now. Can we slip off somewhere alone? I promise it won’t take long.’

  He was too cheerful for there to be any serious news. Making a puzzled face, she straightened up and massaged her aching back. ‘We could go just inside the woods.’

  They strolled hand in hand. Lottie could feel the buzz, the tension, in his fingers. ‘Are you planning a surprise for Paul’s christening? Is that why you want a private word, to make sure it would be agreeable to the family before you mention it?’

  ‘Nothing like that.’ The second they were out of sight, Nate gently hauled her round to him. ‘Darling, this is about you and me. Us. I thought to take you somewhere nice. Book a table at the Red Lion Hotel. But I couldn’t wa
it, and now I’m here I’m glad I didn’t.’ With a fingertip he ran a tender path along her chin. ‘I think I love you the best just like this, your sleeves rolled up, earth on your face and under your nails. Healthy, glowing and beautiful.’

  ‘Nate?’ She clutched his hand, hope and excitement filling up the reaches of her body and soul.

  ‘I’m asking you to be my wife, Lottie. As soon as it can be arranged. Your mom and Perry have given me permission to ask you. I’ve already taken the liberty of talking to my commanding officer and have applied for a special licence. Before you raise any objections, let me tell you that I’d like to sell up so we can buy a farm of our own over here. You won’t have to live far from your family. I love you so much. What do you say, darling? Please don’t let me wait for an answer.’

  She had been hoping Nate would ask her to marry him, that they’d become engaged before he had to go off to fight. This was far outside her greatest dreams. She’d thought it all through. She would have been willing to go to America and let Tom inherit the farm alone. Nate loved her as much as she loved him; she had found the depth of love she’d always wanted. ‘I won’t do that to you, Nate, darling. Yes! My answer’s yes. I love you with all that I am and I don’t want to wait either.’

  Tom heard Nate’s whoop of triumph and Lottie’s delighted scream. He fell down on his haunches but moments later, after making a wry face at Jill, who was smiling towards the woods, he carried on working, resigned to Lottie’s happiness. At least Lottie was sure she wanted to be with the man she loved. It was a long time before there was a full workforce in the potato field.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Bruce Ashley was up and out of bed, slumped on the couch. Dressed and shaved, he was ready and eager to go to Ursula. He was recalling the first time he had seen her. It had been 1916, in a Truro tea shop, and she had been with her child. He’d taken little notice before of women with young children unless they had a nanny; not rich enough for him to live off. There had been nothing provocative about Ursula. She had been leaning across to wipe the boy’s mouth with a napkin, the picture of a loving, attentive mother and someone’s chaste wife. He had been rooted to the spot. Something about her sparkled like a star. Her dark eyes were full of light, her hair was glossy ebony, her skin pure and translucent and white as snow. She was as beautiful as a child from a fairy tale, yet she was all woman, a goddess. It was the greatest physical attraction he’d ever had for someone and he’d ached to have her.