Changing Times

by Jack Sheffield

  Small differences can lead to large consequences and unforeseen outcomes.

  He held Lily in his arms, but it was many hours before either of them drifted off into a troubled sleep.

  In the early hours of New Year’s Day Lily awoke. A pallid moon shone down and in the eaves of Laurel Cottage she could hear the sibilant whispering of the wind. She sat up, wrapped her arms around herself, rocked to and fro and prayed for forgiveness.

  Freddie looked at his clock. It was 4.00 a.m. He was still fully dressed and he crept quietly downstairs.

  There was enough light for him to see the letter on top of Lily’s bureau. He picked it up, returned to his room and spent a long time reading it. His thoughts were a watertight compartment, sealed in solitude. He had made up his mind. It was time for the truth.

  He sat down at his desk, took out a sheet of paper from a foolscap folder in his satchel and began to write. At first his thoughts were chaotic and confused, but with the act of writing came clarity. Finally, words dripped from his pen with a new-found freedom.

  He had stepped back from the precipice and found a sense of purpose. He knew what he had to do.

  Chapter Ten

  Reaping the Whirlwind

  It was the first day of 1964 and winter gripped the cold and hostile land in an iron fist. Outside Laurel Cottage a savage night had passed to reveal a silent world where all sound was absorbed. The village was covered in a fresh fall of snow and the tracks of midnight foxes patterned the pavements of Kirkby Steepleton. Skeletal trees faded in the frigid distance and the sky was an ominous grey with the promise of more snow.

  As Tom got out of bed the bitter rhythm of a malevolent wind rattled the window panes. He looked anxiously at a sleeping Lily. Barefoot, he padded across the bedroom and opened the door. The landing was dark and quiet and the door to Freddie’s room was closed.

  He returned to put on his dressing gown and slippers, then went downstairs to make a cup of tea. It was then that he noticed the front door key was on the doormat beneath the letterbox. His police training kicked in immediately. He tried the door handle. It was locked. Then he glanced at the coat stand. Freddie’s duffel coat, scarf and bobble hat had gone. He picked up the key, unlocked the door, turned on the porch light and peered outside.

  A fresh snowfall had covered his Ford Zephyr patrol car. Footprints headed out from the front door to where Lily’s Morris Minor 1000 Traveller should have been.

  It had gone.

  Tom opened the drawer of the hall table. Lily’s car keys were missing. He ran upstairs and opened Freddie’s bedroom door. The room was empty.

  Lily had woken up and called from the bedroom, ‘Tom, what is it?’

  Tom rushed back into the bedroom and began to get dressed quickly. ‘Freddie’s gone.’

  ‘Gone? Gone where?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  Lily leaped out of bed and ran to Freddie’s bedroom. She turned on the light. The curtains were closed. His bed was unmade. Clothes were scattered on the floor. On his bedside table was an envelope. It was Rudi’s letter. She picked it up and scanned the room, hoping there may be a note from Freddie.

  There was none.

  Tom hurried downstairs. ‘I’m going out to look for him.’

  ‘Wait, I’ll come,’ said Lily.

  ‘No, you stay here. He might ring.’

  Lily clutched the banister rail. ‘He can’t have gone far in this weather.’

  Tom shook his head. ‘Lily, he’s taken your car.’

  She ran downstairs. ‘What? He hasn’t passed his test!’

  ‘He may have gone to Sam’s, or maybe to see his girlfriend.’ Tom dragged on his thick police overcoat and kissed her cheek. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll find him. Stay by the phone.’

  He rushed out, swept the snow from his windscreen and set off. He felt anxious, driving west, fleeing the dawn light that crested the Hambleton hills and raced across the plain of York. He forced himself to move into professional mode and try to think like Freddie. Where would he go?

  He drove towards Ragley village, his mind racing.

  The cold wind was like a raging fist and blue ice glittered in the morning light.

  In the vicarage lounge Vera was addressing an envelope to her Aunt Emily in Chesterfield. As always, she wrote in her neat copperplate, complete with a distinctive Greek letter E. She had just stuck on a stamp when Joseph walked in.

  ‘I have to go out, Vera. Dominic Spottiswood at the residential home passed away in the night and I said I would call in to make arrangements for the funeral.’

  ‘Oh dear,’ said Vera and put down her pen. ‘A lovely man. His wife, Minnie, will be heartbroken. A wonderful supporter of good causes … she used to knit socks for the sailors during the war.’

  ‘According to Septimus it was the “killing cold”,’ said Joseph sadly. ‘It takes the frail and the weak, and Dominic had been very poorly.’

  Vera nodded knowingly. ‘Yes, Mr Flagstaff would say that, of course. What a shame for their friends at the retirement home. He will be sadly missed.’

  The Hartford Home for Retired Gentlefolk was a caring, secure place for the elderly and Vera and Joseph were regular visitors. Also, in recent years Lily and Anne had taken the school choir there to sing Christmas carols.

  Vera got up and followed Joseph to the hallway to make sure he wore a warm scarf and a hat.

  ‘Joseph, there’s something else before you go. I was thinking of inviting a few friends round this evening, a sort of new year soirée.’

  Joseph beamed. ‘Wonderful idea. They could sample my nettle wine. It’s almost ready.’

  Vera didn’t reply. She merely waved off her brother with a forced smile.

  Tom rubbed the condensation from his windscreen as he drove towards Ragley village. Around him it seemed as if the land had emptied of wildlife and the creatures of the night had found sanctuary.

  He was concerned. This was different.

  If he had been on duty there were tried and tested procedures for finding a missing person, but as he passed Victor Pratt’s garage he knew he couldn’t stop and ask if he had seen Lily’s car. It was a confidential matter. There was too much at stake.

  He drove slowly up Ragley High Street looking for a familiar almond-green Morris Minor, but there was no sign. Around him pale shafts of sunlight lit up the crystal air with a golden glow. An early-morning dog walker appeared like a wraith in the mist as a reluctant light crept over the frozen earth. He continued up the Morton road. The car wasn’t outside Sam Grundy’s house, nor was it parked on the McConnells’ driveway, so he backtracked on to the road to Easington. On the outskirts he pulled into a lay-by and stared around him. In the stillness he was at a loss where Freddie might have gone. Then he thought back to a conversation he had had with Freddie and in an instant he knew where he was.

  He slammed his car into first gear and drove off.

  In Laurel Cottage Lily had dressed and was sitting in the lounge by the telephone. It was almost an hour since Tom had left and there had been no word. She thought over the conversation of the previous evening, seeking out any clues … but there was nothing.

  ‘Please find him,’ she whispered.

  She thought of Tom and of her life. With Rudi, happiness had been a brief interlude and love a fleeting companion. With Tom, it had been different and she had known he was the one. Their relationship had been one of fire and ice, steel and silk. She remembered the early days of their marriage, a time of hot summer nights and long walks on winter days, hand in hand across the high frozen moors of North Yorkshire.

  Most of all, Tom was calm in a crisis, a steadfast partner. He was eminently suited to his profession, solving other people’s problems. But now it was different. It was their problem … her problem. She had lost her son. The link between them had gone. A chain had been broken.

  She stood up, walked to the window and peered out. ‘I’m sorry, Freddie,’ she murmured. ‘Please come home.’

&nb
sp; She picked up Rudi’s letter and read it again. It was brief, simply a thank you for letting him see what a fine young man Freddie had become. He was clearly proud of his son.

  Our son, thought Lily, my son.

  Suddenly the phone rang and for a moment Lily froze before dashing to the sideboard and snatching up the receiver. ‘Is that you, Tom? Have you found him?’

  There was silence.

  ‘Lily, whatever is the matter? It’s Vera here.’

  Lily sank to her knees and wept. When finally she could speak, she said, ‘Sorry, Vera. I thought it might be Tom.’

  ‘Lily, please tell me what is wrong.’

  There was a long pause until Lily gathered herself and said, ‘I can’t speak now, Vera,’ and put down the phone.

  Vera heard the click and a faint buzz as the call terminated. The house was quiet apart from the ticking of the clock in the hallway. She took a deep breath. There was a decision to be made. Lily was obviously in considerable distress. Vera recognized her Christian duty and knew she had to help her friend.

  Moments later she had put on her coat, scarf and hat and picked up her car keys from the hall table. As an afterthought, she went back to the kitchen and put six of her home-made fruit scones in a tin. Then she scribbled a note to Joseph simply saying she had gone out, but didn’t say where, and hurried out to her car.

  She drove carefully down the Morton road, into Ragley village, then turned left at the end of the High Street. On the back road to Kirkby Steepleton a grudging light spread slowly across the distant fields and, as she drove through a land of bare trees and rutted snow, she wondered what might befall her.

  She was a little surprised that there were no cars in the driveway of Laurel Cottage.

  Freddie shivered. The cold seemed to freeze the breath in his lungs, but it served to ease the problems in his life. It was the lie that hurt the most, a lie that had lasted a lifetime.

  After reading Rudi’s letter and copying his address in Germany, Freddie had written a message to a man he did not know. When the time was right he would post it. It was then that he knew he needed space to think and time to understand the revelation that had changed his life. He had to get out of the cottage.

  When he unlocked the door he saw it was impossible to walk out into a Siberian winter. Grabbing Lily’s car keys had been an impulsive action. When he was outside he locked the front door again and put the house key through the letterbox.

  The howling wind hid the noise of the engine kicking into life and, as he drove away, he knew where he must go. On this Bank Holiday morning the Ragley cricket field would be deserted and he knew of a quiet, secluded place by the pavilion. Although he was becoming a competent driver, he took extra care as he drove through the darkness. He also knew that as a learner he was breaking the law.

  At that moment it didn’t matter. He simply had to get away.

  Ragley High Street appeared devoid of life. Freddie drove up the track behind the village hall, parked the car out of sight behind the cricket pavilion and sat on a cold bench under the covered porch in his private frozen cocoon. He felt betrayed, humiliated.

  As dawn broke over the distant hills his thoughts raced in confusion.

  The doorbell of Laurel Cottage rang and Lily rushed to the door. Panic and hope gripped her in equal measure. Her breathing seemed laboured, coming in short gasps as she opened the door. Then she stepped back in surprise. She was hoping for Tom and Freddie, but there stood Vera with a cake tin under her arm and an attempt at a reassuring smile.

  ‘Lily, I’m sorry to arrive unannounced,’ she said, ‘but I was concerned. You sounded distressed when I called.’

  Lily couldn’t speak. She simply stared helplessly at her friend.

  ‘Let me come in for a moment,’ said Vera, taking the initiative. ‘In any case, you need to keep the house warm in this bitter wind.’

  She stepped inside and closed the door behind her. ‘I’ve brought some scones,’ she said, holding up the cake tin. ‘I always find tea and scones can be so calming.’

  They went into the kitchen. Lily looked lost, so Vera took over. ‘I’ll put the kettle on, shall I?’

  She knew her way around Lily’s kitchen and five minutes later they were settled in the lounge next to a fire that was burning low. Vera put another log on and served tea while Lily kept staring out of the window. Her expression was taut and fearful. The equilibrium of her family life had been disturbed. A stone had been dropped into a pond and she didn’t know where the ripples would end.

  ‘So,’ said Vera, leaning forward to touch Lily’s hand. ‘Tell me, my dear – what is troubling you? I’m here to help and anything you choose to tell me will be in confidence.’

  Lily sipped her tea thoughtfully, looked up at her friend and confidante and nodded. This was the moment to unburden herself. Like a moth that danced around a candle flame, she had avoided the final conflict and held back from entering the furnace.

  Now it was time to share her secret.

  The Revd Joseph Evans was also drinking tea. Minnie Spottiswood was grieving. Her three daughters were in attendance and the eldest, Ruth, was slicing a fruit cake while Joseph discussed Dominic’s funeral arrangements.

  Minnie found it difficult to articulate her thoughts, but Joseph was experienced in dealing with the bereaved.

  ‘The Gospel of St John would be appropriate,’ he said, ‘chapter 11, verses 25 and 26.’ He put down his cup. ‘He that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live. And whosoever liveth and believeth in me shall never die.’

  The two younger daughters nodded their approval and Minnie dabbed away another tear.

  ‘He liked Psalm Twenty-three, Mother,’ said Ruth quietly. ‘Perhaps one of us should read that.’

  ‘A good choice,’ agreed Joseph. He was anxious to glean enough information for the eulogy and listened carefully to what the daughters said about how they would like their father to be remembered. Minnie said nothing until he was about to leave, then she looked up tearfully and said quietly, ‘Mr Evans, there is something.’

  Everyone looked at her.

  ‘My Dominic was different, special you might say. He had his head in the clouds … but he could always name the stars.’

  There was silence and then it was the turn of the daughters to reach for their handkerchiefs.

  When Joseph left he was hoping Vera would be able to transpose his hasty notes into a coherent eulogy as she usually did. However, when he arrived back at the vicarage he was unaware that his sister was dealing with another kind of loss.

  Vera had always been a good listener and she recognized the moment when Lily decided to unburden herself.

  ‘It’s a long story, Vera,’ began Lily with a sigh, ‘and it’s troubled me for many years.’

  ‘Whatever you wish to tell me remains within these four walls. Lily, I’m your friend, always have been – and sometimes it’s good to share a problem.’

  Lily nodded. ‘It’s Freddie.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘He’s gone missing.’

  ‘Missing?’

  ‘Tom is looking for him now.’

  ‘Oh dear, Lily, I can understand your distress.’ Vera stood up from her armchair and sat down next to her friend on the sofa. ‘I’m sure Tom will find him.’

  ‘I thought it was him when you rang,’ said Lily quietly.

  ‘I understand,’ said Vera. ‘So why did Freddie leave?’

  ‘Because last night I had to tell him the truth.’

  ‘The truth?’

  Lily took a deep breath. ‘Let me show you something.’

  She took a bunch of keys from her handbag and walked over to her bureau. Then she unlocked one of the drawers, selected an old brown envelope and carefully removed an old, creased black-and-white photograph.

  ‘On my first day at Ragley I travelled here on a bus and wondered what lay in store. I was nervous. Everything was new. However, I carried a photograph with me in my handbag and f
rom time to time I would take it out and look at it and find a measure of happiness.’ She handed the photograph to Vera, who studied it carefully. It was a small baby, perhaps a month old.

  ‘It’s the first photograph of Freddie,’ explained Lily.

  Vera looked up. She knew this was a moment of import.

  ‘Vera … Freddie is my son.’

  I did wonder, thought Vera, but she said nothing. She merely leaned towards Lily and held her hand.

  ‘You see, my mother insisted,’ continued Lily quietly.

  ‘What did Florence say?’

  ‘She said I had brought shame on the family – that a child born out of wedlock is a sin. Her solution was to hide the truth and say it was her child. She was young enough for this to be accepted.’

  Vera nodded. ‘Times were different then. Attitudes have started to change.’

  ‘Yes, but back in those days I was too young to stand up to her. I didn’t understand the implications or the outcomes. Later I did, of course.’

  ‘And the father?’ asked Vera softly.

  ‘That’s the problem. He was a prisoner of war, a German, working on the same farm as me.’

  ‘I can see why that made it much more difficult for you.’

  ‘Yes, my mother said it was the worst thing I could have done. Germans were the enemy, but Rudi was simply a young man who had been thrust into a war he didn’t understand.’

  ‘Rudi?’

  ‘His name is Rudolph Krüger. He lives in Hamburg. Each year I send him a photograph of Freddie and he writes back to say thank you. In his last letter he sent a photograph of the German workers on the farm. Rudi was one of the men and looked just like Freddie does now.’

  ‘I see,’ said Vera. ‘Did you love him?’

  ‘Yes, I did. He was a handsome, kind and sensitive man. We were both lonely and we made each other happy for a while at a hard time. After Freddie was born, Florence shut Rudi out of our lives. It seemed to be for the best. Then I trained to be a teacher and the opportunity of a post at Ragley cropped up. I applied and you know the rest.’