For All Our Tomorrows

by Freda Lightfoot

  ‘Don’t!’ Bette thought about Barney, still back there fighting.

  He seemed to realise he’d gone too far. ‘Sorry, I get a bit carried away.’ He pushed back his shoulders, and drawing in a steadying breath took her to the window to show off the view: a magnificent panorama of mountains spread out before them. Bette tried to give the expected response, say the right things. She wanted to reach out to him, to bring the smile back to his face but couldn’t quite seem able to manage it.

  If she didn’t love Chad quite as much as she’d hoped, he was still a lovely man and she ought to feel herself fortunate that he still wanted her, was proving to be so considerate and kind, his family so obliging.

  In her heart of hearts she knew why she’d come, because Barney had been keen for her to do so, almost relieved to be rid of the responsibility of marrying her. She’d felt it at the time, though had tried to shut her eyes to it. Hadn’t she been the one to do all the planning, done most of the organising for the wedding?

  He was only going through the motions to please her, perhaps thinking he’d be called off to war before ever they got around to the ceremony. Maybe he’d have dumped her at the altar. Oh, lord, don’t think about Barney, not right now. It was too late to blame him, to blame anyone. Too late for regrets.

  She smiled brightly up at Chad. ‘It’s a lovely spot, but we won’t be living with your family after we’re married, will we? Won’t we find a place of our own?’

  ‘There’ll be plenty of time to talk about such things later. You’ve only just got here.’

  ‘Oh, yes, of course. Sorry, I’m always so impatient, wanting to make things happen right away.’ She had to tell him, and now was as good a time as any. ‘Look, there’s something you should know, something I haven’t had the chance to tell you, what with you being transferred. I’m pregnant. I’m having your baby.’

  He stared at her for a long moment, seemingly uncomprehending, then his face lit up into an expression of amazement and delight. ‘A baby? You’re having my baby?’

  He would have swung her up off her feet, but then thought better of it, sat her down on the edge of the bed instead, and finally, at last, offered her a cup of tea.

  Bette had to laugh. ‘Later. I’ve waited this long for a cuppa, I can wait till supper. You are pleased then?’

  ‘Cock-a-hoop!’

  ‘And you still want to marry me?’

  ‘Sure I do, the sooner the better,’ and then as quickly as it had appeared, the smile faded. ‘Only, let’s not tell Mom tonight, huh? Give her time to get to know you first.’

  ‘All right, if you think that’s best.’

  ‘You don’t mind?’

  ‘Of course not. Now I’d really like to freshen up and rest, if that’s ok.’

  ‘Sure thing, hon. Take just as long as you like.’

  Bette thought there was a new spring in his step as he left her, and she was glad of it. He deserved some happiness. But she certainly intended to take advantage of his offer of restraint for tonight, at least, and claim over-tiredness; postponing the intimacy they’d once enjoyed until a time when it would feel less daunting.

  Bette enjoyed the first bath she’d had in nearly two weeks and it was glorious. At last she could relax a little before facing the ordeal of putting on her best frock and bravely facing a group of strangers who were to become her new family: Chad’s parents, his brother Jake, his sister and her husband, and goodness knows how many of their children. What could she possibly have in common with these people?

  Bette quite understood Chad’s reluctance to tell his mother about the baby right away. It could wait for another day, but she worried about her possible reaction. She’d been here hours and hadn’t even met a single member of his family yet.

  She lay back in the deliciously cool water and suddenly burst into tears, overcome by emotion and a great reluctance to get out of it. She longed to climb into bed this very minute, to curl up and slip into a deep, dreamless sleep and not see anyone. Why hadn’t she believed Sara when she’d insisted that Chad was spinning her a yarn?

  Barney too, with his talk of a string of restaurants, not to mention undying love. He’d probably made up the whole thing, bragging he was rich just to get inside her knickers.

  She began to wonder which of them she could believe, whether both men hadn’t in fact told her a pack of lies. Bette felt stung by her own naivety and foolishness. She saw herself now for what she was, a silly, empty-headed girl with a passion for fun and a longing to see the world. What a gullible fool she’d been, drinking in every word they told her as if it were gospel. Well, this is where that stupidity had led her. She was seeing the world now right enough, from the back of beyond, and it was nothing like so glamorous and exciting as she’d imagined it would be.

  If she’d possessed any money at all, she would have got back on that train and returned home to England at once. But since she scarcely had a penny or a cent to her name, nowhere enough to buy a passage home, she must grit her teeth and make the best of things. Here she was, in America, the land of the free, and here she must stay.

  She wiped away her tears with the flat of both hands, ducked her head under the water and washed herself clean all over.

  Once she was dry and dressed in her prettiest frock, she began to feel better. It was bound to feel strange at first, as if she didn’t belong, but there was no reason to suppose things wouldn’t improve. And hadn’t she always longed for an adventure? Well this was her big chance, so she’d best make the most of it.

  Despite such brave thoughts, Bette took a long time getting ready, drying and brushing out her hair before coiling it tidily in loops on top of her head, putting on her brightest lipstick. She was so nervous she might have skipped supper altogether, had she not been so ravenously hungry. She’d had precious little to eat yesterday on the train, owing to her reluctance to spend her last few dimes, and even less today. But tempting as it might be to hide in the bedroom out of pure cowardice, such behaviour would not endear her to her future in-laws, nor would it fill an empty stomach.

  Bette was also wise enough to realise that as a newcomer she was a novelty, but that would soon wear off. Once all the fuss had died down, the articles read and tossed aside, she’d be looked upon as a stranger here, an immigrant who would need to quickly learn a new way of life, different customs, manners and ways of doing things.

  Sara had warned her of that too, had reminded her that she would be many thousands of miles from her own family and all the people who loved her. Only now did Bette truly understand what her sister had been trying to tell her.

  Never had she felt more alone in all her life. She’d come to this unknown country to marry a man she hardly knew. What had she been thinking of?

  Chapter Thirty-One

  The boiler gave a funny sort of clank as Sara ran the hot tap and she took rather a longer time than usual to wash herself and comb her hair, and slip into the new nightgown; shy suddenly, now that the moment had come. And then she was lying beside him in the bed, as nervous as a young girl on her wedding night, except that she wasn’t a bride, and they weren’t married, at least not to each other. The sheets smelled slightly musty, as if they hadn’t been properly aired, and Sara worried that the bed might be damp and they’d both catch a chill.

  ‘Are you cold?’ Charlie put his arm about her, stroked her face, her bare arms, put his mouth to hers in the sweetest kiss. He admired her new nightdress, the pretty lace, the ribbon as he untied it and slid a hand over her breast. She wanted, oh how she wanted him. Her whole body cried out for surrender. The touch of his hands on her flesh was blissful, as if she had waited for this moment all her life.

  ‘I can’t do it.’

  ‘Sara . . .’

  She was out of the bed in a flash, standing shivering in the darkness, tears stinging the backs of her eyes. ‘It’s no good, I do want you, I really do, but I can’t go through with this. It’s not that I love Hugh, it’s just that he’s my husband and .
. .’

  ‘And I’m not.’

  ‘Yes. I’m sorry. Oh, God, I’m so desperately sorry.’ She was crying openly now and he was holding her, cradling her in his arms.

  ‘Don’t be. We’ve had a lovely day together. Let’s not spoil it with regrets. Get back into bed, love, you’re shivering. I’ll manage on the chair in the corner.’

  ‘Oh, Charlie, are you sure? I’m so s . . .’

  He put one finger to her lips to stop the words. ‘I shall be fine with a pillow and a blanket. Tomorrow, I’m going to buy you a slap-up lunch in the best hotel I can find, then I’ll take you home. I love you, Sara, and always will. Perhaps we were wrong to try this but I don’t regret it, not for a moment, and nor must you. You are as you are, and I love you for it, for your sweetness and your integrity. Maybe one day things will be different for us. Our day will come, I’m sure of it.’

  They travelled in separate compartments on the train journey home in case someone she knew was on the train. Unfortunately this gave her far too much time to think, depression descending upon her like a great black cloud.

  Yet would she feel any better if she’d actually gone through with it, if she really had betrayed her husband? Poor Charlie had spent an uncomfortable night on that awful chair, though neither of them had slept much, just talked and talked until exhaustion had overcome them. But he’d made not one word of complaint and at breakfast they’d been forced to endure the disapproving sniffs and cold glances of their landlady, who’d counted them as guilty even when they weren’t.

  A part of her felt as if she’d lost him, as if she might never see him again.

  Sara was surprised to see Hugh waiting for her at the station. Somehow it made her feel strangely edgy. Almost before he kissed her, he’d asked the first question.

  ‘So how was Aunt Marjorie? Was she grateful for your care?’

  ‘Oh, indeed, I’m sure she was very pleased to see me.’

  ‘Your mother didn’t even know she was poorly.’

  In the end, it had proved impractical to follow Sara to Aunt Marjorie’s, much as he would have liked to do so. He’d been kept far too busy at the pub. But Hugh couldn’t help noticing how her eyes widened at this simple statement, like a startled fawn. For some reason, he loved her best when she was frightened and revealed her vulnerability.

  ‘Mam? You’ve been talking to mam about Aunt Marjorie?’

  ‘I saw her in the butcher’s queue and happened to mention where you’d gone. She offered to cook for me, though I told her you’d left everything ready prepared.’

  He decided not to mention the fact that he’d deliberately made the approach, tackled Sadie on the subject straight out. He went on with his interrogation, noticing how flustered she was becoming. Why was that? Surely Sara didn’t have it in her to lie? He would need to watch her every move, and, should he discover that she was indeed playing him false, he would make her sorry, very sorry indeed.

  ‘So what was wrong with the old dear that you had to run to her side?’

  ‘Oh, it was all a lot of fuss over nothing. Aunt Marjorie is a bit of a hypochondriac. She’ll outlive us all in the end, as I’m sure Mam told you. Still, she is over eighty, so of course I had to go and check.’

  ‘So how could you possibly help? What good did it do, for you to waste an entire weekend with her? I hope this isn’t going to become a habit, Sara.’

  ‘Don’t start an argument now, Hugh. I’m tired and cold. Come on, let’s hurry home. It looks like rain.’

  Hugh made no further comment as they set off to walk briskly back to the inn, but he watched carefully as the other passengers streamed out of the station, keeping a sharp look-out for anyone suspicious, such as that American officer who was always hanging round The Ship. But he saw no one, which was almost a disappointment. If his suspicions were correct and the pair had spent the weekend together, then he must have got off at an earlier station and hitched a lift back to base, as these Yanks often did. Hugh hadn’t expected her to be half so cunning yet something was going on, he was convinced of it.

  When they got back home, Sara carried her bag upstairs only to find that he’d moved all her belongings back into the marital bedroom. He’d moved Drew into the spare bedroom, including his toy cupboard and little desk, and a very excited little boy was proudly waiting to show off his new bedroom.

  ‘Daddy says I’m old enough to have a room to myself now, Mummy, instead of sharing with Jenny. And if I look after it properly and keep it very tidy, when we move to the new house he’ll let me have the room at the front, and buy me a telescope to look at the ships out at sea. Isn’t that exciting?’

  Sara caught him to her breast in a tight hug. ‘Yes, darling, it certainly is.’

  She considered sleeping in one of the inn’s guest bedrooms but dismissed the idea. Not only did they need the income from letting them, but also she wouldn’t be able to hear if Drew or Jenny woke in the night and needed her. Consequently, there was nowhere left for her to sleep but with her husband.

  Sara came to dread the moment when Hugh joined her in bed, feeling herself grow stiff and rigid as he stroked and caressed her. After years of indifference and lack of interest on his part, suddenly now, when she wanted him least, he’d decided to reclaim what he termed as his rights.

  He’d never been a particularly unselfish lover, but any tenderness that had once existed between them had quite gone, replaced by something far more dark and troubling.

  Thankfully he didn’t ever repeat quite the display of aggression he’d used when he’d tied her up, but the memory of that night was strong in her. It hummed below the surface between them and Sara was aware that his mood could change in an instant. Resistance was not only futile but dangerous. If she turned away or told him she didn’t feel like it tonight, he would be irritated and impatient and take her anyway with a brutal heartlessness. She became simply grateful that he at least no longer used the pyjama chord, allowed him to have his fill of her, on the grounds that the sooner it was done the better.

  She’d hear him chuckle to himself in the darkness, as if it amused him to know she no longer wanted him, but that he could take her at any time he wished. He seemed to enjoy toying with her as a cat would with a mouse. Some nights he would make no approach, do nothing, on others he would start to kiss and fondle her and then abruptly turn away and ignore her, as if needing to make clear that the moment would be of his choosing.

  She knew only too well that at some point during the night, although not every night by any means, or perhaps in the early hours of the morning, or even when she was about to rise and make breakfast, he would pull her to him and take her without any warning whatsoever.

  All of this meant that Sara was quite unable to sleep. She would doze a little then wake in a panic, wondering if he’d touched her, or when he might reach for her.

  She hated it most when he talked to her, which dragged out the agony.

  ‘I know you enjoy this every bit as much as I do, for all you refuse to respond. I shall possess you, Sara. You are my wife and it’s been too long, far too long. We’ve let life and this dratted war get in the way of our love. We mustn’t shut each other out ever again. As you once said yourself, we need to put some romance and excitement back into our marriage.’

  When he was done with her, she would thankfully turn from him to sleep on the furthest side of the bed, or get up and creep to the bathroom to eradicate every trace of him.

  ‘I ask only loyalty and obedience,’ he would carefully explain, in those falsely patient tones she’d come to hate.

  And what of love? the voice inside her head would cry, hotly rebelling, longing to declare that she was innocent of all charges, except of trying to live a useful and worthwhile life.

  Yet in her heart Sara knew that wasn’t strictly true. Try as she might, she couldn’t stop wishing she’d slept with Charlie after all.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  They were all seated at the table waiting for her, w
hen Bette finally plucked up the courage to go downstairs. Aware that she’d spent far more time than was strictly necessary fussing over her hair, putting on lipstick and making herself presentable, yet she’d needed to do all of that in order to bolster her flagging confidence. Bette addressed her apology directly to his mother, who was presiding over events from the end of the table. ‘I’m so sorry I’m late, Mrs Jackson. The bath was lovely and I was so desperately tired after all the excitement, I nearly fell asleep in it.’

  The response was more informative than warm, but forgiveness was implicit in the words. ‘It’s your first day, so you’re allowed to be late, but we never do start eating till all the family is present.’

  Chad chipped in. ‘Come sit by me, hon, and I’ll remind you of everyone’s names. This here is Jake, my rascal younger brother; over there is Mary-Lou and her husband Harry, and these whipper-snappers are their offspring: Laurie, Mel, and Billy-Jo.’

  Bette swiftly offered a polite smile of apology all round, including the three little girls, then sat quickly down in the chair he’d pulled out for her. ‘I’ll remember to be on time in future, Mrs Jackson.’

  Chad gave a shout of laughter as if she’d made some sort of joke. ‘Her name is Peggy but you must learn to call her Mom. We all do.’

  Bette smiled and nodded, privately wondering how she would ever manage to think of her in such terms. The woman was reed thin, the bone structure of her gaunt face sharply defined into a broad forehead, high cheekbones and blunt jaw line. No one could call her beautiful yet there was a handsome, regal quality to her, almost formidable, if only in the erectness of her posture as she sat like a queen before her family. Her very stature seemed to imply that she had been beautiful once. The grey hair had been dragged up into a tight bun at the nape of her neck, which somehow made the clear blue eyes seem overlarge and Bette shifted uncomfortably in her seat beneath the woman’s scrutiny.