She scoured the garden for whatever she could find to eat. Found a few onions which she strung up and hung from the beamed ceiling; potatoes, turnips and carrots which she earthed up, remembering they must be kept dark if they weren’t to go green. There was an apple tree although the fruit was small and green, gooseberry and currant bushes.
On the edge of the woods she found wild strawberries and plums, but all of this fruit could be stewed. If only she could bottle or store them in some way? How had Sadie done that? If only she’d paid more attention. If only she had some jars. She must search every corner of the cabin to check there wasn’t something, anything she could use.
Bette wished there was a lake nearby, wondering if she could remember all Cory had tried to teach her about fishing; how to make a line and fix bait.
Still restless, Bette hitched the baby up in her arms and wandered along the road a little way, just as she had done before, hoping against hope she might find something, a track to some hidden house in the forest, a tribe of Indians maybe. Unlikely since they all lived on reservations, or in Cherokee and drove big pick-ups. She saw no one, no house, no farm, not even a lake.
The days became a blur, blending one into the other but Bette gritted her teeth and went relentlessly on with her preparations, trying not to think too much about the reality of a winter alone in this cabin. She was afraid now to lie down on the bed during the day, terrified the weeping might start up all over again and she would lose the will to go on.
She was afraid to leave the stove unattended, fearful of straying too far from the house in case she got bitten by a snake or something equally dreadful. Where would she be then? What would happen to Matthew if she gave up, or if something terrible happened to her?
One night, sometime towards morning, she woke up with a start, aware that something, some sound had disturbed her. Her first thought was for Matthew but he was sleeping soundly, doing well now and going longer between feeds. Dear Lord, don’t let it be a bear!
And then she heard it, the unmistakable sound of an engine. Bette was out of bed in a flash, scrambling down the ladder without even bothering to find her dressing gown or slippers, despite the severe cold.
She ran bare foot out onto the road into the grey light of dawn and was just in time to see a cloud of dust where the vehicle had vanished. The pain was so bad she doubled up with the agony of it, fell to her knees in despair.
Someone had gone by and she had missed them!
When she saw the boxes by the door, it came to her that it must have been the pick-up, driven by Harry no doubt, and he’d left her fresh supplies.
Chapter Forty-Three
Bette sat in the rocker, still in her nightie and bare feet, and felt as cold and empty inside as the dead ash in the stove. She felt dazed and numb, desperately trying to fight her way through the mists of shock and view her situation rationally. The Jacksons clearly weren’t going to let her starve. Well, that was something. At least they weren’t so cruel and heartless as to want her death on their hands. But neither were they prepared to have any contact with her.
Could it have been Chad driving the truck? Surely not. More likely Harry, since he was the one who’d brought her here in the first place.
Then why hadn’t Chad come to see her? Why didn’t he care what happened her? Why didn’t anyone?
What was Peggy telling the ladies at the sewing bee? What explanation had she given to Esther for her daughter-in-law not coming along to show off her new baby? Why was no one looking for her?
And then it hit her. Because they didn’t know she was even missing!
Peggy had told them some sort of lie. But what? That she was dead, had died in childbirth perhaps? Surely, even here in the back of beyond, there would need to be evidence of a death. There’d have to be a body, a funeral. More likely she’d told them that Bette had left the farm of her own free will, and gone where?
Home, of course, back to England. Was that what she’d told Chad too?
The blood seemed to soar in her veins, filling her with fresh hope. That was the reason he hadn’t come to see her, not because he hated her or refused to forgive her and try again.
But because he had no idea where she was!
Peggy had no doubt tricked her son just as cleverly as she’d tricked her all too trusting daughter-in-law.
Bette was on her feet in a second, bursting with a rush of energy that pulsated through her like wine. There was still hope. Chad might still want her. She didn’t have to allow that woman to get away with it.
And then common sense returned and she sank back down again.
Chad had come to see her only once since the baby was born and didn’t even glance in his direction. He didn’t want her, didn’t love her any more. He believed that the baby wasn’t his, and she couldn’t deny that she and Barney had been lovers, so how could she be sure who the father was? Was it any wonder if neither man wanted her? Chad had rejected her, and so had Barney.
So where did that leave her? Reaping the reward of her foolishness, that’s where.
But one thing was certain, she couldn’t stay here, living off Jackson charity grudgingly given, all alone on the side of a mountain with a young baby throughout what would undoubtedly be a long, freezing winter. Therefore she must take the risk and leave. She must somehow find the town and try to make a new future for herself and Matthew.
The next minute she was climbing back up the ladder, pulling open her bags to find warm, clean clothes for herself and the baby.
It took longer than she’d expected to prepare for the journey, choosing what to take, how to carry everything she needed but in the end Bette decided to wear as many clothes as she could to save carrying them, and leave the rest behind. She dressed Matthew too as warmly as she could in leggings, two vests, jumper, jacket, warm helmet and mitts.
Even so, the bag carrying his things simply couldn’t be made any smaller, for all it weighed her down. He would need several clean diapers, an extra matinee jacket and a couple of pairs of spare leggings for when he needed a change of those too, plus a shawl in case it got really cold.
Then there was the food. Bette knew she should take as much as she could carry. There were eggs in the new box of supplies, which she hard boiled. There was fresh bread and a chunk of cheese. She also packed the stewed apple and put a few of the tiny wild strawberries and plums in her pocket to nibble as she walked along.
By late morning she was ready and with Matthew in his papoose sling across her chest, and the bag over the other shoulder, Bette closed the door of the cabin for the last time and set out once more on the road in what she judged to be the direction of town.
This time she had no intention of coming back. She meant to escape this desolate place once and for all, even if she died in the attempt.
Bette walked and walked until she felt she could walk no more, till her heels were blistered and she could feel the blood squelching between her toes. She’d heard the whip-poor-will, seen the blue flash of a Jay, watched a woodpecker hammer away at the bark of a tree, as if trying to gain entry. She’d even spotted a Carolina wren who came to sit cheekily beside her on a log when she’d stopped to feed Matthew around noon. Other than these creatures, who helped to cheer her along the way, she’d seen no one.
She must have been walking for seven or eight hours, with still no sign of a house or farm, let alone Carreville. Worse than that, the light was beginning to fade and as the autumn sun slipped down the sky, a chill was settling over the land.
She walked on for another hour or so, and finding a patch of bushes, with dry bracken beneath, crawled inside, thankful to be at least relieved of her burden and be able to lie down and rest.
It was reasonably sheltered under the trees, protected from the wind. Bette fed the baby one more time, almost falling asleep herself in the middle of it. Yet that was the last thing she must do. Aware of the risk of snakes, or bears, Bette knew there’d be little sleep for her that night.
She
wrapped Matthew in both shawls, then propped herself against a tree right beside him. She felt so dreadfully tired, her eyes so dusty and scratchy, but Bette had no intention of closing them, not even for a moment. Within seconds she was asleep.
She woke a couple of hours later in a blind panic. But all was well, the baby snuffling gently beside her. It was so hard to stay awake, her exhaustion too much to bear. Bette rubbed her eyes, shook herself awake and sat up, determined not to make the same mistake again.
Surely it shouldn’t be too difficult, she was growing used to long, lonely, cold nights. This would simply be another. The only difference being that she wasn’t in her warm, unkempt bed at the cabin, she was out in the open, under the stars and the temperature was dropping fast.
The first pearl grey of dawn was coming into the sky when she must have fallen asleep again to be woken by Matthew’s frantic cries.
‘What is it? What is it my precious?’ But he was only hungry.
She fed and changed him, nibbled on a hard boiled egg by way of breakfast and got wearily to her feet. There was a definite chill in the air this morning, that sharpness which betokened the threat of rain, or even snow.
Bette tucked baby Matthew inside her sweater, where he could share the warmth of her body, then shouldering the bag of provisions, continued on her way.
It felt more difficult today, somehow, to keep up any sensible pace. Her thighs and calves were aching, her feet felt as if they were on fire, and the bag seemed twice as heavy as yesterday. Bette was forced to keep stopping to rest every twenty minutes or so. It would take forever to reach town at this rate.
Matthew seemed more fractious, crying a good deal, and yet refusing to take his feed when she stopped to rest in the middle of the day.
The sun did finally break through the bleak grey clouds and overcome by exhaustion, Bette took the risk of getting some sleep, hoping she’d be safe in broad daylight, otherwise she never would reach the end of this blasted road.
When she woke again, darkness was falling, and with fingers clumsy with cold, Bette changed and fed the baby. Like her, he seemed too sleepy to bother, again showing little interest in food, which deeply troubled her.
Could he be sickening for something? Fear rose in her throat like bile. They must surely be nearly in Carreville by now and she set off again almost at a run.
‘We’ll find the town any minute, my darling,’ she told him, kissing his head. It felt clammy and hot. Had he got mountain fever? She’d heard Peggy speak of it, but hadn’t the first idea what it was, or even if it existed.
As night drew in and it grew dark, it became harder to keep track of where exactly she was. Bette felt light-headed and bone weary.
The dirt road wandered and twisted, dipped and climbed and she very soon became disorientated. She fell over tree stumps which really shouldn’t have been there at all, and then to her horror the ground gave way beneath her and she found herself slipping and sliding down a bank, tumbling and rolling amongst stones and earth, frantically trying to hold on tight to the baby and protect his head as he lay cuddled within her sweater. She must have reached the bottom because she sprawled onto gravel, grazing her knees and cracking her head on a rock, whereupon blackness descended.
Chapter Forty-Four
As that long, last winter of the war progressed, Sara went through the motions of being a good wife, putting food on the table, washing Hugh’s clothes and cleaning his shoes, even running his bath for him which had always been a requirement, but relations between them were at an all time low.
She continued to occupy the spare room, not able to consider ever returning to her husband’s bed, despite his frequently bitter and snide remarks that she was neglecting her wifely duties, that it would serve her right if he took a leaf out of her book and had an affair himself.
‘Please do. I really wouldn’t care in the slightest what you do, or with whom.’
‘Oh, dear me no, Sara. I am giving you no grounds to divorce me. I intend to remain very much in control.’
Normally, the most he ever said to her was to frostily demand that she pass the salt. More often than not he communicated by leaving notes on the dresser.
‘Will you please have the evening meal ready by six, on the dot. I am going out.’ He rarely troubled to tell her where.
Or a more peremptory demand. ‘Take my suit to the cleaners.’ ‘Go to the Post Office and get me some stamps.’ Or even, ‘Haven’t you noticed that we’re running out of soap? You really don’t try, Sara.’ Ever ready to criticise.
She would leave him a note in return. ‘Sorry, been rather busy and forgot to put a fresh piece out. There’s plenty more soap in the cupboard, if you took the trouble to look.’
Sara had written a long letter recently to Bette, opening up her heart and telling her everything, as she could only do with her sister. It was at times like these that she missed her most.
‘Oh, Bette, write to me. I need to know your okay, at least, even if I’m not.’
Her one triumph and joy was her new career in nursing. Sara was well on with her training now, and enjoying it enormously. For all Hugh’s lengthy list of parental requirements that he demanded of her, he never seemed to apply them to himself. He could hardly be classed as a loving, caring father and largely ignored his children, except when he wanted to show them off, or scold them for some supposed misdemeanour, or display of bad manners. He’d certainly made no effort to help Sara cope with the new demands upon her time.
Sadie, however, had turned up trumps, taking the children to school every day and collecting them afterwards, happily minding them until Sara got home. She would often give them their tea, to save Sara the trouble, and very occasionally insist on feeding her daughter too if she thought she was looking a bit run-down and peaky.
‘About time you did something useful with your life,’ was her surprising comment. ‘No need to run round after a man all the time.’
‘Thanks Mum. You don’t know how much I appreciate your help.’
‘Did you sleep with him, that Yank?’
‘No.’
Sadie nodded as she set a dish of macaroni cheese before her. ‘Didn’t reckon you would.’
‘I wanted to.’
Her mother smiled. ‘Don’t blame you. He’s a tasty number. I might have been wrong about Hugh Marrack. He’s a cold fish, that one, likes things all his own way. I thought he’d look after you, make you happy, but mebbe I was wrong.’
This was rare for Sadie to own up to a mistake and Sara felt moved by her admission, and by her effort to make reparation. ‘Yes,’ Sara said. ‘He is cold, towards me and the children anyway.’
‘I’ll not ask if you’re going to leave him. None of my business, but if you do, I wouldn’t blame you. Your dad neither. I know we don’t always see eye to eye, but we want you to be happy.’
Sara swallowed a lump in her throat. She made no attempt to hug Sadie, knowing any display of affection would be rebuffed but simply nodded, then said more brightly. ‘I have the children, and my work. I’m particularly interested in midwifery and thinking of specialising in that.’
‘That would be a good way to spend your life, helping other women.’ For the briefest of seconds she rested a hand on Sara’s shoulder. ‘Once you’re properly qualified, you’ll be less dependant on your husband, more able to earn your own living.’
‘I suppose I will.’
It wasn’t exactly the kind of freedom she had dreamed of, but it was better than nothing.
Cory and his chums were missing their work on the River Patrol. Their much loved routine had vanished. No longer did they have to row up and down the river watching out for marauding Germans, who fortunately had never materialised. And since the Home Guard too had been stood down, all their cheerful rivalry had gone, the little competitions they’d used to hold to see who could shoot best were over and done with. They didn’t even hold their regular football matches up at Squire’s Field any more. Cory found himself quite a
t a loose end, with far too much time on his hands.
He could find himself a bit of work here and there, doing a few odd jobs to help folk get back to normal. Guest houses and small hotels such as the Penlee that had been requisitioned for U.S. navy use, were being handed back, but all were in need of major repairs and Cory was a handy man to have around. He would never go short of work but he missed the excitement of the River Patrol, the feeling of importance and easy comradeship with his mates.
And he badly missed his precious younger daughter who had sailed across the Atlantic ocean never to be seen again. Several others had followed her, in a constant stream of ships which seemed to be taking vast numbers of young Cornish women overseas to America.
Cory did not approve, but then he was worried.
He wasn’t a great letter writer himself, and nobody could claim that Sadie and her younger daughter were close, yet there was usually the odd postcard arriving with a few loving words from Bette at least once or twice a month. He’d heard nothing now for weeks and it troubled him.
Of course, it may be that she was settling at last, no longer homesick for her old dad, and now that he didn’t have the River Patrol and with the war as good as over, time passed more slowly so it probably seemed longer since he’d last heard from her, than was in fact the case.
He had his other lovely girl, of course, but even Sara was looking a bit peaky. Working too hard at this nursing lark, he shouldn’t wonder.
Stuck for something to do today, he’d made up his mind to do a bit of fishing. Never again had he made a catch as abundant as the one shortly after the Americans had arrived when Scobey had set off that shell. Go down in history, that would, and a right royal welcome of a fish supper it had given them all. Cory was proud to have been involved in it. But a few plaice or monkfish wouldn’t go amiss and it would please Sadie. Nothing she liked better than a nice bit of fish.
He called on his mate Hamil, who was more than agreeable to while away a few pleasant hours on the river, and the pair set off with rods and nets and bait. It was as they were preparing Cory’s own little clinker-built boat, somewhat battered after year’s of wear, that he spotted his son-in-law’s much larger craft.
For All Our Tomorrows Page 33