Home Sweet Home

by Lizzie Lane

  Small smiles appeared on the nervous faces before they disappeared, off to explore their new surroundings.

  When Frances became aware of Ada looking at her with narrowed eyes, she was the one who became nervous.

  ‘That’s a fine figure of a man you’ve got travelling with you.’ Ada’s words were simple, but spoken with intent.

  Frances tossed her head. ‘He certainly thinks he is.’

  Ada closed one eye. ‘You glow when he’s close to you.’

  Frances laughed lightly. ‘How can you say that? We’ve hardly been close since we arrived and we’ve hardly spoken.’

  A surgeon’s scalpel couldn’t be as incisive as the expression in Ada’s eyes. Her looks were like fingers, reaching out and feeling the lumps and bumps in her mind.

  ‘There’s something about the pair of you.’

  ‘Ada! He’s old enough to be my father,’ Frances said indignantly. Inside, she curled with pleasure.

  ‘That’s not true. Besides, sometimes we need the wisdom of older people in our lives. You were young when your father died.’

  ‘That doesn’t mean to say …’

  Frances’s voice trailed off. But then she realised this was her opportunity to ask Ada about her mother. ‘Did you ever meet my mother? When you were visiting your family?’ she asked at last. The words of Gertrude Powell, Ada’s daughter, rang in her ears. Whore! Slut!

  ‘Of course I did. Your mother was dizzy and weak. Loved men too much, but couldn’t understand them. Couldn’t read them. It helps if you can read the man you’re married to. Your mother loved being loved, but wasn’t much good at giving it out in return. She thought she did, but she didn’t. Didn’t really know what love was.’

  The moment had come. Frances broached the subject of her mother’s whereabouts.

  ‘I don’t suppose you know where she went, Ada? My mother? I can’t remember much about her, but I want to see her. I want to know why she left me with Uncle Stan.’

  Ada ambled over to give the stew a stir. Her back remained a broad barrier to conversation.

  ‘I want to know, Ada. If you know where she is, please tell me.’

  Ada looked at her over her shoulder. ‘Reckon I might.’

  ‘Can you tell me?’

  Ada shook her head. ‘No. I won’t. It’s for your uncle Stan to tell you.’

  ‘But I—’

  ‘I know,’ said Ada, nodding her head. ‘You don’t want to appear ungrateful. Let me put it this way …’ She turned to face Frances before carrying on. ‘If you haven’t asked your uncle by the time you’re twenty-one, or if he hasn’t told you by then, come back and I’ll tell you where I heard she went.’

  ‘That’s unfair! Uncle Stan might die in the meantime. There’s a war on. I might die! Please. I want to know.’

  Ada reached for her pipe, seemed to consider lighting it, but then bit down on it with her yellowed teeth. ‘Last I heard of her she was in Bristol. I don’t know where. Your uncle Stan knows the rest and telling you is up to him.’

  ‘But—’

  Ada held up her hand. ‘No more. That’s an end to the subject.’

  ‘Why do people run away?’

  Ada shrugged and bit down on her pipe. ‘For reasons they think are very important. They are – to them – but viewed from the outside, they’re not always so weighty.’

  ‘Did Miriam have an important reason to leave?’

  Ada winced. ‘I don’t know. She never said.’

  ‘I’m surprised she’s gone. I’m sure she loved being here with you.’

  She didn’t ask whether Miriam had given birth to a baby. A bastard. Illegitimate. It might not be true, but the gossip in the village had suggested it was.

  ‘Apparently, she didn’t love it here quite enough.’

  There was a hint of regret in Ada’s voice. Frances guessed that she was hurting inside, but her attitude to life was pragmatic. In fact, she’d once told Frances that life was never fair, that children were only on loan, and that everyone had the right to live their lives as they pleased, without parents clinging on to them.

  Frances thought back to the rumours about Miriam and the young curate back in Oldland. ‘Did she have a sweetheart?’

  ‘She was courted hereabouts.’

  Ada’s eyes seemed to shift sidelong, as though something or somebody outside had come into her line of vision. Frances could see nobody at first, then she saw Mario, a man of tanned Mediterranean features, his voice made more attractive by a romantic accent. In the absence of any other male company within half a mile, Miriam would have found him attractive.

  ‘I go find another deer,’ said Mario. ‘I have gun.’

  Ada nodded. ‘He’s a good hunter,’ she confided to Frances.

  ‘So Miriam was in love with Mario?’

  ‘She thought so, but I don’t think she could understand him. He’s not the sort to settle down and raise a family, and that is what my granddaughter would like to do. It’s babies she wants most of all, not men. Not really. She’s like a bird, keen to build a nest and have chicks, but not lucky when it comes to the men in her life.’

  Ada’s comment about chicks scratched at a nerve. Miriam had once taken Charlie from his pushchair, though at first it was thought that he’d undone his harness and wandered. Frances had thought about it a lot since then and was convinced that he couldn’t have done it by himself. Miriam had supposedly found him, but the Sweet family all suspected she’d taken him in the first place. Still, no harm done. At least they had got him back.

  There was no point in mentioning their suspicions, not so long after the incident; to do so would only cause Ada unnecessary hurt and she didn’t deserve that. Ada was odd but kind.

  The sound of the Jeep returning preceded Declan’s wide shoulders and impressive physique filling the doorway and blocking out the daylight.

  ‘You’ll be pleased to know that the boys have settled in. There’s a stream at the end of the doctor’s garden and he had the good sense to have two extra rods waiting for them along with a bucket of maggots. They settled down to it right away. I guessed they would.’ He smiled at her and looked uncommonly pleased with himself.

  ‘That’s good.’

  Frances knew instinctively that Declan would have done the same thing if the boys had been staying with him. Rather than let them miss their home and kick their heels with frustration, he would have prepared something that would occupy their minds – just as the doctor had done.

  He took a deep breath as he came into the room. ‘Something smells mighty good.’

  ‘Game stew. I would offer you some, but I think you’d prefer to get going. Am I right?’

  Ada looked deeply into his eyes; a lesser man would have winced, but not Declan.

  ‘It’s tempting,’ he said, with a cheerful look on his face. ‘In fact, it might not be a bad idea if we had a spoonful or two, enough to keep our strength up on the way back.’

  Ada shook her head. Her smile was sardonic, her eyes as piercing as ever. ‘A bowl and two spoons. That’s all I can spare.’

  They sat outside on a fallen tree trunk, the bowl of steaming stew between them. Ada excused herself, saying she had important things to do.

  ‘This is cosy.’ He said the word cosy in a way that almost made her blush, which was annoying. She’d promised herself that she wouldn’t.

  The sound of spoons rattling against china came from inside Ada’s cottage. Not a word was being uttered by the hungry girls, and Frances knew that after the stew would come a slice of suet pudding, heavy as you like and dotted with homemade jam. Pots of jam lined one shelf of the dresser that served as Ada’s storage space. She’d obviously collected a lot of berries during the last summer, as well as rhubarb and fruit given her in exchange for services rendered. Ada still made medicines from the plants she found in the forest. How Ada had got enough sugar to make the jam was another matter.

  The time came to go.

  ‘If we get a move on, we should
be back before it gets dark,’ said Declan. On seeing the look on her face, he gave a curt nod of his head. ‘I’ll stay out here while you say your goodbyes.’ He grinned. ‘Sure looks like I won’t be lonely.’

  Ushered outside, the three girls made a beeline for Declan. Amazingly, he had found more chocolate.

  ‘Though not too much. I’m down to starvation rations,’ he said to them. His laugh was infectious, deep as a gorge and flavoured like rum.

  ‘I heard him say he’d stay outside while we said our goodbyes. That was thoughtful,’ remarked Ada as she ferried empty dishes from table to sink.

  ‘I suppose so.’

  She stopped what she was doing and eyed Frances reflectively. ‘There’s no suppose about it. He’s a good man, a strong man, protective, perhaps just the kind you need.’

  Her directness took Frances by surprise. ‘You feel it?’

  Ada lifted her chin. ‘More to the point, you feel it too. I can see it in your eyes.’

  Frances recalled how some of the forest kids had told her that Ada Perkins was a witch. It was just something children said. Now she wasn’t so sure.

  ‘If Miriam does turn up, please give her my best wishes.’

  ‘I will.’

  ‘You must miss her.’

  Ada looked sad. ‘I do. I should have seen it coming.’

  Ada Perkins had always presented a strong image, that of a woman who could cope with anything that was thrown at her. Now she looked smaller, somehow, less sure of the world than she used to be.

  ‘I hope she does come back.’

  Ada shook her head. ‘I don’t think she will.’

  ‘Then I hope she finds happiness – wherever she is.’

  ‘Never mind. You look to your own future, Frances Sweet. That’s a charming man out there, one any woman would be proud to have on her arm.’

  ‘I don’t think …’ began Frances, blushing to the roots of her hair.

  ‘Don’t think. Some men control their own destiny; others are controlled by it.’ Ada’s gaze met hers head on. ‘That man out there is in charge of his destiny. He’s the sort to take the world by its tail. Up to you whether you’re up there with him.’

  ‘An interesting woman,’ Declan remarked on the journey home.

  Frances had been thinking deep thoughts, some about her mother, and others about Miriam.

  At the sound of his voice she turned and eyed the velvet black eyebrows, the tanned skin, the strong profile. Wrapped up in studying him, she made no comment.

  He noticed and looked amused. ‘Are you looking to eat me? I would have thought that game stew was more than enough to satisfy you. It certainly filled me up.’

  The moment of admiring appraisal was gone. His cocky comment had once again annoyed her. ‘Why ever would I want to eat you?’

  ‘I intrigue you.’

  That sideways glance, that simmering smile. Don’t give in to his charms, she told herself. Convince him you’re not impressed.

  ‘You flatter yourself! Whatever would somebody of my age find intriguing about you?’

  He gave no sign of being put out by her barbed comment.

  ‘Oh, I think you’re a girl who would have loved her father a lot if he’d been around a little longer, and figure somebody like me … Hey! What’s the matter?’ Declan pulled over on to a piece of solidly packed mud. He stopped the engine.

  Frances couldn’t help herself. Everything – seeing Ada again, Miriam running away just like her mother had done. Gertrude Powell saying her mother had been a slut. It was all too much. She just wanted to sob her heart out.

  ‘Hey,’ he said, his voice softer now. ‘What’s with you?’

  Frances remained with her hands over her face as she shook her head. Her feelings were raw and torn already, even before he’d mentioned her father.

  ‘Hey. I wouldn’t have been that tough to eat. Though perhaps I might. Is that what this is? I might stick in your throat?’

  He was trying to be humorous, but Frances just couldn’t respond in the same light manner. She’d never felt so intensely about her parents when she was growing up, so why now?

  If she hadn’t been overcome with emotion, perhaps she would have backed away when he put his arm around her. But she didn’t. Instead, she found herself burying her face in his shoulder, her eyes tightly closed.

  Declan rested his chin on her head, his free hand stroking her hair.

  ‘Frances, my sweet girl, I am a man who speaks his mind, or as you English would say, I do not mince my words. This means that I sometimes tread on the sensitive feelings of those more guarded than myself. I get the feeling that this is one of those times.’

  He waited patiently until she came out from behind her hands. When she did, her eyes were very wide and at sight of them something in his expression changed.

  ‘Okay. Okay.’ He nodded his head and spoke more gently, no trace of sarcasm or humour. ‘I see I need to eat humble pie. My profound apologies.’

  He didn’t rush her but waited for her to regain her self-control. Finally he said, ‘Do you want to tell me what’s upsetting you?’

  ‘I wish I’d known my father better. You mentioning him and … everything … Worse was my mother running off and abandoning me.’

  ‘Seems I put my big feet in it good and proper.’ He sighed deeply. ‘Do you want to tell me about it?’

  ‘I’ve already told Ed about my dad dying and my mother not being around.’ She didn’t know why she said it, but sensed it wouldn’t be long before Declan’s usual manner dominated their conversations.

  ‘So you told Ed? Well, I won’t hold that against you.’ He went quiet for a while. Frances got her handkerchief out of her pocket and blew her nose.

  ‘And you heard it from Ty.’

  He looked contrite. ‘Men talk. I’m sorry.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter.’

  ‘So you moved in with your cousins.’

  Frances nodded. ‘My mother left just after my father died. Uncle Stan brought me up.’

  Declan nodded sagely. ‘I see.’ He paused again. ‘You know, it’s an old saying but a true one, that you can choose your friends but not your relatives. I guess that applies to parents too.’

  ‘I can’t remember her,’ Frances blurted out. ‘I think she looked something like me.’

  She didn’t add that her mother had worn red and had a reputation.

  ‘No. She wasn’t like you.’ His voice was like a caress, soft and comforting.

  Not sure she understood, Frances looked at him quizzically. ‘How can you say that? You’ve never even met my mother!’

  ‘You are you,’ he said, pointing a finger so close to her nose it almost made her go cross-eyed. ‘You’re not your mother. You’re a different person. You have some attributes inherited from your mother, but you also have a good dose from your father. That means you could be as much like your cousin Ruby or the married one; her name’s Mary, right?’

  Frances nodded.

  ‘I’ve yet to meet her, though seeing as your cousins are twins, I reckon it’s a case of meet one and you’ve met the other.’

  ‘They’re very alike,’ said Frances, her voice more even. Declan doing all the talking made her feel less anxious.

  ‘So! I could be seeing double! Any secrets as to how I can tell them apart?’

  Frances smiled. ‘Mary doesn’t have the mole on her cheek that Ruby does.’ She pointed to the very same spot on her own cheek.

  ‘Oh, sure! I’ve noticed her beauty spot.’

  He sat looking at her for a moment.

  Frances looked away. She could cope with meeting those bewitching eyes for only so long. It was also an expedient time for changing the subject.

  ‘I can’t help wondering about Miriam, Ada’s granddaughter, just going off like that. It sounds as though she might have had a crush on Mario. You know – the Italian who was there.’ She said it blithely. Declan appeared to take it very seriously.

  ‘A prisoner of war, I
take it.’

  ‘No, not exactly. He’s lived in the forest for years and got arrested as an enemy alien. Then he was allowed his freedom as long as he did agricultural work of some description to anyone who wanted help. Ada nabbed him!’

  ‘Nabbed him!’ Declan laughed. ‘I like that. Maybe I could get her a job in the US military police.’

  Frances smiled. ‘I can just see her wearing a white helmet. I’d dare anyone to call her a Snowdrop, though.’

  They both laughed at the term given by the Americans to their military police on account of their white helmets.

  ‘So do you think Miriam ran away because she was a woman scorned?’

  ‘Miriam gets fond of people who don’t get fond of her. She liked my cousin Charlie and he didn’t want her either. She’s not very pretty.’

  ‘There’s nothing like being blunt, my dear!’ He took his arm from around her, settled both hands on the steering wheel and eyed the branches of trees hanging over a rough wooden fence.

  ‘Well, Charlie was very handsome and fun to be around. I don’t blame her for liking him.’

  ‘You sound as though you were very fond of him. What was he like?’

  ‘Charlie was lovely.’

  ‘You’re biased. He was a relative and as such …’ He stopped abruptly, suddenly aware of what he had just said. ‘He was Ruby’s brother, the one who got torpedoed. I’m sorry. She did tell me.’

  ‘Yes. He fell in love with a woman called Gilda. That’s where little Charlie comes from. Gilda got killed in an air raid.’

  ‘I recall Ruby saying something about it. I’m sorry, Frances. I shouldn’t have mentioned it.’ His hand covered hers.

  Frances looked down at his hand, noting the dark hairs sprouting on the backs of the knuckles.

  ‘I hope Miriam’s all right. She’s not always … well … you know … not all there.’

  ‘It’s us men,’ said Declan, patting her hand. ‘I’ve been told by more than one woman that I’m driving her crazy.’

  ‘Are you making fun of me?’

  ‘No,’ he said, grinning at the bright young face beaming up at him and thinking how pretty she was. ‘I wouldn’t dare. You may be young, Frances Sweet, but you’re very mature for your age.’