Chaff upon the Wind (41 page)

‘He can go to my mother’s for a few nights,’ she said, and when she saw the disappointment on Miriam’s face, Kitty knew she had been right to be concerned.

‘I do believe you’ve grown,’ she laughed now.

Betsy Clegg nodded and smiled. ‘He eats well, dun’t he? And . . .’ Betsy leaned towards her daughter, ‘ya dad’s even taken to him. Took him on the train with him
yesterday. Now, what do you think of that? I’m that pleased he’s coming round a bit. After all, the little chap is our own grandbairn.’

Kitty straightened up, feeling the familiar stab of guilt. ‘We’d better be going. Thanks, Mam, for having him. And thank me dad, won’t you? Come on, Johnnie, come on home and
see your dad.’

‘Home?’ There was disappointment in his tone. ‘D’you mean he’s back home?’

‘Oh no, no. I mean, to the Manor, but he’s being taken to the hospital tomorrow. I thought you’d like to see him before he goes.’

The boy nodded, then his face lit up and his next words brought fresh dread to Kitty’s heart. ‘We’re going to the Manor? Oh good, then I’ll see Mrs Harding again,
won’t I?’

‘So, Jack Thorndyke, are you going to idle your life away in that bed while your threshing drum rots and poor
Sylvie
rusts away from lack of care?’

He had been home for three weeks now after his short stay in hospital and he had lain in bed for most of that time, despite the doctor, who still called regularly, insisting that he should be up
and moving about now.

There was a time to be gentle and caring, Kitty thought, and there was a time to be tough with a man who, though physically recovered as much as was possible, had nonetheless sunk into a dark
despair which no amount of cajoling and sympathy seemed able to dispel.

So, though her heart was pounding, she stood at the end of the bed in the low-ceilinged cottage, arms folded across her bosom, and said her piece.

The answer, from the depths of his pillows, was a low growl. ‘What good is a one-armed cripple in a threshing team?’

‘Ya legs gone an’ all, ’ave they?’

‘By, you’re gettin’ a shrewish tongue on ya, woman.’ But she noticed that anger made him pull himself up in the bed, instead of slouching beneath the covers, sinking
lower and lower as if he would bury himself there for ever.

‘I never had you for a coward, Jack. I thought you were this strong, wonderful man, who strode through life taking all its knocks and always with a cheerful grin on your handsome face. Oh,
a ladies’ man all right. A real Jack-by-name and Jack-the-Lad by nature,’ her voice dropped a tone, ‘and none knows it better’n me. But I loved that man, Jack, faults
an’ all. Where’s he gone now? You tell me that?’

‘Down the bloody drum, that’s where,’ he said bitterly. ‘Threshed limb from limb and spewed out like useless chaff.’

She leaned on the wooden rail at the end of the bed. ‘You’ve people depending on you. You can’t just give up.’

Jack gestured with his hand. ‘They can get someone else and I’ll sell me threshing tackle.’

‘What?’ Now even Kitty was shocked. ‘Everything? Even your beloved
Sylvie
?’

She saw the hesitation then, saw the hurt deep in his eyes as he thought about the traction engine with her name picked out in gleaming gold and the drum with his nameplate on the side.
Resolutely, Kitty pushed home her point. ‘You’d see someone else running
Sylvie
?’ she asked softly.

Angry frustration spurted again. ‘Well, I can’t, can I? Not like
this
.’

‘So,’ she said with more resolution in her voice than she was feeling inside, ‘it looks like it’s up to me.’ She turned and made to leave the room.

‘What are you going to do?’

She paused and looked back at him, shrugging her shoulders. ‘What do you care? You’d rather lie there and play the martyr, wouldn’t you, Jack?’

She left the room and though he shouted at the top of his voice, ‘Kitty,
Kitty
! Just you come back here, Kitty Clegg,’ she took not a scrap of notice. For she had suddenly
thought of a way to make him get out of that bed.

‘So, Mr Edward, do you know how to start this thing?’

Kitty was standing in the stackyard looking up at the lumbering bulk of metal, a mystery of boilers and gauges, levers and wheels and a puffing chimney. Standing beside her, leaning on his
walking stick, his injured leg sticking out stiffly to one side, Edward grinned. ‘Well, I reckon with my one leg and two arms and Jack’s one arm and two legs, we ought to be able to
work it.’

Kitty snorted. ‘He won’t get out of his bed.’

Edward’s face sobered for a moment. ‘For the first time in my life, I actually feel sorry for the poor chap. For a strong, healthy man like him to be so terribly injured, well, I can
understand how he must be feeling.’

‘But you’ve been injured and you’re not lying in bed letting others wait on you. And you’ve more reason to than him. After all, you have been injured in the service of
your country, which is more than Jack can say.’

‘I shouldn’t let him hear you saying that, Kitty. You, of all people. Wasn’t that why he had the accident? Because he was raging mad about the white feather business? Maybe
that’s the very reason he is hiding himself away.’

She sighed. ‘It was all part of it, I suppose. And the fact that the best workers have gone to the war and all he’s left with are old men, boys – and me.’

Edward was staring at her. ‘Yes,’ he said, so quietly that she scarcely heard. ‘He’s still got you, Kitty, though he doesn’t deserve such devotion.’

They stood a moment, just looking at each other, until Kitty shook herself and said, ‘We’d best make a start. I’ll get one of the lads to stoke for you and, if you and old
Nathaniel can work out how to get her going, I reckon we ought to get a day’s threshing in.’

When dusk crept into the stackyard,
Sylvie
’s engine died. Two boys slid from the top of the stack, Nathaniel climbed stiffly down from the top of the drum, Edward
from the footplate of the engine and Kitty emerged from the chaff hole, red-eyed with tiredness and covered in dust. The last sack of grain was heaved into the barn.

‘We couldn’t have managed without you,’ Kitty told Edward.

‘D’you know, I’ve quite enjoyed myself,’ he grinned at her, his teeth gleaming white from out of his smut-blackened face. ‘Goodnight, Kitty,’ he added softly,
‘I hope your little ruse works.’

‘So do I,’ she said, smiling in return. ‘Oh so do I.’

When she reached the cottage, it was to find Milly perched on the end of Jack’s bed, while Johnnie played on the floor of the bedroom with six brightly coloured marbles.

‘Fancy leaving the poor man on his own when he can’t even get out of bed,’ Milly said and smiled coyly at Jack. ‘You don’t know how to treat a man, our Kitty.
It’s a good job I came across with a basket of pastries.’

Kitty, bone weary, ignored her barb but thought, Aye, and I expect you saw me from the kitchen window and knew I was in the stackyard all day and that Jack was on his own, except for Johnnie. As
Mrs G. would say, I’m not as green as I’m cabbage-looking. Aloud, all she said was, ‘Come on, Johnnie, downstairs and get yarsen washed for bed.’

‘I came with a message, actually,’ Milly went on. ‘Mrs Harding came to the Manor today but she could see how busy you all were so she asked me to tell you. She’s leaving
at the end of the week. Going back to the Front, I think. Well, back to nursing anyway. She said to say goodbye to you all for her.’

Kitty watched Jack’s face, but he was lying on his back just staring up at the ceiling, almost as if he hadn’t taken in what Milly was saying. Then from behind her came a scuffle and
she turned to see Johnnie scrambling up from the floor, gathering his marbles together and stuffing them into his pocket. He rushed from the room, his small booted feet clomping down the
stairs.

Milly, unaware, prattled on, but Kitty had seen the expression on the young boy’s face as he had hurried past her.

He had looked as if his whole world was about to come crashing down around him.

‘And I saw Mr Edward working that big traction engine,’ Milly was saying. ‘Who would have thought he would ever be well enough to—’

‘What?’ Jack hauled himself upright. ‘What did you say?’

Milly turned wide, innocent eyes upon Jack, though Kitty had the shrewd notion that young Milly was not as naive as she would have everyone believe. ‘Mr Edward Franklin. He was helping
Kitty with the threshing. He was running the traction engine . . .’

‘He was
what
?’ Jack thundered, so that even Kitty quailed momentarily under his rage.

Trying to keep calm, Kitty said, ‘We’ve done a day’s threshing with Mr Edward’s help.’

‘You got that milksop to help you with my
Sylvie
?’

‘What would you have me do? Let it all go to rack and ruin?’

‘Huh! I’m surprised he didn’t blow it up. I bet the rough stuff’s all mixed up with the good grain.’

Patiently, Kitty said, ‘No, it isn’t. I remembered to set the drum up with the spirit levels at the front and on the side.’

‘And the water? Did you keep an eye on the water gauge? If the levels go down, you could melt the lead plug in the fire box, then you’ll have trouble.’

‘One of the lads kept the water coming all day. There was no danger of that happening, I promise you.’

Ignoring Milly’s presence, she sat on the bed then, close to him, and took his hand in hers. ‘But you know, there’s no need to let someone else take charge of
Sylvie
.
You could supervise, Jack. You could teach another man to work her and be on hand all the time. There’s no need to let go of the business that your dad and uncle, and then you, have built up
over the years.’ She paused and then added, so that the decision must come from him, ‘Is there?’

She could see the conflict on his face, see the spark in his dark blue eyes once more and her heart was gladdened by it.

He stared at her for a long moment. Then the smile that had so long been absent curved his mouth and there was a glimpse of the old Jack. He reached up and, with the fingers of his one hand, he
traced the line of her face. ‘D’you know, Kitty Clegg, you’re some woman now. Yes, you’re really some woman.’

Milly bounced off the end of the bed. ‘Oh well, if you two are going to get all lovey-dovey, I’m going.’

‘Bye, Milly,’ Kitty said, but her gaze was on Jack. If he could get back to work, if he could feel useful once more, a real man again, maybe things would be better.

He needed her now, he really needed her more than ever before. Kitty knew she no longer loved Jack with the passion she had once felt for him. But now she pitied the strong, virile man brought
so low by a cruel accident. She would stay with him but now it was not just because she was trapped, bound to him by the secret they shared. Perhaps there was still a chance that they could become
a real family. Jack, his son – and her.

From that day, Jack started to recover his spirits. The following morning he got out of bed and, though it was a struggle and he lost his temper, he dressed himself, even
before Kitty had left the house.

‘Now, don’t try to do too much . . .’ she began.

‘You wanted me out of yon bed. Now ya’ve managed it, so don’t try to be puttin’ me back into it, woman,’ he snapped, trying to pull up his trousers with his one
hand. Though Kitty itched to help him, she stood where she was, keeping her hands firmly by her sides.

He was panting by the time he reached the bottom of the stairs and fell into the wooden chair at the side of the range. His face was pale as he rested his head against the back of the chair, but
there was triumph in his eyes.

‘Keep an eye on Johnnie, won’t you, Jack, now you’re downstairs? He’ll be no trouble, but I don’t want to take him with me today.’

‘All right, all right,’ he muttered testily, still trying to regain his breath and angry to find how much the accident and the weeks in bed had robbed him of his strength.

In the whole of his life Jack Thorndyke had never before felt so weak and useless.

‘Right then, I’ll be off. Anything you want before I go?’

‘No, no. You go. And just mind what your fancy Mister Edward’s doing with my
Sylvie
. Mind he cleans out the boiler tubes and oils up properly. Keep an eye on things. Please,
Kitty.’

Kitty laughed, came to him and planted a kiss on his forehead. ‘I will. She’s in safe hands, I promise you.’

‘She’d better be,’ he growled. ‘I hope he knows what he’s doing. I don’t want him blowing her up.’ Kitty opened her mouth to say, Oh I don’t think
he’ll do that, but the words never passed her lips. Perhaps, she thought deviously, this was what would get Jack back on his feet and out into the stackyard once more. Her eyes narrowed as
she watched him. She could see he was deep in thought.

Avoiding her gaze, he said gruffly, ‘Mebbe I’ll tek a walk over tomorrow.’ He sniffed. ‘Just see what you are all getting up to.’

‘See how you feel.’ Kitty turned away so that he should not see the smile of triumph on her face. ‘It’s our last week at the Manor,’ she said, trying to keep her
tone casual. ‘Next Monday, we’ll have to move to Sir Ralph’s Home Farm and that’s a bit far for your very first walk.’

‘Huh, he’ll never manage
Sylvie
on the road and towing the drum. I’ll have to be there.’

Jack did not manage to walk to the Manor House for three days, although Kitty knew he had tried the very next day after their conversation. She arrived home to find Johnnie
standing at the doorway of the cottage, watching the lane.

‘Mam, Mam,’ he cried, running towards her when he saw her shape looming up out of the dusk. ‘Dad tried to walk to the Manor today, but he got tired. I made him sit down and
then we came home.’

She rested her hand on the boy’s shoulder. ‘Where is he now?’

‘In the kitchen. Ses he can’t make the stairs yet.’

But the following day Jack walked a little further and on the third day he made it to the stackyard behind the Manor House.

All the morning as she had bent almost double to rake the chaff on to the sheet, keeping the hole clear, Kitty had watched for Jack and his son to appear, but it was not until late afternoon
that she saw him walking slowly towards the stackyard. He was alone. Calling to one of the young boys to take her place for a moment, she stepped towards Jack, brushing the dust from her
clothes.