Chaff upon the Wind (48 page)

‘Huh, not for long,’ Miriam said scathingly. ‘From what I hear he played the part of the wounded hero to all the women between here and Timbuktu. Even making out to some who
didn’t know him, that he’d been wounded in the war.’

Kitty sighed. ‘I guessed as much.’

They had been talking almost between themselves, forgetting that Johnnie and Edward were in the room. But then, together, they looked at the boy.

‘So, Johnnie, what now?’ Miriam said with some of the vigour and directness that Kitty remembered so well from her youth. She allowed herself a wistful smile. Miss Miriam had not
changed so completely. She still liked her own way and she wanted her own way now. She wanted her son.

The boy was looking puzzled. ‘I don’t understand?’

‘I want you to come and live with me at the Hall. Sir Ralph knows everything and . . .’

Johnnie was shaking his head. ‘It’s very kind of you, Mrs Harding, but—’

‘But nothing,’ she said quite sharply. ‘Johnnie, I’m your mother.’

‘I understand that, Mrs Harding – Mother.’ The word came awkwardly to his lips and hearing it, Kitty’s heart contracted. But at his next words, words she could hardly
believe she was hearing, tears filled her eyes.

‘I don’t mean to be ungrateful, or to hurt you in any way, because to tell you the truth, I’ve been fascinated by you for a long time. Even from being quite a little
boy.’ He glanced towards Kitty and Edward and smiled mischievously. ‘I seem to remember being found in the hayloft at the Hall once, because I’d gone to see the pretty lady. And
now . . .’ His gaze was again turned to feast upon Miriam’s lovely face as he added softly, ‘And now I find that you’re my mother.’

There was a long pause and, in the silence, Kitty held her breath. Then Johnnie cleared his throat and said, ‘Of course I’d like us to be close, really I would, but . . .’ Now
he took Kitty’s hand into his own and, with an old-fashioned gesture of courtesy and love, he held it to his cheek. ‘But this is me mam. She’s the one who’s always loved me,
the one who’s brought me up and, by the sound of it, suffered a lot because of me. So, I hope you’ll understand if I say that I want to stay with her and . . .’ he looked directly
at Edward, ‘the man I really think of now as me dad.’

Kitty saw the conflicting emotions on Miriam’s face, could see – and understand – her struggle. She found she was holding her breath, waiting for the inevitable outburst, the
red rage that she had witnessed so often.

But Miriam swallowed hard and her voice was husky as she said, ‘I understand. Truly I do. And though I’m – I’m desperately disappointed, I – admire your strength
and your loyalty.’ She looked towards Kitty and caught and held her gaze. ‘It’s no more than your mother richly deserves for her devotion to you.’

Kitty’s lips parted in a little gasp. ‘Oh Miriam,’ she whispered. ‘Miriam.’ It was all she could say, for in those few words Miriam had acknowledged Kitty’s
sacrifice and put another’s feelings before her own desires.

But for Kitty, even through the hardest times, it had never been a sacrifice. It had all been for the love of the tiny baby boy.

Kitty leaned her head against Johnnie’s shoulder and wept again, but now her tears were tears of joy and thankfulness. He was still hers, this boy whom she had loved with such
devotion.

Then a comical look came on to Johnnie’s face as he stared at Edward. ‘Oh heck, I’ve just realized. You’re my uncle. What on earth am I going to call you?’

Edward put his hand on the boy’s shoulder and there was a catch in his voice as he said, ‘Dad will do just fine –
son
.’

Suddenly the four of them were all laughing together.

‘Gran? Grannie Franklin?’

The bedroom door opened and Clare’s merry face appeared around it. ‘
There
you are.’

The girl, sixteen years and one day old, came into the room, closing the door softly behind her. She tiptoed across the thick, fitted carpet just in case the old lady might be dozing. But Kitty
Franklin smiled up into the blue eyes. Clare smiled back and flopped down on to the floor, resting her arms on her grandmother’s lap. ‘What are you doing, hiding away up here? The
party’s about to start. Mother and Auntie Amy are flapping in the kitchen, worrying that the potatoes are overdone, or that the sprouts aren’t done enough, and Dad’s struggling to
open the champagne.’ She paused and then searched the lined face. ‘You are all right, aren’t you, Gran?’

The wrinkled hand rested briefly upon the girl’s springy black curls, but the voice was vigorous, still youthful even. ‘Of course I am. I just came up to have a few moments to
myself.’ Her eyes hazed. ‘Just to remember, you know.’

The girl said gently, ‘Of course, you must have a lot of memories. Especially on a day like today.’

Kitty nodded. ‘Oh yes. A lot of memories, dear.’

As if reading her thoughts, Clare said, ‘Grannie Harding’s arrived.’ She chuckled and leaned forward, sharing a secret. ‘I’m surprised you didn’t hear the
commotion.’

Kitty’s smile broadened and she tapped Clare playfully on the nose. ‘Naughty girl,’ she murmured, but then she, too, leaned forward, a glint of mischief in her eyes. ‘I
did. Why do you think I’m up here?’

Clare giggled and their two foreheads touched in a gesture of affection.

‘I suppose I’d better come down and welcome her, then,’ Kitty said, leaning back again but making not the slightest effort to move.

‘I am lucky, you know,’ Clare said suddenly.

‘Well, yes,’ her grandmother agreed, teasing. ‘You’re spoilt to death by your doting parents and your grandad.’ She chuckled. ‘And I suppose I’m as
guilty as any of them. But why, particularly?’

‘Having
three
grannies instead of the usual two.’ Impulsively, the girl knelt up and kissed the weathered cheek. ‘And they’re all such sweet old dears.’

Kitty chuckled. ‘We weren’t always such “sweet old dears” as you put it. At least, not your Grannie Harding and me. I can’t speak for your mother’s mother,
because I’ve only known her for a few years.’

‘Well,’ Clare persisted, ‘you’re a couple of darlings now, anyway.’

‘Why, thank you, dear,’ Kitty bowed her head graciously, her eyes twinkling. ‘I think your Grannie Harding would be most amused by that description.’

There were no secrets, not now, not in this generation. Clare was Johnnie’s daughter, his only child, and the girl knew that her blood grandmother was Miriam Harding, but Kitty and Edward
had always been Gran and Grandad.

‘I know I shouldn’t ask,’ the girl began a little hesitantly. ‘Not today of all days. Not on your golden wedding day . . .’

She paused until Kitty prompted, ‘It’s all right, dear. It’s all so long ago and I’ve had such a wonderfully happy life with your grandad . . .’ Her face clouded
for a moment, ‘Except, of course, when your uncle Joe was killed in the war.’

Joe, Kitty and Edward’s elder son, had been shot down in 1943 leaving a wife and tiny baby, Eddie.

‘You brought Eddie up, didn’t you?’

Kitty nodded, smiling fondly. ‘Joe’s wife, Pearl, was only twenty when he was killed and she came to live here at the Manor with us.’

‘She married a GI after the war, didn’t she, and emigrated to America?’ Clare said, seeking confirmation of the family stories she had been told.

Kitty nodded.

‘And left Eddie with you?’

‘Yes,’ Kitty said simply, remembering how she had felt at the time. Another baby for her to love and to bring up as her own. In a way, she had been grateful to Pearl for leaving him
in her care, even though she hadn’t wanted to see the child’s mother go.

‘And now he’s all grown up,’ Clare grinned. ‘
And
courting.’

Kitty smiled. ‘It looks like it. I’m glad he brought his girlfriend today. Pat seems a nice girl, doesn’t she?’

Clare nodded enthusiastically. ‘Oh yes. I do hope there’s going to be a family wedding soon and maybe you’ll be a
great
-grandmother. Wouldn’t that be
something?’

‘It would indeed,’ Kitty murmured.

Clare scrambled to her feet and stood by the window. ‘Look, they’re all down there in the garden. Aren’t you going down? Grandad keeps glancing up at this window as if
he’s looking for you.’

Kitty smiled gently at the thought, but said, ‘What was it you wanted to ask me, dear? We seemed to get on to something else.’

‘I just wondered – what happened to my real grandfather?’

‘To Threshing Jack?’

‘Is that what they called him?’

Kitty nodded and explained. Then she shook her head and murmured, ‘Poor Milly. Poor, poor Milly.’

‘Auntie Milly?’ the girl asked. ‘But she lives in a cottage near the station, doesn’t she? What had she got to do with him?’

Kitty glanced up, surprised. ‘Don’t you know? Oh, I thought you knew the whole story.’

‘I thought I did, but obviously not that bit. What about Auntie Milly?’

‘She ran away with him. Full of high hopes that he would marry her . . .’ Her voice dropped. ‘Just like I’d had once.’ She cleared her throat and continued more
strongly. ‘She came back here years later, nothing but skin and bone and so dreadfully ill. It took us six months’ nursing to get her right. And, of course, Jack’d never married
her like he promised. Poor Milly,’ she said again.

‘Didn’t she ever get married, then? To anyone, I mean?’

Kitty shook her head. ‘No. She stayed with us for a while until she was well again. My father would have nothing to do with her, you see. Then she went back into service. She was at
Nunsthorpe Hall at first. Miriam was very kind and gave her a job. Then she went to work in a big house in Derbyshire as a cook. It was only when she retired that she came back to Tresford
again.’

‘Is she coming today?’

‘Oh yes, she’ll be here.’

‘But what happened to Threshing Jack?’

‘Goodness only knows,’ she began tartly, but then there was a tiny hint of wistfulness as she added, ‘I don’t suppose we’ll ever know now.’ She stared out of
the window. ‘You know, Clare, you never quite forget your first love. Of course, it’s the last love that really counts. The one that endures down the years, the faithfulness, the
devotion – that’s the one that matters, but you never forget the love of your youth when all the days were warm and golden and the nights . . .’ Her voice faded away and the old
lady closed her eyes.

Afraid that she had asked too much, Clare moved from the window, bent and kissed her grandmother’s forehead again. ‘I’m sorry, Gran. I shouldn’t have asked you. Not
today.’

Kitty opened her eyes and clasped the girl’s hand. ‘It’s all right, really. You run along and tell your grandad I’ll be down in a moment.’

‘All right.’

The door banged behind her and Kitty heard her feet clattering down the stairs.

Young ones, she thought with indulgent affection. They always seemed so noisy. What would dear old Mrs Grundy have said?

She rested her head against the back of the chair and let her gaze wander through the open window into the garden below.

They were all there now, enjoying the last of the day’s sunshine as the shadows lengthened in the walled garden before they came indoors for the dinner party in honour of Edward and
her.

Her gaze rested on their second son, Harry. He was talking earnestly to his father, beating one fist against the palm of his other hand as he emphasized every word. He was planning to stand for
Parliament at the next election.

Well, if he gets in, Kitty thought, he’ll make a good politician. He has a lot of his aunt Miriam in him. Kitty’s smile broadened. Her and her Votes for Women. Just look at all the
trouble that had caused.

And she’d gone on causing trouble or, at least, always being in the thick of it. Miriam had driven an ambulance in the blitz in London and in the early ’fifties she had gone out to
Korea. Even now, she could be relied upon to join a demonstration if she believed the cause to be worthwhile.

Kitty watched her walking down the long path towards Edward, kissing his cheek and then linking her arm through his to stand beside him, listening to Harry holding forth.

Then Kitty’s gaze came around to Johnnie. It didn’t seem possible that he was in his mid-fifties, with hair as white as Edward’s. He was down there now, with all of them,
sitting on the seat at the very end of the garden. Contentedly puffing on his pipe, his arms folded across his chest and his long legs stretched out in front of him, he was watching the younger
children, Harry’s three and Amy’s two, playing a lively game of tag.

‘Now come on, Dad.’ Even from here, she could hear Johnnie’s deep voice plainly. ‘Come and sit down. When Harry gets on his soap box, it’s enough to wear anyone
out.’

It still gave Kitty a thrill to hear him call Edward ‘Dad’ with such ease. She watched Edward move towards the seat and pretend to collapse on to it, breathless, his hand on his
chest.

She leaned forward, suddenly concerned, the smile frozen on her lips. And then she saw him catch sight of her at the window of his old room and he raised his fingers to his lips and blew her a
kiss.

She waved in return and relaxed once more. He was all right, he was only teasing them.

She half closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the cushion. Their happy voices came to her and she imagined they came from the stackyard beyond the wall. She heard the sound of a car
and in her memory the sound changed to the throbbing of a threshing engine. She could almost smell the dust and the chaff floating in the air, drifting in through her open window. And she
remembered the tall, handsome man, his black hair shining in the sunlight and a glint in his eye for a pretty girl . . .

And she was young again.

Born in Gainsborough, Lincolnshire, Margaret Dickinson moved to the coast at the age of seven and so began her love for the sea and the Lincolnshire landscape.

Her ambition to be a writer began early and she had her first novel published at the age of twenty-five. This was followed by twelve further titles, including
Plough the
Furrow, Sow the Seed
and
Reap the Harvest
which together make up her Lincolnshire Fleethaven trilogy and her most recent novel,
The Miller’s Daughter
. Married with two
grown-up daughters, Margaret Dickinson combines a busy working life with her writing career.