Luckpenny Land (41 page)

‘I can’t help it. Kath and I have been friends all our lives, it’s hard to reject her even now. I’m sure she never meant it to happen. We were all too close, that’s all.’

Tam raised one eyebrow in disbelief. ‘What about Jack? How do you feel about him now?’

Meg dipped her head, not wanting to answer or even consider the question too closely, yet even that simple gesture seemed to exasperate him.

‘Don’t hang your head like that, Meg. The shame is not yours.’

Deep down she knew that worrying over Kath and Jack was all tangled up with her own self-pity. So long as she centred her thoughts upon feeling sorry for them, she didn’t have to think of her own pain, or the future and how she would cope without Jack. She knew it was over between them, that she must learn to face life without him, but the prospect was bleak and daily brought fresh pain to her heart. What did she care about the farm now, without Jack? What did she care about anything?

During the long hot summer everyone feared the south of England was about to be invaded but September dawned and though the battles still raged over London, here in Westmorland the quietness of the coming autumn hung in the air, an almost guilty peace. In the woodlands the red squirrels were busily burying their nuts, constantly chittering reminders to themselves not to forget. Even the youngest stags wore their hard antlers as they cleared the after grass following the hay harvest, and sleek young foxes learned to hunt alone.

In the first week of September, Effie handed Mrs Davies a basket of fruit and vegetables with a satisfied flourish. ‘All home grown,’ she said.

The scent of fresh fruit rose tantalisingly to Hetty Davies’s nostrils, seeming to fill the small church. She looked at the girl before her and laid aside the bronze chrysanthemums she was arranging in a vase on the altar table. Chrysanths were always lovely at this time of year, and Will had quite a talent for growing them, something not everyone had. ‘You do realise we’re not having a harvest festival as such this year?’

‘I hear folk are bringing stuff, all the same.’

‘Those who can afford it. But nothing like we usually have, not with the war and the shortages, oh dear me, no.’ Mrs Davies offered a kindly, if slightly embarrassed, smile to Effie. She was sorry they’d got this trouble at Broombank. Hetty had always liked Meg and had felt a keen disappointment that she’d turned out to be, well, just as silly-headed as all the rest, as you might say. She hadn’t felt it right to call, since she’d heard.

But Effie was still talking. ‘Sending the produce to a children’s home, I heard. That right?’

‘Perfectly correct.’

‘Then I’ll leave them, if it’s all the same to you. And Mrs D, I’d just like to say as how I’m right sorry my tongue ran away with me in the queue that time. I were that mad, I don’t know what come over me. Only it didn’t seem fair, what people were saying about Meg.’

Mrs Davies cleared her throat and a well of pity rose in her ample breast. Who was she to cast the first stone, even if it were all true? What she wouldn’t give for a baby half so delightful as this one was said to be, from those who’d been lucky enough to catch a glimpse. Hadn’t she and Will longed for just such a child? Once upon a time.

‘There’s no need to apologise. No need at all. Perhaps I should be the one to apologise to you. Gossiping is a dreadful sin, and I should have known better than to think such things about our poor, dear Meg.’ Her round cheeks were crimson with embarrassment.

Effie smiled. ‘It don’t do Meg no good, no good at all, to have everyone taking sides against her when she’s only doing her best to make a go of things. Hasn’t she enough trouble, with Joe Turner on her back?’

‘Oh, indeed, yes. A most dreadful man.’ Appalled by what she had just said, Hetty cleared her throat. ‘I mean...’

‘It’s all right. I know exactly what you mean. I agree with yer. I wondered if happen you could let it get round like, about the baby coming from just such a children’s home in Liverpool? Greenlawns, it were called.’ So there, said the tone, as if adding a name gave truth to the tale of an orphan child plucked from the jaws of almost certain death and uncaring deprivation by Meg’s caring hand.

‘I will indeed, Effie. I will indeed.’ Mrs Davies’s flushed face became very still. Perhaps they might have other babies needing a home? No, she shook the idea away. She was far too old now for sleepless nights, and she and Will were comfortable enough as they were. But she could at least help Meg, try to make up for her own unkind remarks.

Effie was anxious to go, but there was one other matter needing to be settled. ‘Meg says as how you can call and see our Lissa any time. Mebbe you might like to take her for a walk.’

Hetty’s cheeks now went quite pink with pleasure. ‘Oh, that would be lovely. I’ll be round tomorrow, if that’s all right?’

‘I was wondering if you might feel able to do a bit more than that, Mrs Davies.’ Dark eyes, large and beseeching, gazed up into the woman’s enquiring gaze.

‘Oh?’

‘Well, the thing is I have to be in school much of the day. Meg’s busy about the farm, proper thrang she calls it; Sally Ann is up to her ears with her own bairn, not to mention looking after that lot at Ashlea. It might be a bit cheeky to ask, but it crossed my mind like, that you’d happen be willing to have our Lissa for an hour or two each morning? Just to give Meg a chance to get on. She could manage her in the afternoons, till I got home.’

‘Oh,’ Mrs Davies breathed, too stunned to speak for a moment. ‘Oh, yes. I would like that. I would like that very much.’

Effie beamed and stuck out a hand, rather grubby and stained red from the blackberry picking. ‘It’s a deal then?’

Mrs Davies regarded the hand rather cautiously for a second, then shook it firmly. ‘It’s a deal. Oh, my word, yes, it is indeed. And thank you for the fruit,’ she called as Effie departed, flourishing an airy wave.

Hetty Davies returned, quite flustered, to her flowers, but her mind was no longer on the beauty of the chrysanths. ‘Now I wonder if Will ever threw that big old black pram away that we kept up in the loft all those years...’ She’d look it out, the moment she got home.

It was Rust, strangely enough, who helped turn the tide of Meg’s depression. The dog was making a good recovery, thanks to the services of the veterinary and the care he received at home afterwards, fussed and spoiled by everyone. He now managed to lollop about the farmyard on three legs, rarely putting down the fourth, which poked out at an odd angle, not entirely under control. By her side at all times, he was ever her comfort and her joy.

Then one morning Meg collected the other farm dogs ready to go up the high fells to check on the sheep. ‘Don’t let him out for an hour at least, till I’m long gone.’ She rubbed his head affectionately. ‘You’re retired now, old friend, no longer a working dog. Rest easy.’

Meg set off, the other dogs at her heels, reaching the flock on the high fells some forty minutes later. She stood, crook in hand, as the dogs ran, or waited at her command. But then some movement in the distance caught her eye, and there he was: a streak of black and tan racing up the hillside, running in his own odd and peculiar way.
 

Rust barely paused long enough to greet her before getting down to work, as he had always done. But then how could she possibly manage without him?

Meg shook her head in disbelief. ‘Would you look at that? Never say die, eh, lad?’

Oh, but she was glad of his courage, for she needed his solid friendship by her. It came to her then that if a dog could bravely put injury behind him and soldier on, couldn’t she summon up the same fighting spirit? Easier said than done perhaps, but she could at least try.
 

That day as she worked her flock, Meg realised that no matter what the cost she would find the strength to build her life again and put the past behind her. She had lost her best friend, and the man she had loved and hoped to marry, but she still had a life to be lived. She still had Effie, and Rust. Most of all she still had the farm and her sheep.

She still had her dream.

She would focus now on turning Broombank into the best sheep farm in the district. In spite of the war, her bully of a father, and a jealous brother. She’d do it or die in the attempt.

This decision brought such a blinding delight, such a joy to her heart, that Meg knew, in that moment, she would indeed survive.

On a beautiful morning like this with puffs of white cloud marching over Striding Edge, she knew this was the best place in the world to be. She did indeed have a future, here at Broombank. No matter what pain and hurt Jack and Kath had caused her in their youthful carelessness, she could overcome it. She might, one day, even find someone to share it with her.

‘Were you wanting a permanent job?’ Meg asked Tam, and waited, stomach muscles clenched, for his response.

Tam stopped scraping grass from the mower long enough to glance up at Meg. The harvest was in, not as good as it might have been because of the drought at just the wrong time, but at least there would be oats and hay for the stock this winter. It had crossed his mind that it was time to move on, but hadn’t yet fixed on a date. He continued steadily with his task. ‘I don’t generally make permanent arrangements. I come and go when I choose.’

Meg sat on a stone wall, smoothing the yellow lichen with her fingers, trying to organise her thoughts so that she might find the most persuasive words. She needed Tam to stay. He was a good worker, and strong. There was no denying she needed some muscle about the place. She’d little hope of carrying out her plan without some form of male assistance, much as she might balk at the idea. And labour was hard to come by just now. Besides all of that, she trusted him and that counted for a great deal these days.

She also liked him, rather a lot, although Meg didn’t care to consider at this stage quite what an effect his presence in the house made upon her. Enough to say that he was cheerful, kind and friendly. Good for morale, as the government posters would say. And she really didn’t want him to leave.

Meg cleared her throat. ‘I wouldn’t normally push you for a decision, only it’s been such a hard year, one way and another, and I have to make plans, d’you see, to survive.’ Then in case this wasn’t quite positive enough, she added, ‘I mean to do well, but I’m not so stupid I don’t realise I need help.’

Now the teasing laughter was back in his eyes. ‘Well, isn’t that something for the proud Meg Turner to admit she needs help?’

Meg felt her mouth twitch at the corners. It was going to be all right, she just knew it. ‘I might even be able to pay you soon. Though not much, I’m afraid.’

‘That’d make a welcome change, to be sure. This is to be your way of coping then, is it? Your personal battle.’

‘Don’t tease me, I’m serious.’ Meg blinked rapidly. ‘I can’t bear to think of Charlie being taught to fight in the skies. I can’t do anything to help him, or any of the others up there. But I can do my bit here for the war effort. This is my place. My home. My way of life.’

Meg dipped her head, not wanting him to see her vulnerability. ‘I miss Lanky, badly. He knew everything there was to know about sheep farming, and about Broombank. His family has worked this land for generations. I owe it to him not to give up. I have to make a go of it because if I don’t it will be as if I’d flung his generosity back in his face, and that would be terrible. I look at my Luckpenny every night and remember his faith in me.

‘He couldn’t go on because he was too ill, but he thought I could. He handed his good fortune on to me. Lanky believed in me, you see so I must believe in myself. No one else ever has.’

She lifted her face to his and Tam quite forgot he was supposed to be cleaning and oiling the mower, preparatory to putting it away for the winter. ‘I believe in you.’ Where had those words come from? Tam was astonished that they’d popped out of his mouth without even a thought. ‘I believe you can do anything you want to do. But if you’re serious about making a go of this place there’ll be no room for sentiment.’

‘I realise that.’

‘Farming is a hard business. Are you tough enough?’

Her lips curved into a smile, tremulous, sensual, beguiling, and a sudden need raged through him, leaving his hands shaking so that he felt obliged to put down the oil can he was holding and pay excessive attention to wiping them on an old rag.

‘I don’t know, but I’m learning. How can anyone know if they are up to a job until they try? I want to try. Besides how I feel about Lanky leaving me Broombank, I have Effie to think about, and now Melissa, but also I want - need - to do this for myself. I’ve always felt the desire to be independent, to prove myself. This is my opportunity and I mustn’t give up just because life is tough.’

‘There’ll be no medals at the end of it.’

‘I know that.’ She smiled. ‘Grinding hard work in all weathers with little cash in hand. What I want to know is, does it bother you?’

‘Bother me?’

‘Working for a woman?’

Tam fought his thoughts back into order. He’d never worked for a woman before, let alone one as entrancing as this one. But if he was to stay, and there were worse places to spend the war, this relationship must be strictly business. Meg Turner might look homely enough at first glance, childlike almost with her hair all tied up with string and herself dressed in scruffy overalls much of the time. But a second glance, a smile from those lovely lips, and a man could forget his manners in a moment. ‘So long as you realise I’m as independent as yourself.’