Moonlight and Ashes (38 page)

‘Nurse.’

She hurried across to him with a smile on her face though he knew she must be feeling exhausted.

‘Is there any chance of you getting hold of some paper and a pen for me, please?’

‘Of course there is - but not tonight, eh? Let’s wait until tomorrow when you’ve properly recovered from your operation. I can help you to write a letter then if you like?’

He grinned. ‘I don’t think that will be necessary, thanks. I can write, you know.’

‘But . . .’ Her voice trailed away as she stared at him sadly.

‘But what? What were you about to say?’

‘Oh, nothing. Let’s leave it until tomorrow when the doctor’s been to see you. Now, is there anything else you’d like me to get you?’

‘A pint of bitter wouldn’t go amiss,’ he told her with a twinkle in his eye.

She laughed as she straightened the cover on his bed. ‘I’m afraid bitter isn’t on the menu here. But I
could
get you a nice cold glass of water.’

‘I dare say that’ll have to do then,’ he sighed, and she pottered away as he sank back into the pillows.

During the night he found himself caught in the grip of a terrible nightmare and he tossed and turned until his blankets were in a tangle all about him. He was on the battlefield again and Sam was there pointing a gun at him. But Sam was his
brother
- why would he want to shoot him?

‘Private Bright . . . David, wake up. You’re having a nightmare.’ The voice made his eyes blink open. Slowly he looked around him, and as he realised where he was, he tried to raise his arm to swipe the sweat from his brow. A bandaged stump that finished just below the elbow confronted him and for a moment he stared at it in stark disbelief.

‘Wh . . . where’s my arm?’
he gasped incredulously. The young nurse scurried away, only to return seconds later with a weary-faced doctor in a white coat that was spotted with blood.

‘Private Bright.’ His voice held all the weight of the world. ‘I was going to come and see you in the morning, but seeing as you’re awake I may as well tell you now. I’m afraid the injury you received to your arm had turned gangrenous by the time they brought you in. I had no choice but to amputate - but in fact you’ve been very lucky. Had it been left any longer, it could have killed you.’

David tried to take in what he was saying. ‘
Lucky
? Are you mad, man? You’re standing there telling me you’ve chopped my arm off and you’re telling me I’m
lucky
? How am I going to manage? I’ll be a bloody cripple. No good to neither man nor beast!’

Hearing the panic in his voice, the doctor tried to soothe him. He had been through this exact same thing more times than he cared to remember, and was heart-sick of it. ‘It won’t be as bad as you think, once you get used to it,’ he assured him, but David wasn’t listening, for suddenly in his mind’s eye he could see Sam staring at him, his finger poised on the trigger of his rifle, ready to fire. It was
Sam
who had shot him. He closed his eyes as it all came flooding back and tears crept from beneath his lids to roll down his cheeks. It hadn’t been a nightmare at all. It had been true; it had really happened. Turning on his side, he began to sob.

 

In the neat parlour of the vicarage, Miss Williams sipped at her tea from a dainty cup and saucer.

‘I have to say I’m very concerned about Blodwyn,’ she confided to Mrs Wigley, who was sitting opposite her. ‘I know she’s going through a trying time, what with losing Daffyd an’ all, but I wonder if it’s wise to leave young Lizzie Bright there. The poor woman seems to be a little . . . unhinged?’

‘I know exactly what you mean,’ Myfanwy Wigley replied. ‘But shock does funny things to people and everyone reacts differently. She seems very attached to the child, and my fear is that if we move her, Blodwyn might feel she has no one at all. Perhaps it would be wise to delay the decision about the child’s future until after the funeral?’

‘Well . . .’ Miss William’s voice was filled with uncertainty. ‘The trouble is, young Lizzie seems so unhappy. She could barely concentrate at school today and she looked as if she were ready to burst into tears at any minute. Of course, I feel desperately sorry for Blodwyn too, but as the billeting officer for the evacuees, my main concern is for the children.’

Both women lapsed into silence as they pondered on the dilemma, until eventually, Miss Williams said, ‘Very well then. We’ll wait until the funeral is over. But I have to warn you, if Lizzie is still unhappy then, I shall have no choice but to find her alternative accommodation.’

 

As the day of the funeral approached, the little village of Sarn-Bach went into mourning.

Eric noticed that Danny was unusually quiet, and on the eve of the funeral he finally asked him, ‘Is something troubling you, lad?’ The child had barely touched his meal, which was unusual for him.

Danny’s chin drooped onto his chest as he nodded miserably. ‘It’s Lizzie. She ain’t very happy living with Mrs Evans any more.’

‘Why’s that then?’

The boy shrugged. ‘Ever since Mr Evans died, Lizzie reckons Mrs Evans has been actin’ a bit strange.’

‘In what way?’

‘Well, she calls Lizzie “Megan” all the time now - that’s the name of her little girl who died - an’ she makes Lizzie wear the clothes that belonged to her. She’s even cut her hair. She told Lizzie it was to tidy it up, but Lizzie reckons she did it to try an’ make her look even
more
like Megan.’

Eric’s brow creased with concern. ‘Has this been happening just since she lost Mr Evans?’

Danny’s head wagged from side-to-side. ‘No, it were happenin’ before, but since he died it’s got worse. She won’t let Lizzie out of her sight an’ even followed her to the toilet last night.’

‘I see.’ Eric stood staring thoughtfully out of the window for a few minutes before asking tentatively, ‘How do you think Lizzie would feel about coming to stay with us for a while?’

‘What? Do yer
really
mean it?’ Danny asked incredulously, and before stopping to think, he launched himself at Eric and threw his arms around his waist.

Eric felt his cheeks flame; it felt nice to have someone show him some affection. ‘I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t mean it,’ he told Danny gruffly, as unfamiliar feelings fluttered to life inside him. ‘What say we wrap up and go and ask her? Mrs Evans might be glad of the break, with the funeral so close. We’ll have to walk down into the village though. There’s no way we’d get the car through the drifts.’

Danny was struggling into his Wellington boots before Eric had even finished speaking, terrified that he might change his mind.

By the time they reached the bottom of the hill, they were breathless, and their cheeks were glowing from the cold snow that was blowing into their faces. As Danny began to tire he reached out to grasp Eric’s hand and the man looked down at him in embarrassment. His first instinct was to shake Danny off, and yet the small hand nestled in his own felt so comforting that he walked on in silence. As he suddenly thought of the newspaper hidden behind the cushions back at home, guilt flooded through him. What if the twins’ mother had been killed during the Blitz? What would happen to them then?

Pushing the thought away, he bent his head and they proceeded through the village in silence. When they finally reached the blacksmith’s cottage, Eric rapped sharply on the door and seconds later he heard the sound of the bolts being drawn. Mrs Evans peered through a gap in the door at them and it was all Danny could do not to gasp aloud.

Her hair was standing out around her head in lank unruly wisps, and she looked as if she hadn’t washed for days. Her eyes had a wild look about them that sent shudders up Danny’s spine, and he was reminded of the witch in the picture books his mother had used to read to him and Lizzie when they were little.

Danny shrank into Eric’s side at the curt tone of her voice.

Nonplussed, Eric stared back at her. ‘I know this is a difficult time for you, Mrs Evans, but there’s something I’d like to discuss with you.’

‘Can’t it wait?’

‘Not really.’

Tutting with annoyance, she said, ‘Then you’d better get on with it.’

‘May we come in? I have Danny with me and it is rather cold out here.’

A refusal hovered on her lips, but then she became aware of Lizzie, who had come to stand at her side. The girl was gazing past Eric to Danny with a look of yearning on her face, and having no wish to upset her, Blodwyn opened the door and allowed them to step inside.

‘What is it you want to discuss then?’ she asked shortly. ‘I’m burying my husband tomorrow and am in no mood to stand here making small talk, I can assure you.’

Eric decided to get straight to the point. ‘I was wondering if it would be a help to you if I took Lizzie to stay with Danny and myself for a few days?’

Her eyes almost started from her head. ‘And why would I want you to do that?’ She glared at him indignantly. ‘Sure, Lizzie is fine company for me at the minute.’

Eric glanced at Danny just in time to see his face fall and decided to try again. ‘I thought you might need some time to yourself. And besides that, I think Danny and Lizzie would enjoy being under the same roof again, if only for a short time.’

‘Then you thought
wrong
, Mr Sinclair. I can assure you that Lizzie and I are fine as we are, and certainly don’t need your interference. So if that is all you’ve come to say, I’ll thank you to leave now.’

Eric looked helplessly from Lizzie to Danny, but seeing no option other than to do what the woman asked, he turned around and opened the door.

‘I’m sorry if I’ve upset you,’ he apologised. ‘It was certainly not my intention. Now I’ll wish you good night.’

The door slammed so quickly behind him that he felt the wind of it as he grinned wryly at Danny. ‘I think that’s what you call being sent away with a flea in your ear,’ he told him, then hand-in-hand they began the long journey home.

 

On the morning of the funeral there was no let-up in the weather and the snow continued to fall in a great white sheet that obliterated the landscape. Curtains were kept tightly drawn as the gravediggers began the unenviable task of digging the grave. It took two of them the whole morning, for the ground was frozen solid. As quickly as they threw the earth out of the grave, it filled up with snow again and their patience began to ebb. But at last it was done and they threw a tarpaulin across the gaping hole and hurried away to warm themselves at their fire-sides.

The road to Pwllheli had been blocked for days so it was decided that four of the village men would carry Daffyd Evans’s body from the small chapel that nestled in the hillside at the side of the church, to his final resting-place. There was little choice, for the hearse and the undertakers from Pwllheli couldn’t have gotten through the snowdrifts even if they had wanted to.

The village school was closed for the day as a mark of respect, and as the solemn procession through the little village began, Lizzie found her small hand gripped tight in Mrs Evans’s larger one.

She was thrilled to see Danny and Eric standing at the gate of the church, and she flashed Eric a tremulous smile. Lizzie’s small heart had pounded with anticipation at the thought of being with Danny again. Perhaps after the funeral was over Mrs Evans might change her mind and decide that she
did
need some time to herself after all. The girl clung to this hope as Danny gazed at her sympathetically.

Eric placed his hand on the boy’s shoulder and squeezed it reassuringly, and Danny smiled up at him as the congregation trooped silently into the small picturesque church. The time had come to lay Daffyd Evans to rest.

A furious hammering on the front door early on a cold and frosty morning brought Doris bustling down the stairs, cursing as she went.

‘Keep yer bloody ’air on!’ she shouted peevishly as she struggled with the bolts. Tightening the belt of her old candlewick dressing-gown, she patted the metal curlers on her head and yanked the door open to find Beryl Bright smiling from ear to ear on the doorstep.

‘Let me in, love,’ Beryl pleaded. ‘It’s enough to freeze yer socks off out ’ere.’ Before Doris had a chance to reply, Beryl had shot past her into the kitchen and demanded, ‘Where’s our Maggie?’

‘Upstairs in bed, where all god-fearin’ folks should be at this time o’ the mornin’,’ Doris snapped back at her. Suddenly, to her amazement, Beryl caught her around the waist and began to dance her around the room.

‘I’ve just had the most
wonderful
news!’ Her delight was so infectious that Doris found herself grinning despite the fact that she was none too pleased at being dragged out of bed.

‘Well, if it’s that good, I’d better go an’ fetch her then. God knows it’s about time we had some good news fer a change. Stick the kettle on, Beryl. I’ll be back in a jiffy.’

She shuffled away back up the stairs as Beryl sighed at the mountain of washing up, stacked on the wooden draining board. But then she grinned again. What did it matter? Nothing mattered today, after the wonderful telegram that she had just received. Upstairs, she could faintly hear voices, and minutes later, Maggie and Jo emerged from the stairs door. Jo was rubbing the sleep from her eyes and was as pale as a ghost, and Maggie didn’t look much better.

‘Christ, what a pair!’ Beryl exclaimed. ‘Still, never mind. If the news I’ve brought yer don’t put a smile on yer faces, then nothin’ will.’

Maggie eyed her curiously but Jo suddenly pressed her hand across her mouth and made a bolt for the back door. Beryl watched her go but Maggie, in no mood for niceties, demanded sharply, ‘Spit it out then, this good news, whatever it is.’

Fumbling in her bag, Beryl produced a telegram with a flourish and began to wave it in the air. ‘This came this mornin’. It’s about David. They’ve found him an’ he’s alive.’