A Kestrel Rising (25 page)

Ilona pulled up next to the lorry and someone spotted her, calling out to the others, “Hey, lads, the food’s here.”

She soon found that there were plenty of willing hands to unload the van and, before too long, she realized that the rest of the day was her own. She politely declined an invitation to stay for lunch and returned to the road. She paused, trying to work out which way she had to go. She turned back toward the west and took her time, searching for the proper turn-off, which was difficult because of the lack of directional signs. She made more than one wrong turning before she found the right road. After a little while the landscape fell into place, once glimpsed landmarks became familiar to her, the crumbling remains of an old barn, even more derelict after three years, a clump of stunted, wind-twisted trees at a high and remote crossroads and, finally, a loosely scattered group of gray, lichen-covered stones at the end of a grassy track. She guided the van onto the track, parked and gazed blankly out of the open window for a while, listening to the wind and the birdsong. There were even bees, humming as they passed across the heather, and their familiar song tugged at her.

“The drowsy bees,” Ilona whispered, waiting until she could summon up the strength she needed. She picked up the book and ran her finger along the spine. She wondered how many times Ian had done the same thing and how many times he had thumbed through the pages. Once she had done this, it would just be another book on her shelf. With a shaky sigh, Ilona opened the door and climbed out, already feeling the tears begin to gather and burn. She remembered so much and he was all around her in the silent tumble of stones. She stood in the hollow where they had lain and gazed at the cloudless sky. It was a flawless summer day. Ian was very near and she felt the lightest of touches on her cheek and thought that she heard her name whispered with longing. She opened the book and read the poem aloud. It was too easy to remember Ian’s voice, reciting it to her in the small, warm hours of the night and up here, after a long and languid hour of lovemaking. Her voice was tight with the tears but she spoke the words as loud as she could.

“
And fare thee weel, my only love.

And fare thee weel a while.

And I will come again, my love

Thou’ it were ten thousand mile.
”

When she finished, she swept the dried fragments of heather into her hand and waited. After a few moments, the breeze rose, swirling around her and she held her hand up and opened it, tossing the faded blossoms into the air. They were caught up in the breeze, spiraling upwards at the moment a kestrel swept past. It called out as it swooped toward the stones then rose again, following the specks into the open sky. She could barely see it through her tears.

“Goodbye, my love,” she whispered, “I love you, but I have to say goodbye. I need to move on… I have to honor my promise.” She did not expect an answer. “I’m so sorry, darling. I miss you so much.” She sank onto the carpet of heather, covered her face with her hands and wept bitterly among the bees.

Ilona wasn’t sure how long she cried, but by the time her tears were spent, her throat felt raw and her eyes stung. She sat in silence for a while, drained and quiet. There was nothing left inside her and the place where she sat was just a circle of stones, carpeted with heather and alive with bees. The wind had dropped and the afternoon was warm. Sheep called out in the silence and there was nothing left, apart from a lingering sweet regret that she knew she would always carry with her. She knew that, somewhere, Ian knew and was happy. She could almost hear his voice whispering how very proud he was of her. She retrieved the book and rose, stiffly. Wiping her eyes, she walked toward the van without looking back.

* * * *

Dear Francis,

I assume you are keeping well as I haven’t heard anything to the contrary. I just wanted to let you know that I have finally bid farewell to the last of my ghosts…

Ilona set the pen down, while music from the wireless drifted across the hut. Terry Allen was singing
I Get Along Without You Very Well
. It did not make the letter any easier to write when she looked out of the window at the pouring rain as it hammered against the glass and rattled on the roof. She was beginning to hate how the rain made her hurt.

So I have done what you asked. I will tell you this, the ghosts of the living will be much harder to vanquish. It will take a long time and it will leave a scar, but there will also be wonderful memories that will be impossible to give up.

I had thought to ask you why I have heard nothing from you and I wanted to tell you how much this silence hurts. In spite of that fact, I don’t regret a single moment that we spent together, even though remembering them brings me pain and bewilderment because I look back over every single moment and wonder what I did that has caused this. I am sorry, Francis, I really am. I thought long and hard about writing this letter, because it goes against the grain to seek answers from someone who is clearly not intent on providing them. I have set aside my pride, the least that you can do is set aside your anger and write to me.

Forgive me. I miss you.

Ilke

She read over the letter and folded it.
The Honky Tonk Train Blues
rang out loudly, one or two of the girls were attempting to dance to it, earning giggles from others, but all she could think about was Francis playing it, very well, at the Woodplumptons’ Christmas party.

“Does anyone have anything that they want posted?” she asked as she shrugged into her coat.

“Me please.” Faith pressed an envelope in her hand, addressed to Sandy. “Are you sure you want to go out in this?” she asked. “It’s dreadful out there.”

“I don’t mind.” Ilona wanted to feel the cold rain against her skin. She stepped into the downpour and hurried toward the post office.

* * * *

Dear Ilke,

I hope you don’t mind me writing to you like this. I feel kind of bad about sneaking around behind Francis’ back. I snuck into his locker and got your address from one of your letters because I think there are things you need to know.

Firstly, he had a bit of an accident. We came back from an escort mission and the landing gear on his plane had been damaged by flack and, as a result, he had a bit of a bumpy landing. He ended up dislocating the same shoulder that he’d damaged in France, as well as breaking a couple of ribs. I can tell you now, there’s nothing worse than Francis is when he isn’t able to fly. We’ve all had to steer clear of him. He hasn’t told any of his family because, he said, he didn’t want anyone worrying about him anymore. I really don’t understand what’s gotten into him. I’m sure your friends told you about our night in the pub, so you know what he’s been like. I’ve tried talking to him about it but he just changes the subject. It’s as if he’s decided that he’d rather lock himself away for the rest of the war, do his job and not have to deal with friends or loved ones.

He had a letter the other day that upset him. He read it, crumpled it up, sat and stared out of the window for the rest of the day. Later, I saw him pick it up, smooth it out and put it in his locker. I miss my friend, and I’m at a loss as to what to do. I reckon you know him better than anyone does. Can you help? I’m just afraid that he might do something reckless and stupid. Now that we can fly farther, we get caught up in a lot of fighting, and he always has been a daredevil. It’s a good thing these Jugs can take a lot of flak and bullets without a problem.

I’ve had a quiet word with the boss and, when Christmas comes ‘round, he’s being sent on leave whether he wants it or not. I hope that if you’re going home, you can talk some sense into him. I’m sorry to write to you out of the blue like this, but I didn’t know what else to do.

Sincerely,

Harry

“Ilke? What’s wrong?” Faith sat on Ilona’s cot as she set down the letter and wiped her eyes.

She handed the letter to Faith with a sigh.

“Now what should I do?” She gazed out of the window. “What is his problem? I don’t understand this at all. I don’t know what to do. He won’t answer my letters and my last one obviously upset him. I suppose I’m going to have to wait for Christmas and hope that he turns up.” She sniffed. “What’s gone wrong, Faith? How can those five days end up costing this much?”

“I don’t know, but I have an idea why he’s acting like this.”

She looked at her, sharply. “I’m open to hearing anything.”

“He’s in love with you.”

“Well, that’s a bloody funny way of showing it.”

“You’ve been hurt once, he knows that and he doesn’t want it to happen to you again. He’s a fighter pilot and he could get killed. From everything that you’ve told me about him and your time together, I reckon I’m right. He knows what you went through with Ian and he knows what you went through when he was shot down. He’s a man, Ilke, and they do a lot of things that don’t make sense to us. He thinks he’s doing the right thing by you. The fact that your last letter upset him says it all. He’s dying to write to you, but he daren’t.”

Ilona considered this and could see the twisted logic behind it. “So what should I do?”

“Wait until Christmas. Don’t seek him out. He’ll come to you. He won’t be able to bear it that you are just down the road and you haven’t tried to get in touch. It will be more than his pride can bear.”

“It’s a long time to wait. From what Harry says, he could be dead by then.”

“He won’t be. He’s stupid, but not that stupid. Be patient and I reckon you will get it sorted between you.”

“I don’t know if I want it sorted. Do I really want to be in love with a man who acts like this?”

“Of course you do. You love him, otherwise you wouldn’t be agonizing over him and worrying. Just write back to Harry and tell him that you’ll take care of things at Christmas.”

Ilona hoped that it would be possible to sort things out between them. She hoped that the twins would occupy everyone’s attention more than any schism between her and Francis.

* * * *

Dear Sister,

Thanks for your last letter, I’m glad that you’re enjoying being at Catterick and that you’re amongst friends up there. I was dead chuffed to hear that you will be home for Christmas. I can’t wait for you to see the twins. They’re changing every day. Mama reckons that, by Christmas, they will be trying to walk, so I will need all the help I can get chasing them around the house. They are bound to want to climb the Christmas tree! Charlie will be home too. There will be a couple of changes, mind. Lady Woodplumpton isn’t having a party this year. Her husband is not well and she’s finally realized that there’s a war on and I think, frankly, it’s all getting a bit too much for her to carry on with some of her traditions. So, the Reardons will probably come to us for Christmas Eve, because, with the twins, it makes it difficult for us to go anywhere. I hope you don’t mind.

Have you heard from Francis? I think something’s up there. The Reardons have had one or two letters from him, but they don’t say much, and Mrs. Reardon is worried about him. Apparently, he used to mention you a fair bit in his letters and now you don’t even merit so much as a sentence so… If there’s something up between the two of you, you’d better confess! I know I’ve teased you in the past, but it seemed, last Christmas, that the two of you were really getting along well, in the romantic sense of the word, and I thought that you made a splendid couple. You are perfect for each other in so many ways. You seemed very happy to be in each other’s company. So, if you feel like telling me, please do so. If not, I’ll understand if you want to keep it private. You know I won’t tell a soul, apart from Charlie, and he thinks the world of you so I know he won’t mention it. I know that Francis is coming home for Christmas because he told the Reardons in his last letter that his CO was making him take the time off.

I had better go. I can hear Nancy. I think she is hungry. That’s another thing with these two. They eat like horses!

Take care and write soon.

Lots of love,

Ash

Ilona put the letter in her jacket pocket and climbed out of the lorry, shivering as the blast of cold wind from the moors howled along the pavement, hurling the detritus of autumn with it, dried leaves and small twigs that spun and rolled across the roads and pathways of the base. There had been no further word from Debden but, as far as she was aware, Francis was still alive because the family bush telegraph would have told her otherwise. She wiped her eyes and looked up at the unrelenting gray sky, at the clouds being torn apart and harried by the bitter wind. She decided that Ash needed to know everything, if only to stop the family from jumping to the wrong conclusions. Ilona just hoped that Christmas would bring an end to the mess, one way or the other.

Chapter Twenty-One

“How on earth do you keep up with these two?” Ilona chased her nephew across the sitting room floor. He wasn’t walking yet, but he could crawl with lightning speed. He was fascinated by the Christmas tree that stood in a corner of the room.

Aislinn laughed. “You learn quickly. I have eyes in the back of my head now. Haven’t you noticed?” She deftly scooped Nancy up before she could try to climb the tree for the second time that day. Her daughter screwed her face up with every intention of screaming until Aislinn diverted her with a doll. She moved her new camera out of Nancy’s reach.