For All Our Tomorrows (44 page)

When she reached it, some thirty or forty feet from the cabin, the blaze of colour from the autumn leaves faded into shadow, growing ever darker as she cautiously edged her way further into the forest.

Bette glanced back at Matthew. She mustn’t go too far, must keep him in sight. A red squirrel leapt in front of her, making her jump, and then laugh, as it suddenly scampered pell-mell up the trunk of the nearest tree along a branch and seemed to fly over onto the next one, like an aerial acrobat.

‘How clever you are, Mr Squirrel. I wish I could do that.’

Bette listened. Surely that was water she could hear somewhere in the distance, a spring perhaps.

If only Chad would come, then she might feel brave enough to explore further.

She adored that lovely tang which reminded her of autumn at home, of the bonfire they would build every Guy Fawkes night up at Windmill, treacle toffee and roast chestnuts. Why, here was a chestnut tree, laden with nuts.

Delighted to have found something which reminded her of home, Bette stepped further into the undergrowth to pull some from the tree, greedily picking as many as she could reach, gathering up her skirt to hold them. The forest smelled so fresh and moist, sharp with the tang of pine as if someone really were having a bonfire with that tantalising aroma of wood-smoke.

She whirled about, eyes growing wide with horror as she saw smoke pouring from the window of the out-kitchen, mere feet from where Matthew was sleeping.

Bette was running, scattering the chestnuts, falling over her own feet in her frantic anxiety to reach her baby. The garden seemed to have lengthened to fifty feet, seventy, eighty, twice its actual length and Bette felt as if she were running in slow motion, making no progress at all.

She heard a loud crack as something inside the kitchen exploded. The old cooker perhaps, and she flung herself the last few feet.

She had him, swept up tight in her arms, crib and all, but the fire was getting worse, would quickly spread. She ran back down the garden and set it down some distance from the cabin where he would be safe.

Snatching up the water bucket Bette ran to the big water barrel by the door, refilling it over and over again to dowse the flames now licking the edge of the kitchen roof. When that was almost empty, she tossed the eggs and cheese aside, dipped the bucket in the well and used that water too. She beat at the fire with the broom, gasping and choking with the smoke, feeling her cheeks and hands blister with the heat till at last there was nothing left but a charred ruin where once had been the kitchen.

She collapsed on to the grass, black with her efforts and weak with exhaustion, the baby’s cries ringing in her ears. But at least she’d saved the cabin, and also the forest. She’d managed to contain the fire and not let it spread.
 

Bette spent much of those next week curled on her bed in shock, the baby beside her, either in a welter of tears or snatching what sleep she could between feeds. From time to time, because it was important to keep up her flow of milk, she would climb down the ladder to find food, which she ate without appetite, standing up, before creeping back up the ladder again.

There was very little of it left, and she’d lost all the eggs, milk and vegetables in the fire.

Sleep remained her preferable occupation, although, exhausted as she was, she never woke refreshed. Deep in the pit of her stomach was this huge knot of fear, burning her up, paralysing her limbs. What was going to happen to her? Would she die? Would the baby die? What if there was another fire and she couldn’t put it out next time? What if she never saw Chad again?

However foolish and stupid she’d been, and Bette freely admitted now that she had been very silly indeed, she really didn’t deserve to be treated like this.

One morning late in the second week following the fire, or was it early in the third, Bette got up from the bed and looked out of the grimy window across to the distant mountains. They seemed to be further and further away every time she looked, the distances beyond comprehension. Was that snow on the highest peaks? Could winter be coming already?

The knot of fear tightened. How would she survive? The silence was awesome, her sense of isolation complete. She was alone, utterly and completely, save for her child.

Her clothes were crumpled and dirty. She smelled of sour milk, wood-smoke and sweat. The bleeding had stopped, at least, but the sheets remained soiled because she hadn’t troubled to wash them. The blisters on her hands and face were healing but still dreadfully painful to the touch. What was happening to her? She couldn’t just lie here weeping, feeling sorry for herself. Yet what else could she do? Bette wasn’t sure. She couldn’t even begin to think.

In the end, before her store of food quite ran out and the snows came, she would have to walk the ten miles or whatever it was to the nearest habitation. What alternative did she have?

Except that she daren’t take the risk until she felt certain that Matthew, and herself for that matter, were fit enough for the journey. It could be twenty miles, or fifty, for all she knew.

Her small son was lying on the bed, cooing happily at her, since his belly was full, and she sat cuddling and kissing him for quite some time, tickling his toes and making his little mouth open in delight. He seemed so perfect, and yet so fragile. Was that a smile, or simply wind? Thank God he seemed to be healthy and thriving. Not for a moment dare she risk anything else going wrong.

But she couldn’t go on like this, crying her eyes out hour upon hour, sleeping and sleeping, doing nothing, day after day. What if Chad did come, after all? although she’d largely given up hope now. It would do her no good at all to be caught looking a sight and Bette was far too vain and proud of her good looks to allow that to happen. And with winter coming on, she couldn’t, in any case, just sit here and die of cold and starvation. She had to
do
something.

Driven by a sudden surge of anger, and an instinctive need to survive, she pulled on fresh warm clothes over her nightdress, a pair of stout boots, then set baby Matthew’s crib in a pool of sunshine, where he would be safe and she could clearly see him. Bette found herself checking him every five minutes, so jumpy was she.

But there was work to be done and no one else to do it but herself.

She scoured the garden for whatever she could find to eat. Found a few onions which she strung up and hung from the beamed ceiling; potatoes, turnips and carrots which she earthed up, remembering they must be kept dark if they weren’t to go green. There was an apple tree although the fruit was small and green, gooseberry and currant bushes.

On the edge of the woods she found wild strawberries and plums, but all of this fruit could be stewed. If only she could bottle or store them in some way? How had Sadie done that? If only she’d paid more attention. If only she had some jars. She must search every corner of the cabin to check there wasn’t something, anything she could use.

Bette wished there was a lake nearby, wondering if she could remember all Cory had tried to teach her about fishing; how to make a line and fix bait.
 

Still restless, Bette hitched the baby up in her arms and wandered along the road a little way, just as she had done before, hoping against hope she might find something, a track to some hidden house in the forest, a tribe of Indians maybe. Unlikely since they all lived on reservations, or in Cherokee and drove big pick-ups. She saw no one, no house, no farm, not even a lake.

The days became a blur, blending one into the other but Bette gritted her teeth and went relentlessly on with her preparations, trying not to think too much about the reality of a winter alone in this cabin. She was afraid now to lie down on the bed during the day, terrified the weeping might start up all over again and she would lose the will to go on.

She was afraid to leave the stove unattended, fearful of straying too far from the house in case she got bitten by a snake or something equally dreadful. Where would she be then? What would happen to Matthew if she gave up, or if something terrible happened to her?

One night, sometime towards morning, she woke up with a start, aware that something, some sound had disturbed her. Her first thought was for Matthew but he was sleeping soundly, doing well now and going longer between feeds. Dear Lord, don’t let it be a bear!

And then she heard it, the unmistakable sound of an engine. Bette was out of bed in a flash, scrambling down the ladder without even bothering to find her dressing gown or slippers, despite the severe cold.

She ran bare foot out onto the road into the grey light of dawn and was just in time to see a cloud of dust where the vehicle had vanished. The pain was so bad she doubled up with the agony of it, fell to her knees in despair.

Someone had gone by and she had missed them
!

When she saw the boxes by the door, it came to her that it must have been the pick-up, driven by Harry no doubt, and he’d left her fresh supplies.

Chapter Forty-Three

Bette sat in the rocker, still in her nightie and bare feet, and felt as cold and empty inside as the dead ash in the stove. She felt dazed and numb, desperately trying to fight her way through the mists of shock and view her situation rationally. The Jacksons clearly weren’t going to let her starve. Well, that was something. At least they weren’t so cruel and heartless as to want her death on their hands. But neither were they prepared to have any contact with her.

Could it have been Chad driving the truck? Surely not. More likely Harry, since he was the one who’d brought her here in the first place.
 

Then why hadn’t Chad come to see her? Why didn’t he care what happened her? Why didn’t anyone?

What was Peggy telling the ladies at the sewing bee? What explanation had she given to Esther for her daughter-in-law not coming along to show off her new baby? Why was no one looking for her?

And then it hit her.
Because they didn’t know she was even missing
!

Peggy had told them some sort of lie. But what? That she was dead, had died in childbirth perhaps? Surely, even here in the back of beyond, there would need to be evidence of a death. There’d have to be a body, a funeral. More likely she’d told them that Bette had left the farm of her own free will, and gone where?

Home, of course, back to England. Was that what she’d told Chad too?

The blood seemed to soar in her veins, filling her with fresh hope. That was the reason he hadn’t come to see her, not because he hated her or refused to forgive her and try again.

But because he had no idea where she was
!

Peggy had no doubt tricked her son just as cleverly as she’d tricked her all too trusting daughter-in-law.

Bette was on her feet in a second, bursting with a rush of energy that pulsated through her like wine. There was still hope. Chad might still want her. She didn’t have to allow that woman to get away with it.
 

And then common sense returned and she sank back down again.

Chad had come to see her only once since the baby was born and didn’t even glance in his direction. He didn’t want her, didn’t love her any more. He believed that the baby wasn’t his, and she couldn’t deny that she and Barney had been lovers, so how could she be sure who the father was? Was it any wonder if neither man wanted her? Chad had rejected her, and so had Barney.
 

So where did that leave her? Reaping the reward of her foolishness, that’s where.

But one thing was certain, she couldn’t stay here, living off Jackson charity grudgingly given, all alone on the side of a mountain with a young baby throughout what would undoubtedly be a long, freezing winter. Therefore she must take the risk and leave. She must somehow find the town and try to make a new future for herself and Matthew.

The next minute she was climbing back up the ladder, pulling open her bags to find warm, clean clothes for herself and the baby.

It took longer than she’d expected to prepare for the journey, choosing what to take, how to carry everything she needed but in the end Bette decided to wear as many clothes as she could to save carrying them, and leave the rest behind. She dressed Matthew too as warmly as she could in leggings, two vests, jumper, jacket, warm helmet and mitts.
 

Even so, the bag carrying his things simply couldn’t be made any smaller, for all it weighed her down. He would need several clean diapers, an extra matinee jacket and a couple of pairs of spare leggings for when he needed a change of those too, plus a shawl in case it got really cold.

Then there was the food. Bette knew she should take as much as she could carry. There were eggs in the new box of supplies, which she hard boiled. There was fresh bread and a chunk of cheese. She also packed the stewed apple and put a few of the tiny wild strawberries and plums in her pocket to nibble as she walked along.

By late morning she was ready and with Matthew in his papoose sling across her chest, and the bag over the other shoulder, Bette closed the door of the cabin for the last time and set out once more on the road in what she judged to be the direction of town.

This time she had no intention of coming back. She meant to escape this desolate place once and for all, even if she died in the attempt.