For All Our Tomorrows (45 page)

Bette walked and walked until she felt she could walk no more, till her heels were blistered and she could feel the blood squelching between her toes. She’d heard the whip-poor-will, seen the blue flash of a Jay, watched a woodpecker hammer away at the bark of a tree, as if trying to gain entry. She’d even spotted a Carolina wren who came to sit cheekily beside her on a log when she’d stopped to feed Matthew around noon. Other than these creatures, who helped to cheer her along the way, she’d seen no one.

She must have been walking for seven or eight hours, with still no sign of a house or farm, let alone Carreville. Worse than that, the light was beginning to fade and as the autumn sun slipped down the sky, a chill was settling over the land.

She walked on for another hour or so, and finding a patch of bushes, with dry bracken beneath, crawled inside, thankful to be at least relieved of her burden and be able to lie down and rest.

It was reasonably sheltered under the trees, protected from the wind. Bette fed the baby one more time, almost falling asleep herself in the middle of it. Yet that was the last thing she must do. Aware of the risk of snakes, or bears, Bette knew there’d be little sleep for her that night.

She wrapped Matthew in both shawls, then propped herself against a tree right beside him. She felt so dreadfully tired, her eyes so dusty and scratchy, but Bette had no intention of closing them, not even for a moment. Within seconds she was asleep.

She woke a couple of hours later in a blind panic. But all was well, the baby snuffling gently beside her. It was so hard to stay awake, her exhaustion too much to bear. Bette rubbed her eyes, shook herself awake and sat up, determined not to make the same mistake again.

Surely it shouldn’t be too difficult, she was growing used to long, lonely, cold nights. This would simply be another. The only difference being that she wasn’t in her warm, unkempt bed at the cabin, she was out in the open, under the stars and the temperature was dropping fast.
 

The first pearl grey of dawn was coming into the sky when she must have fallen asleep again to be woken by Matthew’s frantic cries.

‘What is it? What is it my precious?’ But he was only hungry.

She fed and changed him, nibbled on a hard boiled egg by way of breakfast and got wearily to her feet. There was a definite chill in the air this morning, that sharpness which betokened the threat of rain, or even snow.

Bette tucked baby Matthew inside her sweater, where he could share the warmth of her body, then shouldering the bag of provisions, continued on her way.

It felt more difficult today, somehow, to keep up any sensible pace. Her thighs and calves were aching, her feet felt as if they were on fire, and the bag seemed twice as heavy as yesterday. Bette was forced to keep stopping to rest every twenty minutes or so. It would take forever to reach town at this rate.

Matthew seemed more fractious, crying a good deal, and yet refusing to take his feed when she stopped to rest in the middle of the day.

The sun did finally break through the bleak grey clouds and overcome by exhaustion, Bette took the risk of getting some sleep, hoping she’d be safe in broad daylight, otherwise she never would reach the end of this blasted road.

When she woke again, darkness was falling, and with fingers clumsy with cold, Bette changed and fed the baby. Like her, he seemed too sleepy to bother, again showing little interest in food, which deeply troubled her.

Could he be sickening for something? Fear rose in her throat like bile. They must surely be nearly in Carreville by now and she set off again almost at a run.

‘We’ll find the town any minute, my darling,’ she told him, kissing his head. It felt clammy and hot. Had he got mountain fever? She’d heard Peggy speak of it, but hadn’t the first idea what it was, or even if it existed.

As night drew in and it grew dark, it became harder to keep track of where exactly she was. Bette felt light-headed and bone weary.

The dirt road wandered and twisted, dipped and climbed and she very soon became disorientated. She fell over tree stumps which really shouldn’t have been there at all, and then to her horror the ground gave way beneath her and she found herself slipping and sliding down a bank, tumbling and rolling amongst stones and earth, frantically trying to hold on tight to the baby and protect his head as he lay cuddled within her sweater. She must have reached the bottom because she sprawled onto gravel, grazing her knees and cracking her head on a rock, whereupon blackness descended.

Chapter Forty-Four

As that long, last winter of the war progressed, Sara went through the motions of being a good wife, putting food on the table, washing Hugh’s clothes and cleaning his shoes, even running his bath for him which had always been a requirement, but relations between them were at an all time low.

She continued to occupy the spare room, not able to consider ever returning to her husband’s bed, despite his frequently bitter and snide remarks that she was neglecting her wifely duties, that it would serve her right if he took a leaf out of her book and had an affair himself.

‘Please do. I really wouldn’t care in the slightest what you do, or with whom.’

‘Oh, dear me no, Sara. I am giving you no grounds to divorce me. I intend to remain very much in control.’

Normally, the most he ever said to her was to frostily demand that she pass the salt. More often than not he communicated by leaving notes on the dresser.

‘
Will you please have the evening meal ready by six, on the dot. I am going out
.’ He rarely troubled to tell her where.

Or a more peremptory demand. ‘Take my suit to the cleaners.’ ‘Go to the Post Office and get me some stamps.’ Or even, ‘Haven’t you noticed that we’re running out of soap? You really don’t try, Sara.’ Ever ready to criticise.

She would leave him a note in return. ‘
Sorry, been rather busy and forgot to put a fresh piece out. There’s plenty more soap in the cupboard, if you took the trouble to look
.’

Sara had written a long letter recently to Bette, opening up her heart and telling her everything, as she could only do with her sister. It was at times like these that she missed her most.

‘Oh, Bette, write to me. I need to know your okay, at least, even if I’m not.’

Her one triumph and joy was her new career in nursing. Sara was well on with her training now, and enjoying it enormously. For all Hugh’s lengthy list of parental requirements that he demanded of her, he never seemed to apply them to himself. He could hardly be classed as a loving, caring father and largely ignored his children, except when he wanted to show them off, or scold them for some supposed misdemeanour, or display of bad manners. He’d certainly made no effort to help Sara cope with the new demands upon her time.

Sadie, however, had turned up trumps, taking the children to school every day and collecting them afterwards, happily minding them until Sara got home. She would often give them their tea, to save Sara the trouble, and very occasionally insist on feeding her daughter too if she thought she was looking a bit run-down and peaky.

‘About time you did something useful with your life,’ was her surprising comment. ‘No need to run round after a man all the time.’

‘Thanks Mum. You don’t know how much I appreciate your help.’

‘Did you sleep with him, that Yank?’

‘No.’

Sadie nodded as she set a dish of macaroni cheese before her. ‘Didn’t reckon you would.’

‘I wanted to.’

Her mother smiled. ‘Don’t blame you. He’s a tasty number. I might have been wrong about Hugh Marrack. He’s a cold fish, that one, likes things all his own way. I thought he’d look after you, make you happy, but mebbe I was wrong.’

This was rare for Sadie to own up to a mistake and Sara felt moved by her admission, and by her effort to make reparation. ‘Yes,’ Sara said. ‘He is cold, towards me and the children anyway.’

‘I’ll not ask if you’re going to leave him. None of my business, but if you do, I wouldn’t blame you. Your dad neither. I know we don’t always see eye to eye, but we want you to be happy.’

Sara swallowed a lump in her throat. She made no attempt to hug Sadie, knowing any display of affection would be rebuffed but simply nodded, then said more brightly. ‘I have the children, and my work. I’m particularly interested in midwifery and thinking of specialising in that.’

‘That would be a good way to spend your life, helping other women.’ For the briefest of seconds she rested a hand on Sara’s shoulder. ‘Once you’re properly qualified, you’ll be less dependant on your husband, more able to earn your own living.’

‘I suppose I will.’

It wasn’t exactly the kind of freedom she had dreamed of, but it was better than nothing.
 

Cory and his chums were missing their work on the River Patrol. Their much loved routine had vanished. No longer did they have to row up and down the river watching out for marauding Germans, who fortunately had never materialised. And since the Home Guard too had been stood down, all their cheerful rivalry had gone, the little competitions they’d used to hold to see who could shoot best were over and done with. They didn’t even hold their regular football matches up at Squire’s Field any more. Cory found himself quite at a loose end, with far too much time on his hands.
 

He could find himself a bit of work here and there, doing a few odd jobs to help folk get back to normal. Guest houses and small hotels such as the Penlee that had been requisitioned for U.S. navy use, were being handed back, but all were in need of major repairs and Cory was a handy man to have around. He would never go short of work but he missed the excitement of the River Patrol, the feeling of importance and easy comradeship with his mates.

And he badly missed his precious younger daughter who had sailed across the Atlantic ocean never to be seen again. Several others had followed her, in a constant stream of ships which seemed to be taking vast numbers of young Cornish women overseas to America.
 

Cory did not approve, but then he was worried.

He wasn’t a great letter writer himself, and nobody could claim that Sadie and her younger daughter were close, yet there was usually the odd postcard arriving with a few loving words from Bette at least once or twice a month. He’d heard nothing now for weeks and it troubled him.

Of course, it may be that she was settling at last, no longer homesick for her old dad, and now that he didn’t have the River Patrol and with the war as good as over, time passed more slowly so it probably seemed longer since he’d last heard from her, than was in fact the case.

He had his other lovely girl, of course, but even Sara was looking a bit peaky. Working too hard at this nursing lark, he shouldn’t wonder.

Stuck for something to do today, he’d made up his mind to do a bit of fishing. Never again had he made a catch as abundant as the one shortly after the Americans had arrived when Scobey had set off that shell. Go down in history, that would, and a right royal welcome of a fish supper it had given them all. Cory was proud to have been involved in it. But a few plaice or monkfish wouldn’t go amiss and it would please Sadie. Nothing she liked better than a nice bit of fish.

He called on his mate Hamil, who was more than agreeable to while away a few pleasant hours on the river, and the pair set off with rods and nets and bait. It was as they were preparing Cory’s own little clinker-built boat, somewhat battered after year’s of wear, that he spotted his son-in-law’s much larger craft.

‘Haven’t seen him out in this ‘ere boat in months.’

‘Pity,’ said Hamil. ‘Cos tis a fine vessel and no mistake. Wouldn’t mind one such meself. I dare say as how it be finely appointed inside?’ Cocking a quizzical eye at Cory by way of enquiry.

Cory shook his head. ‘Don’t ask me, I wouldn’t know. Hugh Marrack and I are not on such chummy terms. I’ve never been invited to make an inspection.’

‘What, you’ve never been on board your own son-in-law’s yacht?’

‘Dare say he thought I’d mess things up by putting my oily fingers all over the fancy panelling.’

‘But you say he doesn’t use it much now, and he’s working in The Ship today.’

‘He is indeed.’

The two men regarded each other with boyish complicity.

‘Wouldn’t hurt to take one little peek. My hands aren’t oily, are yours?’

Cory rubbed his grubby palms down the seat of his trousers. ‘Clean as a whistle, come on, let’s have a decko.’

The yacht was indeed very finely appointed with the kind of polished cherry-wood panelling that had Cory keeping his hands very firmly in his pockets. The saloon had plank seating which, with the addition of bunk cushions, could double as beds and would, the two men decided, be reasonably comfortable as well as functional. At the starboard end was fitted the galley with a small gas cooker and basin, and there were cupboards and lockers fitted into every corner.

Both men were equally impressed with the equipment in the cockpit, content to investigate every device, discuss mainsail and jib, winches, compass and fenders, and likely handling of the vessel in bad weather.

‘Fine workmanship,’ Hamil observed, once they had explored every gadget on board. ‘And the stern locker is spacious and waterproof.’ He pulled it open and both men peered inside. ‘You could keep anything dry in here. See this bag, no doubt where he stows his wet weather gear. It’s probably been here for months and not a drop of sea water, not a mark on it.’