Gracie's Sin (44 page)

It was around noon when the pains started. Rose couldn’t believe it was happening. She was little more than three months gone. Did this mean she might lose the baby? She felt utterly devastated and, as the pain sharply escalated, screamed long and hard, certain it would slice her in two. The noise brought Irma pounding up the stairs like a stream train. The older woman took one glance at the young girl, still as slender as a sapling but arched in agony on the bed and, in her coldest voice, said: ‘You can’t have started. It’s too soon. Have you told our Adam yet?’

Rose barely had the strength to shake her head.

‘Just as well I did then. Don’t think losing this bairn will save your marriage.’

Rose gazed up at her out of wide, shocked eyes. ‘You told him? Why - why didn’t he say?’

Irma didn’t answer but took one look at the girl’s ashen face and lifted a corner of the blanket. She blinked at the sight of the spreading pool of crimson on her best linen sheet. ‘Have you seen a doctor, girl?’ She snapped out the words, as if to emphasise how it was really all her own fault. But even as she drew breath to lecture Rose on what she ought or ought not to have done, and what she thought of her for keeping her husband in the dark, any words were blocked by another ear-piercing scream.

The door burst open and Gracie flew in. ‘What is it? What’s wrong?’

Irma turned to her in panic, genuine fear now in her eyes. ‘I reckon she’s losing it. The bairn I mean. I doubt she’s even seen a doctor.’

‘I’ve got my bike outside. I’ll go and ring for an ambulance. Hang on Rose. We’ll get you some help. Look after her Irma, for God’s sake.’

‘No!’ Rose was almost incoherent in her terror. ‘Don’t leave me. I don’t want Irma interfering. She always bloody interferes!’ The rest of her words were lost in a gabbling, incoherent scream of terror.

Rose’s grief was heartbreaking to witness. She lay in the hospital bed listening to the doctor carefully explain to her that there was to be no child. She’d been suffering from a medical condition called an ectopic pregnancy which meant that the baby had been growing in the wrong place. When she asked if this would prevent her from having children in the future, he told her that it was difficult to say for certain, at this stage, but she was lucky to be alive. Had her mother-in-law and friend not acted so swiftly, she certainly would not have been.

Rose cried. For the loss of her dreams and hopes: not of one day presenting Josh with a son, or of having revenge on the wife who’d stolen him away from her, but for the loss of the child she would never hold in her arms. She cried out of self pity, and because Adam would now probably hate her.

Later that afternoon when he came to visit her she was afraid to look him in the eye, to face the contempt he must feel for her. As he approached her bed, pulled up a chair and gathered her cold hands into his, he gave no sign of it. He seemed subdued, sad almost but the love he felt for her was still there, shining out of his eyes. It came to Rose in that moment, for the first time, how very much she’d hurt him. It near broke her heart.

‘My lovely Rose, you’re looking so much better. Thank God! I thought I’d lost you.’

‘Adam. I’ve been wanting to explain.’

‘Don’t say anything. There’ll be time for all of that later. What you have to do now is to get well, then I can take you home.’

‘She’s not coming back to my house, I can tell you that for nowt.’ Coming to stand on the other side of the bed, hands clasped tight upon her corseted stomach, Irma went on, ‘I reckon it’s too late for explanations, don’t you? You should’ve been honest from the start, you little hussy. You made a fool out of my boy, getting him to wed you when all the time you were just looking for a father for the bairn you were carrying. You wanted to avoid having an illegitimate child. What’s worse, even when you’d caught him, you wouldn’t share your bed with him. Selfish, unfeeling slut. No doubt you were still seeing your fancy man, your
married
fancy man. A shameful little harlot! That’s all you are. Didn’t I tell you, lad, right at the start, that she’d be nowt but trouble. I should’ve put my foot down, insisted you...’

‘Will you shut up, Mam!’

‘What did you say?’

‘I said shut up! I’ve heard enough of what
you
think, what
you
want. Do you never stop to consider what
I
might want?’ He got to his feet to face his mother across the bed, his expression tight with controlled anger. Now Adam voiced all the thoughts that had tormented him for weeks, years even. ‘You never give me the chance to make my own decisions, you always have to charge in and make them for me. And if ever I don’t agree, there’s hell to pay. Well, I chose
Rose
, not Gracie, and I’m glad that I did. She’s had a troubled life, mebbe got her problems, but I happen to love her. And if you’d gone to live with Madge and left us to get on with things on our own, as a proper married couple should, without being afraid of you listening at walls or at keyholes, which I’m quite sure you did, we might not have ended up with all these problems. Then Rose might well have confided in me. I’m sure she intended to. It’s just that she was afraid to, weren’t you, love?’

Utterly bemused and startled by this volte face, Rose nodded. ‘I thought you’d hate me, and I realised - I realised that I did love you, very much, Adam. I thought if you knew about the baby, I'd lose you.’

Irma gave a loud snort of contempt. ‘If you believe that, you’ll believe that pigs fly.’

‘Mam, I’ve told you to keep quiet. I’ll stand no more of this back-biting and nastiness towards Rose. If you’re to stay with us at Beech Tree Cottage - and I’ll not put you out, not even to make Rose happy because it is, as you rightly say, your home, and accommodation is tight with the war on. But I’m making it clear right now, that I’ll no longer tolerate you speaking to my wife in that derogatory way. Is that clear?’

‘But lad...’

‘Is that clear?’

A pause in which mother and son glared long and hard, each taking the measure of the other. It was Irma who broke away first. ‘Yes, Adam, I understand.’ Irma found she was shaking, realising she’d been beaten not only by that little madam but also by her own son. Rose had won.

‘What’s more,’ Adam continued, more calmly. ‘You can have your own room back. It doesn’t suit us. We’ll take Lou and Gracie’s room now that they’ve moved out.’

Once again Rose’s tears began to flow. ‘Oh, Adam, can you ever forgive me? I never meant to hurt you, really I didn’t. I thought it would all turn out for the best, and we’d be happy.’

‘We will be happy, if you, Mam, give us half a chance.’ He was holding Rose’s hands, wiping the tears from her eyes, kissing her cheek, her lips.

‘I’m sure it’s nothing to do with me,’ Irma tightly responded as she watched this display of affection with a face like thunder. Pressing her crimson painted lips together she tucked a few straying strands of hair tidily beneath her best brown hat and began to tug on her gloves in a businesslike fashion. ‘I really have far more to bother about than to stand here watching you two billing and cooing. I’ve promised to organise a War Weapons Week in the village. That will take all my time and energies, thank you very much.’

‘Good.’ Adam said, smiling. ‘I’m glad we’ve got everything nicely settled at last. I knew it would all come right in the end, if I just had patience. Before you dash off, Mam, just sit with Rose for five minutes, while I go and fetch us both a nice cup of tea.’ Leaning over the bed he pressed a loving kiss on Rose’s pretty mouth. ‘We’re going to be very happy, my love. No matter what.’

‘No matter what,’ Rose agreed, eyes shining.

When he’d gone, the two women sat in silence for some moments. It was Irma who broke it. ‘Just because you’ve won this battle, madam, don’t think you’ve won the war. I’m not done with you yet. You’ll never make my lad happy, not in a month of Sundays. And I’ll have you out of my house or die in the attempt, see if I don’t’

Rose simply smiled.

At around the same time as Gracie set off on her bike for an ambulance, a group of prisoners were allowed out, as usual, on gardening detail in the charge of their guards. This stretch of ground was furthest away from the Hall; an ideal spot from which to make an escape.

It all began back in the summer when a group of prisoners developed a passion for gardening. Karl and Erich had been among them. Working in the garden gave thm closer access to the forest. They wanted the guards to grow used to their daily routine and think nothing of them being there. Even before the details had been finalised, everyone was certain an escape could be successfully achieved. Karl had felt nervous about the whole enterprise from the start but went along with it as there seemed no alternative. Perhaps if he’d never met Gracie, it would all have been different. He would have been eager to escape and return to his duties in his homeland. Now all he wanted was to survive the war so that they could be together. This dereliction of his patriotic duty weighed heavily upon his conscience.

Today their task was to clear all the yellowed and dead leaves, to consign all the remains of the summer crops to the compost heap. After that would come the digging.

‘You’ll need to put some lime in there to sweeten the soil,’ the guard in charge instructed them. He was quite friendly and conversation was always amicable between them. ‘It’s not enough to just turn it over.’

The last thing they wanted was to put lime in the soil today. The intention was to dig one extra deep trench and bury the two young men in it with a light covering of soil on top. Karl, keeping well out of sight, heard one of the other prisoners say, ‘We shall put in the lime tomorrow. Today, we clear. We double dig. We like to make the work last long time. OK?’

‘Suit yourself.’ The guard wandered over to chat with his colleague, still keeping half an eye on his charges. The prisoners started work.

Karl’s nervousness increased as the afternoon wore on. It took far longer than they had anticipated to clear the weeds and dead vegetable matter and now it must be nearing tea time and the digging was still not completed. He could see Erich looking tense and grey faced. The air seemed to crackle with tension, everyone much quieter than usual. Erich was eager for action, excited about the adventure ahead. He’d been given a hard time by some of the other officers who had accused him of having anti-Nazi views. He was anxious to put this bad experience behind him and couldn’t wait to get out. For weeks he’d talked endlessly of how he would run through the forest like a deer, keeping undercover and out of sight. ‘Then we will cross the open fells with all speed, making a beeline for the Irish Sea. Speed is essential. We have to get far away before they bring out the dogs. Following streams and the edge of a lake where possible, to put them off our scent.’

‘We must remember to take a compass,’ Karl would say, fingering it in his pocket. Many of the officers had compasses which generally speaking they’d made themselves and kept hidden under their bedding or behind skirting boards, together with home made maps. The plotting and planning of escape attempts filled the monotony of the long days from morning reveille till they were locked in their dormitory bedrooms at light’s out.

Everyone had heard of the famous von Werra, who had attempted escape in 1940 at around this time of year. Erich always cited him as a shining example of what could be achieved, whenever Karl appeared to be having doubts.

‘But he didn’t make it,’ Karl would protest.

‘He very nearly did, and would have succeeded had not the weather been against him. We will do better. The weather is good. Von Werra took shelter in a small stone hut where two farmers spotted him and gave chase. That was bad mistake, to stop,’ Erich insisted. ‘He should have kept going. No time to rest.’

‘But they say the fells are high and cold and dangerously remote,’ Karl protested. ‘You cannot keep running indefinitely. We must stop and rest somewhere.’ He said nothing yet of Gracie’s plan to meet them in the clearing. Best he keep that information to himself for as long as he could. He’d warned her there could be no lingering farewell. He would take the food and warm clothing she brought, a kiss and a swift embrace and then they must part. She’d made a half hearted attempt to persuade him to take her with him but he’d soon put a stop to that idea, urging her to stay safe and well in England, so that when the war was over he could return to Grizedale and find her.

Erich was still telling his tale. ‘They say he was captured high up on Bleak Haw overlooking the Duddon Valley, half submerged in marshland when they found him. But von Werra was a great hero.’ Erich’s eyes shone. ‘From here he was transferred to a PoW transit camp in Swanwick, Derbyshire, and again he escaped, this time getting as far as Canada. Can you imagine the courage he must have shown? The dangers he faced?’

‘His story is a lesson to us all,’ Karl said in a flat, toneless voice, hoping to calm his more excitable friend. ‘But I have heard that after he got back home to Germany, via South America, he crashed in a Messerschmidt flying over the Channel. So tragic, to lose his life in that way after all that heroism.’

Erich shrugged. ‘I do not believe this to be true. It is simply British propaganda.'

‘Whether it is or not, he was a brave man.’

‘And we must also be brave, and more cunning. Von Werra is our hero and we must learn from his mistakes. No stopping until we see the Irish Sea. Yes?’