The Farmer's Daughter (24 page)

Karl carried on working but Jean paused to wait for her brother. ‘Were you talking about me?' he said. ‘I thought I heard my name.'

‘We were talking about the ploughing match,' Jean said quickly. ‘And how good you used to be. I was wondering if you might like to try this year. You wouldn't need to walk behind now we've the tractor.'

‘I'll think about it. Mum wants some eggs. She says the egg girl is due and she's short of a few.'

‘Can't you get them?'

‘No, I've other things to do. Poultry is women's work.' He turned and left them.

‘I'd better go,' she told Karl. ‘You make a start on that field. I'll join you when I've taken the eggs to the house.'

Karl finished putting the harness on the horses and went to the cart shed to fetch out the plough. Gordon was standing by the tractor. Ignoring Karl, he picked up the starting handle. ‘What are you going to do?' Karl asked.

‘I'm going to plough in the potato tops.'

‘We were going to use the horses.'

‘Well, I'm going to use this.'

The Fordson was a brute to start and needed a strong arm and a lot of patience. Gordon had neither. After several attempts, Karl offered to do it for him. ‘No, I'll do it. Just get out of my way. Find something else to do.'

Karl went off to find Jean. ‘Your brother says he is going to do the ploughing.'

‘Then we had better let him.'

‘He is struggling to start the tractor and will not let me help him.'

‘Oh dear. Let's go and see if he's managed it.'

As she placed the eggs she found in the hedge into a basket, Jean led the way back to the cart shed. Gordon was sitting on the floor beside the tractor, nursing his wrist. ‘I think I've broken it and now I can't get up. I can't put my weight on my arms.'

They both ran to him. Jean put down the basket of eggs and knelt beside him. ‘Let me see.'

His wrist was a strange shape and beginning to swell. ‘I think you may be right. I'll have to get you to hospital. Karl, can you get him up?'

Karl went behind him and put his arms round him to haul him up. He held him while he found his balance. Still holding his wrist, Gordon shrugged him off and limped towards the garage where the truck was housed, with Jean on one side of him and Karl on the other. They were not touching him but ready to catch him if he fell.

‘Karl, go and tell my mother what has happened,' Jean said. ‘Ask her to give you a scarf to use as a sling.'

He sped away. By the time they reached the truck, Karl was back with her mother who had her father's scarf in her hand. ‘What happened? Sergeant Muller said Gordon was trying to start the tractor.'

‘That damned handle few out of my hand and knocked me sideways,' Gordon told her. He winced with pain as Jean gingerly lifted his arm to attach the sling.

‘What on earth were you doing playing with it in the first place?'

‘I wasn't
playing
with it. I was going to do some ploughing. You all keep telling me to get on and do something, so I thought I would.'

‘Jean should have stopped you.'

‘Jean was busy elsewhere, and anyway it was her idea.'

Doris looked at Jean, who was knotting the scarf behind Gordon's neck. ‘I'll tell you later, Mum. Let's get him to hospital. Gordon, can you get in the truck?' She held the door for him.

‘Yes, stop fussing.' He sat on the seat and swivelled himself round. Jean lifted his peg leg in after him. ‘Karl, make a start on the ploughing will you, please? I won't be any longer than I can help.' She climbed in the driver's seat. ‘Mum, I've left a basket of eggs on the floor of the cart shed.'

‘I'll fetch them, don't worry.'

‘You're going to let Jerry get on with it alone?' Gordon asked as they set off. ‘Isn't he supposed to be supervised?'

‘His name is Karl, not Jerry, Gordon, and I don't need to supervise him. I can trust him to do a good job.'

‘How do you know that? He's a German. I wouldn't trust one as far as I could throw him. And believe me, I've had plenty of time to study the race.'

‘I know him.'

‘Know him? You mean, in the biblical sense?'

‘Don't be so crude.'

‘That's not an answer.'

‘I don't have to answer to you.'

‘No, but indulge me.'

‘Of course I don't know him in the biblical sense. Satisfied?'

‘Thank goodness for that.'

‘What do you mean by that?' she asked sharply.

‘I wouldn't like to think of a handful of little Nazis running about the place.'

‘Do you know, Gordon, you've become coarse and bigoted. You're not in that prison camp now, so try to be civilised, will you?'

‘Sorry, Sis.'

‘Karl is not a Nazi, he abhors them. He is an ordinary man trying to do his best in a difficult situation. Mum and Pa have accepted him and so should you. Until you are fully fit, we need him. And now you've hurt yourself, we will probably need him even more.'

‘OK, point taken. But I don't have to be bosom pals with him, do I?'

She laughed. ‘No, I think that might be asking too much.' She was drawing into the car park at the hospital as she spoke. ‘Let's get you in and seen to. I need to get back.'

Karl was at the far end of the field when he spotted Jean walking towards him. She had her head down watching where she was putting her feet, but he could tell she was despondent by the roundness of her shoulders. She had far too much to do for one woman. She ought to be able to have fun, but with her brother the way he was, the hoped-for break was not going to come. It was a pity he could no longer live-in on the premises; he could help her a great deal more. He pulled the horses to a stop and waited for her to come to him.

‘I'm sorry it took so long,' she said. ‘We had to wait.'

‘How is he?'

‘His arm's in plaster and he's more grumpy than ever.'

‘I'm sorry.' His sympathy was directed at her, not her brother.

‘It's my fault for talking about that ploughing match. I should have realised he'd have trouble starting the tractor. I goaded him into it, just as I goaded him into going to that party. I could kick myself.'

‘Not your fault, Jean. You mustn't blame yourself for everything that goes wrong.'

She looked about her. ‘You've done well. Do you think we'll have it done tomorrow?'

‘I don't see why not.'

‘We'd better get back for the evening milking. We don't have so much time now you have to go back to camp every night.'

‘No, that is true.'

They unhitched the plough and left it by the hedge near the gate and walked the horses back to the farm. ‘Is it very bad at the camp?' she asked.

‘No worse than usual. Don't worry about me. I am content.'

‘Really?' She was surprised.

‘As content as it is possible to be considering everything. I am doing a job I love with the woman I love. Nothing else matters.'

‘Jean, are you all right?' her mother asked. She was laying the table for the evening meal. ‘You're looking peaky. You're not sickening for anything, are you?'

‘No, of course not. I expect it's worrying about Gordon. He seems to invite trouble.'

‘Maybe,' Doris said doubtfully. ‘It's bad enough having him with only one good leg, but now he can't use his arm either. I don't know what we're going to do, I really don't.' Tears welled in her eyes and Jean hurried over to hug her.

‘Don't upset yourself, Mum. We'll manage somehow. Shall I see if I can hire a nurse to come in and help him get dressed and undressed?'

‘Can we afford it?'

‘Yes, I think so. Where is he?'

‘In his bedroom. I heard him stomping about up there.'

‘I'll go and talk to him.'

Gordon was sitting in a chair by the window, looking out
across the yard and the rolling fields in the distance. He did not turn towards her as she entered.

‘How's it going?' she asked cheerfully. ‘Are you going to be able to manage?'

‘What do you think?'

‘I think it might be a bit of a problem to wash and dress yourself until your wrist heals. You mustn't get that plaster wet. You will need some help.'

‘So?' He gave a grunt of a laugh. ‘You volunteering?'

‘I will if I need to.'

‘Good old Jean, always ready and willing. Don't you ever want to shout “To hell with it all!” from the rooftop?'

‘It wouldn't do any good.'

‘I do,' he went on as if she had not spoken. ‘For two pins I'd throw myself off it, then you'd be rid of me.'

‘Gordon, for God's sake, don't talk like that. No one wants to be rid of you. Your wrist will get better and you'll get a proper false leg, and then you'll be able to do all the things you used to … most of them anyway.'

‘You think so, do you?'

‘Yes. In the meantime, I'm thinking of hiring a nurse to help you wash and dress in the morning and help you to bed in the evening. Would you agree to that? It would make Mum feel a lot better. I found her shedding tears just now and that's not like her.'

‘Poor Mum. I can't help being grouchy, Jean, really I can't. Things look so bleak sometimes. It's like a huge black shadow hanging over me and blotting out the light. I just want to hit out at everyone and everything.'

‘It will pass.'

‘I've even managed to alienate Rosie.'

‘Make it up with her. I'm sure she would listen if you explained how you felt.'

‘I don't know how to.'

‘Yes, you do. Tell her what you've just told me.' She paused. ‘Sitting up here doing nothing is not going to help, Gordon. Come down and have dinner with us. For Mum's sake. And Pa's. It hasn't been easy for him either.'

He stood up and turned towards her. His face was streaked with tears. Her heart went out to him. ‘Oh, Gordon, we all love you. Remember that, please.'

He followed her downstairs and went into the kitchen where everyone was assembling for the evening meal. He hobbled over and kissed his mother's cheek as she stood dishing food onto plates.

‘What's that for?' she asked, smiling.

‘Just to say I'm glad to be home.' He sat down and attacked the meal with apparent relish, talking all the time, making jokes, making plans, telling them what he intended to do when he was given his new leg. He was so voluble it was almost as frightening as his long silences.

Jean made a point of going to see Rosemary the following evening. She and her widowed mother lived in a cottage next door to the Dog and Duck in the middle of the village. ‘Mum's gone to a Women's Institute meeting,' Rosie said, leading the way into the sitting room and indicating a chair on the other side of the empty hearth.

‘Yes, my mother's gone too. I came to see you.'

‘Oh, what about? Or shall I guess? Gordon asked you to come.'

‘No, he didn't. He doesn't know I'm here. Rosie, did you know he has had a bad fall and broken his wrist?'

‘No, I didn't. How could I? I haven't seen him since the party.'

‘What happened then?'

‘He was angry that I'd danced with Alan. He said if dancing was all I thought about, then he would be no good to me and we'd better break it off.'

‘He didn't mean it. He's frustrated and angry and very, very unhappy. He needs you, Rosie, he needs you to stand by him.'

‘I never thought he'd come back like that.'

‘None of us did, but we have to make the best of it and make allowances.'

‘Don't lecture me, Jean Coleman, I haven't done anything wrong. If he can't stand me talking to another man, then we're best apart.'

‘I thought you loved him.'

‘I did. I suppose I still do, but …'

‘You can't stop loving him just because he's been wounded, surely? I know he still loves you.' She hoped that was true. ‘Rosie, come and talk to him, see him through this, at least until he's been given a proper new leg. He'll be his old self then.'

‘He'll never be his old self.'

‘I meant cheerful and ready to tackle anything. Please, please, don't abandon him. He needs help, we all do.'

‘He's playing you up as well, is he?'

‘You could say that. He was talking earlier about throwing himself off the roof.'

‘Why on earth would he do that?'

‘I told you, he is very unhappy. He thinks he's worthless and we would all rather be rid of him. Mum is at her wits' end. Please come and talk to him, but don't tell him I asked you to come and don't say anything about jumping off the roof.'

‘All right, I'll come tomorrow, after work, but if he's nasty to me, I'm not staying. I don't have to put up with it.'

‘Thank you.'

‘It's the damnable war. It's ruined everyone and everything. We thought when it ended that would be it, but it isn't the end, is it? We're still suffering.'

‘Yes, but we can only go on doing our best. I'd better be off.'

‘Aren't you going to stay for a cuppa? I can soon make one.'

‘No, thanks all the same. Pa and Gordon are alone in the house. Two helpless men. I dread to think what they might get up to. Don't get up, I'll see myself out.'

Gordon went up to his room immediately after the evening meal the next day. ‘I'm going to lie on my bed and read a good book,' he said.

Jean could not tell him Rosemary was coming because he would want to know when she had seen her and if she had asked her to come; she didn't want to admit it, nor lie about it. She went behind him as he slowly climbed the stairs hanging onto the handrail with his good hand. She watched him go into his room and returned downstairs to help her mother with the washing-up. She heard him turn on the old wireless to listen to
It's That Man Again.
Perhaps the silly jokes would cheer him up.

‘He seems a little more cheerful today,' Doris said.

‘Yes, let's hope it lasts.'

They had just finished putting the crockery back on the sideboard when Rosemary arrived. She had taken trouble with her appearance. Her printed cotton skirt was topped by a pink blouse on which was pinned the RAF brooch Gordon had given her before he left on operations. She had set her hair and added make-up, including a cherry-red lipstick.

‘Gordon has gone to his room,' Doris said. ‘But he won't have undressed, so I suppose it's all right for you to go up.'

Jean gave Rosemary an encouraging smile and followed her to the foot of the stairs. ‘It's the first door on the left. Try and cheer him up if you can.'

She had hardly returned to the kitchen when she heard footsteps flying down the stairs and the back door slam. They looked at each other. ‘Was that Rosemary or Don?'

Jean looked out of the kitchen window which had a clear view of the garden path. The flying figure was certainly not her younger brother. ‘Rosemary running as if the demons of hell were after her. I'd better go and find out what happened.'

‘Nothing happened,' Gordon told her. ‘I was lying here, reading. She took one look at me and burst into tears. Am I that ugly, Sis?'

‘No, but you are lying there without your trousers and that leg on the floor. Whatever were you thinking of?'

‘I told her, if we are to have any future together, she would have to get used to the sight of it. God, it's only a stump. It's perfectly clean, not pouring blood or anything. What was I supposed to do, hide it? If she can't stand the sight of it, there's no hope.'

Jean could see his point, but she thought he might have been a little more subtle. ‘Gordon, you've had five years to get used to it. It was a shock for Rosie to see it like that.'

‘It was a shock to me when I first saw it too, but no one pussyfooted round me. I had to put up with it.'

‘Oh, I give up!' She turned on her heel and went downstairs to tell her parents what had happened.

‘The boy's right,' her father said. ‘She'll be no good to him if she can't come to terms with it. If they were married, she'd have to get into bed with him.'

‘Pa!' Doris exclaimed.

‘Well, I'm right, aren't I? Look at me. I'm no beauty, but you didn't run screaming from me when I had my stroke, did you?'

‘No, but …'

‘Same thing.'

‘I'm going up to help him undress for bed,' Doris said, putting down the newspaper she had just picked up. ‘He'll be miserable over it, poor boy.' She left them looking at each other. A minute later they heard him sobbing and then Doris closed the bedroom door, shutting out the sound.

Bill was in the Plough and Harrow nursing half a glass of beer when Gordon arrived the next day. He ordered and paid for a pint and went to join him. ‘Phew, it's hot today.'

‘It's all right for you, Gordon, you don't have to work. I've been harvesting all morning and I'm sweating like a pig. The tractor was red hot, you could fry an egg on it. I've left the others to have their dockey and come here to cool down.'

‘Do you think you'll be finished today?'

‘Might be. Why?'

‘Jean tells me it's our turn for the reaper next. Have you had a good turnout?'

‘Yes, plenty of volunteers, though with that Jerry there, you'll be lucky if they come to you.'

Gordon took a gulp of beer and wiped the back of his hand over his mouth. ‘I can't help about him. Not my fault. Blame Jean.'

‘Oh, I do. I don't know what he's got that I haven't, but if I could do him a bad turn, I would.'

‘You and me too, my friend, but how would that help?'

‘It would make me feel a whole lot better.'

Gordon laughed and raised his glass. ‘Confusion to our enemies.'

Bill chinked his against it. ‘Confusion to our enemies. The sooner they go home the better, and we can get back to normal.'

‘There's no getting back to normal for me, Bill. I'll always be a man with only one leg.'

‘Sorry, I didn't think. But you are getting on all right, aren't you? You seem to be walking much better.'

‘Oh, I am, but there are still things I find difficult and always will, even when I get my new leg. And I still have to convince Rosie I'm not a monster.'

‘Is that still on between you two?'

‘Supposed to be. What about you? Still on with Jean?'

‘Goodness knows. I can't make her out these days.'

‘She's had a lot to cope with, Bill. Pa's no help and I'm not much better. You know when I was a kid, all I wanted to do was follow in Pa's footsteps and farm. Now I don't know what I want. Watching Jean struggle just irritates me.'

‘I offered to help but she refused. Seems she'd rather employ that Jerry.'

‘You've got your own farm to look after, Bill.' He chuckled suddenly. ‘And if you did help out, who would be governor? She can boss Muller about and he does exactly as he's told. That wouldn't suit you, would it?'