Whisper on the Wind (12 page)

‘All right?’ Roz walked over, followed by Flora who carried mugs of tea.

‘Just about.’ Kath laughed.

‘You’ll be stiff in the morning,’ Flora warned. ‘A good hot bath is what we’ll all need tonight.’

‘Mmm.’ Kath nodded to Marco who stood a little apart, unsure amongst strangers. ‘Those sheaves get heavy, after a time. Marco works like a machine. It was hard going, keeping up with him.’

Not that she was complaining; far from it. She was part of a team; she was with friends. She belonged here. It felt right, and she never wanted to leave.

They settled into an easy rhythm again. Marco worked steadily, pausing only to mop his forehead or to glance briefly in Kath’s direction and smile encouragement. The height of the stack had already fallen by two feet and in time, by mid-afternoon perhaps, when the stack was lower still, the grain elevator would be pushed alongside and the sheaves fed on to it and carried up to the drum, just as people were carried up a moving staircase.

But that would not be yet, Kath knew, already hoping it would not be too long before they stopped to eat and could troop, aching and hungry, into Grace’s kitchen.

She looked briefly down. To her left, Roz and Flora tended the corn sacks and to her right, straw was being forked into a cart. She smiled across at Marco and in that instant she felt and saw a fat, black rat, its body soft against her ankle.

‘Aaaagh!
No
!’ She jumped back, startled, kicking out wildly at the straw beneath her feet. Then she let go a cry harsh with terror for the sheaves were shifting beneath her. She was falling!

She opened her mouth to cry out, but no sound came. She grabbed blindly at the straw, grasping it tightly, halting her fall only a little. The mass beneath her was still moving; she was rigid with panic and fear.

‘
Kat
!’ A hand caught her wrist with a grip of steel and the sliding and slipping stopped. ‘Your hand! Give to me your other hand!’

She lifted her arm slowly, felt his fingers grasp hers. The beater drum flailed and crashed below her, the belt slapped and snaked on and if she fell on it – oh, God! Why didn’t they stop the thing?

‘Hang on to her.’ It was Jonty’s voice, above her. ‘I’ve got you, Marco. Don’t let her go!’

‘Is all right, Kat.’ Marco’s voice was gentle and calm. ‘Be still. Not to struggle.’

Her body had turned to stone; her mouth was dry with terror. Hands tugged at her shirt. They were pulling her back.

‘Relax, Kath,’ Jonty called softly. ‘We’ve got you. Try not to struggle.’

The straw scratched her face and arms as inch by inch they dragged her back to them. The scream of the belt changed to a soft hum, then stopped; the drum juddered to a halt. Hands grasped the seat of her dungarees. With one grunting, groaning heave she was up and over, landing on top of the stack in a sprawl of arms and legs. For what seemed forever she lay there, shoulders heaving, trying to stop the jerking of her limbs.

‘Is all right, Katarina.’ Marco gathered her to him, holding her tightly, stroking her hair. ‘Is all over now.’

She clung to him and the sobs came; great, tearing sobs of relief. ‘Marco, oh, Marco …’

‘Here now, stop that noise! Come on, lassie; blow your nose!’ Flora was there, holding out a handkerchief. ‘What was it? What made you fall?’

‘A rat. There, at my feet!’

‘A rat, Katarina? A little frightened rat?’ Marco chided.

‘I thought it would crawl up my leg.’

‘Help her down,’ Jonty said gently. ‘I’ll take over up here with Marco.’

‘No! She stays.’ Flora’s voice was sharp. ‘If she doesn’t, she’ll never go on a stack again. Snap out of it, Kath! On your feet!’

‘I
can’t.
The rats. I’m sorry, but –’

‘We fix it, yes?’ Marco took two pieces of the discarded twine. ‘We fix those rats good. Stand up, Kat.’

Unsteadily she got to her feet, watching bewildered as Marco tied round the bottoms of her dungaree legs. ‘Is okay, now. No rats in trousers.’

He was smiling. Everybody was smiling. Kath sniffed loudly and pulled the back of her hand across her eyes.

‘I’m all right, now,’ she whispered. ‘I’ll stay.’

Grace Ramsden’s midday kitchen was warm and steamy, rich with the scents of cooking; a place of safeness and normality after the terror of the stackyard.

‘Feeling better now, lass?’ Grace asked as Kath hung her jacket on the door peg.

‘Fine, thanks. My word,’ she smiled shakily, ‘but I caused a bit of an upset, didn’t I? Marco caught me, you know; just grabbed my wrist. And Jonty was on top of that stack in a flash; held on to Marco’s belt with one hand and hung on to the roof beam with the other. Between them – oh, let’s just say I was lucky. I still don’t like to think what might have happened.’

‘Might have, but didn’t,’ Grace retorted, ‘so sit yourself down and let’s hear no more about it.’

‘But it was so stupid,’ Kath persisted. ‘And all because of a rat.’

‘I’m scared stiff of earwigs,’ Grace confided. ‘So away with your bother and find yourself somewhere to sit.’

Farms were not duty-bound to feed their workers on threshing days, but Home Farm had a reputation for good food, generously served, and even though now she was reduced to providing less than she would have liked, Grace Ramsden still saw to it that no one went without in her kitchen.

The stackyard workers arranged themselves around the table on chairs and benches, all of them hungry and glad of the break.

‘Sorry, Grace, but I don’t much feel like food.’ The familiar churning was inside Kath still, and if anyone else said one more word about it, even in fun, she would break down and weep again, she really would.

‘Then how about taking Marco his dinner? I’ll give him yours as well, shall I?’

‘You could do worse.’ Kath shrugged. ‘He did the work of two men this morning.’ Apart from saving her life, and holding her comfortingly afterwards, not telling her, either, that she was a silly woman who had no place on a farm if she went berserk at the sight of a rat. ‘Is this it?’ She picked up the tin tray.

‘Aye. Hurry along before it gets cold, there’s a good lass.’

Marco was sitting where he always sat and she settled the tray on his knees.

‘Here you are. It’s rabbit pie.’ She sat down beside him, chin on hands. ‘I want to thank you for saving my life, because you did, you know. I could have fallen into that machine and –’ She stopped, remembering the flailing, crashing thresher.

‘No. I would not have let you. You are not to think about it.’

‘But I must. I can’t forget what you did.’

‘Jonty was there. He help, also.’

‘Yes, and I shall thank him, too.’ She made a small, appealing gesture with her hands. ‘What can I say?’

‘Say you are no longer afraid of rats.’ He smiled.

‘Oh, no, I couldn’t. They’ll always frighten me, I think. But at least I know now how to stop them running up my trouser legs.’ She smiled, and the smile came more easily. ‘Well, I’d best be going, I suppose.’ She rose to her feet, then bending quickly, taking his face in her hands, she gently kissed his cheek. ‘Thanks, Marco …’

She turned then, and ran; back to Grace’s kitchen and the men and women who sat at her table. Pulling out the empty chair beside Roz she said, ‘All of a sudden I’m hungry. I don’t suppose there’s any of that pie left?’

Roz kicked off her wellingtons, called ‘Sorry I’m late!’ then kissed her grandmother’s cheek.

‘It’s almost dark. Did you manage to finish?’

‘We did. All over and done with till next year. God! I’m filthy! There wouldn’t be any hot water to spare, Gran? My hair’s thick with dust and I’ve got chaff down my shirt and it’s itching like mad. I need a bath.’

‘I thought you might; towels are on the fireguard. I held back supper till you came in. How did it go, darling?’

‘Fine. Well – up to a point, that is. Kath took a tumble over the side of the stack. She’s okay, but still a bit shaken. Marco grabbed her, just in time.’

‘The Italian?’

‘Yes, Gran.
Marco.
If it hadn’t been for him, there could’ve been a nasty accident.’

‘When am I going to meet your friend?’ The conversation took an abrupt about-turn. Not that she was not relieved, Hester acknowledged silently, that something awful hadn’t happened to the poor young woman, but it could not be discussed at Ridings if the credit must go to an Italian. ‘She seems nice. Ask her to tea sometime, and show her the house. You said she was interested to see it.’

‘Okay. Sunday’s her day off, same as mine. Maybe she’d like that.’

‘All settled, then. Perhaps Grace could spare me a couple of eggs for sandwiches,’ Hester murmured, ‘and there’s a little of the Christmas cake left.’ An almost fatless, almost fruitless, almost sugarless Christmas cake, she sighed, remembering the take-six-eggs-and-one-pound-of-butter recipe of pre-war days. ‘I’ll look forward to meeting her. Now upstairs with you. Supper’s at six sharp, so don’t lie there wallowing.’

‘All right now, Kath?’ asked Flora as they pedalled back to Peacock Hey. ‘Sorry I had to be a bit sharp this morning.’

‘I’m fine – you were right to make me stay up there. And one thing I’ve learned – not to go threshing again without tying my trouser bottoms. Did I make an awful fool of myself?’ she asked, frowning.

‘No more than I’d have made if it had happened to me. But farms are notorious places for accidents, Kath, so try to forget it. And we’d better get a move on, or there’ll be no hot water left.’

A letter was waiting at the hostel; Kath had sensed there would be one. It bore the Censor’s stamp and the handwriting on the envelope was Barney’s. She could have done without a letter from North Africa, she thought petulantly. Today of all days she needed Barney’s disapproval like she needed a rat up her trouser leg!

Lips set tightly, she returned it to the letter-rack. Right now she needed a hot bath more than anything else in the world. The letter must wait until after supper.

‘Ready for your supper?’ Grace asked of her son who sat in the fireside rocker.

The departure of the threshing team had not signalled the end of Jonty’s day; there had still been cows to feed and milk. Now he was so weary that if the house took a direct hit, he doubted he could get out of the chair.

‘Can you keep it warm till I’ve had a bath?’

‘I can. Kath offered to stay on and help with the milking, mind, but your dad sent her back with the Forewoman. She was badly shaken this morning, though she tried not to make a fuss. I like that girl, but just when I think I’ve got the measure of her and start treating her like I treat young Roz, then a barrier comes down, if you see what I mean?’

‘Sorry, Mum, no. Kath seems ordinary and normal to me, and for a towny she’s fitted in fine. What do you mean – a barrier?’

‘I don’t know; not exactly. But I’m right, I’m sure I am. Woman’s instinct, you could call it.’ Of course Jonty hadn’t sensed it; what man would? ‘And get yourself off your behind, lad. You’ll feel all the better when you’ve washed that muck off you.’ Oh, yes. It took a woman to know a woman. ‘And don’t forget to rinse out the bath when you’ve finished!’ she called as he slowly climbed the stairs.

There
was
something, Grace insisted, but she couldn’t pry – even in wartime, when people had grown kinder and closer, she couldn’t. Poor lass. Even in that hostel amongst all those girls, she’d still be alone, she wouldn’t mind betting; still holding back that last little bit of herself that no one would be allowed to see, or know.

‘Take care, Kath,’ she whispered, wondering how she was feeling and what she was doing. ‘Take care, lass.’

Kathleen Allen sat beside the common-room fire, a notepad on her knee. Only when she had bathed and eaten her supper had she returned to the letter-rack to pick out the blue air-mail envelope. And she had guessed right; Barney was still angry with her, though when he wrote he had not received the Christmas Day letter she hoped would make things right between them. Things would be better, when he did. When he read of her love; when he realized how she missed him and worried for his safety then perhaps he’d be the Barney she had cared for, and married. It stood to reason, she supposed, that a man should feel resentment when he was parted from all he cared for most.

She looked down at the pad.

Dearest Barney
,

Tonight, when I got back to the hostel, your letter was waiting for me. It is very cold here, the skies are grey and darkness comes early. I tried to imagine you sitting there writing to me, with the sun beating down and you trying to keep cool.

She had not mentioned his annoyance in her letter, nor apologized again. By now, surely, he must be prepared to forgive and forget?

Today at Home Farm we all worked very hard, threshing the last of the wheat. Everyone who could be spared came along to lend a hand and we finished just a little before dusk.

She would not tell him about the rat, nor about what happened to her. It might only cause him to worry – or prompt him to say he’d told her so. To tell him was impossible, anyway, because he still didn’t know about Jonty who should have been in the Army, and she could never tell him about Marco.