Luckpenny Land

by Freda Lightfoot

  ‘I thought you loved me?’ she said, trying to scramble free of him and hiccuping like a child on her tears. ‘I love you.’ For so long she’d tried not to be the first to say those words and now she had spoiled it all by letting them come. Jack would never love her now. He would blame her for everything, she could see it in the mutinous set of his handsome face. Her heart ached to see how it turned against her, to see the sensual lips curl with distaste.

  ‘Love? Who are you to talk of love? For months you’ve hardly let me touch you. What do you think I’m made of? Stone.’ He’d got her skirt unfastened and tugged it from her in a frenzy of frustration. Not listening to the voice of reason in the back of his head, he could feel only the pulsing heat of his loins.

  ‘No, Jack.’ Her voice sounded oddly cracked and surprisingly calm. ‘Not like this. I don’t want it to happen like this, in anger. You know you’ll only regret it.’

  ‘Damn you,’ he said, flinging himself down upon her and starting to knead her breasts. She’d planned it all, he could see that now. Making him mad for her all these months, then when Joe Turner had yet another refusal on his latest offer for Broombank, it was suddenly all right. She was begging for it. ‘All this time I’ve wanted you and all you’ve given me is the prissy miss act, but Daddy now says it’s all right so here you are, the virginal sacrifice.’

  ‘No. It’s not like that.’ Meg knew her words were lost on him. His legs straddled her and his mouth was grasping her nipple, suckling her, driving her mad with need. But this was all wrong. It wasn’t meant to be this way. With shock she felt his fingers move deep inside her, thrusting and probing, and pain and pleasure swamped her. Dear God, how I love him, she thought. Let his anger go. Oh, please let him be kind. He must want us to be one, our love perfect, as she did.

  ‘Kiss me,’ she begged, but he ignored her as his fingers explored her with outrageous boldness, making the need worse not better, making her want him beyond anything she had ever imagined.

  ‘Love me, Jack. I do love you so.’

  She could hear her own voice begging for him as he’d said she would one day, feel her body arching against him, the wetness of herself a startling revelation. What was it he wanted of her? Not just to lie here, surely?

  He was fumbling with something, talking of how much something or other cost and would she keep still or he’d tear it?

  Then he was lifting her thighs, his fingers bruising her flesh as he pulled her against him. When he drove into her it took her by surprise and she cried out with the unexpected pain of it. Then he was pounding into her with such force her head was pushed uncomfortably against the wall of the barn. She lifted herself to him, wanting to be as close as she could get, to make the loving come right. Meg tried to match his energy and need with her own, but somehow all desire seemed to drain from her and she found herself wanting it all to be over as quickly as possible. When he finally withdrew, shuddering on the hay beside her, an aching disappointment left her spent and drained of emotion.

  And feeling very faintly foolish.

  Afterwards, they lay in the hay side by side, not speaking. Meg became aware of a strange soreness in parts of her body she had never considered before.

  ‘Feel better now?’ Jack asked, and she smiled shyly, not sure how to answer. It hadn’t been exactly as she’d imagined. But perhaps that was because it was her first time, and she’d feel more involved when she’d had a bit more practice. Guilt washed over her. What was she saying? It’d been Christmas and the unaccustomed wine that had gone to her head. It mustn’t happen again. Not till they were wed. ‘We shouldn’t have done that,’ she said.

  Jack was sitting up, lighting a cigarette. ‘Why not? It’s made me feel better anyway.’

  ‘I wouldn’t like to make a habit of it,’ she said worriedly.

  Jack chuckled, his eyes scanning her pale body in the shaft of moonlight. ‘I wouldn’t mind.’

  She stroked one finger over the bow of his lips, giggling when his teeth nipped her fingertips. ‘Why should I want Lanky’s farm when I can have you? Land is easy to rent anywhere for a pound an acre. Love comes much more expensive.’ And as his eyelids flickered slightly, eyes glinting, she kissed him softly.

  ‘We’ll marry in the spring,’ she said. ‘Then we can make love all the time. There. Will that make you happy?’

  Chapter Eight

  1939

  Everyone in the farming community was glad that 1938 was over. What with the slump in prices and shortage of labour, things had been difficult and profits few. But with talk of a coming war it looked as if next year might be even worse.

  Only Meg was happy. Meg positively glowed. Her life had changed beyond all expectation and she revelled in the joy of it.

  She spent New Year’s Day quietly at Broombank and it wasn’t till a week after that the worrying started. Every morning when she got up, every night when she went to bed, she looked for the sign that would tell her all was as it should be.

  But there was nothing.

  Oh lordy, what if she fell pregnant? Meg felt sick with fear. She imagined facing her father with the terrible news, for that’s how he would view it. He’d do more than slap her face then, much more. She must have been mad to allow her feelings to run away with her like that, just because it was Christmas.

  As each day passed she could hardly eat with the worry of it. She couldn’t concentrate on any topic of conversation above a minute, and her stomach churned with anxiety so much it almost felt as if there must be a baby in there already.

  When at last one night she woke to the familiar stickiness between her legs she actually wept with relief. Never, never, she decided, would she put herself through such agony again.

  ‘The wine went to my head,’ she explained to Jack as they sat by Broombank fire taking supper together one evening. ‘It must never happen again.’

  ‘Why not, for God’s sake? You don’t seriously expect me to go back to sweet kisses and holding hands after that, do you?’

  ‘It’s only for a little while. Till we marry in the spring.’

  ‘And what if your dad won’t let us? You’re not twenty-one until August.’

  ‘Then it’ll have to be August or September. He can’t stop us then.’

  The anxiety on Jack’s face made her laugh. ‘I’ve told you, he doesn’t mind. But even if he does, this is just between you and me and nothing to do with anyone else.’ She kissed him teasingly on the nose. ‘Tell me you love me, go on, I want to hear you say it.’

  ‘You know I do,’ he said gruffly, and she laughed again at his embarrassment.

  ‘Oh, Jack, I’m so happy. Isn’t life lovely? Have you spoken to Lanky yet?’

  ‘About what?’ Jack’s attention seemed to be far away. Tired, she didn’t wonder, from his long hours working. He had probably been up at dawn to feed the animals and do the milking.

  A great wave of love for him washed over her. When they were married she’d be able to help him by sharing the load. She’d get a girl in to do the rough work in the house so that she’d have the time to spend with Jack out on the farm. How she would love to make a warm home for him, sit with him here every evening, as his wife. Then he would turn out the lamp and take her upstairs to the big wide bed where they would make love. Meg went hot all over just to think of it. Best to keep to safer topics.

  ‘I was talking to Lanky about him increasing the flock. Unless he wants to go in for more dairy? Has he decided yet?’

  The violet eyes darkened and he kicked a log that had slipped a little back into the grate. A shower of sparks scattered like fireflies. ‘You shouldn’t bother him with such ideas. He’s not up to it.’

  ‘I thought you were dissatisfied with the farm and wanted to improve it. Perhaps he’ll let you take over when we marry, let you do things your own way.’ Meg knelt before him and leaned her cheek against his knee, eyes troubled. ‘The farm needs proper attention from someone.’

  ‘Don’t blame me,’ he said sharply. ‘
It’s not my fault.’

  She’d made him angry and dipped her head for a moment, blinking furiously as the colours in the rag rug blurred giddily before her eyes. Desperate to make it right, she plunged blindly on. ‘It’s only that this Christmas he’s looked so gaunt, and that tweed jacket seems bigger than ever. The weight is dropping off him and he’s coughing more. What is it? What’s wrong? Can’t you do anything?’

  ‘You know I can’t. I already told you.’ There was bitterness in Jack’s tone and he pulled her roughly into his arms. ‘Now for God’s sake stop going on about the farm. Give me some attention for a change.’

  Spring came and the alder and hazel catkins clustered thick as clotted cream on the spindly branches. A blackbird sang his heart out, showing off to his intended, and Dan and Sally Ann married, as planned. Meg and Jack postponed their own plans to the autumn because she still hadn’t plucked up courage to ask her father, and neither had Jack.

  She was afraid Joe might put conditions on her, as if she were a cow at market and prove Jack right in his suspicions.

  It wasn’t long till she was twenty-one then she could please herself.

  Sally Ann looked a picture in a dove grey dress and matching loose fitting coat, despite the freckled paleness of her cheeks. Grey suede shoes with pretty leather bows and a tiny pink hat with a veil completed the ensemble.

  She’d intended to be married in white and had spent hours with Meg poring over newspapers to see what ‘This Year’s Bride was wearing’. But somehow none of the designs had quite suited or been within her means and they’d always ended up reading depressing advertisements for black-out curtains or gramophones at six shillings a week that they couldn’t afford.

  ‘Look at this, sixpence to wash a bundle of clothes for an evacuated child. Well, I could always do that, couldn’t I, as my war effort?’ Sally Ann read, and Meg shivered, as if a goose had stalked over her grave. ‘Don’t talk about the war. I hate it.’

  They told the postman, who delivered their morning paper, to stop bringing it if all it contained was bad news.

  ‘I’ll speak to the newspaper people about it,’ he said laughing, and carried on bringing it, if only because he enjoyed the chat with Meg and Sal and the cups of tea they gave him.

  They had gone into Kendal in the end to buy something pretty but serviceable. Meg too had bought a new dress, a deep cobalt blue that set off the burnished honey of her curls, now grown fairly long again as a concession to Jack. The dress hung in her wardrobe upstairs and she wondered when she would ever wear it again. On her honeymoon perhaps?

  Sometimes, in the quiet of the night, Meg worried about the fact that she’d put a stop to their love making. She guessed it had something to do with her Methodist upbringing as much as her fear of her father, that she couldn’t think it right to give yourself to a man before you were wed. Yet she had done so, hadn’t she? Not that she’d been very good at it, mind. No bells had rung or fireworks exploded and she had felt, in the end, as if it was all a bit messy and embarrassing. That was probably the worry, she decided. It wasn’t Jack’s fault, or hers. Everything would be all right once they were married.

  She didn’t regret it though. At least now Jack knew how much she loved him.

  The installing of Sal in the kitchen at Ashlea meant that Meg had more time for herself as well as more time to spend with Jack. She brought Rust home at last and was glad of his company for the dog had already proved to be a great friend.

  ‘What are you going to do with the cur then?’ asked Dan, watching her knock together a kennel for him out of some odd bits of wood.

  ‘This is my dog. Leave him alone, right?’

  Dan advanced a pace and Rust half rose from his lying position, giving a low growl deep in his throat. Dan stopped. ‘You think I’d be interested in a puny creature like that?’

  ‘He may be small but he’s strong and a good sheep dog. He needs time to settle, so don’t bother him.’

  ‘You know nowt about sheep dogs, nor sheep for that matter.’ He made no mention of having seen her once, working the dog. Never give away all your secrets, that was Dan’s motto.

  ‘Maybe I know more than you think.’ Meg tied Rust to a post and rubbed his ear affectionately, much to Dan’s amusement. But she took care to wait until her brother had left the yard before feeding the dog some titbits.

  ‘There you are, boy. This is home now.’ Rust gazed up at her with adoring brown eyes in which she could see her own image reflected. Every day she took him for long walks over the fells, or more often up to Brockbarrow Wood where they would sit in the shade for a while and Rust would drink from the small tarn. Then on sometimes as far as Whinstone Gill. The stream wasn’t gushing with quite its usual force through the rock because May had been uncommonly dry but it was a peaceful, secret sort of place where you could be certain of being alone.

  It was a pleasant surprise to find Kath there one warm afternoon in early June.

  ‘What’s this? Lady of leisure now Sally Ann is resident cook, eh?’ Kath pulled a towel around her bare shoulders. Her hair wasn’t wet but she was dressed for swimming in a pink cotton swimsuit. She started to pull on a swirling floral skirt.

  ‘Taking a leaf out of your book.’ Meg dropped on the grass beside her. A dipper was doing its clever underwater walk, forging its way against the current as it searched for tadpoles, worms and other treats. Meg watched it for a while, laughing, then rolled over on to her stomach. ‘Have you been swimming? Why didn’t you tell me? I would have brought my cossy and joined you.’

  ‘I wasn’t, I mean, this is hardly the place, is it? And the water’s a bit too cold yet. It was just a walk, and a sunbathe. You’re usually too busy working at this time of day.’

  Meg wrinkled her nose. ‘I feel lazy today. It’s too hot to think, let alone work. I’ve been putting Rust through his paces and relaxing. Isn’t that wicked? Oh, what’s that?’ She sat up quickly, staring into the bushes behind them. ‘Did you hear something?’

  ‘No. Didn’t hear a thing.’

  ‘Rust, what are you doing?’ The dog was nosing about excitedly in the undergrowth that grew out of the cracks at the bottom of the crag, tail waving like a flag. ‘What have you found?’

  ‘Probably rabbits. There are loads about. Come on, let’s go. I’m suddenly desperately hungry. You can take me home and feed me some of Sally Ann’s wonderful scones.’

  Meg laughed, enjoying the rare warmth of the sun too much to want to move. ‘What about your diet?’

  ‘Blow to that. Come on.’ Kath tugged at her arm.

  ‘I can take a hint. You should have brought a picnic if you were so ravenous.’

  ‘We will have a picnic. Soon. A great big one.’

  ‘No time. There’ll be the clipping soon and Sally Ann and I will have to do the great bake-in for all the shearers who come to help.’ Meg rolled her eyes. ‘What a job. I think I’d much rather clip sheep than roll pastry any day.’

  ‘You are a funny old thing. Personally, I’d rather do neither.’ Kath linked her arm into Meg’s and began to walk her along the path. ‘Come on, let’s go and be greedy piggies.’

  ‘We’re all very aware of your philosophy of life, Kath. Why do anything if you can get away with less? I don’t know why I bother with such a wastrel.’

  It was said in a good-natured fashion as it was an old joke between them but Kath appeared to be taking it more seriously for once. ‘Maybe I’ll change one day and surprise you all.’

  ‘Now that I would love to see. I shall look forward to it.’

  ‘One thing’s for certain, it won’t be here, in this Godforsaken place.’

  Meg stopped. ‘How can you say such a thing? This is the most beautiful country on God’s earth.’ She looked about her at the mountains she regarded almost as friends. She knew every fissure of rock, every footpath. She recognised the light and shade of their moods which changed as quickly as the weather, and could not imagine a life where she would not walk upon the
m, or simply feast her eyes upon their mystical beauty.

  ‘For you, yes.’ Kath met Meg’s shocked expression with a wry smile. ‘This is your special place. You have your plans, something to look forward to. Marriage, motherhood. Who’d have thought it? You with your constant cries for independence.’

  ‘Things change. You could have the same if you married Richard Harper.’

  Kath rolled her eyes. ‘To make Mummy happy? No, it wouldn’t be right. I don’t love him. I don’t love anyone, and I don’t know what I want to do with my life. It’s all very silly, don’t you think?’ There was an extra brightness to the hazel eyes and Meg felt a rush of affection for her friend.

  ‘I used to feel the same way, as if I had no purpose to life.’

  ‘And now you’ve found it, like a mission. Wife and mother, just as Sally Ann wants to be, as all normal women want to be, apparently. An essential part of life.’ There was a tartness in the tone, unlike Kath’s usual carefree self, that made Meg flinch.

  ‘I don’t see why a woman has to give up her independence just because she’s married. I’ll still be me inside. There are so many things I want to do. Life is so exciting.’

  She wanted to be with Jack desperately. But the need to prove herself in other ways was growing almost as strong.

  ‘So when’s the happy day?’

  ‘No date fixed yet.’

  ‘Ah, yes, of course. Difficult to pin Jack down, I should imagine.’ Kath half glanced back over her shoulder. ‘Hadn’t you best call that dog of yours? Not too obedient, is he?’

  ‘What did you mean by that?’

  ‘By what?’

  ‘Being difficult to pin Jack down? It’s not at all, as a matter of fact. We’re waiting till I’m of age.’

  Kath shrugged, still looking oddly strained as she smiled at Meg. ‘You know my opinion of Jack Lawson. I haven’t changed my mind. If you were to ask me, I’d advise you to stop seeing him for a while. Test him. See how long it takes for him to come running.’

  Meg went very still. ‘You’re suggesting he wouldn’t?’