Luckpenny Land

by Freda Lightfoot

  ‘I’m not suggesting anything, except that you should tread warily, think carefully. Marriage is an awfully serious business. Try out a few more chaps first before you pick one.’ The sensual scarlet lips pouted seductively. ‘Spread a little happiness, that’s what I say.’

  Meg turned her head away to hide the quick flush of annoyance she felt at Kath’s words and called to Rust. He was half inside the bramble bush by this time and she couldn’t help but chuckle at the sight of his wriggling rump. Kath laughed too and it relieved the unexpected tension that had sprung up between them. ‘Seems almost a shame to rob him of his quarry. Rust! Here, boy!’

  The small dog, who was having the time of his life, was most reluctant to abandon this much loved, familiar scent but bellied backwards out of the bush and looked after Meg’s retreating figure. He waited for a fraction of a second, tongue lolling, just to make sure that she meant what she said. But as she continued to walk away he put down his head and streaked after her. It was hard, sometimes, for a dog to learn to change his allegiance but he was getting the idea.

  ‘Where’s Rust?’ Meg faced her father and brothers as they sat at the breakfast table, cold fury on her face. ‘Someone has cut his rope and let him free.’ Her eyes went straight to Dan but he did not look up from spooning his porridge.

  ‘If the cur had any sense it would stay here without a rope round its neck,’ said Joe.

  ‘I was frightened of him wandering off.’ She meant being driven away, by her jealous brother.

  Charlie set down his spoon. ‘I’ll help you look for him.’

  ‘No need for that. Anyway you’ve got work to do,’ Joe complained. ‘If it’s gone anywhere it’ll be back at Broombank where it belongs.’

  Meg stormed up to the table and glared down at Dan. ‘He was settling so well and you’ve ruined it. I expect you booted him out. He wouldn’t go willingly, not now.’ She felt helplessness overwhelm her. It was always the same. Anything that was hers, Dan would try to take from her and Joe wouldn’t lift a finger to chastise him for his peevishness.

  Meg blazed out the door and across the field on swinging, angry strides. She found the dog, as expected, comfortably ensconced in the old cruck barn at Broombank, looking pitifully guilty.

  ‘No harm done,’ said Lanky.

  ‘Not this time, no, but what right has Dan to let Rust go? How dare he?’ Meg’s temper was firing on all cylinders so she didn’t see Lanky put a hand to his brow and rub it with the heel of his palm.

  ‘I shouldn’t worry over it,’ he said. ‘One mistake won’t spoil him. He’s a quick learner.’ He couldn’t bring himself to get too excited about a dog that had come safely home even if it had been deliberately forced out. He had more pressing concerns.

  1939 was proving to be the hottest summer that anyone could remember. The Herdwicks and Swaledales, in their newly clipped shorter coats, had climbed as high up the fells as they could get, to the benefit of the grass on the lower slopes, and lay gasping for breath in any shade they could find. Even the curlews were absent, spending their days seeking moisture in the swampy areas of Arnside and Leighton Moss. The air seemed uncannily still and languorous, the kind of day it was hard to contemplate work.

  But Meg had been up since dawn, preparing the haytiming feast. ‘Am I glad to have you to help me, Sally Ann!’ she said with feeling, and her sister-in-law chuckled.

  ‘I see, that’s all you want me for, is it? A slave.’

  ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean it like it sounded.’

  Sally Ann cast her a shrewd glance and jerked her head in the direction of the hayfield where the Turners and Lawsons were busy bringing in the crop.

  ‘You’d rather be out there, wouldn’t you, getting your hands mucky? Well, why don’t you go? I can manage here.’

  ‘No, no, it’s all right. I’ll finish slicing this ham.’

  ‘You’ve been quiet lately. It’s Jack, isn’t it? Has he popped the question yet?’

  ‘Oh, don’t you start. I’ve enough with Father asking me day after day if young Lawson’s intentions are honourable.’ Both girls giggled.

  ‘Well, are they?’

  Meg flushed bright pink and followed Sally Ann’s gaze to where Jack toiled along with the rest. He looked so handsome it made her heart ache just to look at him.

  Every neighbour had come along to help, including the women and children. That was the best thing about the farming community in these parts, the way they helped one another. No family turned enough acreage over to growing crops to make the buying or hiring of a tractor pay, so the work had to be done mainly by hand. A lumbering fell pony pulled the Bamford mower over the smoother parts, with the men scything the corners and steeper areas in the old way.

  They’d gathered the cut hay into small cocks, and then as it dried into bigger and bigger cocks to stand like a regiment of expanding soldiers’ hats in the stubble for two weeks, or until the church bells had rung thrice, as the old adage said. And if the weather looked like breaking everyone would rush to load the hay on to the shelved carts and pack it into the high barns as quickly as possible, ready for winter.

  It was a good feeling, Meg thought, to be part of a community.

  ‘It looks very picturesque, doesn’t it?’ she remarked. ‘But you’d think we could have worked out a quicker way of doing it by now.’ Then glancing at Sally Ann’s face, she smiled. ‘All right. I’ll answer your question. Nothing at all has been decided about marriage. But, yes, Jack is honourable. At least he doesn’t push me to - you know. He respects the fact that I don’t want to.’

  ‘I suppose you’ve been brought up a bit more proper than me.’ Sally Ann shrugged. ‘Nobody would have cared if I’d got into trouble. Whereas with you...’

  It wasn’t necessary to finish the sentence.

  ‘But now you’re a respectable married woman. Oh, and, Sally Ann, I do so enjoy having you as a sister.’

  Sally Ann reached for another loaf she had made only that morning, looking flushed and pleased. ‘I confess I was a touch anxious about it at first. But we’ve got on all right, haven’t we? And I’m getting used to this farming lark.’

  Jack’s muscled shoulders were burnt brown by the sun with scarcely any feeling left in them, having long since passed the pain barrier. He had been scything, mowing, raking and turning hay for weeks now, and he was bone weary. Long days working well into the night, able to snatch only a few hours’ sleep before rising at dawn to start lifting and shaking the hay all over again. His legs felt hard as iron and his blistered hands burned as if they were on fire. All his hatred for the life he was leading was encapsulated in that pain.

  The sun was starting to drop from the aching blue sky now, bringing a welcome relief, and he stopped to wipe the sweat from his brow.

  As he stretched his aching back Jack wondered why he’d ever come back. Guilt and concern over Lanky, he supposed.

  Connie had always been the clever one and he’d been glad to get away from the constant comparisons made between the two of them. What he’d discovered was a whole new world out there, a life in the cities and big towns that he hadn’t even known existed. He’d been tempted to return home when his sister married, but his feet still itched to be off again.

  This being the case, why was he committing himself to Meg? He could see her setting food on a long trestle table beneath the big old ash. She and Sal happily cooked and baked for the dozens of workers, now that the haytiming was almost over.

  He had himself brought over an entire barrel of beer that waited to be supped. His mouth watered just to think of it.

  ‘Is that food ready yet?’ he called, and grinned as he saw Meg instantly turn her head towards him, her whole face lighting up as if from some inner glow.

  ‘Ready when you are.’

  ‘Right.’ He flung aside the pitchfork with relief. ‘Come on, Dan. I’m starving. Let’s eat.’

  ‘Aye, let Charlie finish on his own.’ And when his young brother objected, a good-natured
tussle broke out and the two men chased the luckless Charlie right up the hill to Brockbarrow Tarn. They were all breathless when they reached the top of the hill but Dan still found the energy to fling his brother into the deep pool, shouting with laughter as Charlie came up spluttering and gasping with cold.

  ‘This is great,’ he yelled, determined not to be bested. ‘Just what the doctor ordered.’ Then tugging off his boots and clothes he tossed them to the bank and lay back, paddling ecstatically in the fresh cool water.

  Dan and Jack exchanged a glance then they too were stripping off boots and trousers thick with dust and hayseed and leaping in after him, slapping each other with sprays of ice water.

  The worst part was putting the hot dusty clothes back on again, but, thoroughly refreshed, the men tucked happily into pork pie and home-cured ham, apple turnovers and great hunks of home produced cheese.

  The food was delicious and Jack congratulated himself on his good fortune. A man liked to have his fling, right enough, but when it came to wife material there were other considerations. Marriage might not be such a bad thing after all, he decided.

  He watched Meg as she sliced ham for Lanky and Joe, her rounded arms tanned by hours in the sun, breasts moving enticingly freely beneath the thin cotton of her dress, and felt warm life return to his nether regions. Yes, Meg had shaped up pretty good for all she still held some girlish inhibitions. Now if he could just persuade her to stop worrying about Lanky and Broombank, they’d be off over the blue horizon come the year end, no matter what.

  His father could sell the farm to Joe Turner if he so wanted. What the hell did it matter so long as Jack could get away. He’d had enough of liver fluke, blowfly, sheep dung and daylong back-breaking labour to last him a lifetime. He had other plans for his life and Meg would have to accept that.

  Then why hadn’t he chosen Kath Ellis instead?

  As restless as himself in some ways, she was the obvious choice. Yet Jack instinctively knew he could never hope to keep Katherine Ellis happy. Whatever good times they might have had, and they’d certainly had that, it was all in the past. To have Kath for a wife would be like trying to control a flock of sheep without a dog. She’d run rings round him, play every feminine trick in the book, spend all his money and more besides, then toss him to one side as easily as Dan tossed Charlie in the tarn.

  Besides, she’d started getting a bit troublesome lately. Why, only last week they’d been in the barn, as usual, him lying on the dusty bales and Kath standing in a shaft of sunlight that came down through the rafters. Just like a spotlight in a theatre, it was. He hadn’t been able to take his eyes off her.

  Unlike Meg, Kath was always happy to take her clothes off. In one way he felt it a pity because it was always a pleasurable experience, part of the enjoyment as it were, to take them off himself. But he was not averse to a little strip show. And there was no doubt Kath looked gorgeous in her silk slip, those magnificent breasts of hers peaking wantonly. He’d felt an erection starting before she’d hardly got her blouse undone.

  But when he’d reached out a hand to stroke their smooth beauty, Kath had slapped it away and not with her usual teasing touch either. ‘What are you in such a temper about?’

  ‘You, you great oaf. We can’t go on like this. I’ve told you before, we have to stop.’

  ‘Stop what?’ he’d asked, surprised by her fervour. ‘I can’t think what you’re talking about?’

  ‘You’ve got to tell her.’

  ‘Tell her? Tell who what?’

  Kath had sighed but he’d been impatient to be done with talking and get on with the business in hand, or what he would like to have in hand. He’d reached for her again only to be disappointed. Kath kept herself enticingly out of reach.

  ‘About us, you goon. Meg loves you, and she’s my friend. We can’t keep on hurting her in this way.’

  Jack saw that he had a problem. Kath had totally misunderstood the situation. He’d never intended getting seriously entangled with her. She was big fish, out of his price range, fun to play with but never to land. He set about correcting her mistake.

  ‘We haven’t hurt Meg. She doesn’t know anything about this and she’s not going to. It was just a bit of fun.’

  ‘I know.’ Her face looked odd somehow, sort of stiff and fierce, and Jack suddenly saw how she would look when she was old. It was the weirdest sensation.

  She’d come to sit beside him then, her long tapering fingers starting to unbutton his shirt. Damn the woman! How could he argue with her when parts of him were standing to attention? ‘The thing is,’ she was saying, ‘I know it started off that way, but what if I decided to apply for exclusive rights? We might make a good team, don’t you think? We could go places, you and I. Let’s face it, we’re neither of us country bumpkin types. If it weren’t for you, and Bonnie, of course, I’d be bored sick here.’

  ‘I’m glad you at least put me before the damn horse.’

  She was starting on the buckle at his waist and Jack could scarcely contain his excitement.

  ‘You’re wasted on that farm.’ She kissed his bare chest. ‘Daddy could always find you a good job. He has friends, you know, contacts in Lancaster or Manchester, or even London if you prefer.’

  If there was one thing Jack hated it was being organised, particularly by a woman, and he’d never expected it from the effervescent, fun-loving Katherine Ellis. It didn’t appeal one bit. The pity of it was that she had a marvellous body but Jack’s taste for it had quite gone. His ardour had evaporated as quickly as it had come. Some sixth sense told him it was time to end this bit of fun. If Katherine Ellis was starting to make demands then there must be a reason and he wanted no part of it. No, it was time to make changes. He didn’t like a pushy woman.

  Jack made love to her, as required, but more out of obligation than desire. It left a taste in his mouth as dry as ash.

  But since he liked the idea of having a woman to look after him and needed to escape Kath, it had to be Meg. She was a worker, no doubt about that, and a damn good cook. And Meg adored him, didn’t she? It was important to a man, to be adored.

  She had other delightful attributes of which she was only just becoming aware. He slid a hand up her skirt now and over her bare leg as she moved close by him. His fingers had very nearly found her crotch when she gave a smothered squeal and cast him a fierce look, making him choke on his pie as he laughed. Oh, yes, Meg got better and better. Kath would see how it had to be.

  It was August, and Meg’s twenty-first birthday, so a holiday had been awarded. They were to climb to the top of Kidsty Pike for a picnic. Jack and Meg, Sally Ann and Dan, and Charlie. And Kath and Richard, of course.

  ‘Where’s Kath? She promised she’d be here.’

  ‘Don’t let’s waste time waiting for her,’ grumbled Dan, but Meg insisted and they all sat about in the August heat, kicking their heels and getting far too hot.

  Three-quarters of an hour later, even Meg had very nearly run out of patience when Kath’s little Ford came bumping up the farm track. ‘Where have you been?’

  She shrugged and apologised. ‘Richard isn’t coming. He’s busy.’ He’d refused her invitation. It was the first time he’d ever gone against Kath’s wishes and she’d been puzzled, so had gone to his house to find out why. Then a young girl had called to her from the French windows and all had been made clear.

  Kath shivered, feeling oddly cold inside despite the heat. It wasn’t as if she loved him. It didn’t really matter. Except that it left this problem, still unsolved. Oh, to hell with it.

  Linking hands with both Meg and Jack, she tossed back a sleek swathe of hair and laughed. ‘Come on, what are we waiting for? I’m starving.’

  They walked for miles through lanes fringed with thick clusters of lady’s bedstraw, speedwell, pink campion and great yellow patches of celandines. Then on over the tough, sheep-cropped grass where the only touch of colour was the pale mauve of sweet-scented heather, thick with bees. For the last part they
had to scramble over craggy rocks and rough scree to make the ascent but it was worth it, Meg thought, just for the exhilaration alone, let alone the view.

  Here in the mountains she felt in tune with her world, a part of the green and blue beauty of it, laid out like a map before her. Far below, further away than it actually looked as distances were deceptive at this height, was the strung out blue-grey of Ullswater with the majesty of Helvellyn, Fairfield and Scafell beyond. And in the other direction lay the humble simplicity of Broombank and Ashlea. They lay along the edge of a long dale with Broombank at the apex of the ridge and Ashlea below, as if a giant thumb had scoured out a place for them.

  ‘How can anyone bear to leave this?’ Meg sighed, resting her chin on her knees as she gazed, contented, upon her beloved land.

  ‘I could,’ said Charlie, with quiet firmness. ‘If I could do what I most wanted.’

  ‘Which is?’ asked Kath, clearing stones and brushing the heather with her hands to make a comfy spot for herself so that everyone laughed at her. But she only pulled a face at her audience, spread a clean white handkerchief and laid her head upon it, fluffing her pageboy bob into place. ‘Go on, Charlie. I’m listening. What is it you want to do?’

  ‘Fly.’

  ‘Oh, me too,’ murmured Sally Ann softly. ‘Like a great heron, soaring high in the sky.’

  ‘More like a big fat buzzard if you keep on eating at that rate,’ Dan said, and got a swipe for his pains. Sally Ann was heard to mutter something about greedy husbands. But they seemed to be grinning at each other so that was all right.

  ‘You might well get your chance,’ put in Jack quietly, when the laughter had died down. ‘To fly, I mean. I listened to the news the other day. It wasn’t good. People are putting out sand bags and building Anderson shelters in their back yards in the towns and cities. Maybe we should get one?’

  ‘Where’d we put it and who would fly over here? Unless they’d taken a wrong turning and missed Barrow or Liverpool,’ said Dan, carelessly. ‘Can I have another cheese and pickle sandwich?’