by Anne Bennett
‘In my country in winter there is always much snow,’ Max said. ‘And the rivers and lakes freeze so hard people skate on them.’
‘It’s hardly ever that cold here, I’m glad to say,’ Sarah shivered. ‘I’m blinking perished as it is and I’m going back to my warm kitchen soon.’
‘You can’t go yet,’ Charlie said. ‘Linda hasn’t even had a go.’
He was right. Linda had watched all the children go down with either Sam or Max, and now there was just her. She was nervous, there was no denying it, for she’d never even sat on a sledge before and the bottom of the hill looked an awfully long way off; what’s more, she’d seen how fast the sledge went.
‘I will go down with you,’ Max said, seeing Linda chewing at her lip.
‘No, no it’s all right,’ Linda said quickly.
‘I would take up his offer, Linda,’ Sarah urged. ‘I was glad to have Sam at my back, I can tell you. I was frightened to death.’
‘Aw, Mom,’ Charlie said in disgust.
‘You can “Aw Mom” all you like,’ Sarah said. ‘I daresay I wasn’t frightened when I was your age, but I am now.’
‘I bet Linda isn’t scared.’
Oh, I am, Linda thought, but not just about the ride on the sledge.
Before she had a chance to answer, Sarah gave a shiver and said, ‘I’m away in, anyway. You lot will be frozen stiff. I’ll stoke up the fire and make some soup to warm you all up.’
‘Ah, wait till Linda has a go,’ Sally said. ‘It’s not fair else, ’cos she watched you.’
‘Oh, I won’t bother,’ Linda said. ‘I’ll go back to the house and help your mom.’ It was what she’d done ever since she’d arrived at the farm – use the excuse of helping Sarah to keep out of Max’s way. That was why she’d not taken a hand in building the biggest snowman in the world. Then she’d found Max hadn’t been there either, but in the barn making a sledge, when he’d found out the Phelps children didn’t possess one. And then, after a wonderful casserole made with pork, which Linda hadn’t tasted in a long while, with rhubarb crumble to follow, the whole family had gone to try the sledge out.
But she didn’t really want to go back to the farm. Nervous as she was, she wanted to try out the sledge as all the others had; if Max hadn’t been there, she’d not have hesitated.
There was a collective groan of disappointment from the children. ‘I’d never have said you were a scaredy cat,’ Charlie said scathingly.
‘Well, now you know.’
Sam cuffed his small son lightly and said, ‘Less of your cheek, young man.’
‘Go on, Linda.’ Even Rosemarie and Jamie were urging, and for their sake, to see them animated about anything, she decided she would go for it.
‘I’ll go down behind you,’ Sam offered, and Linda felt relieved. She had no worries going down with Sam, but before she could accept his offer, Charlie jumped in. ‘It’s Max’s turn,’ he said. ‘You went down with Mom.’
‘And he did make it, Dad,’ Sally put in.
What else could she do? To keep protesting would appear off and also Max might guess why she was so anxious. He might think she was afraid of him, and that was nonsense. But she made one more attempt. ‘There’s no need for anyone to go with me, I can go down by myself.’
‘It runs better and faster with two,’ Max declared. ‘It’s made that way.’
With a sigh Linda gave in and climbed on to the sledge in front of Max, who held the guiding ropes. With a push they were off. They flew fast over the ground polished to glistening ice, with the wind pulling at their clothes and slapping at their faces. Exhilaration flowed through Linda, both from the speed at which they were travelling and from the nearness of Max pressed tight against her. He held the ropes down low, so that his hands brushed her waist and sent little shivers of alarm through her, even while she acknowledged she was enjoying it.
She saw the snowdrift they were heading for before he did. She screamed his name in warning, but the sound was snatched away by the wind. Too late – Max tried to swerve and then they were in the middle of it. Snow – soft, brilliant white and icy cold – covered Linda’s face and clothes. It plastered her nose and mouth and even her eyelashes, and dampened the hair poking out from the woolly hat she had on, and she lay in it, half buried in the drift. She put a snow-crusted glove up to wipe her face, aware of the snow that had got through the turned-up collar and the scarf, and which was now trickling in icy rivulets down her neck.
Max, his face full of concern, was reaching for her, pulling her out, but when he realized she was laughing not crying, he smiled too. ‘You’re not hurt?’
‘No, just wet,’ Linda giggled. ‘Though I’m glad of the trousers and wellingtons Sarah found for me, but I think the wellies at least are full of snow now too.’
She struggled to her feet as she spoke and with the help of Max’s hands tugging at her, suddenly she was upright, and she and Max were inches apart. They gazed at each other, the hilarity wiped from their faces and Linda had a great longing for Max to grab her closer and kiss her. Max, had she but known it, had the same desire, but knew he could do nothing. Nevertheless her name came out unbidden and slightly husky. ‘Linda, oh Linda,’ he whispered.
‘Are you all right?’
The words shouted by Sam from the top of the hill broke the spell and Linda called back, ‘Fine,’ knowing that her voice was cracked and false-sounding and not able to do anything about it.
‘Linda, we must talk,’ Max said, as they began the ascent together, dragging the sledge behind them.
Linda was glad Max could not see the trembling of her legs, nor the thudding of her heart against her ribs. She licked her lips and willed her voice not to let her down as she said as casually as she could, trying to pretend nothing unusual had happened between them. ‘Go on then, talk away.’
‘Not here, not now,’ Max said. ‘If you could come to the barn later …’
Linda stared at him, feeling confused and mixed up. He was a German, and therefore off-limits to her – surely he understood that! He was a prisoner, for heaven’s sake! She’d deliberately held herself aloof from boyfriends while the war raged. She’d seen friends and workmates who had loved men who had later been reported dead or missing, and she saw Jenny worrying daily over Bob. But soon it would be over, everyone knew it was just a matter of time now, and then she’d meet some nice British boy who would mean something special to her – for she’d have no truck with any Yank either – and Max Schulz would be returned to his own country.
Max watched the girl he’d loved from the first moment he’d seen her. Thoughts of her got between him and his sleep, and lately she’d filled his daylight hours too. He’d quizzed the Phelps’s children about her mercilessly, and being the type of children they were, they knew everything there was to know about Linda. When Max heard of the tragedy in her life, he’d bowed his head in shame, certain she’d hate all Germans with a passion. But she hadn’t seemed to, at least not all the time; sometimes she’d been quite nice. He’d not known for sure what she’d felt about him until the moment, seconds before, when they’d gazed at each other and he’d seen the longing in her face that he knew mirrored his own.
But whatever he’d said had angered her, for there was no longing on her face now as she turned to him, only barely concealed contempt.
‘No, I will not come to the barn. What sort of girl d’you think I am, to go sneaking off into barns? If you’ve anything to say, then say it now openly and if you haven’t then be silent.’
She dropped her side of the rope and leaving Max to fumble for it, strode away from him. Sarah, who’d returned from the farmhouse, saw her eyes smouldering with anger as she drew close. She alone had witnessed the scene at the foot of the hill and the altercation that had followed it, for Sam, once he’d established Linda was unhurt, had taken the children a little way back to show them how to make snow angels. Sarah could have sworn there was something between Max and Linda when she’d seen them tog
ether. But Max must have said something to annoy the girl. She didn’t wonder at the attraction between them, for both were young and she saw nothing wrong in two young people having feelings for one another, no matter that one was a German. But she knew this wouldn’t be the view of all people, so maybe Linda would be wise to nip it in the bud.
And Linda, unaware of Sarah’s scrutiny, kept out of Max’s way until darkness and the cold drew them all back to the big farmhouse kitchen. They were all glad of the warmth that hit them as soon as they entered, and the tantalizing smell of the broth Sarah was ready to dish up the minute they’d peeled off their wet clothes and left them steaming over the guard, across the fire.
Much later, after a more than substantial tea, during which Max had constantly tried to catch Linda’s eye and she’d determinedly ignored his efforts, she sat before the fire and watched the flames dancing in the hearth and decided she’d have to have it out with Max. He had to realize that she would be polite with him as good manners dictated, but no more than that, and that would have to stand, however he felt, and indeed however she felt herself, because there could be no future for them. Not of course that she’d admit she had feelings for him. That would be madness.
Nor would she go to any secret assignation in a barn or any other place. She wondered with a grim smile how he thought that could have been achieved anyway. Didn’t he think it would have aroused comment if she’d left the comfort of the Phelps’s fireside and gone into the black night for purposes of her own? Damn the man! He disturbed her more than he should and at the first opportunity she’d tell him he was to stop harassing her.
Sam and Sarah noticed Linda’s preoccupation, but while Sarah had her own ideas about the girl’s quietness and had watched her face as she struggled with her emotions, Sam just put it down to tiredness.
Then he reasoned, a death in the family wasn’t something to make a joke of. He’d not known Dan Driscoll himself, but he was sure the man was decent enough and Linda was bound to be affected. He was glad to see that Rosemarie and Jamie, albeit tired, both looked a lot better than the whey-faced, subdued pair he’d first seen in the farmhouse after his children had nearly burst a blood vessel when they’d run into the barn crying that Linda Lennox had come, bringing two strange children with her. They didn’t know them because they went to different schools, as the Phelps were not Catholics, but they seldom had children visiting so they were very interested in who they were.
Sam had gone to welcome them and they’d stood stiffly and quietly beside Linda, their faces set and drawn. His heart had gone out to them both. Now their faces were tinged pink both with excitement and cold, and their eyes sparkled. He hoped they wouldn’t be made to feel guilty about it when they got home. Sarah had told him how it was when she’d snatched a few minutes with him alone. She told him also that their arrival had been a total surprise to her too.
He reflected on this later as he drove the three visitors home. Sarah had told him Peter had just a few minutes to alert her and ask her permission for the children to stay, for as Linda had walked across the yard from the gate, Charlie, Sally and Patch had besieged her and Rosemarie and Jamie had stuck to her like glue, giving Peter time to slip into the farmhouse.
Sarah had a soft spot for Linda – always had, and she’d do anything for the doctor. Sam liked him, too – most people did. Look at today, he’d come straight out when they’d sent for him and stitched their Ruby’s leg up a treat, and then he’d dropped her at the station to catch a train home for a week or two until it healed, for Sam had told her there was no point hanging around the farm with a gammy leg, better let her rest it properly. And then he must have called in on the O’Learys to see how Geraldine was and brought the children back with him. He said Jenny’s mother was set on making their lives a misery on top of the shock they’d both had of losing their father, and he thought them better out of the way for a while. God, some of the stories Linda had told her about Jenny’s mother and grandmother were hard to credit, and if anyone other than Linda had told them she might not have believed them. But she’d never known Linda tell a lie.
‘You’re quiet tonight, Sam,’ Linda said.
‘Funny thing that,’ Sam answered with a smile. ‘I was just thinking the very same about you.’
‘Ah well, maybe I have nothing worth saying.’
‘Come on, girl,’ Sam said with a chuckle. ‘I’ve never known that to stop a woman yet.’
Linda found herself giggling and Sam went on, ‘Did that job come to anything, the one Flora told you about?’
Linda shook her head. With little or no work now for the concert-party, Flora had been seeking openings for her and Linda at other establishments. They were told of a pub near the city centre that had a piano and would welcome a young singer on a Saturday night, especially if she was a pretty young lady. Linda remembered with a shiver of distaste the dingy, smoke-filled pub with its filthy floor and the yellowed keys of the battered, out-of-tune piano that stood in the corner. She’d looked at the men clustered at the bar leering at her and the landlord with his huge stomach and brown teeth who declared her pretty as a picture. She knew if she took work on with Flora, she’d have to be careful where it was, for now there would be no Bill or Sam to keep an eye on her and ward off unwanted attention. ‘No,’ she said to Sam. ‘I wasn’t keen on it, to tell you the truth.’
‘Did you talk it over with Jenny?’
‘I did mention it,’ Linda said. ‘But I’d already made the decision not to take it anyway.’
‘I’m glad of that then,’ Sam said. ‘’Cos I heard of someplace the other day. Packington Hall – do you know it?’
‘I know of it,’ Linda said. ‘Isn’t it one of the big houses set in its own grounds that has been turned into a hotel? It’s not that far from here, is it?’
‘Yeah, that’s right,’ Sam said. ‘Mind, part of the hotel was turned over to the military for the war, like. Now the owner wants a new look for peacetime, which everyone knows is just around the corner. As part of it, he’s had the hotel restaurant made much bigger and newly decorated, very plush. You’d need money to eat there, you wouldn’t get the riff-raff you might get in a normal pub.’
‘Yes, but Sam, they’d not need a singer in a place like that.’
‘That’s just it, they do,’ Sam said. ‘My mate Terry is a waiter there. He says the boss asked him if he knew anyone who could either play the piano or sing or both, and ’course he thought of you because I talk a lot about you, see? The boss told Terry it would lend a bit of class to the place.’
Linda giggled. ‘Not with me it won’t.’
‘Don’t run yourself down ducks. You’d lend class to anywhere with your voice,’ Sam said. ‘Anyway, why not go and size up the place. That can do no harm now, can it?’
‘No,’ Linda agreed. ‘But things are a bit up in the air at the moment at home, you know? The minute we’re all more settled, I’ll go and see Flora and we’ll go up together.’
‘That’s the spirit, bab,’ Sam said affectionately. ‘Life’s gotta go on, see?’
‘I know.’
‘Are you bringing the kids back up here next weekend?’ he added, lowering his voice so Rosemarie and Jamie wouldn’t hear him, though Linda felt that they were both too drowsy to take any notice. ‘Snow or no snow, they’re better here than back there.’
‘On Sunday I will,’ Linda promised, because she knew the visit had done the kids good. ‘But Saturday I must help Jenny. She has her work cut out trying to do everything at the best of times, and now with Geraldine it’s even worse. She’s already decided to take next week off work to see to the children. After that, of course, they’ll be back at school.’
‘Right then girl, just as you like,’ Sam said. ‘I’ll tell Sarah to expect you for dinner, shall I?’
‘If you’re sure.’
‘’Course I’m sure. Like I said before, there’s not that much doing at this time of the year,’ Sam said. ‘It’s good for us, too. Sar
ah often feels a bit isolated in the winter when the weather’s bad and she can’t get out to shop and meet people, and the kids get fed up with their own company. As for me,’ Sam grinned and said, ‘I like to see a pretty face about the place. Cheers me up no end.’
‘I don’t know whether I should come and see you when you make remarks like that on the way home,’ Linda said, in mock indignation, and Sam’s bellow of laughter jerked the children awake and Linda was glad of it because they’d almost reached home.
The pavement outside the house had been cleared and the path too, but the snow still lay heavy on the privet hedges, and on the lawns it was spread out, pristine white and untouched. ‘Look at all that snow.’ Jamie yawned. ‘We could make a brilliant snowman of our own.’
‘No, we couldn’t,’ Rosemarie told him. ‘Grandmother wouldn’t let us.’
‘I know,’ Jamie said resignedly. ‘I was only saying we could.’
Linda felt sorry for both of them, for their steps seemed slower and heavier as they reached the house and Linda wished she could protect them in some way, but she was as powerless as they were. The excitement had slid from them as they opened the kitchen door, to be replaced by trepidation. But nothing could hide their glowing cheeks and the hint of a sparkle still in their eyes. For some reason that had annoyed Norah and she’d laid into them, telling them they should be ashamed and hadn’t they a thought in their head for their poor dead father, or their mother prostrate with grief? Linda was worse than them, but then she’d always been thoughtless.
Linda saw the happiness ooze out of the children and longed to tell Norah O’Leary to shut her mouth, but she knew anything she said would probably make things worse for them all. Instead, helped by Jenny, she got them ready for bed and when later, tucked up beside Jamie, Rosemarie said to Linda in a small voice, ‘Do you think we were wrong to go to the farm today?’ Linda could have cried.
