A Caring Heart

by Margaret Carr

  Isobel was on the point of making a swift get away when Bobby surprised her in the doorway.

  ‘Man who burnt Bobby’s house down said you will go away now your brother is dead.’

  Isobel stared at the innocent concerned face before her. Shaking her head she said, ‘I’m not going away, Bobby.’

  ‘Bobby’s glad,’ he said, nodding his head vigorously.

  She gave him a sad smile then turned away, but before she could stop herself she turned back and asked, ‘Does the man who told you that have a name?’

  Looking momentarily confused he shook his head, then enlightenment suddenly lit up his face and he said, ‘Matty, bad man, Bobby doesn’t like.’

  ‘Do you mean Macky?’

  Bobby nodded, ‘Bad man.’

  Isobel’s lips were pressed tight together as she continued down the track and retrieved her bicycle.

  * * *

  The young man had been asked by Alan to deliver the letter should anything happen to him. And two days later he did. Isobel accepted it silently and didn’t even ask the young man in. What could Alan possibly have to say to her now when it was too late. She picked up the poker and gave the fire a vicious jab. Then sank back and hugged the pain in her stomach. It was all far too late.

  Her suffering had turned inward, torturing her with memories of the past with what might have been in the future when this dreadful war was over. Resentment and anger fought with the loss and the loneliness. The letter lay in her lap and she stared through unshed tears at her name in his old familiar scribble before slowly prising it open and spreading out the single sheet.

  Dear Sis

  Don’t shoot the messenger, it’s the worst job in the world, but Craig has kindly agreed to deliver this for me. The missions are becoming more demanding and I fear this next one may be my last. I am sorry I couldn’t have stayed around long enough to see you settled with your own home and family, but there is a little money in the bank to help see you through.

  Please don’t fret, walk up into the hills and I’ll be there with the golden eagle as he rides the currents, and the deer as they graze the wild grass, in the song of the lark and the call of the grouse, and some day, God willing, you will come with others to laugh and play as we did.

  Your ever loving brother

  Alan

  The next day she came home from her rounds to find Jack Lewis standing on her doorstep. ‘I’ve only just heard about your brother.’

  ‘The whole village has known for three days,’ she said, wearily as she passed him to open the door.

  ‘I’m only just back after a week down south.’ He followed her into the kitchen, where she filled the kettle and, lighting the gas ring, placed the kettle on to it. He had moved on into the living room and was bending over Alan’s open letter where she had left it on the chair seat when she had gone to bed last night. She came in quietly behind him and he swung round on his stiff leg to look down at her. They stood for several moments in silence then he opened his arms and enfolded her.

  His jerkin felt rough against her wet cheek, though she was unaware of crying. To be held so close, and feeling so safe made her loss that much harder to bear. Sadly she pulled back as his finger wiped at a tear as it dribbled from her jaw.

  He led her back to the chair where he picked up the letter before seating her down then sitting himself opposite. ‘Will you do as he asked and walk in the hills?’

  ‘Yes.’

  He was sitting forward with his hands between his knees. His dark hair had fallen over his eyes and he swiped it back with his hand as he moved his position and leant back in his seat. With an empty expression and heavy lidded eyes it looked for all the world as though he had fallen asleep but then he looked across at her and asked softly, ‘Will you go alone?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘My parents send their love. They were unaware until Bobby told them.’

  He stayed until it was time for her to go to evening surgery. As they parted company at the doctor’s house before he went on to The Apple he said, ‘I’ll be back tomorrow.’

  All her patients had offered heartfelt sympathy on her loss. Joyce Lewis always had some little home baked treat for her to take home with her and Jack visited most days. Doctor Turnbull while still gruff was kindly in the days following Alan’s death though he kept her work load full to capacity.

  Sylvia had been along to the cottage on several occasions but while Isobel was grateful for her friendship it didn’t bring her the peace that Jack’s company did. Towards the end of the summer when other people’s losses had taken over the attention and the war news was worsening by the day Isobel began to realise just how dependent she had become on Jack’s visits.

  She still found herself watching for Alan’s tall figure whenever she saw a bus disgorging its passengers at the village bus stop, glancing hopefully at any mail that popped through the letterbox, even though she knew it was never going to happen.

  Was Jack Lewis really replacing Alan in her desperate need for someone to call her own, she asked herself one wet afternoon not long after he had left. He’d brought her a kitten from the farm and she felt its tiny claws as it kneaded the skirt in her lap. Picking it up she brought it level with her face. It was coloured very like Churchill with his same round face. It protested loudly at being inspected this way and with a soft smile she cuddled him close.

  * * *

  On the first of September Mrs Crombie knocked on her door. Surprised that she should come calling, Isobel invited her in and she stood in the centre of the living room like a galleon in a wrecker’s yard. ‘I have bad news regarding the Heron children,’ she said before Isobel had a chance to offer her a seat.

  ‘The couple I had left them with are elderly and have now decided that they cannot cope with such young and demanding children. I’m at the end of my tether and I’m afraid they will have to be turned over to the orphanage authorities.’

  ‘But that could mean them being sent away to goodness knows where. Has anyone contacted Mr Heron?’

  ‘That will be my next job of course, but I believe the poor man is to have brain surgery and it is doubtful even if the operation is a success that he will ever be in a position to care for his children.’

  Isobel shook her head. ‘Everyone I asked has already been approached to take evacuees, but I’ll keep on asking. How long do we have before they have to be rehoused?’

  Mrs Crombie’s double chin quivered. ‘I promised to look into it as soon as I could.’ Loose tendrils had escaped her grey hair roll and the black hat atop her head tilted as she sank into the old armchair. Raising a hand to her head she adjusted the hat before saying, ‘A few days at the most, I’m afraid.’

  They sat in gloomy silence for a moment or two then Mrs Crombie said, ‘Reverend Meeker has a family from London staying with him. They were bombed out a few weeks ago and the church sent them up here. They are a couple and their teenage daughter. Knowing how good the vicar’s wife is with young children it seems a shame that they only have the one gal.’

  In quiet contemplation she continued, ‘The vicarage rooms are so large, a pity that one gal should have one all to herself. If it had only been the couple for example then I’m sure Daisy Meeker would have loved to have all three children.’

  Isobel agreed with her, not seeing the trap she was heading into until the magistrate pounced. ‘You have been so concerned about the welfare of these children, Nurse, I wonder if you could help me here. Could you possibly take in one well-behaved young woman? She would be company for you and I’m sure no bother at all.’

  Isobel was shaking her head and on the point of saying that the room was Alan’s when it hit her, that Alan would no longer have need of his room.

  Mrs Crombie seeing Isobel’s white face immediately retracted her request, ‘Oh, my dear, I am so sorry, that was extremely tactless of me. Please forgive me,’ she said, rising to her feet.

  ‘If you will give me some time I will think about it.�
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  ‘Of course, my dear,’ Mrs Crombie said, patting Isobel’s shoulder.

  Isobel saw her to the door then turned back into the room fighting the tears that threatened.

  ACCUSATIONS ARE THROWN ABOUT

  ‘You look tired nurse,’ Joyce Lewis remarked one Friday afternoon when she arrived to shoo the geese away from the gate.

  ‘The track is much better now it has been surfaced.’

  ‘Oh yes, Duncan is thrilled to bits with it. Insisted on driving the horse and cart up and down himself the other day. Jack’s here, said he wanted a word with you when you arrived.’

  The geese were very bold that morning and attempted to attack both women as they crossed the yard. With a brandishing of her broom Joyce scattered them and Isobel passed safely into the kitchen. Bobby was sitting stuffing himself at the table while Duncan and Jack were talking by the fire. The men turned and smiled at her as she came in and placed her bag on the bench.

  Bobby shuffled back from the table and getting to his feet moved across to where Duncan was sitting. ‘Nurse wants you,’ he said, indicating that Duncan should get up and follow him. Duncan laughed and allowing Bobby to take him by the arm went with him out of the room and down the passage.

  Isobel nodded to Jack on her way past him and followed the two men to the room where Duncan received his treatment and exercises. When they came back into the kitchen some thirty minutes later Jack was waiting for her. She washed her hands and accepted Joyce’s offer of a cup of tea and a bite to eat and was ready to leave when Jack got to his feet and offered to see her out.

  ‘I called yesterday but you appeared to have company,’ he said once they were out of earshot of the house.

  They stopped at the gate and looking around Isobel asked, ‘Where’s the car?’

  ‘Wally’s coming back to pick me up later.’

  ‘Yes, Mrs Crombie thought I should have some company now that Alan . . .’ she couldn’t continue.

  He was frowning when she looked up at him. ‘I see. I’ll miss our talks.’

  She dropped her head. So will I, she thought. ‘The kitten is settling in nicely.’

  ‘Good.’

  There was an awkward silence then the geese came flying around the corner of the byre and across the yard towards them. Isobel quickly scrambled to the other side of the gate and Jack laughed.

  Isobel stared at the change in his expression. Gone were the permanent tucks above his nose, his mouth was lifted in one corner showing a long dimple in his good cheek and the sadness that frequently clouded his dark eyes was for those few moments lit with humour. Her heart turned over in her chest and the need to tell him how she felt became a physical pain.

  ‘Then perhaps you could let me take you to dinner again in Rennington one night.’

  ‘I’d like that, thank you. I’m free this weekend.’

  ‘Then I’ll pick you up tomorrow night at eight and perhaps you can tell me the story of your visitor.’

  She heard him scattering the geese as she cycled away down the road.

  * * *

  On Saturday evening she bit her lip and twisted this way and that before the speckled mirror in her bedroom. Was the blue dress too plain or would the red jumper and skirt look better? The kitten was kneading her bedspread and making funny hissing noises. She smiled at him and wished he could tell her what best to wear. It was so important to her that she made a good impression.

  There had been such a fuss when she had insisted on having the first bath of the evening for there was never sufficient hot water left to provide a good second tub. Phyllis Barton, her new lodger, had taken to grabbing the first bath before Isobel was home from surgery, leaving her hostess to manage as best she could with what was left of the water.

  Phyllis had only been at the cottage a few days yet already it felt like a lifetime to Isobel. The girl was very demanding and if ever Isobel looked as though she was about to object Phyllis would simply sigh and make out that perhaps she would have been better off staying at the vicarage.

  Tonight Isobel had put her foot down and Phyllis was sulking before the fire as Isobel dressed for her date with Jack. Grey eyes glinted back at her from the minor’s reflection as rain spattered on the window pane. The blue dress, her mother’s sapphire and pearl brooch and the cream swing coat that had seen better days but was impossible to replace because of all the coupons it would take. Phyllis had brought her ration book but with many of the coupons missing and she couldn’t or wouldn’t say why.

  It was nearly time, so dressing quickly she ran a brush through her hair and applied a little lipstick before hurrying down the stairs. The kitten followed her down the stairs, dashed across the floor and jumping at Phyllis’s skirt clung fast. Phyllis, in a bad mood to start with, pulled the kitten from her skirt and flung it across the hearth where it picked itself up, shook itself and curled up on the rug in front of the fire. Isobel’s face pulled into a disapproving frown. But she said nothing and then Jack was at the door.

  * * *

  ‘Well,’ Jack said when they had finished their meal and were sitting with their coffee. ‘Who is this girl that has been foisted onto you?’

  Isobel replaced her cup into its saucer and staring across at Jack related the story of Phyllis’s arrival.

  ‘And is she good company?’

  Isobel shrugged and looked away. ‘I suppose so but . . .’ Her voice caught in her throat.

  ‘It’s only natural that you still miss him.’

  She looked at him then her eyes filled with confusion. ‘I miss him because he’s away, but I can’t and won’t believe he is dead.’ She made a dismissive gesture. ‘I would know if he were dead, Jack, because part of me would have died also.’

  He was watching the coffee as he swirled his cup. ‘Death is fickle. It can swallow up and spit out at will. If you want to hang onto hope then who is to deny you.’ He put down his cup and reaching across the table covered her hand with his own.

  On their return to the cottage Jack stepped down from the car to walk her up the path to her door. They said little on the doorstep then slowly Jack took her in his arms.

  Isobel had just raised her face for his kiss when the door was flung open with a crash and a distraught Phyllis stood framed in the light from the kitchen.

  ‘Where’ve you been? The chimney’s smoking. I tried to open the door to let the smoke out and a nasty little man told me I had to close it,’ she cried. ‘I nearly choked to death.’

  Jack had taken a step back at this intrusion and now he snapped, ‘Get the door shut, you’re displaying light.’

  ‘Sorry, thank you for dinner,’ Isobel cried as she pushed Phyllis back into the kitchen and following her slammed the door.

  * * *

  Mrs Crombie was greatly relieved when Isobel stopped her in the street one day to say that Mr Heron had come through his operation very well and was making excellent progress.

  ‘That is wonderful news, Nurse. How is the Barton girl fitting in, not too much bother I hope?’

  ‘She has given up her part-time delivery work at MacKenzie’s, and point blank refuses to do anything to help with the war work. Her parents are paying for her keep but I don’t know how I am expected to cope with her sitting around all day long.’

  ‘Carry on, Nurse, as we all must do in these troubled times.’ And she heft her large rear onto the bicycle seat and peddled off.

  On Isobel’s arrival at the surgery, Doctor Turnbull’s first comments were about the sudden appearance of the new people at Beacon Hill. ‘There are eleven in the family, the parents and nine children, all boys. The mother came down here to register them, said they didn’t expect to need me for they were all healthy.’

  Isobel smiled and said a silent prayer that it was so. ‘Do you know what they will do with Mr Heron’s things? Presumably they will have been packed up for him if these other people have already moved in.’

  ‘Hmm, one would imagine so. I see they have managed to palm t
he Heron children off on the vicar and moved the Barton girl over to you, how do you feel about that?’

  ‘There wasn’t an alternative, Doctor. It was that or the Heron children being sent to the orphanage and I couldn’t let them go there, not while there was the slimmest chance that Mr Heron might have time to organise some other future for them.’

  The doctor was nodding his head absentmindedly as he rifled through some papers. ‘Taking the world on your shoulders again, Nurse? I hope that girl is helping you out.’

  * * *

  Isobel was at the farm waiting for Bobby and Duncan to come in from the fields and Joyce from the dairy.

  ‘I don’t know how to thank you,’ she said to Jack. ‘I had no idea what I was going to do with her.’

  When there was still no response from Jack she looked back over her shoulder at him. ‘Is something wrong?’ she asked quietly.

  She knew he was a man of few words and hadn’t really expected him to come up with an answer to her problem of what to do with Phyllis, so when he offered her a job at the camp she had been overflowing with gratitude, but now she sensed his distance and it caused her concern. ‘Jack?’

  ‘There are no thanks necessary,’ he said coldly.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ She went to put an arm on his sleeve but he moved out of her reach.

  Bobby and Duncan entered the kitchen and Isobel sighed. Duncan had reached what medical science considered was the limit of his potential recuperation since the accident and this was obviously not to Jack’s liking. He wanted his father returned to the man he had been and this Isobel had warned him repeatedly, was always doubtful.

  He didn’t seem to understand how lucky Duncan had been and how grateful his mother was just to have her husband back with them again. That Duncan was more overseer than hands-on these days wasn’t so important now they had the help they needed. But it seemed Jack wasn’t satisfied, and Isobel had a horrible feeling he was blaming her.

  Usually when she left the farm Jack would accompany her to the gate. But today he made the excuse he had to talk to his father, so Bobby came instead to check that the geese were nowhere in sight.