Beneath a Frosty Moon

by Rita Bradshaw

  She sat quite still for some moments, shaken to the core but strangely full of a pleasure that was almost joy. She was still Bernard’s wife, still living in his house; she would still have to see him every day and cook his meals and wash his clothes, but . . . She shook her head as she tried to marshal her racing thoughts and pin down the source of the peace that was filling her. She was free of him. In her head, where it counted, she was free of him.

  She stood up and began to clear the table and after wiping the oilcloth free of drops of blood, splatters of porridge and the remains of the water from the washing bowl Bernard had used, she reset it for herself and the girls, bringing the big dish of bacon and eggs she’d kept warm on the range to the table, along with a large crusty loaf and a pat of butter.

  She didn’t call to them, but instead she climbed the stairs and then knocked on the bedroom door, saying, ‘Cora? It’s Mrs Burns. Come down and finish your breakfast, all of you.’

  She heard the sound of the chest of drawers which they’d obviously pushed in front of the door being moved, and then it opened. Cora looked at her, Maud and Maria standing behind her and the two little ones sitting on their bed. ‘Come down and finish your breakfast,’ she said again, very gently. ‘He’s gone outside, don’t worry. I’ll make another pot of tea for us all, shall I? And Cora –’ she added, even more softly – ‘you keep seeing that lad of yours, all right? He’s a nice lad or you wouldn’t like him.’

  Cora gulped hard. ‘We haven’t – He wouldn’t –’

  ‘I know, I know, lass.’ Rachel patted Cora’s arm. ‘The trouble is, if you’ve a mind like a sewer it dirties everything.’

  Rachel saw Cora’s tense face relax, her voice a whisper when she said, ‘Thank you, Mrs Burns.’

  As Cora’s bottom lip began to tremble Rachel turned away, saying briskly over her shoulder, ‘Come on then, the lot of you. It’s snowing a blizzard out there and if there’s ever a day you need a full stomach, it’s this one. It’s no good thinking about going to school in this, there’ll be drifts six foot high in places. You four can stay home and help me an’ Cora today, all right?’

  As the children followed her downstairs and into the kitchen Rachel busied herself with mashing the tea, but as she did so she was remembering the chest of drawers in front of the door, and it came to her, with something of a shock, that from this night forth she would lock her bedroom door. She wouldn’t put anything past her husband and if she was to wake up and find a pillow over her face . . .

  Chapter Eleven

  The thick snow and bitter cold of January and February gave way to squalls of blustery sleet in March and the arrival of spring was gradual, but despite the cruel weather Cora was much happier than she had been in a long while. Since the confrontation in the kitchen Farmer Burns had taken to ignoring her existence most of the time, which suited her perfectly, but it was the deepening friendship between herself and the farmer’s wife which lightened Cora’s heart. What she saw as an utter betrayal by her mother had brought such a sense of loss that it would have been impossible to put it into words, but one morning when the others were at school and she and Rachel were alone in the cowshed, she had confided her secret to the older woman.

  Rachel had listened quietly, making no comment until Cora had fallen silent, and then she had said gently, ‘Let the bitterness go, lass. It’ll eat you up if you don’t and that won’t help your da, will it.’

  ‘I can’t help it.’ She had written to her father straight after her mother’s letter had arrived and received an answer within days. More by what he hadn’t written than by what he had, she had realized that what she was feeling was just a reflection of his suffering. His letter had cut her to the quick and she had been desperately worried about him for weeks, but his subsequent correspondence had gradually become more cheerful. Apparently, Beryl Chapman’s husband had been killed in Dieppe and with Archie having been evacuated she, too, was all alone. Beryl had suggested they pool their rations and she cook for the pair of them each night, and she had offered to clean house for him and do his washing and ironing for a small fee to which her father had readily agreed. Knowing that someone was taking care of him, even if it was Archie Chapman’s mother, whom her own mam had always described as being as nutty as a fruit cake, had put Cora’s mind at rest to some extent. Besides which, she’d asked herself bitterly, who was her mam to pass judgement on anyone? At least Mrs Chapman hadn’t abandoned her family and run off with a fancy man.

  Towards the end of March the war news regularly became more uplifting with bombing raids by the Allies smashing the heart out of German industry, and Rommel and his troops taking a beating in North Africa. The posters the government produced began to reflect the change in fortune: ‘Dig For Victory Still’, followed by ‘Victory may be in sight, but there’s no time to relax yet and there’s still plenty of digging to do,’ was cheering in its way, even if the budget in April raised the price of drinks and put a hundred per cent tax on luxuries. Not that such things really affected Cora and the others. The farm was its own little world and one of hard, unrelenting work. Girls in the towns and cities might bemoan the fact that their clothes had been reduced to utility designs with ration-book fabrics and hardly anything at all in the shops, but on the whole such sentiments passed Cora by.

  One thing that did make a difference to how she felt, along with the rest of Britain’s war-weary folk, was Churchill’s decision to let the country’s church bells be rung regularly once again. With the threat of invasion over, church leaders had been campaigning for the restoration of the bells – for so long the warning of impending invasion – saying it would make a huge difference to the morale of ordinary men and women, and so it proved. Hearing church bells on Sundays and other special days to summon worshippers to church was so quintessentially a part of normal life that it seemed, in spite of continued bombing raids by the enemy, as though Hitler and his Nazis were already beaten; and when, on the day after this news was announced, the newspapers and wireless reported that the RAF had bombed Berlin and three other cities to mark Hitler’s fifty-fourth birthday, many a glass was raised to Britain’s brave lads.

  Now that Cora and Jed’s relationship was out in the open and Sunday afternoons weren’t secret affairs any more, Jed would often come to their agreed meeting point at the back of the old barn and the two of them would go for a walk together without Maud and Cora’s sisters. Rachel had offered to keep the others under her wing on these occasions, saying it was natural the courting couple wanted some time alone. Cora didn’t know what Farmer Burns thought about this; although Jed had never come to the kitchen door or into the house itself, she had no doubt the farmer knew about the arrangement and would be silently seething. However, Jed was now seventeen years old and could easily have passed for a man ten years older, being so tall and well built with shoulders on him like a wrestler. In a fight with the farmer one would be hard pressed to say who would fare worse, besides which, Jed had youth on his side.

  April had been a changeable month, showers and even storms one day and then the next lukewarm sunshine. The Sunday before, Cora and Jed had gone for a walk along the river bank; wandering along in dappled shade, their conversation punctured by kisses and laughter. They had come across a grass snake that had recently emerged from hibernation lying basking in the weak sunshine on the path in front of them. The serpent had shot into the moist seclusion of the hedge bank once it had sensed their presence, and whether it was the sight of the snake that had caused Cora to feel unsettled she didn’t know, but for the rest of the afternoon she’d felt strangely on edge, as though unseen eyes were watching them. Jed had teased her about it, along with her fear of snakes which she couldn’t conquer no matter how she tried. She knew that grass snakes were harmless and that if she touched one it would be warm and smooth rather than slimy and cold because Jed had told her so, the same as he’d also informed her that the forked tongue flicking in and out of its mouth was merely an organ of smell and not,
as some supposed, a sting; but nevertheless, the creatures terrified her. She didn’t think that her unease was solely due to the encounter though; she’d had the same feeling lots of times in the past when she was with Jed and wouldn’t have been surprised at any moment to have Farmer Burns jumping out at them.

  They had arrived at Jed’s farm for tea just a few minutes before Wilfred had walked in. He had been mending a fence in one of the fields. Since leaving school at the same time as Cora he’d begun to work full-time for Jed’s father, but unlike Cora, he got paid for what he did. He had listened to Jed teasing her about the snake and her misgivings without making comment, but Cora had got the idea from the look on his face that he didn’t like snakes any more than she did.

  Now it was the last Sunday in April, and although the morning had been bright and fresh the sky had begun to cloud over come midday. As Cora left the farmhouse and walked towards the old barn she glanced up at the pearl-grey sky, willing it not to rain. She was a little early to meet Jed and had planned to begin walking along the route he’d take, but just as she reached the barn a few big raindrops stung her face. And then, in a matter of moments, the heavens opened and it was a deluge.

  Flinging open the door of the barn she darted inside, glad she hadn’t been on the road between the two farms or in the fields because she would have been soaked through within a minute or two. As it was the water was dripping off her curls and running down the back of her neck. She took off her coat and shook it, the sound of the rain pounding on the roof of the barn deafening, and she was just about to put it on again when something, a sixth sense, caused her to turn round.

  A feeling of shivery fright like that which a small child might experience on being faced with something dark and ghoulish caused her to freeze. Farmer Burns had been sitting on a bale of hay towards the back of the barn. He must have come there straight after Sunday lunch because he was clearly already drunk, a nearly empty bottle of whisky hanging loosely from one hand, and he had moved to within a few feet of her.

  Cora rarely looked at him if she could help it and even then it would be a fleeting glance, but now she was close enough to see the bristles on his chin and his mottled complexion and the hairs protruding from his bulbous red nose. His drunken breath wafted over her as he said softly, ‘Well, look what the rain’s brought in.’

  The smell of him, not so much the whisky but his smell, a mixture of dirt and sweat and a thick musty odour that always caused bile to rise in her throat, made her take a step backwards, her nostrils flaring.

  ‘Get away from me.’

  ‘You’re in no position to give orders but that’s you all over, isn’t it, acting like Lady Muck? I knew the first time I set eyes on you that you were trouble. Oh, aye, I did, I did.’ He nodded his head, almost falling over as the action caused him to lose his balance for a moment. ‘And her in there, you’ve got her on side, haven’t you, smarming round her. I know, I know. Filthy little whore, I know.’

  Cora took another step backwards away from him, her eyes flashing to the door of the barn that she’d pulled to behind her. The cloudburst was still thunderous outside but if she could get into the open she would escape him. In the same instant he lunged at her with such force that they were both borne to the ground. Winded and dazed and with the full weight of him on top of her, she struggled ineffectually but she still tried to claw at his face, causing him to swear as her nails caught him on one cheek. He was sitting astride her now and he grabbed a wrist in each hand as he ground out, ‘I knew me chance would come one day and it has.’ He let go of one wrist long enough to slap her hard round the face, making her ears ring. ‘With you out of the way the rest of ’em’ll toe the line.’

  ‘No, no, they won’t, and there’s the letter—’

  ‘Damn the letter. I’ll take me chance with that if need be but Maud’ll do what she’s told. She’s like her sister, is Maud. No, I can manage ’em all with you gone.’

  Gone?

  As though she had spoken out loud, he gabbled, ‘The river’s running high in the bottom field with all the rain. Who’s to say you didn’t slip an’ fall in, eh? Aye, that’s the answer, you slipped an’ fell in.’

  He was talking to himself as much as to her and even in her panic and pain it came to her that he was unhinged and that without realizing it she had always sensed this. The weight of him on her stomach and chest was crushing the breath out of her now, and much as she wanted to scream, the sound emerged in a strangled choke. It was enough for him to slap her again so hard that for a moment everything went black.

  When she came to herself, it was to the feel of his hands yanking up her dress and trying to pull down her knickers. Terror at what was happening to her and the fact that he’d moved enough for the breath to come back into her lungs enabled her to emit one high piercing scream as she pounded at him with her fists. His hand came tightly across her mouth and nose as he cursed her while fumbling to open his trousers as he held her pinned down.

  In the next instant Cora heard a loud whack. The farmer collapsed on top of her, a dead weight, crushing her so that even with her mouth and nose free she couldn’t breathe. Through the horror of it all, she was aware of Jed swearing as he yanked the inert body off her, and then he was on his knees gathering her against him, murmuring her name over and over as she began to cry hysterically.

  It was some moments before she could gain control and during this time Farmer Burns lay still, the old rusty hoe that Jed had hit him with lying to one side. Jed was frantic, and it was this as much as anything that enabled her to take hold of herself and gasp, ‘I’m all right, really I’m all right.’ She sat trembling as she took his handkerchief to wipe her eyes. ‘He didn’t do what he wanted. You got here before he could – you know.’

  ‘Thank God.’ Jed pulled her up and then into his arms once more, and they stood holding each other tight. ‘He needs locking away, the dirty swine, and after this I’ll make sure the police take notice if I have to raise merry hell till they do.’

  The farmer still hadn’t moved, and now Cora whispered, ‘He’s not dead, is he? You haven’t killed him?’

  Jed was shaking with the shock of what could have happened if he hadn’t heard her just now, and his voice was fierce when he said, ‘I don’t care if he is dead, the filthy pervert.’

  Neither did Cora, except that Jed could get in serious trouble. The farmer had powerful friends as she knew only too well. What had happened with Enid had proved that. She watched as Jed bent over the sprawled figure, silently praying that the farmer was alive. Her face was throbbing and the back of her head was aching – in fact she hurt all over – but fear for Jed was uppermost. She had been so happy going to meet him; how could a day change so quickly into a living nightmare?

  ‘He’s breathing, more’s the pity.’ Jed stood up. ‘And he reeks of drink.’

  ‘It’s whisky.’ Cora pointed to the bottle which had rolled some distance away. ‘I think he’s had most of it.’

  ‘He might as well have the rest of it then.’ Jed picked up the bottle, his face grim and white and his eyes narrowed.

  Cora didn’t realize what he was going to do until he unscrewed the top and then stood above the farmer, pouring the whisky over his face. There was no reaction for a moment and then the liquid brought Farmer Burns round and he began to moan and splutter, opening his eyes and then swearing as he struggled to sit up. That he was concussed was evident but Cora didn’t care about that; he was alive and that meant Jed was safe.

  Jed knelt down again, his eyes like chips of blue ice as he said softly, ‘You’re not fit to draw breath. You know that, don’t you? Things like you should be put down at birth, you sick perverted swine you, but I tell you now you’ll regret the day you touched her. I’ll see you go down the line for this, you see if I don’t.’

  They had both thought he was more stunned than he was because in the next moment the farmer lunged at Jed, grabbing him round the throat with a strength born of hate and frustrati
on, and then they were rolling about on the floor. Jed managed to prise the farmer’s fingers from his throat and then punch him in the jaw with enough force to render Farmer Burns semi-conscious. As Cora helped him to his feet they looked down at the figure on the floor where he lay cursing and mumbling to himself, his language turning the air blue.

  ‘Right, we’re going.’ Jed took Cora’s hand, his tone brooking no argument. ‘We’ll go to mine and tell my parents what’s happened. Da’ll know who best to report it to. He needs putting away, Cora.’

  ‘He said he was going to kill me.’ She looked at Jed, her face bleached of colour. ‘He said everyone would think I’d fallen in the river.’

  ‘If anyone’s going in the river it’ll be him,’ said Jed grimly. ‘The man’s stark staring mad.’

  ‘We must go and tell Mrs Burns before we see your da. It’s only right.’

  ‘No.’ Jed shook his head. ‘Think, Cora. I know you’re on fairly good terms with her now but she’s his wife when all’s said and done. For years she’s known what he is and never said a word – gone out of her way to protect him, in fact. Look at what happened with Enid. You can’t trust her.’

  ‘She’s not like that now.’

  ‘A leopard can’t change its spots.’ Jed pulled her towards the door of the barn which was ajar. ‘Come on, we’re going to mine. My mam can take care of you while Da and I sort this.’

  They were about to step outside into what was now merely a drizzle of rain when a voice behind them said, ‘I’m bleeding. I need help.’

  They turned to see Farmer Burns trying to sit up. He was holding his head, his hands bloody. ‘I’m bleeding, get someone, damn you.’

  ‘Get someone yourself.’ Jed’s voice was cold.