by Annie Groves
All through the night, she had observed Callum carefully, hardly moving from his bedside, watching the strong chest that held a huge and loving heart barely move up or down. At one point, Sally actually prodded him to see if he was still alive, when his pulse was too faint to detect.
‘He’s strong, Sister,’ Matron said, after trying to persuade Sally to get some rest when the sun broke through the dawn clouds.
But Sally knew how fragile he was. One moment he would be sweating profusely and the next he would shiver so violently that the bed shook. It had taken every ounce of her medical knowledge to keep him stable through the night.
‘Please, don’t let him die, Lord,’ Sally cried. ‘I’ll answer every letter Callum ever sent me.’ She knew it sounded ridiculous but she could not think of anything else to offer. ‘You have to be strong for Alice. She must know what her mother was like at her age – and you are the only one who can tell her, Callum,’ Sally whispered as she pressed the cold compress to his forehead to try to break the fever.
‘Don’t die, Callum, please don’t die,’ Sally whispered, as he slipped back into unconsciousness. There was a name on his lips that he called out over and over again.
‘Sarah … Sarah …’ His head would roll from side to side as he fought with every ounce of courage in his body. Eventually, after many injections of penicillin, as the last batch of phials were coming to an end, Sally hoped that he had turned the corner.
His eyelids fluttered and, for a moment, he looked confused. She called Matron over.
‘I think he’s going to make it, Sister,’ Matron said, taking the thermometer and popping it expertly under his arm. ‘His temperature has dropped to normal!’ Sally could not contain her joy and she smiled broadly as the weak autumn sun emerged from behind pewter clouds. Sally was even more relieved to see Callum give her his slow, winning smile.
‘Hello, Sal, where’ve you been?’
‘I’ve been here all the time,’ Sally said, smiling, ‘and you have been so lazy lying there doing nothing.’ Except fighting for your life, she thought, relieved the fever had broken, and daring to believe he was going to grow stronger. Now, she could see the strength come back into his chest as he breathed deeper than in the previous days, and she knew he was quite stable now.
‘You have gone beyond the call of duty, Sister,’ Matron said, and Sally knew that she had gone beyond the call of sleep, too. But she would not, could not, leave Callum while he had been in crisis.
‘He will still be here when you come back – take that overdue leave,’ Matron ordered.
‘I … if anything …’ Sally didn’t want to leave him now, but she knew if she didn’t get some rest she would not be able to continue to look after others because she would collapse. ‘Let me know straight away.’
‘Off you go, Sister.’ Matron smiled, and Sally had no choice but to leave Callum in the capable hands of the people she trusted.
Sally lay in her bed, reading the first letter Callum had sent her after George died, and knew for sure now that she had given Callum a raw deal. Not because he was now sick and unable to take care of himself; this thing she felt wasn’t pity, even if she never thought he, as strong as an oak tree, would be felled by something like appendicitis.
But she had locked him out of her life and ignored the man whom she had once imagined she loved … No, a man she had loved. And if she was honest with herself she knew that she could easily love him again. But after reading these letters she doubted she would ever get the chance.
The earlier letters, just after Morag and her father’s deaths, were still bound by a lilac ribbon, unopened, because she had been so angry with Callum for not understanding how she felt and siding with his sister … Sally understood now that he had had no choice: Morag was his sister. Morag had also been her friend, her confidante, and Sally now accepted that she was the only woman who deserved a place in her father’s heart apart from her beloved mother …
The next bundle of letters had been opened – the ones Callum sent when George was alive and the ones she had enjoyed most of all. Sally felt a shiver of guilt even now, knowing she looked forward to these letters as much as she did George’s and that had been the reason why she wouldn’t open Callum’s mail that came after George’s death and were bound in a black ribbon. They were the ones she started to read now.
Through every emotion she had ever felt, Sally knew the one that stood out above any other was guilt. She knew also that this destructive emotion had eaten away inside her like a cancer, growing and growing, taking a little more of her each day until she had become a woman she didn’t even recognise. The kind of woman her own mother would have advised her to cross the street to avoid. She had lost sight of the kind-hearted girl she had once been and saw only the embittered crone she had allowed herself to become, and all in the name of the mistaken emotion she thought she felt for George – love!
But the feelings she had for her fiancé were nowhere near love; it was as far away from love as it was possible to be, and her mother would most certainly have crossed the street to avoid her. She and George were bound together by circumstance – she knew that now. He was kind and thoughtful, which was all she thought she needed in a man: someone to look after her like her father had always done. Someone who would protect her and who would make a nice home for her and the idyllic family they would have. There was no real passion in their relationship … She and George were like a comfortable pair of slippers before they had even become engaged; they were like an old married couple before they even had a chance to walk down the aisle – she knew now that she would have tired of that eventually.
It might have taken years before she considered that her head had been turned by the promise of a life in New Zealand, far away from her home in Lilac Avenue – she would realise too late that she had accepted George’s proposal at a time when she was emotionally unstable and needed someone to love her and for her to love someone back … But would George ever have been that man? After reading Callum’s letters now, filled with wit, irreverence and life, she doubted it. And that would not have been fair to George. He would have deserved better than that.
Tearing open the first of Callum’s letters, bound in date order, Sally could hardly read the words as exhaustion made her eyelids so heavy she could hardly keep them open, but she knew she had to read this one, though it broke her heart into a thousand pieces. This letter told of the news Callum had received about his fiancée – she never even knew …
Dearest Sally,
I am so sorry I have not written to you for a while but I received some terrible news of my fiancée, Sarah, whose house took a direct hit in last month’s bombing raid. I did not inform you of this awful tragedy because I know you have your own troubles and …
Sally could hardly read the beautifully neat handwriting as tears blurred her vision, and, as one dropped onto the naval-issue writing paper, she quickly wiped it away so it wouldn’t smudge the words. The letter went on to tell her that Callum had lost the girl he had been engaged to marry.
It was obvious by the poignant wording of the letter that Callum had been in shock and still thought of her as a friend. Someone he could pour his heart out to, someone who would understand his situation. As she continued to read the letter, Sally felt a wave of ice-cold air envelop her, and realised that Callum didn’t have anybody else to turn to. Whereas she had been cosseted and protected when George died, Callum had to carry on with his duties and put his own personal feelings to one side for the good of the country. Servicemen like Callum could and would never run to their bedrooms to cry into their pillows like she had when George was killed. She had been like a growling bear, wearing her pain like a banner and rejecting anyone who tried to help; whereas, Callum sounded like a lost lamb in shock, calling out for the comfort of a friend. He wanted her to explain to Alice that he hadn’t forgotten about her and that he would come and see her as soon as he was able … and he finished by telling her to assure Alice he wo
uld bring her something nice …
By the time she had finished reading the letter, Sally could hold in her sobs no longer. How selfish and cruel she had been to Callum in not answering his letters and only ever thinking of her own pain, not caring who else might be going through the same thing – and there were many, many people who were in the same situation but who had nobody to turn to.
She also realised how lucky she was that Callum had not given up writing to her. How many other men would grant a girl the privilege of his deepest feelings unless … unless … Oh, it was no good, Sally would never be able to forgive herself for the way she had treated Callum from the moment she had discovered that his sister had comforted her father … But all of that lessened in importance now. All that mattered was that Callum should grow stronger and be well again … She didn’t deserve to have a friend like Callum … who wondered how she had been coping when he was going through his own heartache … and who loved Alice as much as she did …
After four days of having almost no sleep at all, Sally’s eyes closed and she slept … and she slept … and she slept.
ELEVEN
October 1943
All the way home from the station, Agnes went over the situation in her head. She would tell Olive that she was leaving, Olive would say good luck and that would be the end of her time living in Article Row. Agnes imagined that she would then leave Article Row with Olive waving her off on the doorstep and she would go happily on her way.
‘I’m sorry, Olive, I didn’t mean to cause you any upset – I thought you’d be glad to get rid of me.’ Alice made a feeble attempt at humour but it fell flat as Olive, with her back to her now, stared out of the kitchen window.
‘Time is moving on’ Agnes continued finding the silence hard to bear ‘If I didn’t go now, I’ll lose my nerve – and my father’s farm.’
‘You don’t think Darnley will cause trouble, do you, Agnes?’
‘No, of course not,’ Agnes lied – she knew that Darnley would snap up the farm the first chance he got. She saw the way he was lording it over everyone the last time she went. ‘I’ve put it off longer than I ought to have done.’
‘Of course,’ Olive said, her smile strained, ‘we will miss you, but you have to do what’s right.’
‘I’ll be honest, Olive, I don’t know the first thing about farming,’
‘You will soon learn. You’re a bright girl, Agnes,’ Olive said, taking two cups from the dresser, ‘and we all have a duty to do our bit.’
‘In a strange way, I feel I also owe it to my father,’ Agnes answered, and Olive only nodded, not voicing the thought that Agnes owed her father nothing, if the truth be told. The girl had missed out on a parent’s love from the moment she was born. But Olive knew it wasn’t her place to say so. Agnes had come here only as her lodger; she hadn’t raised her or taken on any family obligations when the girl arrived at the house after the orphanage in which she had been reared, and later worked, was evacuated to the countryside. So why did she feel as if she was losing another daughter?
‘If this war has taught me anything, Agnes, it is never give up. If you have a dream or a wish you might as well go for it if you can.’
‘I’d like to go, Olive,’ Agnes said, knowing she had made too many excuses to stay.
‘You never know what the next few hours will bring, good or bad.’
Olive hoped she could hold her nerve as she wanted to ask Agnes to consider staying, but all thoughts of doing so vanished like dust in the wind when Agnes said, ‘It will be lovely to be in the open instead of—’ She stopped; she didn’t want to tell Olive that she saw Ted every day when she finished her shift. Olive would think she’d lost her mind …
‘Is something wrong, Agnes?’ Olive asked. Agnes, only a few months younger than Tilly, had become almost a substitute daughter and Olive felt very protective towards her.
The fading glow of a smile on Olive’s face was replaced with concern when Agnes said in a low, almost inaudible voice, ‘I’m leaving tomorrow, Olive …’ Agnes noticed that Olive’s smile momentarily slipped but just as quickly she rallied as she gathered the tea things on a tray.
‘Run along and ask Barney if you can help feed the chickens, Alice,’ Olive said, as the child came into the kitchen from the front room.
Olive smiled as Alice ran excitedly from the room. She loved helping Barney, who had taken the news of his father’s death much better than Olive was taking the news of Agnes’s departure now.
‘They are almost like brother and sister,’ Agnes said, stalling the moment when she would have to resume her difficult conversation with Olive, the only woman who had ever been like a mother to her.
Olive pulled out a chair from under the table and nodded to one opposite. ‘I’ve been waiting for this,’ she said, lifting the teapot and swirling the contents while neither of them looked at the other. ‘I’m not saying I would ever have been prepared for you going …’
‘Oh, Olive, I am so sorry,’ Agnes said, stricken by Olive’s words.
‘But that is not to say you shouldn’t go,’ Olive answered quickly. ‘Oh, no, you must follow your heart, and your heart belongs on the farm now.’
Agnes watched through the window as the children played a chasing game, with Barney allowing little Alice to win, and concentrated on not crying.
‘I have to go,’ Agnes said eventually, taking her seat opposite Olive. ‘You understand, don’t you, Olive?’ For a short while, there was silence in the kitchen while Olive gathered her thoughts. Agnes broke the silence when she said solemnly, ‘I’ll pay up until the end of the month, so you are not out of pocket.’
‘That’s very kind of you, Agnes,’ said Olive, trying not to laugh. ‘Tomorrow’s the thirty-first.’
‘Oh, Olive!’ Agnes exclaimed, holding her hands to her mouth, her eyes wide. ‘I am such a dimwit sometimes, I meant next month.’ Then she laughed and tears of embarrassment rolled freely down her cheeks.
‘Of course you won’t, Agnes,’ Olive said, brightening a little, knowing that she could always go to the country for a visit if she so wished. ‘The farm will be your home from now.’
Agnes thought Olive looked a little tense when her laughter subsided. Agnes knew from experience that she was keeping up a dignified façade, and she marvelled at how many times her landlady had been expected to do so in the past.
‘You never turn anybody away, do you, Olive?’ said Agnes as she sipped her scalding tea.
‘There’s always a solution if you ponder over it. The answer comes eventually.’ Olive sighed. ‘What’s the point of living all these years if we don’t put our experiences to good use?’
‘I think if there hadn’t been a WVS, you would have invented it, Olive.’
Olive laughed and shook her head; ‘It’s just good old-fashioned common sense half the time, nothing else. You just ask yourself if you can live with the decisions you make and then get on with it.’
‘I’m going to miss your good old-fashioned common sense, Olive.’ Agnes could feel her throat tightening.
‘I’ll miss you too, Agnes. Who else will do the dishes after tea?’ Then she laughed to stop herself from crying. ‘That’s not to say we won’t miss you – because we will,’ she added quickly. ‘The house will not be the same without you …’
‘Oh, Olive, please don’t, you’ll set me off again.’ Agnes gave an unsteady half-smile and both women swallowed the ever-threatening tears.
Then, taking a deep breath, Olive said in a lighter, more supportive tone, ‘We can come out and visit when the weather warms up a bit.’ She patted Agnes’s hand. ‘It would be madness to let the farm go to someone like Darnley, who has no rights to it whatsoever.’
‘He has worked on the farm for years, though,’ Agnes insisted, hoping that Olive would try to talk her out of claiming her inheritance, but it was not to be.
‘Audrey Windle’s husband has been vicar of our church for nigh on twenty years but the powers that be will not be
giving him the vicarage, and buckshee at that, so I can’t see your reasoning, Agnes. Just because he’s worked on the farm doesn’t give him an automatic right to own it. He has been accepting wages, I presume?’
‘I’m sure he has.’ Agnes’s eyebrows furrowed at the thought; trust Olive to see things from a sensible point of view and allay her worries at the same time.
‘So, you don’t think he’ll see me as some kind of upstart who hasn’t got a clue about farming?’
‘Of course he will,’ Olive said, eyes wide, as if Agnes had quite lost her marbles, ‘but that won’t matter, because you are the boss – the farm will succeed or fail by your methods now. I’m sure you will quickly learn the ropes,’ she said, stirring a teaspoon of milk into her tea.
‘But it can’t fail!’ Agnes said in alarm. ‘I have to make it work, even if only for the War Ag.’
‘There you go, you’re talking like a farmer already, Agnes.’ Olive suspected Agnes was not going to have the easiest of times with that old duffer Darnley, who walked about the farm as if he owned it when Agnes’s father was alive, so Lord only knew what he was like now. But it wasn’t her place to say so and make the girl feel even more nervous. Agnes had to make her own way in the world and this was her best chance.
‘He might not like answering to a woman.’ Agnes was full of doubt, Olive could see.
‘He’s got a wife, hasn’t he?’ Olive asked, and Agnes nodded. ‘Then he’s been answering to a woman for years, whether he knows it or not. Anyway, he might want to retire.’
‘Of course.’ Agnes’s face brightened. ‘I didn’t think of it that way … And he is getting on a bit. It will be hard for him to continue now the winter is nearly on us …’
‘He may just be waiting for you to take the strain before he gladly steps down from managing the place.’ He might, thought Olive, but she doubted it. But she went on, ‘You’ve seen how difficult it was for him to walk – and that was last year.’
