Katie’s Hero

by Cody Young

  “This is not to be discussed in the school playground, do you understand me?” Katie said.

  • • •

  Later, when the children had gone to school, Katie laid out a tray of tea and delivered it to Michael’s study, where he was working at his desk. He stopped what he was doing and kissed her hand.

  “I think I should offer to adopt Roy,” he said.

  Katie couldn’t quite believe she’d heard him right.

  “I ought to adopt the boy. His Aunt Madge has sent me a rather unpleasant letter saying she doesn’t want him back, and he hasn’t any other family as far as we know. None willing or able to take him in and look after him properly.”

  “It’s a kind thought, but this is Roy we’re talking about. If it were Alfie or the twins, I’d understand. Bob adores you and George looks up to you. Alfie worms his way into everyone’s heart. But Roy? Are you mad?”

  “Probably,” Michael agreed, ruefully. “But it’s what needs to be done, Katie. Someone has to take responsibility for him. Where will he go after the war?”

  “You aren’t even old enough to be Roy’s father,” Katie murmured, as if it mattered.

  “Katie, I am Roy’s father — the only one he’s ever had — and he takes notice of me now. He’s even picking up my accent.”

  “They all are. Alfie’s the worst. He sounds like a proper little toff, and Bob’s getting a debutante’s drawl. If this war goes on much longer we’ll be sending them back to London sounding like the landed gentry.”

  “Roy won’t be going back, if he agrees to this. He’ll stay on here with me.”

  “Will he inherit?” Katie said curiously, the question out of her mouth before she could stop herself.

  “I have no idea. I’ll discuss it with my lawyer. That’s not the point anyway. The boy needs stability.”

  They both paused for a moment. The very thought of surly old Roy taking Michael’s place in the House of Lords one day was enough to boggle the mind.

  Michael glanced up at her. “I wanted to ask you what you thought of the idea before I made the arrangements.”

  Katie knelt beside the wheelchair, and took Michael’s hand. “I think you are the most kind-hearted, generous man I ever met,” she said.

  • • •

  In the weeks that followed, they made love every chance they got. Sometimes when they were alone in his four-poster bed, they would join together side by side and he would kiss her neck and whisper words of love. He couldn’t love her the way he wanted to, but she would rock her hips against him very gently, and he enjoyed watching her experiencing all the sweet sensations his body gave her.

  Some nights that was all it took, especially if he slipped his hand down between their warm bodies to press the trigger, as he called it. Her climax was always long and vocal, and he reveled in it. Her sweet moans of womanly pleasure delighted him. He would let her cry out his name while he brushed away the tangle of red hair from her face and placed gentle kisses on her lips and cheeks.

  Most of the time, though, she took the lead. She’d sit astride and drive him wild with her hot, sweet moves. He would lie back and enjoy the show. He loved watching her come again and again, enjoying the way her legs trembled when the passion was almost too much for her. She was like a butterfly, fluttering over nectar.

  Since that first time together, he had come alive. The leaden heart he had carried around before was gone. He felt happy all day long, and nothing was a burden any more. He was up early every day, tackling the problems that dogged the farm, getting out into the fields to see the crops for himself, ordering Hammond around, and directing the action. He felt strong and useful again — after all, he was feeding Britain.

  It was August, and he was busier than he had ever been with the harvest underway. He came in from the fields about four. He rolled his chair up the ramp that led directly into the kitchen and called out to her, but there was no reply.

  “Katie! I’m home!”

  There was silence.

  She wasn’t in the scullery. She wasn’t in the corridor.

  “What’s for dinner, darling, I’m starving,” he tried again. Michael realized he sounded like a husband, but he banished that thought. That avenue was much too difficult to explore just at the moment.

  “Where are you?”

  He pushed open the door of the front reception room, the room they never used. And there she was, seated primly on one of the uncomfortable Louis the Fourteenth chairs.

  “What the devil are you doing in here, darling?”

  He rolled into the room, and all became clear. Katie was entertaining some unexpected visitors.

  The man wore important-looking ecclesiastical robes. The nun wore a black gown with a white headdress and the second woman was dressed like every other middle-aged lady in wartime: A-line skirt, sensible short-sleeved blouse, large brown handbag, gas mask at her side. The visitors were drinking tea, and they looked very sour and very prim when Michael appeared.

  “Michael, this is Monsignor Delaney,” Katie explained, “Sister St. Paul, and Mrs. Bernadette Brown, who runs a home for fallen women.”

  Holy cow! Michael stared at the trio of people who had invaded his home with undisguised irritation. Busybodies and troublemakers, and they are almost certain to upset Katie. He suppressed the next blasphemous phrase that was on his lips, and uttered one word. “Charmed.”

  “We have been alerted to Miss Rafferty’s situation by her mother,” announced the Monsignor, placing his teacup down on its saucer with reverent care. “She has received troubling news from a Mr. Tom O’Brien, your lordship.”

  Michael’s heart sank.

  “It appears that her daughter’s role here as nursemaid to four children has changed, and not for the better,” said the Monsignor, gravely. “One might even go so far as to say that Katie’s mortal soul is in danger.”

  Michael would have laughed if the mood in the room had not been so desperately somber. It was obvious Katie was mortified by the visit. The girl almost convulsed with shame when the Monsignor got out the letter and passed it across so that Michael could have a look.

  “That letter isn’t addressed to me,” Michael said. “I was never intended to read it, so I’m not going to.”

  The three visitors all pursed their lips in unison.

  Katie looked at him as if he were a canonized saint, and Michael handed the letter to her with a flourish.

  There was a long, awkward pause before Mrs. Brown spoke. “We came to make one last appeal to Miss Rafferty, to beg her not to give in to your immoral requests. If she isn’t able to go home to Ireland, we’d like her to come with us, and we’ll find her a safe place to stay.”

  “And what does Katie say to that?” Michael enquired, with a certain amount of irritation in his voice.

  “She hasn’t given us her answer, yet.”

  “Did you realize, your lordship,” the nun interrupted, “that Katie’s parents have long entertained the hope that she might become a bride of Christ?”

  Michael snorted, and then he grinned. “Katie is an angel,” he began, innocently, “but I don’t think she’ll ever be a nun.”

  He just caught a hint of the smile Katie choked back when he glanced at her, but she managed to suppress it.

  “Well, Katie?” Michael said. “Are you packing up that cardboard suitcase of yours and leaving me, darling?”

  Katie moistened her lips, then said firmly, “No, sir.”

  “Well, in that case, we can bid our esteemed visitors good day. I hope you’ll convey my respects to Katie’s mother. Tell her that her daughter is in very good hands.”

  “Will I tell her that wedding bells will be heard before long?” said the Monsignor, with a sour look on his face.

  “What?” said Michael.

  Mrs. Brown took up the cudgels. “Look here. You’ve made it clear that you and Miss Rafferty have become … intimate. Are we to understand that you’ll be making an honest woman of her?”

&nbs
p; Michael bristled with annoyance. “That is a very impertinent question.”

  “It was a question that needed to be asked,” added the Monsignor.

  “No. It did not. Kindly leave my house before I get out of this chair and throw you out,” Michael said, as if the force of his feelings would give him back the use of his legs at any moment.

  Then he saw Katie’s face, and instantly regretted his words. She looked saddened, disappointed even. She got up to show the visitors out and she kept her cool, but Michael knew she was hiding her feelings.

  She must think he was acting like a complete cad. She knew nothing of the private agony he felt about their future. Katie deserved the best of everything. The very best. She’d make a fine wife, and a wonderful mother. Her strength of character and her determination were just what this place needed — what he needed. But how could he ask for that, when the partnership would be so unequal? When he couldn’t give her children? For the first time in his life, Michael realized that for all his money and good fortune, he didn’t really think he was good enough.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Alfie would never have believed the boys’ tales of a ghost if he hadn’t woken up one night and heard it for himself.

  He decided that this ghost business needed to be investigated.

  First of all, he had to work out where the noise was coming from. When he had discovered that, he had a feeling that the rest of his scientific inquiry would fall into place.

  He went down the curved stone steps that led downstairs. He crept past his lordship’s bedroom, not wanting to wake him. He opened the double doors that led through the adjacent sitting room and into the Long Gallery, the huge long room where all the paintings were displayed. He was so small and light he could move without making a sound. He hid in the shadow of a defunct grandfather clock and peered along the gallery.

  “Thump, thump, thump.”

  Now that he was nearer, he could hear another noise, a sort of rhythmic scraping noise, and something that sounded a bit like a door with a squeaky hinge.

  “Oh, my giddy aunt,” Alfie muttered under his breath as he peeked into the Long Gallery. It was Mister Lord, and he was walking — sort of. He had rigged a kind of walkway for himself between two rows of old wooden chairs, turned so that he could use the backs of the chairs for support. He was staggering along, very slowly, huffing and panting with the effort. His legs didn’t bend like a normal person’s legs; instead, they clanked. Alfie realized he must be wearing some kind of leg braces for support. Alfie thought they needed a little oil, because Mister Lord was squeaking like a rusty night. He kept his trap shut and watched to see what happened next.

  When his lordship reached the end of the chair row, he hesitated uncertainly. He almost turned back and then decided to attempt a little unassisted walking. He took a few unsupported steps with a supreme effort. He wavered and wobbled dangerously as Alfie held his breath.

  Michael tried to take the next uncertain step forward but his foot caught on the edge of the matting. Alfie wanted to close his eyes tight, but they remained wide open. Then, with all the grace of a tall pine tree being felled — and no one to call out “Timber!” — his lordship collapsed and fell heavily onto the stone floor of the Long Gallery.

  He swore like a sailor, and rolled around on the floor trying to right himself for a while, while Alfie watched in horrified amazement. Alfie had two choices. He could run out from his hiding place to help, risking getting into trouble, or he could stay where he was and watch the poor man lying in pain on the floor.

  He chose to give himself away. He ran forward and helped haul Michael into a sitting position.

  Michael gave a start of surprise, and tried to push his assailant away. “What the devil — ”

  “It’s not the devil, sir, it’s Alfie.”

  “Yes, I can see that. What are you doing up and about?”

  “I could ask you the same question, Mister. I don’t think Katie would be too pleased if she knew you were doing something like this.”

  “You are not to tell her. I’m planning a surprise.”

  “She’ll get a real surprise, all right, if she comes in here one morning and finds you in a heap on the carpet.”

  “I’d like to be able to ask her to dance,” Michael said. “I’m getting better at it every night.”

  Alfie seriously doubted that Michael’s staggering gait could ever be construed as dancing. He examined the leg braces critically. Michael straightened out his legs so the boy wonder could have a better look. The metal bars and struts formed a kind of supportive cage around each leg.

  “Are they very heavy?”

  “Very,” Michael said, rubbing his legs ruefully.

  “They need to be lighter,” Alfie observed.

  “I’m getting used to the weight every time I practice.”

  “Yes, but it’s wearing you out. And it’s putting you off balance, too.”

  Alfie examined the fastenings that went under each foot, attached with a little leather strap. “How did you get them on?”

  “With great difficulty,” Michael admitted. “Took nearly an hour the first time, I’ve got it down to about twenty minutes now.”

  Alfie suddenly had a light bulb moment. “I can see the problem. You’re too tall.”

  “Nonsense, I’m exactly the right height.”

  “The braces aren’t long enough then. They don’t give you enough support.”

  Michael made a dismissive gesture with his hand. “Help me up, will you? I don’t want to waste valuable time.”

  Alfie struggled to get Michael into a standing position.

  “They aren’t long enough, sir. You need to have some specially made.”

  Michael’s face changed. Maybe he finally realized that Alfie might be right.

  “Can you keep a secret, boy?”

  Alfie nodded.

  “If I took you to a place where they could make metal things, could you explain what you mean about making the struts longer?”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Katie wrote a long letter to her mother, trying to undo some of the damage that Tom O’Brien had done. It was not the first time she had written home since the incident with the Monsignor. Her last letter didn’t even get a reply. This time, she painted an elaborate picture of the whole situation between her and Michael, making it sound much more respectable than it was, telling her parents they mustn’t worry, and that Tom was stirring up trouble, as always.

  She felt a little guilty as she stuck the stamp on the envelope, but surely it wasn’t a sin to pour oil on troubled waters?

  Then she ran downstairs. In the hallway, she collared Roy to ask him to mail it for her. “See if you can catch the last post, there’s a good boy. I’ll give you a sixpence if you do.”

  “I’ll do it for a shilling. It’s a long walk down to the post office.”

  “Oh, it’s not, Roy. For a big, strong lad like you, it’s practically within shouting distance.”

  “Shilling. Or I’m not going.”

  “I’ll take it myself if you’re going to take that attitude. Only I’ve got the dinner to cook, and you do like bangers and mash, don’t you Roy?”

  “With gravy?”

  “Lots of it. I might even do some onion rings if you take my letter down to the village.”

  Roy thought about this for a moment. “Where’s the sixpence, then?”

  Katie found it for him and told him to hurry. Then she retreated to the kitchen and set to work on the preparations for supper.

  About two minutes later, she heard the unmistakable sound of a car engine. She looked up to see the MG, with Roy behind the wheel, rolling past the kitchen window.

  “What in the blue blazes … ” she murmured. She abandoned the sausages and ran out of the kitchen door.

  “Roy! You can’t! Stop. Wait.”

  She raced after the car as it disappeared round the side of the house.

  “Stop right there, young man!” />
  She only caught up with him because he had to stop to open the front gate. She arrived beside the car, breathless and cross.

  “What on earth do you think you’re doing?”

  Roy looked up at her like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. “You told me to hurry. I was only trying to do what you said.”

  “I didn’t say you could take his lordship’s car.”

  Then Roy leaned across and opened the passenger door for her. Impersonating Michael’s accent, he patted the seat and said, “Come on. Come for a spin. You know you want to.”

  Katie stared right back at him, unimpressed.

  “Roy. For the last time. Stop that nonsense and get out of the car.”

  “What? And leave it here, blocking the gate? Come on Katie, it would only take a minute to whiz down to the post office and back. Don’t be a spoil sport.”

  Katie sighed. “I’ve the dinner to cook.”

  “We could’ve been there and back in the time we’ve spent arguing about it,” Roy pointed out. “Come on. We’ll be back in two shakes of a lamb’s tail. Honest!”

  “I … suppose so,” Katie said, not wanting to give in to the boy’s demands, but keen to resolve the dispute somehow. “You’ll have to let me drive.”

  “No. I’m not letting a girl walk all over me.” Roy scowled at her.

  Katie scowled back. “Then you’ll be walking to the village, and getting no pocket money for a month.”

  She thought she was going to get another of his cheeky remarks, but after a few seconds, he seemed to recognize that a compromise was needed. Reluctantly, he relinquished the driver’s seat and went round to the other side.

  They got in the car and Kate jerked it backwards by mistake, and then ground the gears struggling to find the right one, before finally lurching into first and moving forward.

  “Are you sure you don’t want me to drive? I’m much better at it than you.”

  “Keep quiet and think about how you are going to explain this to his lordship when you get home, Roy.”

  Kate headed for the road that led down to the village, thinking what an obstinate young man Roy was for persuading her into this. Twisting country lanes were difficult to navigate at the best of times, but in this state of agitation — Kate wrestled with a bend in the road and the wheels squealed.