Gracie's Sin (35 page)

‘Go? Go where?’

‘He must try to escape. Or take the consequences.’

Gracie gasped. ‘What sort of consequences? I don’t understand.’

‘It is his duty to escape. He has no choice. The Luftwaffe officers will kill him if he refuses. And he needs my help.’

Tess chose that very moment to drive the lorry on to the site, and the next hour or so was fully taken up with exhausting, difficult work. Two poles had to be set to lean against the back of the lorry to form a ramp, then the logs were rolled up and stacked onto the bed of the lorry. Rose and Jeannie stood on the back of it to receive the logs, with Lena and Gracie rolling them up from the ground. When the bottom of the lorry was full, Gracie shifted the poles higher for the second layer. She strove to concentrate, for all her gaze kept straying over to where Karl and Erich were working together on the peeling. Were they even now planning their escape? My godfathers, the thought was terrifying. Escape was impossible from here. Everyone knew that. This was the reason the high ranking officers were brought to Grizedale, to this Grade One prison. Even if they found their way out of the forest, they had at least twenty miles of mountains to cross before they reached the coast. And if they were caught?

They’d be shot.

Gracie’s hands slipped on the pole she was attempting to push up the ramp and it rolled back down, knocking Lena flat.

‘Oh, I’m sorry Lena. I lost concentration for a moment.’

Alf shouted something pithy at her but Lena seemed none the worse for her battering. She didn’t even complain, simply laughed, got up and brushed herself off. Gracie glanced up and for one brief second caught Rose gazing down at her, a thoughtful frown on her face. Gracie felt her cheeks grow warm with guilt and she hurriedly returned to the task with renewed vigour.

Once the lorry was full, with four or five layers of pitprops, Alf shouted to Tess to take it away. ‘You go with her,’ he told Gracie and Lena.

‘Let Rose go instead of me. I don’t mind getting on with the peeling.’ This was a job they all hated.

‘I’m the ganger, lassie. You do as I say.’

And so, reluctantly, Gracie climbed onto the lorry beside Lena. Perched on the top of the pile of logs, she was acutely aware of Karl watching as Tess drove away but somehow, by dint of enormous will power, she managed not to look back.

Concerned about the possibility of Rose upsetting her plans, Irma again took her son to task over his lack of progress with Gracie. ‘Stop dithering and get on with it. Faint heart never won fair lady. Ask her now. Strike while the iron’s hot.’ And before that little madam gets her claws into you, she thought. Though she was careful not to say as much out loud.

Adam made a half-hearted protest. ‘It might not be appropriate, not with Lou away. They’re all worried about her and Gordon.’

‘Don’t talk soft. There’ll be just the two of you out in the garden. I’ll see you aren’t disturbed. You’d be daft to let this chance slip. There aren’t many girls as nice as our Gracie. She’s smashing.’

‘I know.’ Adam was confused, marvelling at his own hesitancy. Not so long ago he’d been desperate for just such an opportunity, to be alone with Gracie for half an hour, ten minutes even, but too often Gracie would refuse an invitation to go out with him.

‘How do I know she’d accept?’

‘You don’t, not till you ask, ye daft happorth.’ Irma chuckled. ‘Anybody with eyes in their head can see she’s mooning after you. Off her food, moody and depressed, her mind always drifting off some place. Been wandering about like a lovesick calf for weeks she has, and who else could it be for, but you? Get on with it, lad. Now’s yer chance.’

Adam’s heart gave an odd little thump. It was all true. Hadn’t he noticed her odd behaviour? It thrilled him that she could feel this way, that any girl could love someone as awkward and shy as himself; a country bumpkin. He’d fancied Gracie from the start, was heartily sick of living alone with his mam. He’d every respect for the way she’d coped on her own, bringing up a child and developing this farm. She had guts did his mam, but no one could deny that they’d led a lonely, somewhat restricted life. She’d be the first to say so, always going on about how he needed to take a wife, to bring some new blood into the place. Irma wanted grandchildren, and Adam wasn’t against the idea. Not at all. But if he didn’t do something soon the girls would be packing up their bags and leaving Rusland, then where would he be?

‘You must leave me alone with her, Mam. I can’t be doing with any of your interfering. The last thing I need is you at my elbow while I’m doing the asking.’

‘As if I would! Nay, I’ve every faith in you.’ With a smile of pleased gratification, Irma pinned on her hat, picked up her basket and declared she was off up the lane, to pay a call on Madge. ‘I’ll not be back till late,’ she called cheerily, and, giving a saucy wink, sailed out through the front door.

Adam stood gazing out into the back garden where he could see Gracie wandering about among the flowers, scenting the roses, plucking a few chrysanthemums to bring indoors later. She looked lovely, her long pale hair glowing in the golden light of evening. A chap would be lucky to get her.

He asked himself why he hesitated; why he wasn’t eager to dash out and join her and say those all important words. Was it because their friendship had developed slowly, because he’d been a bit gawky and taciturn at times? He knew he wasn’t good with women, particularly young pretty ones. Hadn’t had near enough practise, he supposed. And he did desperately want to get it right. Didn’t he?

An image of Rose came unexpectedly into his head. The curve of her laughing mouth, the shining halo of ebony curls, those bewitching blue eyes. He’d felt quite relaxed with her, strangely enough. But then Rose was sweet and good fun, less serious than Gracie. They’d enjoyed a good laugh while making the spam fritters. But she would never make a farmer’s wife. His mam had said as much a dozen times since that night, and she was usually right. It was important, Irma had explained, that he choose somebody quiet and sensible, somebody who’d be content to live in this remote backwater. Rose would be forever itching to go to dances, or to visit Carlisle for a spot of shopping. Light-minded and flighty, that’s what his mother called her. And she was usually right his mam, Adam repeated, as if by rote.

You have to think long term, she was constantly reminding him. As a farmer, Adam understand such a philosophy.

He put on his tweed jacket, not his Sunday best but respectable nonetheless. He should look clean and decent for this important moment in his life. Then allowing himself no further time for reflection, and before his shyness overcame him yet again, he went out into the garden and, as a good obedient son, blurted out his proposal.

Gracie was utterly taken aback. ‘I can’t quite take this in,’ she said, fumbling for the right words. ‘You aren’t seriously asking me to marry you, are you?’

Adam instantly regretted his impulsive act, wanting to retract the offer forthwith, to say it’d all been a dreadful mistake. But that would have been impolite. ‘Aye,’ he said, giving a slow, thoughtful nod.

‘Oh.’ A small pained silence. ‘Well, I don’t know what to say. I really don’t. It’s so - so, unexpected.’ Gracie was dumbfounded, wondering how on earth she could possibly let him down easily, without hurting him. She didn’t love him. Not the least little bit, though she’d tried, oh how she’d tried, for it would be the answer to everything. But she’d absolutely no wish to be hAdam’s wife, to be anybody’s wife. No, that wasn’t true. She ached to belong to Karl, but he was a German. A prisoner-of- war, so how could she marry him? Oh, what a mess! If only she could just turn to Adam with a smile and say that she loved him too and would very much like to be his wife. But she couldn’t. She simply couldn’t get a word out. Her tongue seemed to be stuck fast to the roof of her mouth.

‘You don’t have to answer now,’ he told her, his face quite serious. ‘There’s no rush. I mean, you can have time to think about it.’

‘Thank you.’ It was still there, that awkwardness she always sensed between them, as if he were mindful to be on his best behaviour with her, fearful of causing offence. She found her voice at last. ‘We’ll talk another time. Perhaps tomorrow?’

‘Yes. Fine. Like I said, there’s no rush. I could ask you again in a day or two.’ Adam suddenly experienced an awful certainty in the pit of his stomach that he wanted her to say no. He wanted her to say, thank you very much but no, she couldn’t marry him. Hell’s teeth, what was wrong with him? This was awful, going worse by the minute.

Gracie stood up, anxious suddenly to put an end to the embarrassment. She indicated the flowers, still held tightly in her hands. ‘I’ll put these in water, shall I? Then I think I’ll be off to bed. Good night!’

‘Good night!’

And without looking back, she walked quickly away.

When Lou returned, a day or two later, arriving very early in the morning as she’d caught the milk train from Liverpool; she walked past Gracie who’d rushed to the garden gate to meet her, and straight into the house. She didn’t say a word, and, appalled by the bleakness of her friend’s expression, neither did Gracie. Moments later she was back, changed into her dungarees, her face now a bland mask of stubborn determination.

‘Right, let’s not stand about looking gormless. There’s work to be done.’ And jumping on to her bike, pedalled away down the lane at a great lick, leaving Gracie to dash back into the house, pick up their snap tins, fling them into the basket hooked over her handlebars and pedal like mad to catch up with her.

The day passed like many another, marking, felling and clearing, with not a word about what had gone on in Liverpool. Gracie didn’t dare enquire what the news might be, whether Gordon were safe. It seemed clear to her that he wasn’t, or that there was no definite news of any kind. Deciding that Lou would talk about it when she was good and ready, Gracie got on with the job.

They proceeded as usual, entirely professional, studying each selected tree, deciding which way they would bring it down, bearing in mind that it mustn’t fall against other trees. Great damage could be done to all the stock if one came down in the wrong place.

‘We’ll put the dip here,’ Gracie said, indicating a place on the trunk where she would make the first cut. Lou gave an impatient nod of agreement as if telling her to get on with it. The September day was warm and both girls were plagued by flies and midges, enough to make anyone bad tempered, Gracie conceded, even if one wasn’t filled with concern about a loved one. She set about making the wedge-shaped cut with her axe, as close to the bottom of the trunk as she could put it. The secret was to know how deep to make the cut. Not far enough and the tree could split; too far and it could rock over and fall in the wrong direction, which was dangerous.

Lou was usually meticulous, exercising good judgement. Today, her expression was grim, body tight with tension. ‘Leave it. Leave it. That’s enough. It’ll go now.’

‘No, I think not.’ Gracie reached for the crosscut saw. ‘Let’s give it a bit more help with this. A little careful sawing should do the job nicely.’

But Lou didn’t wait. She picked up her axe and ignoring Gracie’s shout, swung it at the tree with such ferocity that the tree actually shuddered. Then, with an ear splitting crack, it rocked, tipped, and began slowly to fall. At that moment, Jeannie walked out into the clearing.

Lou sat on a fallen log and cried. She cried with such deep anguish, such utter desolation, it was as if she held a whole well of tears in her heart that she’d never reach the bottom of. The pain was so terrible she couldn’t see how she could possibly bear it. It sliced her in two, clean through her breast bone, just like her axe through that damned tree. It would send her mad. ‘I could’ve killed her,’ she sobbed. ‘I could’ve bloody killed her.’

‘Awch, never. I’m far too nifty on me pins,’ Jeannie said, exchanging an anguished glance with Gracie who was sitting with one arm about her friend, holding her close. It was a relief to them both that Lou had finally spoken.

Gracie said, ‘Would you like to talk about it?’

The hush of the forest was deep and calming, broken only by the occasional trill of a song thrush, the flutter of a busy sparrow going about its business. Jeannie leaned over and whispered in Gracie’s ear. ‘I reckon it would be better if I left ye to it. She might open up more. Tell her not to fret. She’s got enough on her plate right now. I’m fine.’

As Jeannie crept away, leaving a trail of blue cigarette smoke in her wake, Lou gave a great, shuddering sob, a quiver of pain rippling through her. ‘She said I should stay.’

‘Who did?’ Gracie gently enquired.

‘Gordon’s mam. You’re his wife, she says. You should stop here, wait for news with me. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t stay any longer. I couldn’t bear to stand on that quay with all the other wives, just waiting and waiting. I’ve a job to do, I told her. Oh, she says, and that’s more important than our Gordon, I suppose. How could she say that? How could she think such a thing?’

‘She was upset. She probably didn’t know what she was saying.’

‘As if I care a tinker’s cuss about anything but Gordon. I don’t want to live another second without him. Why doesn’t she know that?’ Lou looked up at Gracie, her eyes blotched and red with weeping, fresh tears even now welling up and spilling unchecked down her pale cheeks.