A Woman's Courage Read online

  ‘Does anyone know why he did it?’ John asked.

  ‘I don’t suppose even he knows,’ Pat said. ‘He’s not well at all. ’

  *

  ‘I can’t help feeling for the boy,’ John said, after Pat had gone. ‘And for his mother, too. What a terrible thing to go through. ’

  Alison had rather less sympathy. Gwen Talbot had been among those ready to point the finger at John, despite an absence of evidence.

  ‘They’re not my concern,’ she said firmly, ‘you are. You were accused of something you didn’t do because your skin’s a different colour – that’s the top and bottom of it. I wonder how many of the people who owe you an apology will actually bother to say sorry. ’

  She thought back to the WI meeting, Martha Dawson sneering, Gwen Talbot a couple of seats away, swivelling round in her chair. She remembered how the others had tutted, muttering about having to put up with savages. The news that someone was killing sheep provided the excuse they were looking for to complain about John being in the village.

  Not one of us.

  He took her hand. ‘It’s not as if it’s the first time I’ve been blamed for something that was nothing to do with me. ’

  ‘Which only makes it worse. What gives anyone the right to accuse you? I’d love to know why it’s often the most ignorant people who seem to think they know best. I’ve seen them all, looking down their noses at you, their minds full of nonsense. ’

  Martha Dawson and her husband, Trevor, came to mind. Jim Morton, casting aspersions where he had no right to. John was worth a hundred of their sort.

  ‘You’ve never put a foot wrong, you’re kind to everybody – and yet they turn on you at the first opportunity. I hope they’re ashamed. Maybe they’ll have a bit more tolerance in future. ’

  ‘Oh, Alison, it won’t make a scrap of difference. The next time something goes wrong, they’ll do exactly the same. They’ll look for a scapegoat – it’s human nature. ’ He put up his hands, a gesture of surrender. ‘And here I am. ’

  She was indignant. ‘But hasn’t this whole episode proved how wrong they were about you? They have no choice but to accept you’re innocent. They’re the guilty ones – guilty of making utterly baseless accusations. All the time they were spreading malicious gossip, convinced it had to be the outsider, it was one of their own. They’ll be a lot more wary about what they say from now on. ’

  ‘I wouldn’t count on it. ’

  Neither spoke for a moment. Elsa jumped off the chair and came to sit at John’s feet. He reached down and scratched her head.

  ‘So what can we do?’ Alison asked. ‘How do we persuade them to think differently?’

  John looked thoughtful. ‘We do what’s right for us. We don’t waste our time trying to change the minds of people stuck in their ways because it’s a battle we’ll never win. ’ He bent and kissed her hand. ‘We count our blessings, thank God for what we’ve got. Each other. ’

  ‘But it’s not fair,’ Alison said. ‘I hate to see people judging you for no reason. ’

  John looked round at her. ‘They’ll judge you, too, you know, for having me as your lodger. They’d judge you more, if they knew the truth. ’

  Alison shook her head. ‘I don’t care about any of that. Not one bit. ’

  John smiled. He turned to her and cupped her face in his hands. ‘All this business in the village . . . it’s nothing compared to what we’ve got. Great Paxford may not be perfect, but here, this house, you and me – this is perfect. You’re one in a million, Alison, and I’ve got to be the luckiest man alive to have you. It makes me feel very blessed. ’ He gave her a tender kiss, then pulled back, looking at her seriously. ‘I might not have much to offer you, and I know life might not be that easy for us. But I love you, Alison, I always will. You mean the world to me. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you. I want you to be my wife. I want a long and happy future with you. I’ve never wanted anything in this world more. What do you say – will you marry me?’

  Chapter 31

  S

  ARAH FOUND FRANCES IN the dining room, surrounded by paperwork.

  ‘Have I caught you in the middle of something?’ Sarah asked.

  ‘Nothing important,’ Frances said, looking up. ‘I’m just sorting through some old papers. Do you remember a talk we had at one of our WI meetings on the subject of beekeeping?’

  Sarah nodded.

  ‘I must have found it utterly fascinating because I took copious notes – and kept them all this time, for some reason!’

  ‘You were considering getting some hives, I seem to remember. ’

  Frances frowned. ‘Really? I have no recollection of that whatsoever. ’

  ‘It was short-lived. ’ Sarah smiled. ‘One of your fads. ’

  ‘I don’t have fads,’ Frances protested.

  ‘You were also considering goats at one point . . . prompted by a talk on cheesemaking. ’

  Frances laughed. ‘Oh, I remember. Peter put paid to it – he said the goats would eat everything in sight and we ’d end up with a scene of devastation where the garden used to be. I seem to remember Cookie putting her foot down, too. ’

  ‘I’d have enjoyed watching you trying to milk a goat. ’

  ‘That’s what Peter said. ’ Frances smiled at the memory and began gathering up her papers. ‘Anyway, I don’t suppose you came over to discuss my various “fads”, as you put it. ’

  Sarah hesitated. Then she noticed a series of sketches done in pencil – dress designs. ‘Those are rather good,’ she said, picking one up.

  ‘Pat did them. She brought them round this morning,’ Frances said. ‘She suggested she might remodel the Dior evening gown I gave to the clothing sale to make it more practical – shortening it, using the net underskirt to create sleeves and panels, that kind of thing. She thinks there might even be enough fabric to make a jacket. Her drawings are really very good. ’

  Sarah studied them, impressed. ‘They look like the work of a professional. What did you say?’

  ‘I was persuaded by her enthusiasm. She’s a clever dressmaker and I’ve no doubt she’ll make a good job of it. ’

  ‘I had no idea she was so skilled. ’

  ‘I suspect there’s a lot we don’t know about Pat, mainly because Bob made sure she had no chance to express herself,’ Frances sighed. ‘She was so busy running round after him, I suppose she hadn’t the time to pursue her own passions. I can well imagine Bob acting swiftly to crush any hint of creativity on her part. I find I’m only just beginning to appreciate her many talents. Did you know she’s been writing?’

  Sarah looked up in surprise. ‘What kind of writing?’

  ‘I’m not exactly sure, she was rather cagey on the subject matter, but she did say she recently submitted a piece to a magazine. ’

  ‘Good for her. ’

  ‘She also told me about Mrs Talbot’s son. ’

  ‘Really? What about him?’ Sarah had been avoiding people since Adam’s return, and was out of touch with what was going on.

  ‘You haven’t heard? He’s the one who’s been killing sheep on Jim Morton’s farm. It’s the talk of the village. ’

  Sarah gasped. ‘What happened? How did they find out?’

  ‘Gwen found something in Ronald’s room that convinced her it was him and called the police. I imagine that was not an easy call to make. ’

  Sarah took this in. ‘He’s not at all well, you know. He suffered a mental collapse of some sort, and I gather he’s received very little in the way of help. Gwen has been doing her best, but I believe it has been very hard for her. From what she told me, he’s a different boy to the one who went off to fight. She’s had her work cut out coping since the army discharged him. ’

  Frances nodded. ‘Terrible business. And now, this. ’

  Sarah remembered her visit to Gwen when the subject of the sheep killings had come up, how insistent Gwen had b
een that John was responsible. ‘Does Alison know?’ she asked.

  Frances nodded. ‘Pat went to see her. At least people will stop blaming John now. I just hope some of those most vocal in their accusations will have the grace to apologise – although I may be hoping for rather too much there. ’ She thought for a moment. ‘Haven’t you been spending time with Gwen? Now might be a good time to call on her. ’

  ‘I can’t,’ Sarah said, looking away. ‘I’ve too much on. ’

  Frances frowned in surprise. ‘You could spare an hour, surely?’

  ‘Not at the moment, no. ’ Sarah took a breath. ‘Listen, Frances. Something’s happened and I want to keep it strictly between us for the time being. Strictly. I mean, no one can know. ’

  Frances gave her a quizzical look. ‘What is it? Whatever’s the matter?’

  ‘Frances, this is a secret for now. You mustn’t under any circumstances let it get out,’ Sarah said. ‘It’s important. Promise me you won’t breathe a word. ’

  ‘Of course, hand on heart, I won’t say a thing. ’ Her face was creased into a frown. ‘Just tell me, Sarah – you’re starting to make me feel anxious. ’

  Sarah breathed in. ‘Adam’s home,’ she said.

  ‘Adam?’

  ‘There was no warning. He appeared at the front door one night, late, as I was on my way up to bed . . . ’ Sarah gave a helpless shrug.

  ‘But how?’ Frances was incredulous. ‘Where did he come from, how did he get here? Was he rescued? Is he all right?’

  A few of the questions Sarah also wanted answers to. ‘He escaped,’ she said, and her sister’s eyebrows shot up. ‘I honestly don’t know the details – he’s not been home long enough to go into it all. I think it’s been very hard for him, and I’m not sure he can bear to talk about it all yet. The main thing is he’s back and he’s all right. ’

  Was he, though? On the face of things, perhaps, but until she knew what he ’d actually been through, she couldn’t possibly be sure.

  Frances was quiet for a moment, digesting what Sarah had told her. ‘Escaped, you say, from the POW camp?’

  Sarah nodded. She knew as well as Frances that few succeeded in escaping the Nazis.

  ‘But . . . how on earth did he manage it? How did he even get out of Germany? It’s impossible, surely. ’

  Sarah was silent for a moment. ‘All the time I was anxious, waiting to hear from him, he was on his way home. He’s been in jeopardy every step of the way, suffering danger and deprivation for weeks, months. ’ She broke off, unable to continue. She was still not clear how long his journey had taken or what it had entailed, and the thought of what he might have gone through was sometimes too much for her. ‘It must have been terrifying, requiring every scrap of courage he could muster, every bit of energy. I can only imagine what it must have cost him. ’

  Frances nodded slowly.

  ‘I didn’t recognise him,’ Sarah admitted. ‘I took him for a stranger. ’

  ‘You weren’t expecting him, and I doubt very much he looked anything like the Adam you last set eyes on. ’

  Sarah shook her head, seeing once more the bent, bearded figure in the ragged overcoat. ‘He’s lost weight,’ she said. A huge understatement. Adam, always slender, was now skin and bone. ‘I want to know everything but I’m afraid of pushing him. Whenever I ask, he deflects me. ’

  Frances put a hand on her sister’s arm. ‘I don’t doubt what he’s been through was incredibly traumatic,’ she said. ‘It must have been testing in ways we can’t even begin to imagine, pushing him to the very limits of his endurance, over and over, every second of every day. He can hardly have slept much, on such a journey – there won’t have been a moment when he’ll have felt able to let down his guard. It doesn’t bear thinking about. To tell you what he’s been through, he’ll have to revisit it all and that’s going to prove painful, bring it all to the surface again. Be patient, Sarah, give him the time he needs. There may be some things he will never be prepared to share. ’

  Sarah took a moment to consider what Frances had said. ‘He’s always felt so connected to his parishioners,’ she said slowly, ‘and yet when I mentioned how concerned everyone was for him and the prayers being offered up at St Mark’s each week for his safe return, he . . . recoiled, I suppose. I thought he ’d find it a comfort, but it seemed to have the opposite effect. He doesn’t want anyone to know he’s back. He said I might tell you, but otherwise no one is to know. It seems utterly at odds with the man he is. ’

  Or was, Sarah thought.

  ‘I’m sure he has his reasons,’ Frances said gently. ‘For the moment, you need some time together, without interruption. ’

  That was what Adam had said.

  Frances hesitated. ‘He won’t have to go back, will he?’ she asked.

  Sarah shook her head. ‘There’s no question of that, thank goodness.’ She would not have been able to bear it. Following his debriefing, Adam had been discharged of his duties; the Army expected nothing more of him. Once the formalities were completed, he had chosen to make his way home on foot, alone, he told her, in the hope that a period of solitude might help clear his head. Sarah was not sure it had made very much difference. She bit her lip.

  ‘Try not to expect too much from him,’ Frances went on. ‘He’s been through an ordeal, after all, one that’s bound to have changed him in ways even he might not yet understand. ’

  Chapter 32

  H

  E WANTED TO SHARE it with her. Some of it; not all of it. There were terrors he had witnessed and wished never to think of or speak about ever again. At the same time, he knew that the very things he hoped to forget were the ones that would haunt him for the rest of his days.

  After he ’d been home a week, Adam sat Sarah down and poured a whisky for each of them. He said he ’d tell her as much as he could. Enough, at least, for her to understand something of what he ’d been through.

  ‘We were being held in an Oflag, a camp for officers,’ he began, ‘in the north, somewhere near Hamburg. ’ He wasn’t sure where exactly; he ’d have to look at a map – if he could bring himself to. One day, perhaps. ‘One of the chaps in the same hut as me was at Oxford a couple of years ahead of me and we hit it off right away. ’

  Edward Williams. Eddie. He was a linguist with a brilliant mind, clever enough to have found something safe to do from a bunker in Whitehall during the war, but instead he had chosen to fight. Adam had also got pally with a young medic, George Dixon. All three of them had been captured at Dunkirk. They talked constantly about escape – everyone did – in the knowledge the odds were against them. Escape was rare, and retribution swift.

  But when an opportunity presented itself, they took it.

  ‘They were moving us to another camp, marching us there, and the guards became . . . distracted. ’

  It wasn’t the right word for what had occurred, but he had been at the rear of the column, too far away to see what was happening up ahead. There was some sort of eruption – shouts, shots fired – that sent the guards on either side running. A split second later, Eddie had grabbed his sleeve and yanked him from the road into the cover of the towering pine trees that flanked it, George scrambling along behind. Adam felt a surge of fear, and at the same time a rush of energy sufficient to propel him forward, even though he could barely get his breath and his heart seemed ready to burst.

  They ran for what felt like hours, Eddie leading the way, as if he knew where he was going, Adam and George blindly following. All the while, Adam braced himself for a bullet in the back. He was convinced they wouldn’t get far, that the Nazis were on their heels. There ’d be no recapture – they’d be shot as they ran, left to rot in a forest in the middle of nowhere. What they were doing was madness. He kept thinking about how and when Sarah would find out – would he be missing for years, before she knew what had happened?

  And yet no shot came. They kept on, following Edd
ie, pushing deeper into the forest, stopping only when the light started to go. Eddie, the only one who seemed to know instinctively which direction might ultimately lead them to safety, steered them north, into Denmark.

  Without Eddie they’d have been lost.

  Or killed.

  ‘Isn’t Denmark under Nazi occupation?’ Sarah asked.

  It was, Adam told her, but there was a resistance movement and they struck lucky. That was what Eddie kept saying, that luck was on their side. He refused to take credit for his own leadership skills and what seemed to Adam his uncanny sense of direction – not to mention an ability to speak a little Danish, enough to get by. Somehow, Eddie managed to lead them to a farm owned by an elderly couple who were sympathetic to their plight, providing food and shelter and clothes. They put them in touch with the Danish resistance, who spirited them as far as the coast and onto a fishing boat bound for Norway.

  ‘Norway was our best chance,’ Adam said, frowning into his whisky. That was what Eddie had told him. There were boats coming back and forth from the Shetlands, a fleet of fishing cutters known as the ‘Shetland Bus’. The threat of attack from enemy aircraft and gunboats was constant as the volunteer crews undertook the treacherous North Sea crossing from Lunna to the Norwegian coast under cover of darkness, landing agents, arms and ammunition, then returning with refugees.

  They just needed to get themselves onto one of these small boats.

  Adam had no idea how far they walked. It must have been hundreds of miles. At times, their journey had seemed endless. He had truly understood what it meant to be ‘dead on your feet’ – a phrase he resolved never again to use lightly if he was lucky enough to make it home.

  He stole a glance at Sarah, who looked anxious, and decided not to tell her that on more than one occasion he had been ready to give up, that as the days passed and they pressed on without sleep, cold and hungry, the fatigue became so extreme that he simply wanted to cease trudging and collapse, that nothing seemed worth the awful pain and exhaustion of carrying on, that he wanted to lie down and never get up again.