The Victory Garden: A Novel Page 16

  The farmer’s wife wouldn’t let her leave the kitchen until the others came in for their midday meal. Then she ladled out big bowls of split pea soup, which the others ate with relish. Emily couldn’t stand the smell and only pretended to eat.

  “What’s the matter?” Alice asked.

  “I think I must have some kind of stomach grippe,” Emily replied. “Something I ate.”

  “I’m not surprised, with what we’ve been fed recently. I wish we were back with Mrs Trelawney’s cooking again. I’d even face the old lady and that cold, damp cottage for a big helping of her shepherd’s pie.”

  Emily’s stomach churned at the mention of shepherd’s pie, but she found herself thinking of Lady Charlton and the cottage. Yes, she had been happy there.

  After they had finished their meal, Emily was feeling better, and went outside to work with the others. She opted to plant the onion sets, bending to press them into the moist ground. She felt quite well again, and wondered if perhaps she had been wrong after all. Maybe it was some kind of stomach upset and she was getting over it. That evening, she ate a hearty meal of steamed meat pudding and cauliflower, followed by stewed rhubarb and custard, and fell asleep easily enough.

  The next morning, she had to rush to the lavatory, where she threw up last night’s meal. This confirmed her suspicions. She didn’t know much about having babies, but she had overheard one of their friends complaining about morning sickness and how she felt right as rain by midday.

  I have to know, she decided. But she could hardly leave the other women to do the work. She did her share all week, and then on Friday afternoon they were released early. The farmer was pleased with their progress and said he’d take them into Tavistock to give them a chance to do some shopping or have a cup of tea at a cafe. They were all pleased about this, although it was too bad there was no cinema in Tavistock, and they couldn’t go all the way in to Plymouth. Once there, they split up, some to the haberdashers for new handkerchiefs, some to the chemist for sweet-smelling soap.

  “Where are you off to?” Alice said to Emily as the latter tried to slip away. “I’ll come with you.”

  “I thought I’d go to the bookshop,” Emily said. “I don’t have anything to read.”

  “When do we ever get time to read?” Alice demanded.

  “Saturday and Sunday are coming up and I’ve nowhere to go.”

  “In that case, I think I’ll see what Daisy and Ruby are doing,” Alice said. “You wouldn’t catch me dead in a bookshop.”

  The moment Alice had headed after the disappearing girls, Emily slipped around the corner and located a building with a brass plate saying, “D.M. Packer, MD.” She let herself in to find an empty waiting room. A worried-looking woman, who was probably the doctor’s wife, appeared and looked surprised to see her. “How did you get in?”

  “The front door was unlocked,” Emily said. “Isn’t this the doctor’s surgery?”

  “It is, but surgery hours are not until six this evening.”

  “Oh.” Emily looked crestfallen. “So is the doctor out on his rounds then?”

  “He’s just come back after morning rounds and is taking a late lunch,” the woman replied. “If you’d like to leave your name and come back later . . .”

  “I can’t.” Emily felt close to tears. “I’m with the Women’s Land Army, and we are being picked up in an hour’s time. I just hoped that . . .” Her voice trailed off.

  The woman’s expression softened. “I could see if he might spare a moment if the problem is not too complicated. We’re very grateful for all that you ladies are doing, keeping the farms going around here. Wait one minute.”

  Emily waited. Then another door opened and the woman said, “The doctor will see you, my dear. This way.”

  The doctor shared a worried expression with his wife. He was in late middle age and looked tired. Emily felt guilty that she had disturbed his lunchtime rest.

  “I’m so sorry to take you from your luncheon,” she said.

  “I’d pretty much finished. You just disturbed my after-meal pipe.” He managed a smile. “And I should be rationing myself. Tobacco’s hard to get anyway. Now what seems to be the problem?”

  “I’m wondering how soon you can tell if you are pregnant?” Emily felt her cheeks burning.

  “You think you might be in the family way?” he asked. “We can’t tell for sure until we can actually hear a heartbeat, but I’d have a pretty good idea after about six weeks. How far along do you think you are?”

  “About six weeks,” Emily confirmed.

  “Right. If you take off that tunic and hop up on the table, I’ll take a look at you.”

  Emily did so, squirming in embarrassment as she took off her outer garments. The doctor gave her a thorough examination that was even more embarrassing. “Any symptoms?” he asked. “Nausea? Dizziness? Vomiting?”

  “All of the above,” Emily confessed.

  “And tender breasts?”

  Emily put her hand to one and reacted with surprise. “Yes, as a matter of fact.”

  “And they seem bigger than normal?”

  “I think so.”

  He smiled then, making him look a lot younger. “Then, my dear, I think it’s fairly conclusive.” He glanced down at her hand that still wore Robbie’s band. “Is your husband serving abroad? I take it he was home on leave.”

  “He’s dead,” Emily said bleakly. “He was in the Royal Air Force. A pilot. His plane crashed.”

  “I’m very sorry,” the doctor said. “So it’s up to you to make sure that a healthy baby carries on his name, right?”

  Emily nodded, too full of emotion to speak. The child would not bear Robbie’s name. But at least she knew the truth now. All she had to do was decide what happened next.

  She came out to see Alice waiting on the high street. She waved when she saw Emily. “Where did you get to?” she asked. “I popped into that bookshop and they said they hadn’t seen you.”

  “Oh, I just wandered around,” Emily replied.

  Alice frowned. “Is there something you’re not telling me?” she asked. “You’ve been acting strangely. Of course, I can understand that you’re still dealing with your man’s death. I know it takes a while to come to terms with that. I couldn’t think about my Bill without an actual physical pain in my heart for the longest time. So I do know what you’re going through.”

  “You don’t know it all, Alice,” Emily said. She took a deep breath. “I’ve just seen the doctor. I’m going to have a baby.”

  “Ah.” Alice nodded. “I wondered as much. I heard you chucking up your breakfast. Well, that’s a bit of a bugger, isn’t it?”

  Emily had to laugh at her choice of language. “More than a bit of a bugger, Alice. It’s the worst thing that could happen. I have no idea what I’m going to do next.”

  “Go home to your folks, that’s what I’d say.”

  “But you don’t know my parents.” Emily shook her head violently. “My father already told me I was no longer welcome at home when I disobeyed them and stayed working in the fields.”

  “I’d give it a try anyway, duck,” Alice said. “I don’t believe any parent would leave their child in the lurch when something as bad as this has happened.” Then she wagged a finger. “You know what? Tell them you and Robbie got secretly married. They won’t approve, but at least it will be more respectable.”

  “I couldn’t lie to them!”

  “It might make things easier. Tell everyone you were secretly married. Just call yourself Mrs Robbie Kerr. So many men are dead, who’s to know the difference?”

  “I don’t know.” Emily hesitated, chewing at her lip. “My father is the sort who would contact Somerset House and demand to see the wedding certificate.”

  “They might find it easier to go along with the lie, for the sake of respectability,” Alice said. “Are you going to tell the other girls?”

  Emily shook her head. “I can’t. Especially not Miss Foster-Blake. She’
d despise me. So please don’t say anything.”

  “You’ll have had some of them putting two and two together and making four if they’ve heard you in the lav throwing up,” Alice said. “And the fainting.”

  “I suppose so. But we haven’t much longer, have we? If I can just keep going until we’re released for the winter, then I’ll have time to work out what to do next.”

  “Miss Foster-Blake said we will have a free weekend coming up after we’ve finished the planting,” Alice said. “Why don’t you go home then, test which way the wind is blowing, you know? See if you’d be welcome or not. I’m betting they’ll welcome their only daughter home with open arms.”

  “If only you are right,” Emily said.

  Alice put a tentative hand on Emily’s arm. “And if not, we’ll be here for you.”

  Emily nodded, swallowing back tears. Until recently, she had never allowed herself to cry. Now tears were always just below the surface.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Autumn came on with a vengeance. Leaves turned to yellow, then brown, and soon they swirled in the wind. Luckily, the ploughing was done and the last of the winter crops planted.

  “Well done, girls,” Miss Foster-Blake said. “You can be proud of what you have done for these farmers and for England. Not long now, I suspect, before we are given permission to send you home, at least for the winter. And with any luck, the war will be over when the spring comes, and we can all return to our normal lives.”

  An old bus took those who were going home to the station. Alice and Daisy were staying behind, as were some of the others. Ruby was in tears at the thought of seeing her mum and dad again. Emily felt something akin to panic. She still didn’t know if she was doing the right thing in going home. How could she tell her parents the truth? What would they say? She had no idea. She alighted from the train at Torquay station and caught a bus to her parents’ village. It was a grey, blustery day, and the wind swept her along as she walked up the lane to her house. As she passed the convalescent hospital, she heard the sound of men’s voices and laughter. She peered through the gate. Some of the patients were having an impromptu football match. One had a bandage around his head, another an arm still in plaster, but they were playing with enthusiasm. As she stared down the gravel drive at the front of the house, she saw a figure crossing the lawn—a redheaded man on crutches. An absurd hope leapt in her heart. He hadn’t died, just been badly wounded. She opened her mouth to call out his name, but he turned to look in her direction and she saw that it was a stranger.

  She made herself keep walking until she pushed open the front gate of her parents’ house and started up the perfectly raked drive. Old Josh came around the side of the house, pushing a wheelbarrow. “Well, it’s never Miss Emily! Welcome home,” he said. “My, but you’re looking smart in your uniform.”

  “Not really, Josh,” she said. “The uniform is in sore need of cleaning. I’ve worn it for the past three months.”

  “Ask Mrs Broad to take care of it for you,” he said. “Your mum and dad will be so surprised to see you. I reckon they both miss you a whole lot.”

  “I hope so,” she said. Instead of opening the front door, she rang the bell. Florrie answered it, and her face broke into a beaming smile.

  “Miss Emily. It’s you! What a treat. Come on in.”

  “Who is it, Florrie?” came her mother’s strident voice from the drawing room.

  “It’s Miss Emily, come home to us at last,” Florrie called.

  Emily’s mother emerged, paused in the doorway and stood looking at her. Emily sensed her indecision, as if she wanted to rush forwards and embrace her daughter, but she wasn’t going to give that daughter the satisfaction of knowing she had been missed. Instead she said, “So, you’ve returned to the fold, have you? Expecting a warm welcome?”

  “I didn’t quite know what to expect, Mummy,” Emily said. “But I had a couple of days off, so I thought you might like to know how your daughter was faring.”

  “So you’re not home for good then?”

  “No, I have to be back on Monday morning,” Emily replied.

  Her mother still stood poised in the doorway. Then she said, “Well, I suppose you’d better come in. Florrie, you may bring us some tea. And tell Cook to see if she can rustle up some meat. I don’t suppose Miss Emily has had a decent meal in months.”

  “Actually, we’ve been eating quite well,” Emily said as she followed her mother into the sitting room. “Lots of stews. And plenty of rabbit.”

  “Rabbit? How disgusting.”

  “Well, they are a pest on the farms, so we’re doing everyone a favour by eating them,” Emily said. “Rabbit stew really isn’t bad.”

  “Well, I can assure you we will not be reduced to rabbit tonight.” She sank into one of the armchairs.

  “Where’s Daddy?” Emily asked as she perched at the edge of the sofa, looking out on to the garden. “Not working on a Saturday, surely?”

  “No, he went for a walk to buy the newspaper,” her mother said. “The boy delivered the wrong one. We’ve a new newspaper boy. The other one volunteered at sixteen. I suppose he thought he was doing something brave, not foolish. And this one is not very bright. He should know that a family like ours would never take anything except the Times.” She gave Emily a withering look. “And speaking of newspapers, we read about that Australian you were keen on. I warned you, didn’t I? I said he’d come to a bad end.”

  “Hardly a bad end, Mummy.” Emily swallowed back her anger and forced her face to stay calm and composed. “He died a hero, saving a whole village.”

  Mrs Bryce gave a patronizing smile. “My dear girl, that is all just war propaganda. That’s what they always say—he died a hero. He died instantly and didn’t suffer. All lies to make everyone feel better, feel that this ridiculous war has been worth something.” Her voice cracked with emotion, and she put a hand up to her mouth. “I’m sorry. Stupid of me. I still miss your brother. So does Daddy. Such a stupid waste.” Then she composed herself. “But for you it’s all for the best, isn’t it? I mean, you could never have taken a chap like that seriously, never gone to live in Australia. They say the war will be over soon and the young men will be coming home. We can start making plans for you. Maybe a sort of late season in London?”

  “Mummy, did it never occur to you that I might want to make my own way in life and not marry a man of your choice?” Emily heard her voice rising now. “Besides, how many men will actually be coming back? And in what condition? Certainly not what you’d call a good catch!”

  She looked around as Florrie came in with a tea tray. “Heavens,” Emily said. “What dainty little cups. One forgets. I’m used to great big pottery mugs these days. And slices of bread the size of doorsteps.”

  She helped herself to a biscuit and savoured the delicate taste. As she looked across the room and out to the manicured lawn of the garden, she thought how strange it was. She had taken this life for granted. In truth, she had longed to escape from it, longed to know what the real world was like. But now that she was about to face the grim reality of that world, to find out if she would be an outcast forever, she longed to return here, to a place of order and beauty and safety. At this moment, she decided she’d even be willing to put up with her mother’s judgemental ways. But what would her mother think about the baby? Would she worry what her friends might say? Could Emily really pull it off to make the world believe she was a war widow, just like so many others? She stole a glance at her mother’s self-satisfied face, her hair twisted into a perfect chignon at the back of her head, a string of pearls at her throat.

  “Goodness, child, we’ll be having luncheon soon,” Mrs Bryce said as Emily helped herself to three more biscuits.

  Emily couldn’t tell her that they were necessary to combat the nausea that was threatening. Instead, she said, “Mummy, I haven’t had a treat like this for several months. And we work so hard that we’re always hungry.”

  “Working in the fi
elds like peasants! I saw you, covered in mud and filth. I have never been more ashamed.”

  “Ashamed? That my work is feeding people in cities who would otherwise starve? Would you be ashamed if I was like Clarissa and was covered in blood from saving soldiers’ lives?”

  Mrs Bryce flushed. “There were other ways you could have served your country. Dignified ways, proper for a girl of our class. You could have taken the place of a missing man in that solicitor’s office.”

  “I did what was needed when I signed up,” Emily said, “and in spite of the hard work, I’ve enjoyed it. I’ve enjoyed the camaraderie of the other women, and the feeling of accomplishment when we complete a task.”

  “You will presumably want to come back home when the war ends and you are released from duty?” Mrs Bryce asked stiffly. From the tone of her voice, Emily couldn’t tell whether her mother was hoping for a positive or negative answer to this question.

  “It depends on several things,” Emily said. “Mainly on whether you and Daddy would welcome me back.”

  “You upset your father and me with your ungrateful disobedience,” Mrs Bryce said. “I have been a bundle of nerves, worrying about you; worrying about that Australian you insisted on seeing. I don’t know how I feel now. Of course you are my daughter, and as such I shall always feel an obligation towards you. But I don’t know if I want a headstrong girl constantly fighting against my wishes and suggestions, constantly ignoring her parents’ advice when they know better.”

  “I see,” Emily said.

  “Do you want to come home? To go back to your old life here, in your parents’ home?”

  “I’m not sure yet,” Emily said. “I may not be released from service for quite a while. I don’t suppose the men will return overnight, and so many have been lost. They may need the Women’s Land Army to help with the crops for some time to come.”

  “So you see a future for yourself working in the fields then?”

  “I am not thinking beyond one day at a time, Mummy.” Emily got to her feet. “I think I’ll go up to my room and see which of my clothes I might want to take with me.”