‘That’s kind of you, Jack. But no thanks … And I’m Grace, that’s what everyone calls me. Are thoseallyour brothers and sisters out there?’ She was looking at his ginger hair, which the others shared. When he nodded, she smiled. ‘I was happy to let them have my ration. I’m looking after my figure, see?’
Jack blinked. ‘I wouldn’t say you had to do that, Miss … I mean, Grace.’ He swallowed hard, playing with the cloth cap he’d whipped off his head as soon as she walked in. ‘Erm, you must need someone to show you about the village, seeing as you’re new to Porthcurno. I’d be happy to do that. Right now, in fact.’
Sheila pursed her lips, slipping the alphabet book back under the counter. It seemed his reading lessons had been eclipsed by Joe’s new Land Girl. Next time though, she would show Jack some newspaper headlines and let him spell out a few simple words. That ought to prove more interesting for him.
Grace hesitated. ‘Sorry. Me and my friends are planning to walk around the village, and … Not wanting to hurt your feelings, but you know what girls are like. We prefer a good natter without any boys earwigging.’
His blush extending right to his hairline, Jack backed away. ‘Of course. Maybe I’ll see you around sometime.’
Once the three Land Girls had left the shop, Margaret turned from the shelves she’d been dusting, and told the boy firmly, ‘Never you mind about her, Jack Treedy. Plenty more fish in the sea. Besides, what are you now, sixteen or thereabouts? She may be a looker, but she’s a bit old for you … Twenty at least.’
‘Twenty-three,’ Sheila informed her. Grace had told them all about herself at dinner that first night. ‘The only child of doting parents, by the sounds of it.’
Margaret’s eyebrows shot up. ‘I’m surprised they don’t mind her working so far from home. Now the war’s over, I mean.’
‘Miss Morgan is a young lady with a mind of her own,’ Sheila told her approvingly, ‘and good luck to her, that’s what I say.’
‘I’d better take the kids home now,’ was all Jack said, looking defeated, and shuffled out to collect his siblings and herd them back to the tiny dwelling they shared with his widowed mother.
With quiet sympathy, Sheila watched him go. ‘Poor lad, he ain’t got a bloomin’ chance with Grace,’ she sighed. ‘I like his ambition, though,’ she added with a wink, and the two sisters had a good chuckle before settling back to work.
Soon, autumn banished the last of the warm days with a series of chilly starts and murky afternoons, and Sheila found herself walking more briskly to and from work, swinging her arms to keep warm. But the new season also brought one of her favourite village celebrations, the Harvest Supper, which always fell on the Sunday closest to the first full moon of autumn. That evening, with clouds obscuring the silvermoon, the ground was frosty underfoot as Sheila and Violet headed down the steep farm track into Porthcurno, carrying goodies for the communal supper and taking care not to slip.
The three Land Girls walked ahead of them, chattering and waving their torches to light the way. Joe brought up the rear, leaning heavily on his stick. His false leg had been chafing him in recent days, she knew. Probably the change in the weather, Sheila had told him earlier, since her arthritis always troubled her more once summer was over. Seeing his discomfort, she had tactfully suggested they take the farm van instead. But Joe had grumbled about a waste of fuel when the Harvest Supper was within walking distance.
Thankfully, her other son-in-law Ernest had opted to walk with Joe, despite his slower pace, and Sheila could hear them discussing a letter from Alice, her granddaughter. Alice was still working in London with British Intelligence, despite having married recently, and enjoying herself thoroughly by all accounts. Though heaven knows how long that would continue, Sheila thought secretly. Alice had confided that she and Patrick hoped to start a family as soon as possible.
Violet had brought Sarah Jane in her old pram, the little girl cosily wrapped up in a blanket, as it meant she could load the wire basket underneath with produce for the Harvest Supper. Sheila herself was carrying a wicker basket filled with the last of the sweet, wrinkly apples from their orchard that she’d kept under paper in the attic, especially for this occasion.
‘It’s lovely to hear of our Alice doing so well back in London,’ she told Violet. ‘She and Lily are such lovely girls. They’ve turned out beautiful, don’t you think?’
‘Yes, Betsy would have been proud of them both. And thrilled to have been a grandmother. Lily’s Morris is a little darling, if a bit noisy at times.’ Her daughter leant forward to peer into the pram. ‘Ah, Sarah Jane’s asleep at last,’ she said softly. ‘That’s a mercy, you know how she gets fidgety when she’s tired.’
Sheila hesitated, wondering if the time was right to broach her plan. ‘You know, talking of Lily, I think I’ll pay her and Tristan a visit next month. Not just a day trip but stay over for a while.’
‘Excuse me?’ The clouds over the moon shifted, and Violet stared round at her, her pretty, oval face lit up by its pale light. ‘You’re going to Penzance?’
‘Only for a week or two,’ Sheila assured her hurriedly. ‘I can take Christmas presents for her and the kiddy. You’ve nearly finished knitting them socks for Tristan, haven’t you? It would save on the postage.’
Violet was frowning. ‘Yes, but … Who’s going to mind the shop while you’re gone? And don’t say Aunt Margaret, because she couldn’t mind a biscuit tin. Anyway, it’s too much work for one person.’
‘I’ve thought about that.’ Sheila felt her way cautiously. Violet had a trigger temper, whereas her sister Betsy, God rest her soul, had always been such a sweetheart. ‘I’m planning to ask Jack Treedy to help her out.’
‘Jack Treedy?’ Her steps slowing, Violet looked scandalised now. ‘The lad who stole that pork pie right off the shop counter? Have you lost your senses, Mum? The boy’s a thief.’
Sheila gritted her teeth but kept her tone civil. ‘He made a mistake, owned up to it and gave me back the pie.’ She paused, aware of her daughter’s glare on her face. ‘Which Ithen allowed him to keep, all right. I couldn’t let those little kiddies go hungry. I’m not a monster.’
‘Neither am I,’ Violet snapped, ‘but I’m no idiot either. If you give work to a boy who’s proven himself a thief, you’ll only have yourself to blame when he pinches something.’
Sheila sighed. ‘But we have to give him a chance first, to show that he can be trusted. Oh Vi, he’s not a bad lad.’
‘And how would you know?”
Feeling cornered, she admitted, ‘I’ve been teaching him to read.’
While they’d been arguing, Joe and Ernest had caught up with them. Ernest sounded interested. ‘Who have you been teaching to read, Sheila?’
‘Only that little scoundrel who nicked her pie,’ Violet answered for her.
