CHAPTER EIGHT
Caroline trudged through muddy slurry after the other Land Girls, barely able to see their shadows ahead of her on the track. It was early November, almost what Joe called ‘the dead season’ when nothing needed sowing or harvesting, and only their small number of heifers needed attention, two being in calf that year. The lane was thick with dead leaves from the overhanging trees, turned almost to mush by prolonged rain the week before. A dry spell having set in at last, they and Joe had been hedge cutting up in the top fields since mid-morning. But Joe had ferried the heavy equipment back down in the van an hour since, leaving the girls to tidy the trimmings into a stack ready for burning.
‘Hang on, girls, wait for me,’ Caroline called after the other two, and then wearily stumbled over a loose stone in the mud. ‘Oh, why does it have to get dark so early? It’s not even teatime yet, and I can barely see my hand in front of my face.’
‘Don’t exaggerate, it’s only dusk,’ Grace exclaimed, but fell back and linked her arm with Caroline’s. ‘It’s November … What do you expect?’ Tilly also slowed her steps, waitingfor them to catch up. Grace gave Caroline a playful nudge in the ribs. ‘Anyway, does this mean you’re too bushed to go into the village tonight for Guy Fawkes? Because, if so, can I have your toffee apple?’
Caroline laughed reluctantly. ‘I’m not in the mood for standing around a bonfire for hours in the dark,’ she began, but stopped when the other two girls began to chuckle. ‘It’s not funny. All that work we did today, cutting and clipping back those huge, thorny hedges … I swear, I’m exhausted.’
‘That’s only because you’re old,’ Tilly told her airily, taking her other arm, though there was scarcely enough room on the narrow track for them to walk three abreast. ‘You’re a poor old lady, and it’s clear we girls need to look after you in your ancientness.’
‘I’m not old,’ Caroline protested, astonished, ‘I’m twenty-six.’
‘That’s a lot older than me,’ Tilly pointed out.
‘But you’ve only just turned nineteen.’
‘Dearie me, she sounds jealous.’ Grace arched her eyebrows at Tilly. ‘If you ask me, I don’t think she likes your extreme youth. Eh, what do you say to us getting the old dear a walking stick for Christmas? One of them knobbly ones that only octogenarians use.’
‘Why, you …’ Caroline stared at them both, a little hurt, and the girls dissolved into helpless laughter. ‘You’re teasing, aren’t you? I’m being roasted.’
‘It’s not our fault, Caro … Not when you make it so easy for us,’ Tilly told her between snorts. With a grin, she stopped to sniff the air as they entered the farmyard. ‘My, that smells delicious. Mrs Postbridge must have made one of her epic stews. I can’t wait for supper, I’m absolutely starving.’ And with that, she skipped ahead to the farmhouse.
Caroline was hungry too and followed on. She didn’t have the energy to hurry, but she didn’t want to miss out on Bonfire Night in the village. All through the war, nobody had been allowed to celebrate Guy Fawkes Day, due to strict regulations on the lighting of fires after dark. Since the rules had been relaxed, the village had organised a small celebration for the fifth of November, with the traditional burning of the ‘guy’ on a bonfire and, it was rumoured, a brazier of hot chestnuts to keep everyone warm.
She was concerned about her friend, though, and couldn’t help wondering if Grace would still want to go into the village again at night. They hadn’t spoken about what had happened after the Harvest Supper. But Caroline had thought about it often, and now felt uneasy.
‘Will you be all right going out tonight?’ she asked as they removed their muddy boots before heading into the farmhouse.
Grace looked round at her, surprised. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Those boys, the ones who were so horrible to you down in the village … What will you do if they’re there again tonight?’
‘Exactly what I did last time. I’ll ignore them, won’t I?’ Grace removed her uniform hat, and her soft curls spilled out, glorious and free.
‘You’re awfully brave,’ Caroline murmured, following Grace into the kitchen.
Joe was talking to his wife by the range, but their voices died away as the two girls came inside. Tilly was nowhere to be seen, presumably having dashed upstairs to get into the washroom first. It seemed to Caroline that the Postbridges must have been arguing again; Violet was looking flushedand Joe was frowning fiercely. But hearing her words, Joe came towards them with a puzzled smile, leaning heavily on his stick.
‘Brave?’ The farmer’s gaze shifted to her companion. ‘Is there a problem, Grace?’
‘Yes,’ Caroline replied for her when Grace said nothing. ‘Some boys in the village weren’t very nice to Grace after the Harvest Supper. They called her … Well, a rude name. Luckily, Jack Treedy was there, and he chased them away, then walked us home.’
Joe’s frown had returned. ‘What boys? You never said a word about this.’
‘Because it wasn’t important,’ Grace assured him, going to the sink and washing her hands. ‘Just stupid lads with nothing better to do.’
Violet, who had been kneading dough, wiped floury hands on her apron, her expression perplexed. ‘But who were they?’
‘Jack Treedy knew them,’ Caroline told her. Seeing Grace’s quelling look, she wished that she hadn’t said anything. But it wasn’t right and Caroline knew something ought to be done. ‘We’re going to the Guy Fawkes celebration tonight, and I was just hoping they wouldn’t be there again. Grace shouldn’t have to put up with being teased.’
‘Teased about what, though?’ Joe persisted.
‘I told you, it doesn’t matter,’ Grace muttered, and hurried upstairs without another word.
Caroline stared after her friend in consternation. Was Grace angry with her for having told the farmer and his wife about those boys? She didn’t understand. It wasn’t as though Grace had done anything wrong.
‘Caroline?’ Violet put a hand on her shoulder. ‘Perhapsyou’d better sit down and tell us all about it, love,’ she suggested softly, ‘while Grace isn’t here.’
