‘You’re welcome, my dear.’ And his smile seemed to say he understood why she kept drawing back from intimacy, and didn’t mind a jot.
Selina was glad, but only wished she could understand it too.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
‘Oh, this blasted rain … I thought spring was supposed to bring nicer weather?’ Washing up her lunch plate, Caroline peered out of the kitchen window at leaden skies. She and the other two Land Girls had come back sodden and miserable, after a long, dreary morning spent digging out the remains of mushy potatoes that had rotted in the snows, and were facing more of the same that afternoon.
The telephone rang in the snug, answered promptly by Mrs Postbridge, and Caroline glanced round at Tilly and Grace in surprise. ‘Who on earth can that be?’
Mrs Postbridge came hurrying in a moment later, followed by Joe, both looking shocked. ‘That was my mum ringing from the village,’ she told the girls breathlessly. ‘She says the river’s burst its banks and poor Mr Carstairs’ cottage is already flooded.’
Joe was shrugging into his raincoat again. ‘I knew this would happen,’ he rumbled, slapping his wet cap back on too. ‘All that snow … It had to go somewhere after it melted. I’d best get straight down there, see what I can do to help.’
‘Mum says to take the tractor,’ his wife told him anxiously. ‘And any spare sacking you’ve got. They’re making sandbags.’
He nodded to the three Land Girls. ‘Follow me down to the village, quick as you can. We’ll need all hands on deck to shore up them old cottages along the riverbank.’
And with that, he hurried out of the farmhouse.
Caroline dragged her sodden wellies back on, uneasiness in the pit of her stomach. ‘That little stream? It’s hardlya river. How can it possibly flood the village?’
‘You heard Joe,’ Tilly muttered. ‘The snow must have melted, higher up the valley … I did notice it was looking swollen the other day. And it’s been raining hard for several days.’
Grace pulled on her coat and hat. ‘First all that snow, then rain, now floods … What’s next, eh?’ she demanded, shaking her head. ‘A plague of locusts?’
‘I’m sure it’s not as bad as it sounds.’ Caroline reached out to reassure her friend, but Grace flinched away before she could make contact. Bitter hurt flashed through her. What had gone wrong between them? She wished she understood Grace’s bewildering change of heart.
Joe and his tractor were already out of sight by the time they started off down the steep hill together, the track slippery and running with water, much of it still icy and laced with mud.
Down in the village, they found Mrs Newton bustling about outside the village shop in the rain, organising the filling of sacks with sandy grit. A small group of village men were already engaged in this task when the Land Girls joined them. Joe stopped to shake hands with a few of the villagers, former soldiers recently returned from Germany. From whatCaroline overheard, the farmer had employed them as labourers before the war, and was asking if they were in work yet. Joe had once or twice mentioned intending to employ men about the farm. But everything had stopped during the winter snows. Now spring had come, he would soon swing back into tilling and planting again, with a thousand other jobs needing to be done about the farm before summer.
Caroline had been worrying that all three Land Girls would be ousted, replaced by male farmhands, and her eavesdropping did nothing to allay those fears. It was a grim thought, and not least because so much remained unresolved between her and Grace. She would hate to leave Postbridge Farm without ever discovering why her friend had turned cold after their one and only night together. It was hard not to worry that, in her inexperience, Caroline had somehow done something dreadfully wrong …
‘Thank you for coming, girls,’ Mrs Newton called out huskily. ‘Now grab a spade and start shovelling!’
Using the spades Joe had brought down from the farm, the girls dutifully bent to the back-breaking work of shovelling sandy grit into sacks to act as a barrier against the floods.
‘Natural leader, isn’t she?’ Tilly remarked admiringly.
‘Who? Mrs Newton?’ Grace raised her brows. ‘You mean she’s a born bossyboots.’ But she was smiling.
‘No, shelikeshelping people, and sometimes the best way to achieve that is to take charge,’ Tilly insisted. ‘Don’t forget, Mrs Newton lost her eldest daughter in the Blitz, and probably still blames herself for not being there to help her. If you ask me, that’s why she’s always first to muck in whenthere’s an emergency. Not just to be helpful, but to … to make up for not being able to save her daughter,’ she ended in a rush.
Caroline glanced at Tilly, impressed by the younger girl’s logic. ‘I’d never thought of it like that,’ she admitted, leaning on her spade for a breather. ‘But you’re right, Mrs Newton is always first to help out. And she does often mention having lost her daughter in the war. Betsy, wasn’t it? Lily and Alice’s mum.’ She bent to her work again. ‘How did you figure that out?’
With a shy smile, Tilly whispered, ‘I’ve been reading a library book on psychology, about why people choose to do things a certain way … I can’t say I understand all of it. But it’s awfully fascinating.’
As though to prove a point, Mrs Newton came stomping towards them through the deep puddles and driving rain, her hat soggy and bedraggled. ‘Girls, you’re doing a grand job, but the men can finish them sandbags quicker. Joe needs a hand near the river, where the flooding’s worse. He’s taking planks down there on the tractor, and you’re to shore up the cottage doors with them. Can you manage that?’
‘Yes, Mrs Newton,’ the three girls chorused, wiping rain from their faces as they handed their spades to waiting village lads and trudged after Joe in his tractor.
Caroline grimaced, peering ahead as they waded through dirty water almost up to the tops of their wellies. ‘I wonder how much deeper it’s going to get.’
Tilly gave a little shriek. ‘Oh, crikey … The water’s gone in my boot.’
Grace said nothing, trudging along with her head bent, hands in her coat pockets. Of course, the heavy rain wasenough to make anyone miserable, Caroline thought, but watched her in concern, hoping she was okay. Surely nothing could be so bad that they couldn’t even discuss it? If only Grace would open up and talk to her …
Joe had deposited the planks on a wall beside the last few cottages. ‘Not sure how much good this will do,’ he shouted above the noise of rain drumming on the rooftops. ‘But maybe we can stop more water getting in.’
