Chapter 3 Lilias #3
Compass got out of his basket, his claws scratching on the floor tiles as he yawned and stretched, and as Lilias led him to the back door, she heard David’s whimper of protest at the sudden departure of doggy warmth—a protest which became a cry as his mother pulled him to his feet. Poor little sod.
“I don’t know, Compass,” Lilias said out loud as she stepped into the garden. “What is the world coming to, eh?”
So much had changed in a few very short months.
Such a huge mobilisation of people. Such a scurry of preparations.
Sometimes it felt as if the very fabric of the country—the country they were all fighting for—had changed.
And there were still so many changes to come.
Nobody who had lived through the last war could help but be aware of that.
It was impossible to believe it was happening all over again, and yet here it was, a bleak reality.
It was dark now, and a breeze was stirring the leaves of the apple trees.
Compass began to bark his I’ve spotted a fox bark, and sure enough, when Lilias walked in the direction of the chicken coop, a flash of ginger and white whisked past with the dog in hot pursuit.
“Oh, crikey,” Lilias said, running towards the coop. “Not again.”
Over the past few months the foxes seemed to have redoubled their campaign against the chickens.
Once Lilias had even found a fox inside the coop, its tail caught on a jagged piece of fencing.
If it had been Symonds who’d made the discovery, the fox would be dead by now, the creature’s brush no doubt adorning the collar of one of Ruth’s jackets.
But despite the importance of the chickens and their eggs to the household, Lilias had been unable to do the fox any harm, and had gently loosened its tail and set it free.
Now here it was, back again—for something told her it was the same fox.
But fortunately, Symonds had mended the damaged fence, and Lilias breathed a sigh of relief when she saw the chickens were all safe this time.
“Compass!” Lilias called, her voice lacking any conviction, because experience told her the dog would come when he was jolly well ready to come and not before, no doubt stinking of fox.
Well, if that was the case, then he would just have to sleep in the barn.
She couldn’t cope with bathing him tonight.
Sighing, Lilias turned back towards the house.
She’d better go and see to the stew, for, despite having asked Ruth to serve up, Lilias strongly suspected it would be down to her to sort the meal out.
Her sister had never been interested in domestic matters, and ever since the split with her husband, she had taken to drifting off somewhere in her mind when she wasn’t engaged in a conversation.
Sure enough, when Lilias reached the kitchen, Ruth was standing smoking a cigarette by the stove, staring fixedly at a row of egg cups on a shelf, the lid to the stew off, its contents rapidly cooling.
“Everything all right?” Lilias asked, switching into brisk action, replacing the pan lid, and taking some cutlery from the drawer.
“Yes. Nadine’s still settling young David down.”
“She’s rather harsh with him, don’t you think?”
“Perhaps her pregnancy makes her grumpy,” Ruth suggested. “When d’you suppose she’s due? I’d say she’s about five months gone. She’s the boy’s mother, so I imagine she knows what’s best for him. Neither of us has a clue about parenthood, do we?”
Lilias sighed, and Ruth squeezed her arm.
“Do try not to be so worried about everything all the time, old thing.”
“There’s a great deal to worry about at the moment,” Lilias told her as she stirred the stew. “So many decisions to be made. I was thinking those old elms might have to be felled to give us enough firewood for the winter. And part of the meadow ought to be turned over to potatoes.”
Ruth shrugged. “Seems like a sensible plan,” she said. “Get Symonds onto it.”
Lilias sighed again, reaching for the plates which had been warming inside the stove.
It was true; felling the elms and ploughing up the meadow were both very sensible ideas.
But the meadow had always been one of her favourite places—to play and to pick wildflowers as a child, and, more recently, to paint.
“I can’t help remembering childhood picnics in the meadow with Mummy and Daddy,” she said.
“Oh, sweetie,” said Ruth, “that was such a long time ago. Before the world went crazy the first time. And now it’s happening again. It’s not as if the meadow will know, and, even if it does, then perhaps it will like to feel useful. Aprés la pluie, le beau temps.”
After rain, good weather. Lilias pulled a face at Ruth’s use of their mother’s often-quoted phrase. “I know it’s the sensible idea. That’s why I suggested it. But it doesn’t stop me grieving.”
“Listen, get Symonds to help you plough it up, and I’ll don my headscarf and help you to plant the potatoes.”
Lilias smiled to herself, her mind filling with a vivid mental picture of her headscarfed sister walking gingerly about in the mud in unfamiliar boots.
Ruth would be little or no help, but her company would be welcome.
Just as it was welcome now, even though it worried her.
As different in age as they were, the two sisters had always adored each other.
“Is your marriage over, do you think?” she asked gently.
It was Ruth’s turn to gaze into the stew pan. “Yes,” she said. “Bar the legalities and the scandal, I’m afraid it is. I very much hope not to see Ralph again. I ought never to have married him.” She lifted her chin, making a brave attempt at a smile.
“Oh, Ruth.” Lilias stretched out to take her sister’s hand. “I’m so sorry. But will there be a scandal? Is there anything you need to tell me?”
“I’m not sure yet. Ralph was all bluster and threats when I was up in town, but the truth is, he probably wants to avoid unpleasantness as much as I do, and his regiment is off to France soon.
” She smiled. “There’s nothing for me to do but sit tight here and wait it out.
So I might just as well be helping you plant potatoes as not. ”
A voice reached them through the half-open door. “I want Dad! I want my dad!”
David’s cry was plaintive and desperate, like an oyster catcher that has lost its mate on the salt marsh, making Lilias think wistfully of her own lost loves. So many. Silas, their brother, taken at the age of three by scarlet fever. Their parents. Geoffrey, her fiancé.
Overcome by a sudden sadness, Lilias lifted the stew pan onto the table to start serving up.
As she plunged the ladle into the pan, Ruth put her arm around her waist to give her a squeeze.
Her sister always had seemed to know when Lilias was remembering Geoffrey.
“Poor boy,” she said now, as the sound of David’s sobs reached them. “Poor little boy.”
Lilias paused from serving up the stew to switch on the wireless, hoping to block out the sound of David’s distress, but the set hadn’t warmed into life before the kitchen door opened, and Nadine was back.
“You’re just in time,” Lilias told her and handed her a plate of food, her smile artificially bright.