Chapter 31 Lilias
Lilias
It was the fourth hop farm Lilias had visited in the past week.
She’d hitchhiked here, her tired body unwilling to allow her to walk the three miles from the station, but now, as she dismounted from an elderly farmer’s truck, she felt a new hope.
The farmer had spoken at length about the families who arrived from London during the summer months before the war, and when Lilias had shown him the small sketch she had drawn of Nadine, he had given a nod.
“Yes, I reckon she was one of the ones who came. But Joe’ll know for sure. ”
And now here she was, approaching Joe Tucker’s farmhouse.
She pushed open the gate, placing one foot wearily in front of the other as she walked along the path to the front door, listening to the sound of crows cawing in the surrounding fields and longing suddenly for the salt marshes.
The sea lavender would be in full bloom now, and she longed to see the purple haze of it.
To draw in some deep, salt-laden breaths of air.
“Can I help you?” A woman Lilias took to be the farmer’s wife appeared around the corner, holding a basket of freshly picked carrots. Lilias fancied she could smell the earth still clinging to them and shaded her eyes from the sun as she tried to see the woman’s face.
“Yes,” she said. “I hope so. I’m looking for someone I think might have come hop picking here in the summer with her husband and son. I have a picture of her.”
She reached into her bag for the sketch, and the farmer’s wife put down the box of carrots to take it from her, wiping her earthy hands on her apron before she did so.
“What a lovely drawing,” she remarked. “Did you do it?”
Lilias nodded. “Yes. Do you recognise her? She’s called Nadine. Nadine Smith.”
“She is, that’s right.”
Lilias’s heart began to race. “You do know her, then?”
The woman nodded. “Here a few weeks ago, she was, with her new baby. Tiny little thing, it was; a little girl. Poor woman. Her husband’s missing, and her little boy was killed in a bomb blast. Keeping her going, that baby was. Pretty little thing. Marie, she’d called it.”
Marie. Marie.
Lilias spoke carefully so her voice wouldn’t shake. “Where did they go, do you know?”
The other woman’s wary expression showed Lilias she hadn’t been successful in keeping her desperation from her voice.
“I . . . I’ve got news for her about her husband, you see,” Lilias improvised hastily, wishing with all her heart, it was true.
“I’m afraid I don’t know,” the woman said, sounding regretful.
“Been found, has he? She wanted to stay here with us; did for a few days, and we gave her what help we could. But we’ve got prisoners of war arriving any day to help out on the farm, so we needed the accommodation.
Felt awful, I did, what with the baby being so young, but I knew Nadine’d be all right.
Determined type, she is. Worships that baby.
Wouldn’t let anyone else have so much as a cuddle.
Can’t say as I blamed her, what with all she’d gone through.
Deserved that baby and the happiness she brought.
Hey, are you all right, love? You’ve gone proper pale. ”
“Yes, I . . . I’m all right.”
“Come inside and have a cup of tea,” the woman invited, holding out her hand as if to draw Lilias into the farmhouse, but Lilias shook her head.
“No, I . . . I’d better not. Thank you for your help.
Goodbye.” Shakily, Lilias turned and walked back along the path to the gate.
A cup of tea would have been welcome. So would a sit-down.
But she wouldn’t have been able to accept either without bursting into tears, and she didn’t want to have to attempt to explain her situation.
The tears came now as she began to walk back in the direction of the station, the words of the farmer’s wife ringing in her ears.
Deserved that baby, she did. Nadine had lost her husband and her son and had miscarried several babies.
Was it any wonder she’d taken Lilias’s baby when she had the chance?
The baby that was her husband’s. By becoming pregnant with Harry’s child, Lilias had stolen a child from Nadine; that was the way Nadine would see it, and in effect, it was true, wasn’t it?
And surely that meant that Nadine had more right to the child than Lilias did, a single woman who’d committed adultery?
Lilias didn’t know as she stumbled along with tears blurring her vision, remembering Nadine reprimanding David harshly at Marsh House before she returned to London.
That didn’t mean she’d be the same with Lilias’s child, though.
Harry had told her how very much Nadine had always wanted a daughter, and the farmer’s wife had said she was devoted to the baby. To . . . Marie.
Perhaps it would be best to leave the baby with her.
To accept the fact that Nadine had more right to bring up her child than she did herself.
To hope and pray she’d be as loving a mother as Lilias would have been herself, given the chance.
For even if Lilias had any idea at all where to look for Nadine now, could she really make a good job of bringing up a child on her own in the full glare of public disapproval? When her heart felt so very broken?
If only Harry was here. If only he would come back so she could ask him what was best. Surely he wouldn’t think it better for his wife to bring up their child?
No. She had to keep trying. She would return to London, search the streets. Ask around. She had the sketch of Nadine. Someone somewhere must know something. And if she had no luck, if she still hadn’t found them after three weeks, well, then she would have a decision to make.