Red Sky in the Morning Read online

  ‘It – it wasn’t Tony,’ Eddie stammered. ‘It was me. I – I was hungry. In the night.’ He wasn’t used to telling lies. That was yet another thing he hadn’t known he was capable of doing.

  ‘If you expect me to believe that, Eddie Appleyard, you’re even dafter than I thought you were.’ She paused and her small, piercing eyes were boring into his soul. ‘Is she still here? Is she still in the hayloft?’

  Now he could answer honestly and even Bertha could detect the note of truth. ‘No, she isn’t.’

  ‘Well, good riddance is all I can say. And if that’s the truth, Eddie, then we’ll say no more about it. And now I’ve got work to do even if you haven’t.’ She levered herself up and turned away, leaving her husband sitting at the table, his head still in his hands, vowing that as long as he lived he would never touch another drop of drink.

  Four

  From the scullery the boy heard his mother’s chair scrape along the floor as she got up from the table. He scuttled out of the back door. He was halfway across the yard when the collie, chained up near its kennel, barked a greeting. The boy hesitated, glanced back towards the farmhouse and then hurriedly released the dog’s collar from the chain.

  ‘Come on then, boy.’ Together they ran across the yard and out of the gate. In the gathering dusk the boy began to run up the track, the dog loping at his side. At the top of the hill Tony stopped to look down to where the cottage nestled against the trees. He could see a dim glow from the windows and knew that the girl was there.

  He shivered, but whether from the cold or the misgiving he felt he could not be sure. Yesterday’s rain had gone and stars shone in a clear sky, the moon a gleaming orb. There’d be a frost tonight. Though he was only ten, Tony knew about the weather and the changing seasons. He bent and pulled up his knee-length grey socks. He hadn’t had time to change from his short school trousers. Nor had he stopped to put on his wellingtons. His mam’d scold if he messed up the leather lace-up boots he wore for school. He didn’t want to make his mother cross with him. She seemed to spend a lot of the time cross these days, but mostly with his dad. The boy frowned and chewed on his lower lip. He couldn’t understand why his mam and dad argued so much. But maybe all parents did. He didn’t really know. He had some school pals whose homes he sometimes visited. He went to a birthday party now and then and one or two of the boys in his class had been to Cackle Hill Farm. But he still didn’t know if other mams and dads carried on at each other like his did.

  A gust of wind nibbled icily at his knees and his mind came back to the girl. She’ll be cold, he thought. Without making any conscious decision, he began to walk slowly down the hill towards the cottage.

  Anna had lit a fire from the kindling Eddie had brought her. Thoughtfully, he had also left a box of matches. She had drunk the milk and eaten most of the loaf of bread he had brought too. The hurricane lamp he had given her hung from a hook in the ceiling, casting eerie shadows around the walls.

  ‘I’ll bring you some more bits and pieces as soon as I can and I’ll start work on the repairs tomorrow. I reckon the chimney’ll need sweeping an’ all.’

  She’d looked him straight in the eye then. ‘What about your wife? I don’t want to bring trouble on you, Mister. You – you’ve been kind and I’d like to stay here for a few days. But maybe I’d better move on when I’ve rested a bit.’

  ‘No.’ His retort was swift and surprisingly firm. There was no way he was going to allow this girl to be turned away, especially not just before Christmas. ‘No,’ he said more gently. ‘I – I want you to stay. Bertha needn’t know. Not if we’re careful. She never comes up this way. She never – ’ there was a bitter tone to his words now – ‘goes anywhere about the farm. The only time she goes out the house is to town. She dun’t even use the village shop. Says she dun’t want to give the gossips any more to chatter about. She – she dun’t mix wi’ folk easy.’ He had smiled then, his eyes crinkling with a spark of mischief. ‘But that’s all to the good. She’ll never know if I get things for you from the local shop, will she? And when I go into town next market day, I can get you some more bits of furniture.’

  ‘Furniture? However are you going to get that past her?’

  His smile broadened to a grin, his face looking suddenly years younger. ‘I don’t have to. The road to town runs yon side this wood and there’s a track that comes round the other side of the trees to here and then on to our farm.’ He gestured with his left hand in a vaguely northerly direction. ‘We don’t use this way, because the gate from our farm’ – now with the other hand he pointed southwards – ‘leads out onto the road between the town and the village.’

  Anna could not hide the fear in her eyes. ‘So – so does anyone use this track past the cottage?’

  ‘Not many, love. Just farm workers now and again and mebbe – ’ he chuckled suddenly – ‘a poacher or two.’

  She had dropped her gaze and breathed more easily.

  And now, as the early darkness of a cold December evening came, she sat huddled against the fire. He had been right. The chimney did need sweeping, for every so often smoke puthered into the room, making her cough and her eyes smart. Once that was cleaned, she would be able to build up the fire to use the bread oven, and when the holes in the walls and the roof were mended she could make this a very cosy little home.

  If only . . . Her thoughts started to drift but she shook herself physically and pulled herself back to the present.

  It was then that she heard a scuffle outside the door from the kitchen and her whole being stiffened. It was too late to turn out the lamp and hide. She jumped at the soft tap on the door. She could not move, could not call out. She just sat there rigid with fear as, slowly, the door opened.

  The boy stood framed against the darkness, blinking in the light from the lamp. They stared at one another for a moment and then the girl shivered in the frosty air coming into the room from the open door. The boy stepped inside and closed the door.

  ‘I guessed you might be here. I came to see if you was all right. I – I thought you might be cold.’

  She could see the man’s features in the boy’s face now; similar dark brown eyes and brown hair and a thin but well-shaped face. The boyish features would strengthen into a firm jawline and the father’s kindness was already showing in the son’s concern for her.

  Anna summoned a smile. ‘Does your dad know you’ve come up here?’

  He shook his head. ‘No.’ He bit his lip and then blurted out, ‘They’re – they’re rowing.’

  Her smile faded. ‘Over me?’

  Tony shook his head. ‘Not – not really. She thinks you’ve gone.’ He moved closer and squatted down in front of the fire, holding out his hands to the meagre warmth the few sticks were giving. ‘I’ll get you some logs from the woods tomorrow before I go to school.’

  ‘She doesn’t know I’m here, then?’ Anna asked softly.

  He shook his head. He glanced up at her briefly and then looked back into the flames. Haltingly he said, ‘I – don’t reckon me dad wants her to know either.’ Tony was reluctant to tell her that his father had lied to his mother over the food he had given the girl. He knew why his father had done so, but he wasn’t happy about it. He felt torn between his parents. He didn’t want his mam to be upset, yet he could understand why his father wanted to help this girl. What he couldn’t understand was why his mother didn’t want to help her too.

  But Anna seemed to know, for she said quietly, ‘No, I don’t suppose he does.’

  After a few moments Tony stood up. ‘I’d better go. I’ve the hens to feed before I go to bed. It’s one of me jobs,’ he said importantly. ‘And – and Mam might be looking for me.’

  Anna nodded.

  He hesitated a moment and then pulled a crumpled bar of chocolate from his pocket. Holding it out to her, he said, ‘You can have this. It’s mine. Me mam brought it for me from town. She won’t know.’

  Anna took it, unable to speak for the sudden lump
in her throat. She had thought she had been past all feeling, past caring. Yet the actions of the farmer, and now his young son, made tears prickle behind her eyes.

  ‘And I’ve brought someone to keep you company.’

  For a brief moment her eyes were panic-stricken. ‘I don’t want . . .’ she began, but already he had opened the door. In answer to his soft whistle a black and white collie trotted into the room and stood close to the boy, looking up at him with adoring, obedient eyes.

  Tony fondled the dog’s head. ‘Stay, Rip. Stay here with the lady.’ He glanced up and smiled at her. ‘He’ll look after you.’

  ‘Won’t your mam miss him?’ Anna asked, torn between wanting the animal’s company and yet not wanting the boy’s kindly action to bring him trouble.

  Tony shrugged. ‘She might, but I’m just hoping she won’t.’

  Anna tried to raise a smile, anxious to let him know that she appreciated his gesture.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said, her voice hoarse with gratitude. She held out her hand to the dog. The animal did not move until the boy nodded and said, ‘Go on.’ Then Rip padded across the floor and allowed himself to be patted by the stranger. He lay down on the floor and rested his nose on his paws, but his eyes once again sought his young master.

  ‘Stay,’ Tony said firmly and though, as the boy went out of the door, the dog gave a little whine, he did not move from his place beside Anna.

  ‘Well, now,’ she said softly, stroking the dog’s head, ‘it looks like we’re both going to sleep here on the floor for the night.’

  Wrapping herself in the horse blanket she had brought with her from the barn, she lay down between the dying fire and the dog. The animal’s warm presence against her back soothed her chilled limbs and brought unexpected comfort to her lonely soul.

  Five

  The dog was scratching at the door, whining to be let out. Anna roused herself from heavy sleep and dragged herself up from the floor. She was stiff and cold. The fire had died out in the night and the room, never really warmed, was now freezing.

  ‘All right, boy, I’m coming.’ She opened the door and the dog ran out. She watched him streak up the hillside towards home. She closed the door and looked around the room in the pale light of early morning. There was little she could do except wait and see if the boy came as he had promised. What was his name? Tony, that was it. Maybe, later in the day, the man would come to see her too. Maybe he would bring her food. Maybe . . . Maybe . . .

  She sighed, irritated to find herself dependent on these strangers for her survival. And she was afraid too. The man seemed kind, but why was he prepared to do so much for her? He was even risking trouble within his own family. Was he expecting something from her in return for his generosity? More than just helping him with the lambing? She shuddered and shied away from such thoughts. And how safe was this place anyway? The cottage was certainly isolated, nestling in a vale and obscured from the road by the wood. And it was on the farmer’s land; that would offer some protection.

  But was it enough?

  It would have to be, she told herself. For now at least. If she rested here for a while, then, when she was feeling stronger, she could move on. Further away. She must get further away . . .

  She heard a voice outside and looked out of the grimy window. She saw Tony with the dog bounding around him, leaping up to lick the boy’s face. She could see that they were overjoyed to see each other again. The boy was laughing. ‘Down, Rip, down. Good boy. Good dog.’

  She opened the door and stood waiting until they reached her.

  ‘I’ve come to get you some wood,’ Tony said, smiling at her. ‘Like I promised.’ His face fell a little as he said, ‘I’m sorry, but I couldn’t get you anything to eat this morning. Me mam . . .’ He fell silent, not wanting to sound disloyal to his mother, yet wanting to help the girl. ‘Anyway, Dad’s milking just now, but he gave me this to bring up. He’ll be up later, he said, when he comes to the sheep.’ The boy held out a can of milk.

  ‘Thanks,’ she said, taking the can eagerly and drinking thirstily.

  ‘You’re hungry, aren’t you?’ the boy said. ‘I wish I could . . .’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ she said at once. ‘This is lovely. Really.’

  There was a brief pause before he said awkwardly, ‘I’d best get you the wood. I don’t want me mam to miss me and it’ll soon be school time.’

  ‘I’ll come with you and then I can find it for myself.’

  He led the way in amongst the trees. The girl, still clutching the blanket around her, followed. The dog ran ahead, investigating the exciting smell of rabbit.

  ‘I should have brought a sack,’ Tony said, his arms soon full of twigs and broken branches.

  ‘It’s all right,’ Anna said, taking off the blanket from around her shoulders. She shivered as she felt the loss of its warmth. ‘We’ll use this.’ Together they collected enough kindling and larger pieces of wood to last her the day and carried their haul back to the cottage.

  They tipped it onto the hearth and Tony squatted in front of the fireplace. He began to put the twigs into the grate. ‘They’re a bit damp. I don’t think they’ll catch light.’

  ‘I’ll see to it. You’d best be off.’

  He stood up, for a moment feeling suddenly shy. ‘Ta-ta, then.’

  She nodded and managed a smile. ‘Ta-ta,’ she echoed.

  ‘Come on, Rip.’

  She watched them running up the track until they disappeared over the brow of the hill.

  The boy had been right; the sticks were too damp to catch light and after the torrential rain she doubted there’d be anything in the woods that would be dry enough. And the dry kindling that Eddie had provided that first day was all gone. So, hugging the blanket around her again, Anna decided to look around the cottage. There just might be an old piece of wood she could use. There was nothing in the other room, where damp patches marked the floor and the wind whistled in through the broken windows. But when she climbed the ladder-like stairs and stepped into the two rooms under the roof, she found the floor littered with leaves that had blown in through a hole in the thatch and drifted into a corner. The leaves were brittle dry.

  She filled the pockets of her coat and climbed down the ladder. Within minutes, the leaves caught light and she picked out the least wet of the twigs to pile on the top of the leaves. The fire smoked as before, but at least it was alight.

  She drank the last of the milk and tended the fire. When she looked out of the window again, she was surprised to see that it was fully light, the winter sun pale in a watery sky. For a while she watched the sheep grazing on the slopes and then she saw the man coming down the track carrying a basket over one arm and two blankets under the other.

  ‘Here we are then, lass,’ he greeted her. ‘I bet you’re ready for this.’ He held out the basket. There was bread, butter, cheese and more milk. ‘Sorry it’s not more. I’ll go to the village shop later . . . Oh, you’ve got a fire going. That’s good.’

  ‘Your son came up earlier,’ Anna said in her soft, husky voice. ‘I hope you don’t mind.’

  Eddie pulled a wry expression. ‘I don’t. But if the wife finds out—’

  ‘You – you’d better tell him not to come then. I don’t want him getting into trouble on my account.’

  The man shrugged. ‘I don’t reckon Bertha’ll guess. He roams all over the farm with that dog of his. Gone for hours sometimes. Look,’ he said, returning to the matter of her welfare, ‘I’ll mebbe manage to bring the tractor and trailer up this way later. I can’t get into town until next market day without it looking odd, but I’ll see what I can find in the outhouses. There’s always bits and pieces we’ve thrown out.’

  Later that day Eddie’s tractor came chugging down the track with a loaded trailer behind him and pulled to a halt outside the cottage. To Anna, who had nothing, Eddie’s barn seemed to have yielded a treasure trove.

  ‘There’s a kettle, a few old pots and pans and an armchair.
It was me dad’s.’ His eyes clouded. ‘Bertha threw it out the day after he died. And I’ve managed to get the old feather bed down from the loft when she was in the dairy,’ he added, dragging it off the trailer. ‘It’ll be a bit damp. You’d better let it dry out before you use it.’

  Remembering her soaking of two days earlier, Anna smiled to herself, but said nothing. She was hardly likely to take harm from a damp bed, she thought. But the man meant well.

  Lastly he unloaded three sacks. ‘There’s potatoes from our own store and a few apples. And I’ve been to the shop for you. You’ll have to let me know if I’ve forgotten anything you need.’

  Anna stood, shaking her head in wonder. ‘It’s – it’s wonderful. I don’t know how to thank you.’

  ‘No need, lass. You’re working for me now, aren’t ya?’ He glanced at her and winked. ‘And I always look after me employees.’

  ‘I’ll work for you, Mister. Oh, I’ll work as hard as I can, but . . .’ She touched the mound of her belly briefly.

  He nodded sympathetically. ‘Don’t worry about that, lass. We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.’

  But what would happen when they did come to that particular bridge, as he put it, even the man dared not contemplate. ‘And now,’ he said, trying to divert their thoughts. ‘I must see to me sheep.’

  ‘Can I help?’

  ‘No, no, lass. You get ya’sen sorted out. And then – well – we’ll see tomorrow, eh?’

  Anna nodded. ‘All right,’ she agreed in her low, soft voice, ‘but from tomorrow I want you to tell me what needs doing. And if you don’t . . .’ She smiled suddenly and the man stared at her, unable to take his eyes off her. She was a pretty lass, though a bit thin at the moment to his mind, but when she smiled her whole face seemed to light up. Even so, it was not enough to drive away the sadness in the depths of her dark eyes. ‘And if you don’t, Mister, then I’ll find something.’

  He laughed. ‘Right you are then, lass. It’s a deal.’