The Victory Garden(81)
They chatted for a while. Emily told them about Clarissa’s letter.
“So you’ll go and live with her then?” Alice asked. There was disappointment in her voice.
“I think so. I can’t rely on Lady Charlton’s charity for ever.”
“It’s not charity. You’re doing a lot for her, aren’t you? Stocking up her garden and helping her in the library.”
“I suppose so, but I still feel as if I don’t belong here. Do you feel you’d like to stay?”
“I do,” Alice said. “Obviously, I can’t go on living with Nell Lacey forever, but if a cottage becomes vacant, I may take it over. When the war ends, people will come back to this part of the world, that’s what Nell says. Ramblers and sightseers. We could start a little tea shop. Make sandwiches for the ramblers.” She looked up from her cup of tea. “You could stay on here with me. Help me run my tea shop. What shall we call it? The Copper Kettle? How about the Black Cat?”
Emily didn’t know what to say because truly she was torn. But Maud answered for her. “She wants to be back with her own kind, doesn’t she? She’s had her fill of common folk like us.”
“It’s not that at all,” Emily said hastily. “Of course I’d like to stay here with you.”
“It’s all right, duck,” Alice said. “I understand. You want what’s best for your baby. In the long run, right?”
“I really don’t know, Alice,” Emily said. “I can’t decide right now. Clarissa is my oldest, dearest friend, but you have become a dear friend, too.”
“That Mr Patterson is posh like her,” Maud said, giving Alice a nudge. “She went to visit him the other night, and Mrs Soper’s boy said the teacher has looked pleased with himself ever since and hasn’t used the cane once.”
“Oh, please!” Emily didn’t know whether to laugh or be angry. “That’s just village gossip! I went to visit him to collect some primers to help Daisy with her reading. You, too, Alice, if you want some practice.”
After they had gone, Emily thought about Mr Patterson. It had struck her that he kept bees. He could supply her with beeswax, which would be perfect if she wanted to make a salve. But then she realized something else. If she went to his house again, it would be noticed. She had seen for herself how dangerous village gossip could be. She was essentially living in a fishbowl, and she would have to tread with caution.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
The next morning, Emily walked up to the forge to see how Maud’s burn was doing. She was glad to see Mr Patterson was out in the school playground as his pupils lined up to enter the school. It allowed her to speak to him without creating more rumours. He gave her a little nod of recognition. “I hope the books and the honey proved satisfactory, Mrs Kerr.”
“Most satisfactory, thank you. I look forward to starting lessons with Daisy as soon as possible. And may I ask you for another favour? Do you think you could spare some beeswax? My friend Maud has burned herself, and I think I could make a salve to help her.”
“Most certainly,” he said. “I have some in the house. If you come to see me as soon as school is dismissed, I shall be happy to give it to you.” He turned away, frowning. “William Jackson! Are you out of line? Ring the bell please, Katie, and then proceed in an orderly fashion. No pushing, Sammy Soper.” He gave Emily an exasperated smile, then followed his pupils into the building.
Emily continued on her way to the forge. Maud and Mrs Soper were sitting at the kitchen table.
“It’s getting better, look!” Maud took off the bandage. The burn did look less angry.
“I told her it’s part of our trade. I’ve had more burns than I could count since I tried to take on the forge,” Mrs Soper said. “But I’ve never heard of putting that stuff on them. But now I can see it works, I’ll give it a try, too. We always used butter. Where did you get the idea for it?”
“There are herbs growing in my cottage garden, and I bought a herb book the other day,” Emily said, not wanting to say more.
“Then perhaps there is a remedy for me in that book,” Mrs Soper said. “I’ve had trouble sleeping ever since my husband went away, and it got even worse when the telegram came to say he’d been killed. I don’t think I’ve had a proper night’s sleep for two years now. Do you think you could make me something to help me sleep?”
Emily shifted uneasily. It was one thing to make a simple herb poultice to put over burns, but a concoction to put someone to sleep? Balsam and lavender to make her drowsy was one thing, but she wasn’t so sure about toying with more dangerous herbs.
“I’d be ever so grateful,” Mrs Soper went on. “You don’t know what it’s like, lying in that big cold bed, staring at the ceiling every night and praying for morning to come.”
“I do know,” Emily said. “I’ve felt the same since my Robbie was killed.”
“Well then, we both need it. You can make it for both of us. For all the women in this village, I reckon. There’s not one of us who hasn’t lost somebody.”
“I suppose I could try,” Emily said, wanting to refuse, but seeing the tired lines of desperation on the woman’s face. She knew exactly what it was like, lying in bed, worrying about her man, and then getting the worst news of all—that he wasn’t coming home. And this woman had the added worry of having two sons who were approaching enlistment age. “I think I did read a recipe that might help somewhere, Mrs Soper.”