The Last Garden in England(10)

“You sit right down here, and I’ll make you a cup of tea,” said Mrs. Penworthy.

Her husband made to sit down at the other end of the table, but Mrs. Penworthy threw over her shoulder, “You go tell Ruth that she’s to come meet Beth.”

Mr. Penworthy gave a deep sigh. “I’ll see if she’ll come.”

As soon as he was out of the room, Mrs. Penworthy said, “You mustn’t mind him. Farming isn’t for everyone, and Ruth has had a hard adjustment to it. Still, she might make it easier on herself if she realized she wasn’t in Birmingham anymore.”

“I hope that I find it easier. I’ve lived with my widowed aunt Mildred in Dorking since I was ten.”

If Mrs. Penworthy thought anything of Beth living with her aunt rather than her parents, the farmer’s wife didn’t say anything. Instead, she asked, “And will she not miss you back in Dorking?”

Beth hesitated. “I think she is glad to know that I’m doing my bit in the war.”

“Feeding starving Britain?” came a sharp question. Beth looked up as a woman with an hourglass figure and a cloud of perfect red curls floating around her shoulders walked in. Even with clothing coupons rationing what everyone could buy, this woman was well-dressed in a cream ribbed turtleneck and a tweed skirt. On anyone else, it might have seemed dowdy, but she looked as though she was about to serve her guests a round of drinks after a long day’s hunt.

“Be nice, Ruth,” said Mrs. Penworthy.

Ruth’s eyes cut from the farmer’s wife to Beth and back. Then a smile cracked her face. “I’m only teasing, Mrs. P. I’m Ruth Harper-Greene.”

Beth frowned at Ruth’s double-barreled name. Girls like Ruth usually ended up secretaries or worked on switchboards, where their crisp accents would be best shown off.

She shook Ruth’s hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Let’s all have a cup of tea,” said Mrs. Penworthy cheerfully. “I’m afraid it’s just chamomile, but needs be in war.”

Mr. Penworthy did not rejoin them until dinner, which, though comprising solely root vegetables, was easily the best meal Beth had had in months. Afterward, Ruth showed Beth to their room.

As soon as the door was closed, Ruth flopped on the bed. “What an absolute bore. I swear that if something interesting doesn’t happen soon, I’ll scream.”

“The Penworthys seem very kind. I’m sure I’ll like it here,” Beth said.

Ruth pushed up on her elbow and shot her an assessing look. “Yes, well, you’ve likely never spent time in London. Or even Birmingham. Warwickshire is something of a disappointment, to say the least.”

Beth pursed her lips and set about unpacking her things.

“Oh, I’ve offended you,” said Ruth, getting up to catch Beth’s line of sight.

“You haven’t offended me,” said Beth. “I’m just happy I’ll be of some use.”

“Yes, well, we all have to be useful, don’t we?” snorted Ruth as she reached into a drawer and pulled out a crumpled packet of cigarettes and a match.

“Please don’t smoke in here,” said Beth, a little sharper than she’d meant.

Ruth looked up, the cigarette hanging from her mouth. “The mouse has a bite.”

“I’m not a mouse. And I would appreciate it if you would not smoke in this room.”

“Why not?” Ruth challenged.

“Because my aunt Mildred smokes, and I never could stand it.” Beth turned around fully to face her roommate, her arms crossed over her chest. “We don’t have to like each other, but we do need to bump along together. It would be easier if we agreed upon that from the beginning.”

Silence stretched between them. Not having had much practice, Beth’d never been very good at gauging this sort of interaction. Maybe she’d gone too far. She didn’t want to make an enemy out of her roommate within the first few hours of meeting her. But then Ruth took the cigarette from her lips and slowly slid it back into the packet.

“I’m sorry. I can be a horrible child when I don’t get my way, and these last months, nothing seems to have gone my way,” said Ruth.

“You mean being a land girl?” Beth asked.

Ruth laughed. “You’re not just a pretty face, are you, Bethy?”

“Don’t call me Bethy. It sounds horrid.”

“I hate it here, Beth. I hate the work, and the early hours, and that there’s not a damned thing to do for fun. I hate that I hate it because Mr. and Mrs. Penworthy have been nothing but kind and patient with me, and I’ve been utterly beastly.”

“Why don’t you apply for a transfer? Or become a Wren or a WAAF,” said Beth, even more convinced than ever that the navy or the Royal Air Force’s women’s auxiliaries would suit Ruth far better.

Ruth flopped back onto her bed again. “The Wrens won’t have me because I was kicked out of the ATS.”

Beth couldn’t help it when her eyes flicked to Ruth’s stomach. “Kicked out?”

“Not because I was pregnant or anything like that, you goose,” Ruth laughed. “I drank on base and stole an officer’s car. Thought I’d be able to toddle off down the road and find some fun, but I crashed it into the gate instead. Silly of me, really. After that, none of the auxiliary branches would take me. Becoming a land girl was my very best option out of a lot of rubbish. Conscription waits for no woman.”