The Last Garden in England(12)

“If that’s what you need me to do. If you need me to stay here and rake slurry, I’ll stay here and rake slurry.”

For the first time in their brief acquaintance, Mr. Penworthy smiled. “Up you come, then.”

“Up?”

He nodded to the tractor. “You’ll have to learn to drive it at some point. We’ll be planting out beetroot and wheat soon.”

She was going to learn to drive? Colin wouldn’t believe it, after all of his letters teasing that she’d lost her country ways living in town.

Excitement sparkled through her as she hauled herself up while Mr. Penworthy moved over for her. She nearly slipped because of the mud on her boots, but made it onto the wide bench seat.

“Right,” she said, putting her hands on the steering wheel.

“What have you driven before?” he asked.

“Not a thing,” she said with a grin.

He let out a breath. “What do they teach you city folk?”

She laughed in surprise. “Dorking isn’t exactly a city.”

“Even worse, lass,” he said.

“Well, I’m learning now.”

He grunted, then launched into the basics. Ignition, clutch, gas, break, gear shift. He patiently explained how to press down the clutch, shift gears, and get the behemoth machine moving. He made her recite it again and again until the sequence rolled off her tongue smoothly.

“All right,” he said, sitting back. “Give it a go.”

Beth sucked in a breath, aware Mr. Penworthy was gripping the edge of his seat. She pressed the clutch firmly to the floor, turned the ignition, put the tractor into gear, and slowly let her foot off the clutch. It gave a great rumbling roar. She jumped back, lifting her foot. The beast of a machine shuddered violently and went quiet.

“Well, you’ve stalled it.”

She looked over at the serious, resigned expression on Mr. Penworthy’s face and all at once began to laugh. She laughed and laughed, holding on to her sides. She could hear the farmer’s low, dry chuckle that sounded as though he was blowing dust off his humor.

“What’s this? Farmer Penworthy laughing along with a land girl? I never thought I’d see the day,” a man called out.

Beth’s head snapped up to see a large man swathed in the greatcoat of an army officer standing on the edge of the field.

“Captain Hastings,” bellowed Mr. Penworthy. “Stay there.” He nodded to Beth. “Down you go.”

She scrambled down the side, landing on two solid feet in the soft earth and manure. The officer watched them as they trekked to the side of the field. It wasn’t until she was half a dozen yards away that she realized why the man seemed so broad. He had only one arm pulled through a sleeve. The other was anchored to his neck by a sling, his coat hanging over it.

“You have company,” the man said to Mr. Penworthy as they stopped in front of him.

“Miss Pedley, this is Captain Hastings,” said Mr. Penworthy.

“Graeme Hastings, of the Second Battalion, Royal Scots Fusiliers. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Pedley,” said Captain Hastings.

“And yours, sir,” she said.

“You must be new?” said Captain Hastings.

“Yes, I arrived yesterday. Mr. Penworthy was just teaching me to drive the tractor.”

“And?” Captain Hastings asked.

“I stalled it on the first go,” she admitted.

He laughed. “We all do. Don’t believe anyone who says otherwise. You’ll get it.”

“Aye, I think she will,” said Mr. Penworthy.

A glow spread through her chest at the praise. She could—would—do this.

“May I ask what happened to your arm?” Beth said.

“Oh, this?” he asked, glancing at the bandage as though seeing it for the first time. “Walked into a German bullet. Quite clumsy of me, really.”

She couldn’t help but smile. “I take it the doctors set you straight about doing it again?”

Captain Hastings barked a laugh. “Yes, the nurses scolded me until Tuesday and back. Can’t say I’ll be seeking out a repeat experience. It’s rather shattered my shoulder.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” she said, sobering.

“Oh, we’ll have none of that. It earned me a very nice convalescence, and the good company of my friend Mr. Penworthy.”

“Captain Hastings has an interest in farming,” said Mr. Penworthy.

“Is that so?” Beth asked.

“Actually I don’t know a thing about it, but I like walking in the fields. There’s nothing like being cooped up inside to make you feel like an invalid, and the doctors seem to approve of the exercise so long as I’m careful.” Captain Hastings turned to Mr. Penworthy. “Will Miss Pedley be taking on your deliveries to the big house?”

Beth looked at the farmer, whose lips twitched again. “Might be” was all he said.

“Which big house?” she asked.

“Highbury House. It’s been requisitioned as a convalescent hospital. They specialize in bones, which is how I ended up there. Now”—Captain Hastings tipped his peaked cap—“I must be going. The sheep are rather put out when I don’t do my rounds in a timely fashion. Farmer Penworthy. Miss Pedley.”