Free Whisper on the Wind by Elizabeth Elgin Page A

Grace remarked when she and Kath were alone, ‘that Mrs Fairchild comes to accept Marco. You’d have thought she’d have been there to see the first few furrows turned over, but not her; not if she has to take help from the other side. It’s sad, her being so bitter, but then, she’s had more than her fair share of trouble.’
    ‘Trouble? In what way?’
    ‘Losing her man in the last war was the start of it, then having the fire so soon after. And her daughter and son-in-law getting killed in a car accident.’
    ‘Her son-in-law?’ Kath frowned. ‘Then why is Roz called Fairchild?’
    ‘It’s a long story. There was only one child, you see – Janet, Roz’s mother. There should have been a son to carry on the name but Mrs Fairchild lost him; a stillbirth, six months on, when Miss Janet was about three. Took it badly, poor soul. And after that, there were no more children. A lot of us wondered why there hadn’t been another, but Poll Appleby squashed the gossip once and for all. There was a woman in the village who happened to say that it was certain Mrs Fairchild would soon conceive again like often happened after a miscarriage, and Poll told her off good and proper; told her to watch her tongue and never, ever, say anything like that again, and especially in front of the Mistress, not if she knew what was good for her.
    ‘Then the war came – the first one – and the Master was taken,’ Grace brooded. ‘They said it was a sniper’s bullet, same as took Poll’s man. Not long after came the fire, and her under-insured, then Miss Janet and her husband were killed, and there was a young bairn to be brought up.
    ‘But proud, that woman is. Living from hand to mouth sometimes, yet always fretting about that dratted house as if all her trouble had been of her own making.’
    Grace poured a kettle of water into the sink, tutting indignantly, shaking her head.
    ‘I’ll dry the dishes for you. Might as well, whilst I’m waiting for Roz to get back. But why,’ Kath persisted, ‘is she called Fairchild? Did her gran change it back, or something?’
    ‘Not exactly. Roz’s mother – Janet Fairchild as was – married a Londoner called Toby Jarvis, and he agreed to keep the name. Fairchild-Jarvis, Roz is really called, though Roz will always be a Fairchild while her gran lives and breathes, her being the last of the line, so to speak.
    ‘Still, there’s one blessing to come out of this war. At least that old ruin will be giving something back now. All those good acres barren for so long. But Mat and Jonty – aye, and Marco, too, will have them down to potatoes and sugarbeet afore very much longer, and wheat and barley the year after, and – careful, here’s Roz, now. Do you think the two of you could take the fodder to the cattle in the far field – hay, and chopped swedes? Take the small tractor, if you’d like.’
    The tractor. Kath’s eyes gleamed. Her driving was getting better every day. She’d soon be good enough, Jonty said, to drive it on the road. Now that would be something to tell Barney!
    Oh, why was life so good? How dare she be so contented, so happy, almost, when men were at war? What would her husband say if he could read her thoughts? Then her chin lifted defiantly.
    Sorry, Barney, but there’s a war on here, too. We’re getting bombed and we’re cold and short of coal and next month the sugar ration is going to be cut. So I’m doing my bit the best way I know how and you’ll have to accept it. Sorry, my dear
…
    Hester Fairchild switched off the kitchen light before opening the back door. ‘Jonty! Come in. Roz won’t be long.’ She pulled over the blackout curtain, switching on the light again. ‘She’s upstairs, getting ready.’
    ‘Mother said you might be able to use a little extra.’ He placed a bottle of milk on the table. ‘We’re a few pints in hand, whilst the school’s on holiday.’
    Hester was grateful, and said so. Even in the country the milk shortage was