Write me a Love Story Ch 8+

Write me a Love Story Ch 8+

CHAPTER 8 cont…

By Janet Baldey

I threw back the covers and looked out of the window to where the moon still lingered, a pale reflection of its former self. The morning sky was clear and soon the rising sun would burn off the last shreds of mist still clinging to the ground. Humming under my breath I set off towards the milking shed.

When Barley and I got back from the station, Georg had already arrived. As soon as I saw him I felt a rush of happiness. Immediately I caught my breath, not realising until then how much I’d looked forward to seeing him. He walked towards me and helped me down from the cart. I smiled, I’d almost forgotten how nice it was to be treated like a woman.

‘I have just fed Prince. With luck, we should finish the ploughing today.’

‘Jolly good, but just make sure you break for lunch. No later than one o’clock.   That’s an order and if the sun doesn’t remind you, I will.’ 

Georg raised his brows, a question in his eyes.

As soon as I had finished my usual chores, I started to prepare lunch.  The braising steak would need long slow cooking so I quickly sliced up the meat adding some onions and carrots to the pot before popping it onto the stove. As I turned to rinse my hands in the sink I stopped to stare into the tarnished mirror propped against the window. Pursing my lips, I picked up a strand of hair, wishing I had time to wash it. Instead, I climbed the stairs to my bedroom and rooted around until I found a green silk scarf. Tying it into a turban I looked at myself in the bedroom mirror, pinching my cheeks to give them some colour. On an impulse, I took off my dungarees and slipped into a printed cotton dress, noticing that it was now much looser. Looking at myself yet again, I nodded.

 When I returned to the kitchen, a rich aroma filled the room. It was almost time to put the potatoes on but before I did, I opened my precious tin of peaches, tipped them into a bowl and put them on the side together with some freshly clotted cream from the dairy.

I dragged the table into the middle of the room and set two places, adding glasses for the cider, at present still in its jug cooling in the cellar. Looking around, I checked again to make sure everything was ready. Butterflies fluttered inside my stomach, it had been so long since I’d cooked for another person. Suddenly I stilled and stood staring into nothing. Then, I looked down at my dress, sighed and sat down, covering my face with my hands. What was I doing? My legs felt leaden as I got up from the chair and stumbled up the stairs. Stripping off my dress, I screwed it into a ball and flung it into a corner before pulling back on my dungarees. For heaven's sake!  He was a married man with children, he didn’t care what I looked like.

        

         I was halfway up the track when I met him coming down, Prince plodding behind like a giant shadow. Georg’s face streamed and sweat had turned his hair into a shining helmet. When he saw me he raised a hand in greeting, then used the same gesture to wipe his forehead.

        

         ‘It’s all done.’  He turned the big horse round. ‘Come and see.’

        

         I knew he was watching me, waiting for my smile as I saw the field with its freshly turned earth, the moist soil gleaming almost purple in the sun. I stood admiring the pattern of neat ridges stretching into the distance. I’d never been taught to knit but I’d often watched the housekeeper at The Manor. The needles in her fingers were rarely still and I realised that’s what the field reminded me of, rows of plain knitting with not a stitch dropped. My spirits rose. One by one, difficulties that I had lost sleep over were tumbling like dominoes. I looked at the man standing by my side, well aware that if it wasn’t for his help I’d never have got this far.

‘That’s wonderful. Thank you, Georg. Dinner is almost ready.’ I looked at the moisture trickling down his face, ‘after you’ve seen to Prince, you might like to have a wash. You can use the pump in the yard.’

           

         I waited until I heard the pump squeal before I began to pile the food onto plates. When all was ready I opened the door.  

‘It’s too hot to eat outside. Come in.’

        

         As he walked through the door, I wished I had a camera. It would have made a great picture. He halted, staring first at the table and then at me.

          I shrugged. ‘You’ve worked so hard. I thought it would make a change from sandwiches.’ At the last moment, I’d added some dumplings to the stew and was glad when I saw the speed at which the food disappeared.

        

         ‘Wunderbar,’ he leaned back into his chair and patted his stomach. ‘It is so long since I had anything that good.’

        

         ‘There’s peaches and cream to follow,’ Getting up from the table I filled a couple of bowls and sat smiling as he stuffed his mouth so full that cream ran down his chin.   

        

         Afterwards, we took our tea outside and relaxed in some shade while Georg fished out his tobacco tin.

        

         ‘Look,’ he said and sent three perfect smoke rings floating into the air. I watched them spiral upwards, twisting and elongating before they finally thinned, broke into fragments and dissolved.  He seemed so at peace that, although I had questions about his family, I stopped my tongue. I remembered from before how thoughts of his children affected him.

         ‘I used to do that for Gerda and Hans.’ It was as if he had read my mind. His lashes shadowed his eyes as he stared at the glowing end of his cigarette.

        

         There was a sudden flash of kingfisher blue, as he darted a glance towards me.‘Would you like to see a picture of them?’

        

         I nodded. The corners of the tiny photo were bent and its surface dulled. With gentle fingers, he smoothed it flat before handing it to me and as he did, I felt his breath on my cheek.

         ‘See, this is Hans and this is my daughter Gerda.’

        

         The two toddlers were laughing into the camera, their blond hair gleaming in the sun as they stood with chubby arms wrapped around each other’s waists.

        

         ‘They’re beautiful.  You must be so proud.  How old are they?’

        

         ‘When this was taken, Hans was four and Gerda two.  That was a couple of years ago.  It was when I last went home on leave. They will be bigger now.   Children grow so quickly.’

        

         I heard the ache in his voice.

        

         ‘What’s your wife’s name?  Have you got a picture of her?’

        

         ‘Her name is Frieda, and no, she does not like to have her photo taken.’

        

         He stared into space, seeming to be miles away and, stealing a glance at him, I regretted my question. He obviously missed her very much.

        

         ‘Where do you live?’

        

         ‘In a town called Dresden. I moved there after the farm was sold. It is a lovely place. So full of art galleries and museums they call it ‘Florence on the Elbe’. And the churches….so many that on Sundays the morning is filled with the sound of their bells. We also have a zoo. Gerda and Hans love the zoo.’  He nodded.  ‘You would like Dresden.

        

         He raised his eyebrows and smiled at me.   ‘Now if I know women at all, I know the next question.’

        

         ‘And that is?’

        

         ‘What is my work, of course.  You will never guess.’

        

         ‘So, what did you do?’

        

         ‘Before I joined the Luftwaffe, I was training to be an architect. From farmer to architect eh?  I said you would never guess.’ He laughed and patted his chest, a gesture that was so foreign, it startled me.

        

         All at once his good mood drained away and his smile vanished. ‘I think that if ever I do get back, I will have much work to do.’

        

         He fell silent and when I looked at him he turned his face away. The silence became uncomfortable and it was almost with relief that I heard the sound of the lorry’s horn.

        

         As he stood up to leave, he reached for my hand and brushed it with his lips and conscious of my work roughened skin, I tensed.

        

         ‘Thank you so much for the meal.’  Letting go, he touched the turban around my head.

         ‘You should wear green more often.  It suits you.’   

Copyright Janet Baldey