the window. “Protect us? What d’you mean? They’ve gone. Tom, William, Jack, Hywel, The Court boys. They’ve all bloody gone.”
Mary raised her eyebrows at Sarah’s cursing.
“Well, maybe that’s it, isn’t it?” Maggie said, fixing Sarah with her eye. “Maybe we’re safer with them gone. For now.”
Menna lifted her head from her hands and turned to look at Maggie. But she said nothing more, just looked up at the dark beams, her own eyes pricking with tears, as if she’d said too much already.
“What d’you mean?” Mary said, her voice hard-edged again.
“Well,” Maggie said, speaking slowly. “It’s usually the men they want, isn’t it? In the other places they’ve been. The men they’re worried will cause them trouble. With the men gone, there’s nothing here to worry them, is there? Just us.” She broke off, removing her glasses. She looked at the faces of the three women looking back at her, all of them frowning. A thin smile lifted and fell across her lips. “But we’re not going to see any Germans here anyway, are we? I mean, what would they want here? The tractor? Some eggs? We’ve hardly got anything ourselves, and for once that’s a good thing, because it means we haven’t got anything for them either. They’re not going to bother coming all the way up here. Not in winter they won’t. No,” she continued, looking round at all of them, warming to her theme, “the only thing we should worry about is carrying on ’til they get back. And we can do that. We’ll need to help each other, of course. Like we always do, just a bit more, that’s all. Bethan can help with your two, Menna. Can’t she, Mary?”
Mary looked uncertain but gave a curt nod. “Yes, I suppose she can.”
“What about Edith?” Sarah said from the window.
“Well,” Maggie said. “Nothin’s changed for her has it? We’ll just carry on as usual with Edith, just like we always have.”
Edith Evans lived up at The Gaer, the highest house in the valley. A low-lying stone cottage with a broken-backed roof that took its name from the Iron Age hill fort that once occupied the ridge above it. Like most of the houses in the valley, The Gaer had been whitewashed, and when Sarah first moved to Upper Blaen she remembered seeing it on bright mornings, shining above the BlackHill’s shadow line thrown across the steep wall of the ridge. Its position meant that over the years she’d come to use it as a crude barometer. If she came out into the yard and The Gaer was obscured by low cloud, she knew the day was set in rain. If she could see its whitewash, bright against the hill’s tawny canvas, she knew the sun would be strong all morning.
The hill fort itself was now no more than a series of faint concentric rings buried beneath centuries of soil and grass. It was as subtle a feature on the ridge as the banks and dips of Tom’s body had been in the horsehair mattress of Sarah’s bed. Like Tom’s outline, the missing physical presence of the fort, its ramparts and defences, could be traced only by someone who knew the place intimately, who could still see what was no longer there in the earth echoes underfoot. A careful eye, sensitive to the landscape, could make out where a gate once stood or the foundations of huts where men had once slept and fought and loved and cooked. To the casual observer, however, there was nothing there, just a toothless gap in a long grassy jawbone of earth and a few faint humps beneath a tangled mass of bracken and gorse.
Edith had lived at The Gaer alone with her son ever since her husband was killed in an accident in Longtown. A motorbike skidding on black ice, him unsteady on market-day legs, his arms full with a box of groceries, still talking to the shopkeeper over his shoulder. This was before Sarah moved into the valley, but Maggie had told her how at one time there’d been a hope that after an appropriate period Edith might marry Reg at The Court. There’d even been an
Mary raised her eyebrows at Sarah’s cursing.
“Well, maybe that’s it, isn’t it?” Maggie said, fixing Sarah with her eye. “Maybe we’re safer with them gone. For now.”
Menna lifted her head from her hands and turned to look at Maggie. But she said nothing more, just looked up at the dark beams, her own eyes pricking with tears, as if she’d said too much already.
“What d’you mean?” Mary said, her voice hard-edged again.
“Well,” Maggie said, speaking slowly. “It’s usually the men they want, isn’t it? In the other places they’ve been. The men they’re worried will cause them trouble. With the men gone, there’s nothing here to worry them, is there? Just us.” She broke off, removing her glasses. She looked at the faces of the three women looking back at her, all of them frowning. A thin smile lifted and fell across her lips. “But we’re not going to see any Germans here anyway, are we? I mean, what would they want here? The tractor? Some eggs? We’ve hardly got anything ourselves, and for once that’s a good thing, because it means we haven’t got anything for them either. They’re not going to bother coming all the way up here. Not in winter they won’t. No,” she continued, looking round at all of them, warming to her theme, “the only thing we should worry about is carrying on ’til they get back. And we can do that. We’ll need to help each other, of course. Like we always do, just a bit more, that’s all. Bethan can help with your two, Menna. Can’t she, Mary?”
Mary looked uncertain but gave a curt nod. “Yes, I suppose she can.”
“What about Edith?” Sarah said from the window.
“Well,” Maggie said. “Nothin’s changed for her has it? We’ll just carry on as usual with Edith, just like we always have.”
Edith Evans lived up at The Gaer, the highest house in the valley. A low-lying stone cottage with a broken-backed roof that took its name from the Iron Age hill fort that once occupied the ridge above it. Like most of the houses in the valley, The Gaer had been whitewashed, and when Sarah first moved to Upper Blaen she remembered seeing it on bright mornings, shining above the BlackHill’s shadow line thrown across the steep wall of the ridge. Its position meant that over the years she’d come to use it as a crude barometer. If she came out into the yard and The Gaer was obscured by low cloud, she knew the day was set in rain. If she could see its whitewash, bright against the hill’s tawny canvas, she knew the sun would be strong all morning.
The hill fort itself was now no more than a series of faint concentric rings buried beneath centuries of soil and grass. It was as subtle a feature on the ridge as the banks and dips of Tom’s body had been in the horsehair mattress of Sarah’s bed. Like Tom’s outline, the missing physical presence of the fort, its ramparts and defences, could be traced only by someone who knew the place intimately, who could still see what was no longer there in the earth echoes underfoot. A careful eye, sensitive to the landscape, could make out where a gate once stood or the foundations of huts where men had once slept and fought and loved and cooked. To the casual observer, however, there was nothing there, just a toothless gap in a long grassy jawbone of earth and a few faint humps beneath a tangled mass of bracken and gorse.
Edith had lived at The Gaer alone with her son ever since her husband was killed in an accident in Longtown. A motorbike skidding on black ice, him unsteady on market-day legs, his arms full with a box of groceries, still talking to the shopkeeper over his shoulder. This was before Sarah moved into the valley, but Maggie had told her how at one time there’d been a hope that after an appropriate period Edith might marry Reg at The Court. There’d even been an
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