After the Roses

After the Roses

Shayne Parkinson

Copyright © S. L. Parkinson 2015

Smashwords Edition

License Notes

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Other titles by Shayne Parkinson:

Sentence of Marriage (Promises to Keep, Book 1)

Mud and Gold (Promises to Keep, Book 2)

Settling the Account (Promises to Keep, Book 3)

A Second Chance (the sequel to Promises to Keep)

Daisy’s War (Daisy, Book 1)

More about these titles, as well as family trees and some extra background to the books’ settings, can be found at:

http://www.shayneparkinson.com/

Chapter One

November 1918

Sunlight turned the valley green-gold on the day Daisy’s father came home. Her room still held a trace of the sun’s warmth when she slipped into bed that night, a freshly washed pillowcase smooth and crisp against her skin. She drifted off to the murmur of voices through the wall, her father’s deep tones blending with her mother’s higher pitch to make the loveliest of music. When the first daylight crept through a chink in her curtains, Daisy woke to the glorious knowledge that was better than any dream could be: her father was home, and the war was over.

The three of them did the morning milking together; breakfasted together; walked to the horse paddock and cart shed together. Daisy watched her father heft the load of milk onto the spring cart, each of the tall metal cans that she and her mother could barely shift between them lifted as easily as if it were empty. She stood at her mother’s side as they waved him off down the farm track, reluctant to let him out of their sight even for his trip to the dairy factory.

The factory visit took less time than Daisy had expected. A batch of scones was still cooling on a rack when they heard the rattle of the cart again, its rhythm telling Daisy that the horse was going at a brisk trot. A few minutes later her father came into the kitchen, strode over to the bench, and kissed them both.

‘Those smell good,’ he said, reaching for a scone.

Daisy’s mother slapped his hand away. ‘Wait till I’ve finished buttering it, Davie! You can’t be that hungry, not after what you ate at breakfast.’

‘Well, I am a bit. And I’ve missed your scones.’ He cast a longing look at the laden plate as he pulled out a chair.

Her mother slathered butter on the last few scones, and Daisy spooned jam onto the centre of each one. They joined him at the table, a cup of tea steaming in front of each place setting and the plate of scones in the middle. Her father took a scone, which disappeared in two bites. Daisy picked up one for herself and ate it more carefully, savouring the feel of warm butter and tart strawberry jam melting on her tongue, the scone base soft and fluffy. Fresh baking was one of the many tasks she and her mother had been forced to let slip while they were running the farm on their own.

‘You weren’t long at the factory,’ her mother said. ‘We didn’t think you’d be back for a while yet.’

‘I made sure I didn’t get talking to anyone—just your pa, and he was keen to get home, too. Oh, that’s right, he said to tell you your ma says we’re to go down there for lunch.’

People generally did as Daisy’s grandmother told them. They arrived at Grandma’s well in time for the midday meal, and Grandma herself stood in the doorway to call them inside. She had left her stays off that day, Daisy noticed when she was enfolded in a soft, squishy hug.

Grandma held on to Papa for a little longer than she did Daisy and her mother. ‘I’m glad you’re home, Dave.’ She stepped back from him and took a handkerchief from her sleeve to dab at her eyes. ‘Now, sit down and we can get on with it before the potatoes get cold.’

Daisy sat between her parents on the bench that ran along one side of the table, with Benjy, Kate and Aunt Maisie opposite them. She looked up from her plate to see Grandpa and Grandma smiling around at them all.

‘It’s good to see a decent crowd at the table again, eh?’ Grandpa said. His three grown-up sons were all still on the other side of the world, waiting for a ship home from Europe.

Grandma nodded. ‘Yes, it doesn’t seem right, just the five of us. The place feels empty without those boys—and I’m still cooking too much half the time.’

‘Shouldn’t be too long now till they’re on their way back. There’s that many chaps over there, though, I suppose they’ll need a fair few boats back and forth.’

‘Well, the sooner they’re back the better,’ Grandma said.

‘I’ll say,’ Aunt Maisie agreed.

The conversation among the adults shifted to discussion of the dairy factory and the weather, and family news that Daisy had already heard. She gave her attention to the roast mutton and vegetables before her.

‘Did you hear they’ve closed the school up for the year, Dave?’ Grandpa said, startling Daisy. ‘Mr Connor said something about it down at the factory this morning, but I think you’d got away by then. His boy told him when he came home yesterday.’

‘No, I didn’t hear anything about that,’ Daisy’s father said, frowning. Daisy saw her parents exchange a glance.

‘Are you sure, Pa?’ her mother asked. ‘It’s only November, school shouldn’t be finishing for ages yet. Mr Connor might’ve got it muddled somehow.’

‘No, it’s closed all right,’ Grandpa said. ‘I sent Benjy down to the school when I got back from the factory, to see what was going on.’

‘Yes, and Miss Cameron was there on her own, packing up all the stuff,’ Benjy said. ‘I stayed and helped her for a bit. She told me it’s because of the flu going around—she reckons it’s bad in the big places like Auckland, so they’re making all the schools close early.’

‘Oh, that’s a shame, when Daisy was all set to go back,’ Daisy’s mother said. ‘I don’t know what that’s got to do with our school, though, just because of people being sick in Auckland.’

Benjy shrugged. ‘Well, that’s what Miss Cameron said. She got a letter from the people up in Auckland, and they told her she had to close it.’

‘I don’t think Aunt Amy’s said much about the flu up there in her letters—she might have said something about making up baskets of food for people who were poorly, but I think that was about it. Daisy, has Eddie mentioned anything about it to you?’

Daisy shook her head. ‘No, except he’s been helping with taking food to people. He hasn’t said if his school’s been closed up, either.’ Her cousin’s last letter had been shorter than usual, barely covering one page, and mostly concerned with talk of the Armistice celebrations in Auckland as well as good wishes on her father’s return.

‘Well, it can’t be too bad, then, or one of them would’ve said about it. Don’t you think so, Davie?’

‘That’s probably right,’ Daisy’s father said, but she noticed a thoughtful expression pass over his face at all this talk of flu, as if he knew more about it than he was willing to say.

Grandma piled more potatoes onto Benjy’s plate, which Aunt Maisie had already replenished. ‘Well, I think it’s a jolly good idea,’ she said. ‘We’re all topsy-turvy with half the men still away and everyone busy on the farms. And it’s not as if Benjy can go back to school, anyway, not until the other boys are home to help your father.’

‘I think I’ve got enough, thanks, Ma,’ Benjy said. He sent a grin in Daisy’s direction; Grandma was inclined to worry that Benjy might somehow go hungry, despite there never being any shortage of good food at her table. ‘As long as they’re back by February, I’ll be all right for when school starts up again.’

His older sister Kate reached over to help herself to the potatoes. ‘Don’t worry, Benjy, I don’t mind doing your milking for a bit if the boys don’t get back till after school starts. You can help with the dishes to pay me back.’ She gave his shoulder a playful poke. ‘Not to mention peeling some of the potatoes.’

Mama put her hand over Daisy’s and squeezed. ‘February will come round soon enough, love,’ she said quietly.

‘I know.’ Daisy managed a smile. ‘It’s all right—it’ll be good to have the time at home with Papa.’ Which was true enough; though it did not quite soften the sharp reminder that even with her father home safe and sound the world could still deliver disappointments.

*

‘I think I might go down to the school and see if Miss Cameron’s there,’ Daisy said next morning over breakfast. ‘I’d like to hear it from her about the school closing and everything, just in case there’s been a mix-up.’

‘I’ll give you a ride down on my way to the factory if you’re ready quick enough,’ her father said.

Daisy hurriedly changed into a clean dress and brushed her hair, and by the time her father brought the cart around she was waiting at the garden gate. He leaned over to give her a hand up to the cart’s seat, and Daisy slid along to press against him, her arm linked though his.

‘Looks like she’s there,’ her father said when they drew near the school and saw the teacher’s gig; Miss Cameron’s horse was grazing in the school’s small paddock. Papa drew the cart to a halt, and Daisy climbed down from the seat. ‘I’ll pick you up on my way back if you’re still here then.’

Daisy crossed the patch of rough grass to the schoolroom. Miss Cameron waved through the open window, and a moment later appeared in the doorway.

‘Daisy, I’m so pleased to see you! You’d better not come in just yet, though, I seem to have stirred up the dust. Let’s sit out here while it clears.’

She came down the few steps and sat beside Daisy on a low bench in front of the school. ‘I’d been thinking of calling on your family this morning once I’d finished tidying up here, but it’s taken rather longer than I expected—I must be slow today.’ She slid her spectacles down her nose and pressed a finger to the corner of each eye for a few moments before pushing the spectacles back into place. Daisy noticed that her eyes were red, and the skin around them looked swollen. She leaned back against the wall, as if sitting upright was too much trouble.

‘So school’s really finished for the year?’ Daisy asked.

‘Yes, I’ve decided to follow the rules at last.’ Miss Cameron smiled at what Daisy knew must be a look of confusion on her own face. ‘I must confess that I’ve been something of a rebel, Daisy. The instructions came from Auckland earlier this month that all the schools were to close at once, but I took it upon myself to leave ours open.’

‘Benjy said it’s because of the flu, but there’s flu most years, isn’t there? I don’t think they’ve ever closed the schools over it.’

‘No, but it’s not usually as severe as this one seems to be. I gather you haven’t been following the news in the papers recently?’

‘Only things about the war. We’ve been busy on the farm, Mama and I, and… well, the war was the only thing that seemed to matter.’

‘Of course it was. The flu’s really quite severe in the cities, but we’ve been lucky in Ruatane so far, it hasn’t been as bad here yet. It’s the war that’s turned our lives upside-down—your family’s as much as anyone’s. That’s why I made the decision to keep the school open for as long as possible, and just hope that the Education Board in Auckland wouldn’t find out. I’m sure the Board has better things to do than to check up on every single school in the country. There was so little I could do to help while the war was on, but I thought perhaps I could give the children some stability—just a scrap of normalcy to hold on to. Does that make any sense?’

‘Of course you make sense, Miss Cameron. Yes, I think I see what you mean. It was good you could do that.’

‘I’m just sorry I couldn’t keep it open long enough for you to come back to school. I hope you’re not too disappointed, but I don’t think I can risk my small act of defiance any longer, or the authorities really will catch up with me.’ The corners of her mouth turned up as she said it, but even that small movement seemed to take an effort.

Daisy had never seen her teacher looking so tired, and she was careful to keep any trace of disappointment or complaint out of her own voice. ‘No, it’s all right—Papa’s back, and that’s the main thing. February’s soon enough to start school again.’

‘Yes, we’ll all be settled and back to normal by then, I’m sure.’ Miss Cameron pressed her hands against the wooden bench and got slowly to her feet. ‘I’d really better get back to work or I’ll never get this finished.’

‘Can I help you with it?’ Daisy asked.

Miss Cameron shook her head. ‘It’s good of you to offer, but you’d better not come inside. I’ve quite a sore throat—it must be from the dust, and I wouldn’t want you to get one as well.’ She paused at the foot of the steps; Daisy saw her hand tremble a little where she gripped the rail. ‘In fact I’m not sure that I’ll stay any longer myself. I might just gather up the most important of the paperwork and take it with me—it’s mostly the logbooks and rolls, I need to finish writing up the final records for the year so I can send them off to the Board, and I can do that just as well at home.’

She accepted Daisy’s offer to catch the horse for her, and Daisy had it harnessed to the gig by the time Miss Cameron came back outside with a bundle of folders and notebooks, which she was stuffing into her leather satchel.

‘Please give my regards to your mother, and tell Mrs Stewart I hope to call on her later in the week,’ Miss Cameron said, tucking the satchel under the gig’s seat. She placed a foot on the step, but made no move to hoist herself any higher. ‘It’s rather fortunate, really, that school’s finished for the year, I feel ready for a rest. And I’ve a friend who’s just come over from Tauranga to visit—I haven’t been a very good hostess so far, but I’ll be better company for her now.’

Daisy helped her up to the gig with a hand under one elbow, concerned that her teacher might be a little too unsteady to manage on her own. ‘Have a nice holiday with your friend, Miss Cameron. I’m glad you’re going to have a good, long break from school.’

‘Thank you, dear.’ Miss Cameron coughed, and grimaced. ‘It’s odd, I didn’t notice so very much dust inside, but my throat feels quite raw. I’m looking forward to a nice hot cup of tea when I get home, and perhaps putting my feet up.’

Daisy waved her off, and watched the gig shrink into the distance.

There was no point waiting at the school for her father to collect her; she had spent such a brief time with Miss Cameron that he was probably still on his way to the factory. Daisy turned away from the small blur that was all she could now see of her teacher and set off in the opposite direction for home.

It was a pleasant morning for walking, a light breeze giving the air crispness. To her right the paddocks were lush with spring growth, and fantails flitted in and out of the trees on the other side of the track. Daisy’s steps took up a steady rhythm, requiring only an occasional glance at her feet to avoid turning an ankle on a rough patch.

She would go back to school next year, and do her best to catch up on the work she had missed. The war was over; school would start again; everything would be just the same as it used to be. Daisy had the odd sensation that she was somehow arguing against herself. She ought to feel happy; yet the time spent with Miss Cameron had left her with a sense of unease.

On the day her father came home the world had seemed as unbreakable as if it were made of shining metal. It was still just as bright, but now Daisy was reminded of a glass ornament she had once seen at her Aunt Sarah’s house in Auckland: clear and perfect in every line, but with an air of fragility, as if a touch might shatter it.

When she got back to the house she went into her room to get changed. Her gaze fell on the pile of textbooks Miss Cameron had lent her earlier in the year, when Daisy had had to leave school to help on the farm after her father was conscripted. It was too late to return them now; she would have to wait till school opened again next year.

Daisy picked up the topmost item, which happened to be a grammar text. There seemed little point now in struggling through the schoolwork on her own, as she had been doing over the last few months. Now that she could not finish up the school year properly, she would have to go back into Standard Five next year, and do the work all over again.

She replaced the book and snatched up her other dress, eager to get out on the farm and work off the restless, unsettled feeling that had taken hold of her. Influenza in the cities seemed an odd reason to have shut all the schools, even in their little valley. The thought nagged at her that perhaps this outbreak was more serious than everyone around her seemed to think.

*

Eddie tugged the handcart along a rough stretch of footpath, occasionally glancing over his shoulder to check that the tall pots of soup were steady. There was a knack to keeping up a reasonable speed so that he could get around his assigned area in good time without overturning the cart.

He pulled a sheet of paper from his pocket to check the list of street numbers where he was to make his deliveries. The influenza committee’s soup kitchen organised its team of volunteers, assigning each one a section of the city to travel around, delivering food to those houses where people were known to be ill and unable to fend for themselves. With so much free time now that his school had closed, Eddie had needed no prompting to join in the relief effort.

The next house on his list was some way up the street. Eddie took a firmer hold on the cart’s handle and lengthened his stride.

It was a part of Auckland unfamiliar to him. Houses nudged up together with only a narrow gap between each one and its neighbour. Their front doors opened directly onto the footpath, and a thin backyard stretched out of sight behind each building.

A small child sat on the front doorstep of one house. Eddie smiled and nodded at her, then something about the child made him slow his steps and halt. She sat hunched in on herself, brown curls framing a thin face, her hands knotted in her lap.

Eddie checked that the cart was resting firmly on a level part of the footpath, and lowered its handle to the ground.

‘Hello. What’s your name?’ he asked.

‘Eileen,’ the little girl whispered.

‘Where’s your mum, Eileen?’

‘She won’t get up. I made a cup of tea, but she doesn’t want it.’ Huge blue eyes stared up at him, unblinking.

‘Is she sick, then? Has she got the flu?’

‘Don’t know.’

Eddie thought he saw her lower lip quiver. ‘What about your dad? Is he at work?’

She shook her head. ‘He’s gone to the war.’

Her father must be one of the thousands of men waiting to be sent home. Eddie gave silent thanks that his Uncle Dave was safely back on the farm with Daisy and Aunt Beth.

Eileen stood, and reached up for the handle to push the door open. ‘Please, Mister, will you come and see why Mama won’t wake up?’

She was wearing a dress that must have been meant for a much older child, with a loose neckline that revealed sharp collarbones. Thin arms emerged from overlarge sleeves. Eddie wondered how the child had even managed to lift a kettle to make a pot of tea. Two paces brought him to the doorstep; Eileen clutched at his trouser leg, and he found himself being led into the small parlour that opened straight off the front door.

Eddie had never seen a dead body before, but his first sight of the figure sprawled on a mattress, a thin blanket covering her below the shoulders, told him that this woman was beyond waking. Not just because she lay so still, her head at what looked an unnatural angle, but because of the color.

He had heard rumours of bodies turning black from Spanish Influenza; this woman’s face was more of a dark, blotched purple. It was not the colour of living flesh.

A chipped cup half-full of watery-looking brown liquid had been placed on the floor close to the mattress. A fly crawled around its rim; as Eddie watched, the fly lifted itself and blundered over to settle on the still figure under the blanket.

‘See, I made her some tea,’ Eileen said, pointing to the cup.

The awareness of a small hand slipped into his shook Eddie into action.

‘That’s good, Eileen, but your mum’s too tired just now. I’ll cover her up so the light doesn’t disturb her.’ He batted the fly away and drew the blanket over the woman’s face.

He needed to get back to the depot and let them know there was a body to be collected; more urgently, he needed to find someone to look after the little girl. Most urgently of all, he needed to fill his lungs with fresh air.

Eileen seemed content to leave her hand in his and be taken back out to the footpath.

‘Have you got any family around here, Eileen? Your granny, maybe, or an aunt?’

She looked at him blankly, showing no sign of even knowing what the words meant.

Eddie forced himself to think calmly, doing his best to drive from his thoughts the image of that hideously discoloured face. He had a vague memory of seeing someone in a backyard a few doors down; yes, there had been a woman hanging out washing. He strode out in that direction, realised almost at once that Eileen was trotting to keep up with him, and scooped her up in his arms.

The woman was still at the washing line. The strip of ground between her house and the next was rough and unpaved, and obviously not meant as a path to the backyard, but Eddie was unwilling to waste time knocking at the front door and waiting for a response. She stood with her hands on her hips watching him plunge through to the yard. When she saw the child in his arms, her wary expression changed to concern.

‘Eileen? What’s the matter, dear?’

Eddie lowered the little girl to the ground. She ran over to the woman and buried her face in her skirts.

The woman wrapped an arm around her, and studied Eddie. She was grey-haired and had a wrinkled, weather-beaten face, but her gaze was keen.

‘And who might you be, then?’

‘Eddie Stewart, Ma’am. I’m taking food around to people. I saw Eileen outside her house, and she wanted me to come and look at her mother.’

‘She’s been taken bad, has she?’

‘She’s…’ Eddie flicked a glance at Eileen, then met the woman’s gaze again. He shook his head.

Her eyes showed that she had understood his unspoken message. ‘I’ve been trying to keep an eye on her, but I didn’t manage to get over there this morning. My husband’s down with it, too, and he was bad in the night.’

‘She wasn’t on my list of people to visit. I wouldn’t have known she was there if I hadn’t seen Eileen.’

‘Well, you must have seen those notices up at the Post Office and Lord knows where else—they say folk are to help themselves, and only ask the district committee for help if they’re in dire straits.’ She looked Eddie up and down. ‘There’s not enough of you fellows to go around. Anyway, we’re used to looking after ourselves here. We keep an eye out for each other.’

A child even smaller than Eileen came out of the house and crawled backwards down the steps; a moment later Eddie realised that the fruit box by one of the clothes props held a sleeping baby.

The woman followed his glance. ‘My daughter’s children.’ Her mouth seemed to wobble on the word daughter. ‘I’m looking after them now.’

‘I have to get back to the depot and tell them to send someone out to… you know… pick her up,’ Eddie said, jerking his head in the direction of the house where the dead woman lay. ‘Can you look after Eileen till someone comes? I’d take her with me, but I want to get there pretty smartly.’

‘No need to rush, lad, Mrs Wilson won’t be going anywhere. You might as well finish taking that food to the needy folks first.’ She patted Eileen on the shoulder. ‘Yes, leave her with me. One more won’t make much difference.’

‘She said her father’s at the war.’

‘That he is. He’s in the ground at the Somme.’

So he was not one of those soldiers waiting for a boat back to New Zealand. He was one of the men who would never be coming home at all. Eddie looked down at Eileen, who was sucking her thumb and staring from one to another of the people speaking over her head. The thumb emerged from her mouth as she broke into a smile. She reached out her hand toward him.

Eddie crouched to take the small hand, with its rather damp thumb, in his. ‘Hooray then, Eileen. You’ll be all right, this lady’s going to look after you.’

‘My name’s Mrs Parkes, in case you want to make a note of it,’ the woman said as Eddie was turning to leave.

‘Oh, that’s right, I think I’m supposed to do that. Thanks.’ He found a stub of pencil in one pocket, and carefully noted Mrs Parkes’ details, as well as Eileen’s, on the back of his list of delivery addresses.

Eddie waved to Eileen until he gained the footpath and she disappeared from sight. He retrieved his abandoned cart and, taking Mrs Parkes’ advice, finished his deliveries before returning to the depot.

He passed on the information about Eileen and her mother, then headed for home. He was doing a lot of walking lately; few of the trams were running these days, with so many of the drivers off work with the flu. Eddie strode along Queen Street, where what seemed like more than half the shops and offices had their doors boarded up, and only a handful of people were about. The greatest sign of activity was at the entrance to the inhalation chamber, where people were queuing to breathe in a zinc sulphate spray that was supposed to protect against influenza. Eddie had already experienced the spray; Aunt Sarah had insisted that the whole household go to the nearest chamber as soon as it opened.

He turned off Queen Street and walked past the Technical College, which had been turned into an influenza hospital, then picked up his speed for the short remaining distance to his home.

His grandmother and aunt were both in the kitchen when he got to the house. Granny and the maids were cutting up vegetables and the cook was rolling out a huge round of pastry, while Aunt Sarah wrote out labels and attached them to baskets. Against one wall was a pile of folded sheets, probably fresh off the washing line. They were regularly sending supplies to the hostel that had been set up for children whose parents had been taken ill and who had no one else to care for them; in addition, they had their own small round of households where people were not quite desperate enough to need the help of the influenza committee, but were still struggling to get meals on the table and clean linen on their beds.

‘You’ve been a long time today, Eddie,’ Granny said. ‘Here, I’ve made you a few sandwiches to be going on with—you must be hungry after all that walking.’

She picked up a plate with several sandwiches piled onto it, then paused in the act of passing it across the table. Eddie was aware that she was studying him closely, and he did his best to look unconcerned.

‘Let’s take these outside,’ she said. ‘I’ve made them quite full, and you don’t want to be dropping bits on Mrs Jenson’s nice, clean floor. I’ll come out with you, I wouldn’t mind sitting down for a minute or so.’

They went out the kitchen door and sat at a small table in the garden. ‘Is everything all right, dear?’ Granny asked when the first bite of sandwich was safely down.

‘Mm.’ Eddie took another bite at once; partly as an excuse not to say more, and partly because he had realised he was actually quite hungry.

‘It’s just that… well, I know there are a lot of sad cases. It’s fine work you’re doing, Eddie. You just remember that.’ She squeezed his hand.

He wondered if she might press him to say more, but Granny was good at letting people be quiet if they wanted to be. She got up and strolled around the nearer part of the garden while he ate his sandwiches, then sat beside him once more.

‘I was just thinking…’ Eddie took a last swallow, and tried again. ‘I know you’re mainly doing plain stuff just now, but I wondered if I could have some biscuits or cakes—something a little kid might like.’

‘Of course you can. What about some nice fudge? No need to bother Mrs Jenson, I’ll make it myself.’

‘That’d be really good.’ He fiddled with the empty plate, tilting it back and forth on the table. ‘They still haven’t got the flu bad in Ruatane.’

‘No, thank goodness. Auckland seems to have it worse than anywhere.’

‘Do you think maybe it won’t get bad in Ruatane at all?’

Granny paused for so long that he was not sure if she was going to reply at all. ‘I don’t know, Eddie. I hope not.’

*

The strawberry crop was a fine one that year. A few days after their visit to Grandma’s, Daisy gathered strawberries until she had filled a basket with the fruit that escaped going straight into her mouth. She added the haul to a pile of rhubarb stalks already in the jam pan, and her mother set it over the heat, where the three of them took turns stirring until the sugar dissolved.

The day was warm, and Daisy soon opened the back door to let in the breeze. The pot bubbled away on the range, the jam’s sweet, rich scent filling the kitchen. Daisy’s apron was spattered with sticky red blobs, as was her mother’s, and she noticed a small chunk of strawberry in her father’s hair.

Her mother had poured a little jam into a saucer and placed it on the windowsill to cool; now she tipped the saucer from side to side, and prodded at the skin that had formed on the jam.

‘It’s ready,’ she announced. ‘Davie, you can lick this off the saucer if you like—that should be safe enough.’ She grinned at Daisy’s father, who had already burned his tongue by sneaking a taste of jam off the wooden spoon when he thought she was not looking.

He swiped the saucer clean with two licks, then lifted the heavy pan over to a cooler part of the range, close to where empty jars were lined up on a wooden slab. He carefully tilted the pan to the right angle and Daisy held each jar steady, a thick cloth protecting her hands, as her mother ladled in jam. Sunlight from the window struck the jars, turning the light ruby-red and making patterns on the floor.

Grandpa’s tap on the door was so quiet that Daisy only realised he was in the doorway when she saw him standing there, one hand still raised to knock again.

‘Come in, Pa, and I’ll put the jug on,’ her mother said, glancing up and smiling; a smile that faded almost at once. ‘Whatever’s wrong? You look as if you’d seen a ghost.’

Daisy’s grandfather gripped the doorway for a moment as if to steady himself, then came into the room clutching his hat against his chest. ‘I went into town this morning to see Richard. He was out when I got there, Maudie said she’s hardly seen him the last couple of days, there’s that many people come down with the flu.’

‘Sit down and tell us all about it,’ Mama said. She took Grandpa’s arm and led him over to the table, where she sat beside him while Daisy and her father pulled out chairs for themselves.

‘Richard came in after a bit,’ Grandpa said. ‘He’d been around at the teacher’s—a friend she had staying with her came to fetch him.’

‘Miss Cameron?’ Daisy said, startled. ‘Has she got the flu? Is she all right?’

Her grandfather looked across the table at her and shook his head slowly. ‘No, she’s not, love. She died this morning.’

Daisy was dimly aware of her mother’s hand stroking her arm. Shock had left her unable to move or speak.

‘What a terrible thing to happen,’ Mama said. ‘That’s so sad, a nice lady like Miss Cameron.’

Grandpa cleared his throat. ‘I went to see Richard because I wanted to get him out here. He’s over at our place now.’ His hand rested on the table; Daisy saw it shaking. ‘Benjy’s sick. He’s got the flu.’

Chapter Two

Daisy’s mother drew in her breath, the noise sharp in a room that had fallen silent. ‘Benjy? But he looked all right—it was just the other day we saw him.’

‘Last night he said he had a bit of a headache, and he went off to bed early,’ Grandpa said. ‘I didn’t think anything of it. But he was in a bad way this morning—fever and chills one after the other, and he said he’s got pains all over. Your ma couldn’t get any food into him, either.’

‘But Richard’s there with him, he’ll know what to do. Perhaps Benjy hasn’t got such a bad case after all.’

‘I don’t know, love. We’ll have to wait and see.’ Grandpa heaved himself to his feet, and Daisy and her parents stood, too. ‘I’d better be getting back home, see how things are.’

‘Yes, don’t wait for us,’ Daisy’s mother said. ‘Tell Ma we’ll be over soon.’ She led Grandpa to the door and kissed him goodbye.

‘Poor Pa, he looks so worried,’ she said when Grandpa was out of hearing. ‘But Benjy’s a healthy boy—I know Ma’s always thinking he’s frail, but he’s hardly had a day’s sickness in his life. I mean, it’s very sad about Miss Cameron, but she might have had something else wrong with her as well. It’s old people who get the flu bad, not boys like Benjy.’

Daisy’s father tapped his fingers against the back of a chair. ‘I don’t know about that.’

‘But I’ve heard Uncle Richard say the same thing,’ Daisy said, finding her voice again at last. ‘He says in the winter it’s always old people he has to worry about with flu.’ Which made it even more shocking that someone like Miss Cameron, who was not at all old, should have died of it.

‘This Spanish flu’s different.’ He looked from Daisy to her mother. ‘They had it in the army camp while I was there. A lot of the blokes caught it—I didn’t, I was lucky—and a fair few of them died. They were all fit young chaps, too. I heard one of the doctors say stronger people get it the worst. They sort of fight against themselves.’

Mama was staring at him. ‘You never said anything about that.’

‘I didn’t want to worry you while I was away. And afterwards… well, I just wanted to forget all that. And I thought maybe we wouldn’t get the bad flu up here.’

‘I wish you’d been right.’ Her mother’s words came out on a sigh. She crossed the few steps to the bench. ‘You get the gig out, Davie, while Daisy and I finish up here.’

They left the remaining jam in its pot, where it would set and need to be boiled up again. Daisy placed a lid on the pot and a clean dishcloth over the open jam jars to keep out any insects, then gave the bench a hasty wipe, while her mother quickly packed a small basket. They pulled off their aprons and hung them behind the door, but did not bother changing into smarter dresses before going outside.

The two of them waited by the garden gate for Daisy’s father to bring the gig around, her mother jiggling from foot to foot in her anxiousness to get going. She glanced down at the basket she had looped over one arm, as if noticing it for the first time, and lifted a cloth to reveal several little cakes and half a dozen currant buns.

‘I don’t know what I was thinking of, bringing that stuff,’ she murmured. ‘Benjy won’t be wanting anything rich like that.’

It was a bumpy ride to Grandpa’s, with Daisy’s father driving the gig faster than usual. When they drew up to the house, Daisy and her mother left Papa to tether the horse while they hurried over to the open back door.

Grandma’s kitchen was normally full of chatter and laughter and the noise of eating, but today it was almost silent. Kate was stirring a pot on the range, while Grandpa sat at the table fiddling distractedly with a pea pod from the pile in front of him.

Kate looked up when they came in, eyes red and swollen and her face streaked with tears. ‘Benjy’s really…’ she began, but the words at once dissolved into sobs.

Daisy’s mother put down the basket and enfolded her in a hug, pressing Kate’s face against her shoulder while she made soothing noises and patted her sister’s back.

No one was better at calming upset people or animals than Mama. Daisy sat down beside her grandfather and shelled a few peas; when her father came in a little later he sat on Grandpa’s other side and joined in the task while they waited for Mama to settle Kate.

The sobs gradually subsided; Kate pulled away and rubbed her sleeve over her eyes. ‘They’re all in the parlour with Benjy—Richard and Ma and Maisie. Pa and Richard carried Benjy in there.’

‘Richard said we don’t want him getting cold at nights, so we put him by the fireplace,’ Grandpa said. ‘We can have a fire going all night for him if that’s what he needs.’ He snapped a pod in two between his fingers, and let both halves fall onto the table. Daisy retrieved them, scraped the peas into a saucepan, and added the empty pod to a growing heap. ‘No use me hanging around getting under everyone’s feet, I might as well see if I can be any use out here.’

‘I’m making some broth, but it won’t be ready for ages yet.’ Kate dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief Daisy’s mother slipped into her hand, then took hold of the spoon and began stirring once more. ‘Benjy can’t have anything heavy, but we’ve got to get food into him. Richard said broth would be all right.’

‘I’m sure it’ll do him good,’ Mama said. ‘We’ll go and see him, then, just for a bit.’

Daisy rose from the table, but her father