Shelter by Sarah Franklin

Author:Sarah Franklin [Sarah Franklin]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Bonnier Publishing Fiction
Published: 2017-06-14T16:00:00+00:00

The Aylburton Marrow

A great marrow weighing 73 lbs. has been grown by Mr A. Hayden of Aylburton. Mr Hayden, who is a keen gardener, is an expert on marrow growing and has devoted considerable time to it.

Dean Forest Mercury, Friday, 29th September, 1944

Autumn, 1944

Twenty-Seven

September

THE FOREST IN AUTUMN was a shock after those months of desert monochrome and even the singing green of these last few months. Already in September it was a symphony of colour; high yellows and reds melding with ochre and amber, providing a richness and depth from sky to earth. ‘Too early,’ Amos had muttered, clearly viewing this sudden kaleidoscope of nature as more proof that the world was in chaos, but Seppe revelled in its unexpected harmony. Even the ground added bass notes of multi-faceted auburn as the winds turned with the leaves and whispered them down to foot level. Seppe hadn’t known a landscape could be so full of colour, that colour could be so soothing. Renzo’s tune, ‘Bella Ciao’, sprang to his throat every time he trod deep into the opus that the forest was creating all around him. Any flash of scarlet he’d seen in the desert had meant destruction, uncertainty; here it was a salve.

But even the splendour of the woods couldn’t insulate Seppe from the baby’s distress. Joe’s plaintive cries ripped into Seppe like a saw’s teeth greeting metal. They’d been out here all morning and Joe must have been crying for half of it. How could Connie concentrate? But there she was, lining up the axe again – the six-pounder as usual. Ever since she’d been back out here with Joe these last few days, she had insisted on the bigger axe.

There was only one way to grab her attention when she was like this. Seppe got between Connie and the oak and she dropped the axe, rested her weight on it like a gatepost.

‘What are you up to? We’re almost there. I was about to get the wedge in.’ She one-handed the axe handle and rummaged in her pockets, smiling as she appraised the oak.

‘Not the tree. Joe.’ Seppe had to shout to make himself heard. Connie glanced round, one hand still delving for the wedge.

‘I can’t make him stop. I’m sorry, Seppe, I’m at my wits’ end with him and nothing I do works, so I’m trying to come to terms with the noise.’

‘But he cries now for a long, long time. I think we must check him.’ The baby had been preparing for this even as they’d been getting the tree ready. His brow had folded, the angry fists clenched. Now the tree had several deep incisions in it and Joe’s face was the colour of fury, the birds scared away by his screams.

‘I’ve fed him. I thought it might be that, but it isn’t. I don’t know what he wants. I’ve tried, honest, but he cries all the time, no matter what I do.’ Connie drooped. She looked like she might cry, too.

‘Stop for a minute.’ Seppe balanced the axe onto jigsawed mulch and went over to Joe.

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