“They don’t want me, being no good.”
“They don’t think of that,” she emphasized. “They all say you’re good an’ . . . an’ what a pity it is.”
“Would you like me to be there?”
“Yes, of course.” Her colour deepened a bit. She wondered if it were possible that he was hinting at more than he said. “You shouldn’t think you’re no good. I often remember what you said, about making the best . . . and . . . and it’s helped me. I wish I could help you more.”
He laughed, for some reason that she could not guess.
“You’re always helping. Haven’t I brought you all this way now? If everybody did things like you I shouldn’t mind.” He paused, seemed inclined to say more, looked at her in a curious, intimate way that made her glance waver and drop, and eventually laughed again. “Perhaps I’m wrong, but lots of folk do things, but most of them because they’re sorry and feel they ought to help. But it’s mighty few that I feel help because they like me. That’s how I feel with you, anyway. If you were a bit older I . . . well, I guess I shouldn’t say it.”
“Say what?”
“Well, I might ask you to marry me.” He laughed again, unexpectedly patting her hand in a playful way, and added hastily, “Take no notice. I’m an old fool.”
She felt hot and guilty, as if he might have guessed her thoughts. She did not know what to answer, yet knew that she must answer quickly. Almost as if it were someone else she heard herself say, “I must go. They’ll wonder what’s come of me. Misses’ll be on to me.” She stepped out of his reach. “Good bye.”
“I’ll see you again, Flo,” he called in a soft, deep tone.
She ran. She felt that she must; quicker and quicker down the steep lane. The cool air rushed by her ears and suddenly her foot was on a stone, went over, all her weight on her twisted ankle. There was pain. She fell in a sprawling slide a little sideways, the road like a file rasping hands and knees. She lay for a moment, partly winded, then sat up, putting her hands to her right breast. It felt bruised and enlarged, but the greater pain was in her right ankle. She rested for half a minute before trying to get up. Using her hands on the bank, she hauled herself up. She could hardly bear any weight on her right foot. The instant she tried pain shot to her waist and she went faint. Her hands and knees she ignored. She groped in the hedge bottom for a bleached stick, a piece of old barked ash. With this she began hopping towards the farm, wondering what she should say. After fifty yards she was getting more expert, holding the stick stiffly, hardly needing her right foot. She hopped into the yard, but there was no one there. She hesitated at the gate to the house, smelling the hay and thinking how useless she had made herself, though she knew that it was not a break, only a severe sprain. But she had no idea how long it would take to get better. She limped up the path and through the open door.
“Hoppin’ Lucifer, what’s got thee?” demanded Mrs. Nadin.
“I fell,” said Flo. All at once she swayed and dropped on the chair just inside.
“Eh, what’s up?” exclaimed Mrs. Nadin, hurriedly crossing the kitchen. Everybody stared. “What’s up?” Mrs. Nadin looked down, and then stooped and lifted Flo’s boot in a business-like, unsympathetic way.
“Twisted,” said Flo.
“You want a cold-water bandage,” advised Mr. Nadin, who had come from his chair more slowly. “It’s begun ta swell.”
“You dunna say,” exclaimed Mrs. Nadin, plucking at the laces. She knelt with the foot on her knee. “Bring cold water, Dot. Let’s have your stockin’ off.” Flo fumbled, trying to keep her skirt down. “Eh, it winna kill if they see thi breeches,” said Mrs. Nadin impatiently. “Tha’s messed thi knees up, an aw. What the heck wert doin’?”
She bathed the ankle and tightly bound it with a long strip of soaked linen. Hands and knees she bathed with salt water, and when Flo flinched she told her to “hold thisel’ still. This is nowt ta what tha’ll get when tha gooes ta hell.” But Flo felt confidence in her and in the farmer who stood over them till all was done. In the night her ankle throbbed and she could not sleep. Her breast had gone a reddy blue underneath and she would have liked to have bathed that also, but she was too shy to say anything. She cupped her hand under it and the warmth seemed to ease the soreness. In the morning the bell jangled as usual. She sat up, not knowing what to do. Almost at once she heard Mrs. Nadin’s unmistakable quick flat tread and the door snapped open.
“How d’you feel? You’re a bonnie one. Scatterbrained as a pullet, eh? I canna mess naa, but after breakfast we’ll try bathin’ wi’ hot.” She inspected the foot with her candle. “Eh, that’s non so bad; you’ll be able to milk any’ow. I’ve brought thee a carpet slipper.”
Flo hobbled, therefore, as best she could, though milking was easier than she had expected because she could hold her foot straight out under the cows’ bellies. Bert and Clem were out mowing again, so that Dot had to milk more. She never asked Flo about her foot, but ignored her, as if her injury were bogus. Mr. Nadin told Flo to manage what she could. “Let missis fettle it; oo’s a good ’un.”
After breakfast the foot was bathed with hot water and then with cold, and it began to feel easier. Flo was left to clean the brass candlesticks and the knives, forks and spoons. Then on a chair at the sink she peeled potatoes and after that Mrs. Nadin left her on the settee with a great pile of stockings.
“It’s well to be some folks; I think I’ll strain my ankle,” said Dot.
Only the sun was shining, and Mr. Nadin said that next day the first hay would be ready for turning and Flo felt that she had made a fool of herself. Why, after leaving Dick, had she run down hill like that? She had told Mrs. Nadin that it was because she was late and knew that they would be wondering what had become of her. She wondered if Dick would hear; and whether he would come and see her. But of course not.
And next day, Wednesday, he came.
“You don’t mind, Mrs. Nadin? But I feel it was my fault for letting her help me.”
“If she conna stick on her feet, it’s a beggar,” commented Mrs. Nadin pertly. “What’ll she do when oo gets ta my age?”
Flo was still darning.
“Whatever did you do?” asked Dick, strutting in on his sticks. He dropped on the other end of the settee, a yard away, partly facing her. Flo went rosy.
“It wasn’t your fault. It’s like missis says: if I can’t stick on my own feet . . .” She laughed and jabbed the big needle too far. She winced. “See, I can’t even darn without hurting myself.”
They both laughed.
“She would go an’ do it just when hay’s down,” said Mrs. Nadin, bustling from the pantry. “There’s two crocks together of you naa.” There was no unkindness; it was simply a brisk comment. And she went on to ask about Dick’s people. While he answered Flo recovered. She glanced sideways and noticed anew the dark smoothness of his skin. If only he had not been paralysed, how young and handsome he would have looked!
Mrs. Nadin bustled out again and he asked Flo how many stitches she put each way. As many as were needed, she told him.
“Isn’t it monotonous?”
“I’d sooner be out in the field,” said Flo.
“I bet you would; so should I.”
“Then go; don’t let me keep you,” said Flo suddenly, teasing.
“Gee, I didn’t mean that,” he protested. “I meant, if I was you.”
“I don’t know; I only know what you said,” returned Flo. Dick laughed, and then Dot came down the passage.