Molly's Journey

by Sheila Newberry

  When he had made and poured them both a cup of tea Alexa decided to speak openly to him.

  ‘Matthew, I must say this – Molly is obviously fond of you, and you have Fay in common, of course, but I don’t think she’ll change her mind about marrying you, even though her father and Nancy and I think it would be, well, a truly happy ending.’

  ‘No, I don’t believe she will,’ he said slowly, and drained his cup. ‘I’m glad, though, that you would have been pleased if Molly had consented. It worried me that you might think me disloyal to Lucy’s memory.’

  ‘She’s been gone three years, Matthew. To be blunt, you hardly had any time together.’

  ‘But what we did have was very precious, Alexa. I hope it doesn’t shock you when I describe those three months as ecstatic. I’m not sure I can ever attain that state of euphoria again: I don’t really know if I want to. If Lucy were still alive I’m positive I would never have looked at another woman, but —’

  ‘You’re a man, Matthew, with normal desires. I take it as a compliment that you feel you could love another who is also dear to me. Your coming together would make the bonds between us all even stronger.’

  ‘I’m afraid it’s not to be,’ he said. Then, ‘Don’t tell Molly how I returned here, will you? She wants me in her life as her friend, that’s what matters.’

  *

  Molly didn’t like Nurse Mercy much. Her name didn’t fit, she thought ruefully, as she bit her lip to stop herself from exclaiming ‘Ouch!’

  Mercy squeezed and pummelled at Molly’s swollen breasts, red-marked from her efforts. ‘Every little drop is precious to your baby,’ she reproved her patient as she flinched.

  ‘Why can’t I nurse her myself?’ Molly asked desperately. Surely that would bring her relief.

  ‘You know why. Baby is small and frail. She doesn’t have the right reflexes yet.’

  ‘She’s three days old now.’

  ‘She should still be in the womb, Mother. Don’t make such a fuss. You must learn to do this yourself. In a week or two —’

  ‘I can’t wait that long!’ Molly cried.

  ‘Don’t be silly. You’ll be leaving hospital without Almond, you know that. Mother’s milk is vital to her wellbeing. There, cover yourself up. I will be back in two hours. Nurse Daniel will change your dressings, to make sure the stitches aren’t suppurating.’

  Molly turned her face to the pillow. Was there no end to the pain, the indignity? Her voice was muffled. ‘I haven’t seen her – Almond – since she was baptised; that’s the only time I have held her. How can I get to know her?’

  She didn’t see the sudden look of sympathy on Mercy’s face. She said nothing more but went out with her tray of covered dishes, her retreat marked by the squeaking of her sensible shoes.

  *

  ‘Healing nicely. Lucky you’re not allergic to catgut, my dear,’ Nurse Daniel said cheerfully. She wrung out a piece of gauze in the antiseptic solution. ‘There, that’ll ward off any —’

  ‘Suppuration?’ Molly supplied.

  ‘Now, whoever suggested that to you?’ Nurse Daniel asked. Then she grinned. ‘I can guess, of course!’ She wound fresh bandage in place. ‘Comfortable? Good. Stay sitting up, I’ve a surprise for you. Close your eyes for a minute . . . ’

  Shortly after that Molly brushed the baby’s face with her lips. ‘Almond! You’re still here.’

  ‘Of course she is. She’s a fighter, is our Almond Sparkes. Mercy and I had a little chat. Would you like to try to give her a little feed? Just a minute, each side. It might help both of you feel stronger. Don’t be disappointed if you can’t manage it this time, but it’s a little step in the right direction.’

  Nurse was right to have warned her. It was far from easy. The baby was too drowsy and disinclined to suck; but it was a step forward, because Molly was bonding with her daughter. Almond Sparkes, she mused to herself, Molly and Almond Sparkes . . . I can just picture that on a billboard! At this moment I don’t believe I shall ever do another high kick, but at least we’ve got each other, and I love you, I really do.

  *

  Nancy came with flowers, and letters from home. ‘Oh, Molly, the nurse let me peep through the nursery window and she held the baby up, and even though she’s so tiny, I think she’s beautiful!’ She hoped she didn’t sound wistful. No luck this month for the Looms, she thought. Perhaps it was just as well, as they were really busy at work with Alexa leaving more and more of the day-to-day running of the business to Leonard. Nancy suspected that Mrs Nagel might be considering handing over control to her husband, as she’d done while she was in Australia: she’d already told them she would be taking time off to look after Molly when she came home from hospital.

  She scanned the letter from Wren’s Nest. Warm congratulations were expressed and hopes of seeing her and the baby soon. Meanwhile, she should expect flowers shortly, despatched with love from Fay and Matthew. Enclosed was more of Fay’s artwork, a crumpled picture of the new baby. There was a big crooked smile on the round pencilled face.

  ‘You’ve missed one,’ Nancy told her, picking up the letter with the Australian stamp.

  Molly recognised the writing, of course. She opened it slowly.

  Dear Molly,

  This is to wish you a very happy birthday – you see, I did not forget! All of us here send our love and good wishes.

  Well, Molly, you were right, and I know I will have your blessing. Sarah and I will be married by the time you receive this. She knows all about you and understands that you will always have a very special place in my heart. But she is here – and you are so far away. She has been so good to my mother, and will continue to care for her, whenever I am gem-seeking.

  I miss the circus – I don’t think it will be too long before I get back to that life, but if I do, I shall stick to touring in this country.

  I hope that one day we will meet again. Meanwhile that you, too, will find the one who will be your soulmate – I have accepted that it would never have been me. Remember me to Mrs Nagel and Nancy. I shall understand if you decide that you will no longer keep in touch, but I shall never forget you.

  Love from Rory

  Molly pushed the letter back into the envelope. Then she swung her legs slowly over the side of the bed, feeling for the floor with her bare toes.

  ‘Molly!’ Nancy exclaimed, alarmed. ‘Whatever are you doing?’

  ‘It’s all right, Nancy. Nurse Daniel has been helping me to walk round the bed two or three times a day. The other nurse doesn’t really approve, but Nurse D says that patients must start getting back on their feet as soon as they can after an operation, or there’s a danger of clots in the leg.’

  ‘Doesn’t it hurt?’ Nancy worried, slipping an arm round Molly’s waist as she stood up slowly.

  ‘Oh, it does, but it’ll be much easier when the stitches come out. You see, they won’t let me out of this place until I’m fit, so—’

  She suddenly longed to be home, to prepare for the baby to join her as soon as possible. Maybe she would have weakened, contacted Rory, left it to him to decide what to do about her and the child. That wouldn’t happen now, after this letter. She had her good friends, including Matthew, but really it was just the two of them, herself and Almond, wasn’t it?

  *

  Matthew drove up from Kent the following Sunday afternoon to fetch Molly home from hospital. He waited outside the nursery while she went to see Almond. The nurse allowed her to hold her for a brief moment.

  ‘I told her Mummy would see her soon – you don’t think I’m abandoning her, do you?’ she appealed to Matthew. ‘I know Alexa would think me indelicate saying such a thing to you, but Almond will still be having my milk – I’ll be spending my days trying to express that for her, after all.’

  ‘Nothing you say surprises me,’ he told her, ‘but I wouldn’t advise you to broadcast the information! Get in the chair, Molly. I’m told I have to push you off the premises, or Nurse Mercy will report me to Matron
. Of course you’re not abandoning your baby: you’ll feel much better when you’re back in your own bed.’

  ‘Don’t you tell me what to do, Matthew Dunn! I don’t intend to go to bed until my legs buckle, which I suspect they will tonight. Alexa says Fay is bursting to see me, and is very disgruntled they wouldn’t allow her anywhere near the hospital!’

  ‘There’s quite a party waiting for you, don’t worry,’ he said as they approached reception. ‘Nancy and Leonard will be there, too. Try not to shock the dignified Mr Loom, eh?’

  ‘Take care of yourself, Mrs Sparkes,’ the nurse on duty, new to Molly, advised with a bright smile. Molly knew, of course, of the deception: Alexa had perpetuated it on the night of her arrival. ‘It seemed the best thing to do at the time,’ she’d confessed next day to Molly, who had then had to go along with it.

  Now the nurse added: ‘I’m glad your husband is home at last. Have you seen the baby? So tiny, but doing really well – let’s hope you will be reunited in a couple of weeks.’

  Matthew must have been surprised, but he did not correct her. ‘Yes, she’s a girl with spirit, Almond.’

  ‘I’ll escort you to the motor,’ the nurse insisted. ‘And then I’ll wheel the chair back here. You’ve made arrangements about the milk supply, of course?’

  ‘Yes. We will send it to the hospital every afternoon, by cab,’ Molly promised.

  ‘Goodbye then – and good luck to you both!’

  Tucked up in the car with a warm rug, despite the summery weather, Molly wondered what to say to Matthew, but he put her at ease as usual.

  ‘It was a natural mistake, Molly. Forget it, won’t you?’

  *

  ‘Where’s the baby?’ Fay cried, disappointed, wriggling out of Nancy’s restraining grasp.

  ‘She can’t come home just yet, I told you,’ her grandmother reminded her.

  Molly looked at all the smiling faces and suddenly dissolved into tears. It was all too much. She clutched Matthew’s arm. ‘Help me upstairs,’ she gulped. ‘I’m so sorry, I was so happy to come home and now—’

  ‘Now you need to rest for half an hour,’ Alexa said quickly. ‘Just have Nancy with you, eh, until you feel like coming down to tea.’

  She shooed Fay and Leonard into the sitting room and shut the door.

  Matthew lifted her as if she weighed no more than his daughter, despite her feeble protests, and carried her up to her room; Nancy following close behind. He deposited her gently on her bed, then turned immediately to go. ‘See you both later.’

  ‘Oh, Nancy, give me a hug – but not too tight because it still hurts!’ Molly wept. ‘How will I cope with it all?’

  ‘Where’s your sparkle, Molly dear? You’ll manage, I know you will.’

  ELEVEN

  The Pastor’s wife was more wary of strangers than her husband. She tried to follow his example, but his flock at the nearby settlement seemed to accept that Mrs Hind was the one they could go to for practical help, whereas the pastor would comfort, listen and offer spiritual guidance. In fact, they complemented each other very well. For the first time in her life. Elfie felt that she was really needed, appreciated, and, surprising as it still seemed to her, but most important, she was well liked.

  So when she opened her door to a caller one day she did not immediately say ‘Come in’ but waited to hear why he had come. He had obviously been brought here by the carrier’s cart which was now wheeling round in a flurry of dust outside the little house attached to the mission, before rumbling along to Mrs Mac’s at the Indispensable Stores.

  The young man had an English accent; from London she surmised. He wore a somewhat travel-stained suit, an outfit unusual in this farming area. He stood, hat in hand, bags at his feet on the step, a tentative smile lighting his handsome face.

  ‘Mrs Hind? I am Arthur Gray, a friend of Molly Sparkes and formerly employed by your relative, Mrs Nagel. I have a letter of introduction from Molly.’ He pulled a crumpled envelope from his pocket. Elfie accepted it rather reluctantly. To read this immediately would imply that she was suspicious of his intentions. The mention of Alexa was reassurance enough.

  ‘I have just received some—’ Elfie swallowed hard, it would not be charitable to say ‘shocking’ she realised ‘– surprising news from my cousin regarding Molly. Have you travelled far today, Mr Gray? You are welcome to join my husband and me for supper. He should be home very shortly.’ It would be up to Ernst to ask the young man if he required a bed for the night, she thought. Though where would he go otherwise? There was no hotel and, being mid-winter here, there was not much travelling done after dark.

  ‘Thank you,’ Art said gratefully. ‘May I leave my baggage in the hall?’

  *

  ‘You are seeking work in these parts?’ Ernst asked him as they chatted over the meal.

  ‘I’m not sure. Somehow I don’t think I’m up to farming on such a large scale – or hard physical work at all,’ Art said ruefully, looking at his pen-pusher’s soft hands. ‘I will probably look for a desk job, perhaps back in Melbourne. Maybe I’ll explore more of the country first, till my savings run out . . . ’

  It was Ernst who told Art that Molly’s baby had been born. ‘Poor girl,’ he said compassionately. ‘To go through all this without a husband.’

  ‘She was always impetuous,’ Elfie had to say it, ‘but she has generous support from Mrs Nagel, of course. More cheese, Mr Gray? I’m sorry this is all I can offer. We eat simply, you see. I have plenty more jars of my chutney in the store so don’t hesitate to help yourself: it helps to make the bread more palatable. I used to make a batch of loaves every Friday back home, and it never seemed to get stale, but here . . . ’ She sighed; here the flour sacks heaved with weevils.

  ‘I can’t quite picture Molly with a baby,’ Art said, digging out the brown pickle obediently. It was too vinegary for his taste. Nothing like his mum’s pickled onions, as big as giant marbles. He smiled at the memory of the time he and his sisters had used some of those monsters for just that purpose. His mother’s hand had caught each backside unawares in swift succession as they were kneeling, absorbed in their game.

  ‘Still, at least she has had experience of caring for a young infant. She accompanied us out here to Australia three years ago, as nursemaid to Mrs Nagel’s little grand-daughter.’

  ‘She handed over that task when they were staying here, to Nancy,’ Ernst reminded his wife.

  ‘Nancy? Nancy Atkins? Oh, so that is how they met.’ Art exclaimed.

  ‘You know Nancy? Oh, of course you do, if you worked at Mrs Nagel’s, too,’ Ernst realised. ‘We were happy to hear of her recent marriage. It was well that Mrs Nagel took her to England. Her life here was – not good. Not good at all. She was one of my brightest pupils at the mission school. In fact, I recommended her to Mrs Nagel.’

  ‘A terrible family; how that poor young girl must have suffered,’ Elfie said. She had been aghast when Ernst had confided in her his suspicions regarding their brutality to Nancy.

  Art sat looking from one to the other, wondering if they would enlighten him any further. ‘She married a kind man,’ he said at last. ‘But rather too old for her. Nancy is a – wonderful girl. She never spoke of her life here to me.’ His desolation was plain on his face.

  ‘Let us go into the sitting room,’ Ernst said compassionately. ‘You will stay the night or a few days, of course? Elfie, my dear, will you prepare a room? I think our guest would like to talk, and I am here to listen and to help him understand.’

  *

  Molly’s father had already been generous with financial help. Home on leave in August, he and Madelaine, his second wife, were seriously house hunting in the West Country because they would return for good the following year. He came almost immediately on his own to Alexa’s house, with the obvious intention of trying to persuade his daughter to live with him and Madelaine when the time came. In the meantime, he intimated, when a suitable house was found Molly and the baby would be welcome t
o live there in comfort, all expenses paid.

  He was polite but distant with Alexa, prompting her to make her excuses and leave them together in Molly’s room, which she shared with Almond at her own insistence. ‘I want us to be close. I missed her every day she was in the hospital.’

  Molly’s favourite things were placed for the baby to see when she was awake. They caught her grandfather’s eye immediately. He sat awkwardly in the wicker armchair, facing the portrait of Florence. ‘It’s definite, is it, her name?’ he asked, gesturing to the sleeping baby and not lowering the military pitch of his voice.

  ‘Yes, Florence Almond. For my mother,’ she returned. She imagined that he must disapprove of her cropped hair, her loose smock top sewn by dear Nancy, front-buttoned which made it so much easier to accommodate the baby’s frequent needs. It also concealed the fact that she wasn’t wearing a corset: even so soon after her confinement she still had no need of that tortuous garment, anyway the area where she had been stitched was still very tender.

  ‘Ah,’ he said, clearing his throat noisily. ‘But you really never knew your mother, my dear.’

  ‘I knew enough to want to follow her footsteps and go on the stage.’

  ‘Hardly the stage, I think – the circus,’ he pronounced pedantically.

  ‘Well, I believe Florence Almond would have approved! And I know I would have loved her,’ Molly flashed.

  Her father might have discarded his uniform but he was still an authoritative figure; fiercely moustached, tall and ramrod-straight like Matthew. She must make him aware that while she was grateful for what he had done so far, in future she wanted to resume running her own life. She didn’t wish to remove herself so far from her friends. She was startled when she observed him flinching at her reply.

  ‘Yes, you would. You remind me so much of her . . . ’ He was actually almost whispering now, still regarding the image of his late wife, avoiding Molly’s gaze. ‘Molly, will you allow me to take care of you – both of you? Isn’t that what she would have wanted?’ he pleaded. ‘Paying your bills isn’t the answer. It doesn’t make up for all the years I had to be away.’