‘Yes, you two young uns don’t want to be stuck indoors with us old fogeys,’ said Joan, abandoning her awestricken silence at last. ‘Go and get a bit of fresh air.’
‘Would you care to go for a stroll?’ Cal asked Maddy.
She needed no second invitation. The contrast with the tense gloom of Oakwood’s parlour made the brightness of the sunshine doubly welcome. For a moment she stood on the garden path, basking in the warmth. Then she could hold back no longer.
‘How can you stand it?’ she demanded. ‘I’m sorry, I know I’m being rude, but I could hardly bear to sit there and listen to her sniping at you all the time. Yet you never made a reply.’
Cal gave a shrug. ‘I hardly notice it any more.’
‘Why do you put up with it?’
Again he shrugged. ‘What else can I do? I can’t leave her on her own. How would she manage? She has no one but me. You must understand that she is a very unhappy woman. She only ever loved two people – the young man she wanted to marry when she was a girl, and my brother, and she lost them both. Her life has been sad and unsatisfactory and, since Christopher’s death, very lonely. Letting fly at me is the one relief she has. At times she goes too far and I confess I have to curb my tongue, for what good would it do to have a shouting match? It would just deepen existing wounds and make matters worse.’
‘There are few who would have such forbearance,’ said Maddy.
‘I merely accept the situation as it is. I am only worried that Mother might make things difficult for you.’
‘She won’t do that,’ said Maddy with assurance. She knew perfectly well that Mary Whitcomb would go out of her way to be unpleasant, but somehow she would have to learn to cope. ‘When we are married I expect I’ll spend a deal of time with you or else at one or other of our shops. I doubt if your mother and I will get under one another’s feet much.’
It was extraordinary how easily she could say ‘When we are married’ and refer to ‘our shops’. And equally extraordinary was the way saying those words gave her a comfortable feeling inside. It was as if she and Cal had been betrothed for an age instead of a few weeks.
Side by side they explored the garden. They were just turning towards the mixed orchard, the one where, a lifetime before, her brothers had thrown yew clippings over the hedge, when they were brought to a halt by someone calling Cal’s name. One of the farm hands was hurrying in through the gate.
‘Sorry to interrupt you, maister,’ he said. ‘But us be growing rare bothered about old Boney. He idn’t showing no improvement, if anything he’s weaker. Us’d be real grateful if you’d come.’
‘Boney?’ Maddy raised her eyebrows questioningly.
‘Our ram.’ Cal looked regretful. ‘Any other beast and I’d trust my shepherd to cope, but Boney’s a valuable animal. We’re depending on him to build up our flock. I’m afraid this means I must leave you. I’m very sorry.’
‘Please don’t apologise. Off you go and see to poor old Boney. I’ll walk in the orchard for a while, if I may, then go back indoors.’
With a grateful smile he set off after the farm hand, his hurried stride betraying the anxiety he felt for his precious ram. Maddy watched him go, then changed her mind about walking in the orchard; the sun was sinking behind the trees, taking its warmth with it. She went indoors.
‘What, he’m deserted you already?’ teased her father.
‘Yes, and for a sick ram, too,’ Maddy said with a grin.
‘A ram?’ Mary Whitcomb saw nothing amusing in the situation. ‘That means he’ll be traipsing back through the house smelling of the farmyard.’
‘Of course he will,’ said Jack. ‘What else would he smell of? He’m a farmer, idn’t he?’
Mrs Whitcomb’s reply was a derisive snort.
‘That boy can’t do aught good in your eyes, can he?’ Jack declared. ‘Gawd, Cousin Mary, there idn’t no understanding you! It were tragic, you losing your other son like that, and I knows how that feels, for our Davie be dead, and it don’t look like our Bart’ll ever come home. But it makes me think all the more of the three childer I got left. You’m only got one son surviving, and a good son too, yet it seems to me you don’t want un. You prefers your memories and a few cabinets of trinkets. Have you thought where you’d be without Cal? You’d not be yer to Oakwood, that be sure, you’d never run the farm on your own. Whether you sold un or put in a steward as’d cheat you left, right and centre wouldn’t make no difference. You’d likely end up one of they lonely widow women as lives over to Paignton, drinking tea and driving about in donkey carts all day ’cos they habn’t got naught to do with their lives. I tells you straight, if I was give a choice atween a few shelves of fancy china and my own flesh and blood, I knows which I’d choose and no hesitation.’
‘How dare you say such things!’ cried Mrs Whitcomb for the second time that afternoon, but on this occasion there was a tremulous note to her indignation.
‘I says it ’cos it needs saying,’ replied Jack with surprising gentleness. ‘No one else would. Your Cal be too soft-hearted and ’tidn’t no one else’s place. But we’m kinsfolk, whether you like un or no. We’m Shillabeer talking to Shillabeer. Think on what you got left, maid, not on what you’m lost, else you’m going to end up with naught and that’d be a terrible pity.’
For a moment it looked as though Mrs Whitcomb would explode with fury. Then her face crumpled and tears began to trickle down her plump cheeks.
‘No one has ever had the audacity to speak to me like that before, Cousin Jack,’ she said, her voice barely audible in her distress. ‘Go away! That’s all I ask. Go away and leave me alone, the lot of you.’
It was a very subdued trio who left Oakwood. Even Ellen was unusually quiet as she ushered them out. Cal caught up with them as they reached the gate.
‘I do apologise for deserting you,’ he began, then he noted their faces. ‘What’s wrong?’he asked.
‘Your ma be a bit upset. Twere my doing,’ admitted Jack. The side window opened and Ellen poked out her head. ‘Her called you Cousin Jack, did you notice?’ she remarked. ‘That have got to mean summat.’
‘It have,’ agreed Jack. ‘Maybe I idn’t sorry, then.’
‘What happened?’ Cal asked Maddy quietly.
‘My father did a bit of straight talking, I’m afraid. I’m not sure whether he did the right thing or not, but it’s too long to explain. Perhaps your mother will tell you everything. If not, Ellen certainly will. I must go, my parents are waiting.’
‘Very well. I’ll come to the shop tomorrow. Well talk then.’
Cal stood at the gate and watched them go.
Neither Maddy nor Joan spoke much on the way home. They had both been surprised and moved by Jack’s impassioned comments to Mary Whitcomb.
‘Didn’t know he had such words in un,’ whispered Joan in Maddy’s ear.
‘I don’t suppose they’ll do any good,’ Maddy whispered back.
‘You know, all my life I been desperate to live up Oakwood,’ observed Jack, ignoring the private mutterings of his womenfolk. ‘And now I’ve been there I be glad I don’t. You can’t see the river from Oakwood. Fancy that! I habn’t never realised un afore. I don’t reckon as I could live out of sight of the river, I wouldn’t be able to breathe. I hopes as you can manage un when you’m wed, maid.’
‘I’ll have to, Father,’ Maddy replied. She, too, wondered how she would fare, living out of sight or sound of the river. She would miss it terribly, she was certain, but it would be one of many new things she would have to get used to.
* * *
Next morning Cal came to the Totnes shop as he had promised.
‘Well?’ demanded Maddy, anxiously scrutinising his face. After the previous day’s events she was not sure whether to anticipate news of peace and harmony from Oakwood or outright warfare.
‘Ellen took great delight in telling me everything that happened yesterday,’ he said. ‘No detail was left out, I promise you. I didn’t know y
our father had it in him.’
‘That’s what Joan said. How has your mother taken it?’
‘I can’t say that all is sweetness and light at home yet, but when I said I fancied mutton chops for my breakfast, there was no argument. Usually she would complain that there was good ham needing eating up, or some such.’
‘I hope it means some improvement is on the way. But let’s forget family matters for the moment. I’ve got something I want you to read.’
Maddy produced a newspaper and spread it on the counter. It was a copy of Trewman’s Exeter Flying Post, a newspaper not often seen in their part of Devon. ‘A customer left it behind this morning,’ she said. ‘Look at this page.’
‘Fear of measles among the royal family?’ asked Cal, deliberately misunderstanding.
‘You can read that afterwards. Look at the piece in the right-hand column.’
‘“Preparations go ahead for the First Annual Meeting of the Devon County Agricultural Association”. Is that the one you mean?’
‘Yes, there’s to be a big agricultural meeting in Exeter in May next year.’
‘I’ve already heard about it. It’s been mentioned at the Farmers’ Mutual Assurance Society several times. I thought I would go if I could spare the time. Would you care to come too? Who knows, we might be married by then.’
‘So we might.’ For a moment Maddy was sidetracked by the prospect, then she thrust it aside, along with the thought that they had not yet discussed their marriage plans. ‘Yes, I would love to go,’ she said. ‘Not just to look, to exhibit.’
‘I did consider that,’ said Cal. ‘But I fear I haven’t got a cow of a good enough standard—’
‘I didn’t mean exhibit your animals,’ Maddy interrupted. ‘Look at this paragraph: “As well as classes for stock it is hoped that there will be competitions to judge the excellence of local agricultural products such as butter, cream, honey, and cider.” And cider,’ she emphasised. ‘You can’t claim that your cider isn’t good enough.’
‘Let me see!’ He moved closer in order to read the paragraph over her shoulder. You’re right! It does say cider! No one mentioned that at the Farmers’ Mutual. What a clever girl you are.’
‘Yes, I am, aren’t I?’ she agreed. ‘That’s one thing we haven’t tried, entering exhibitions. Just think how it would look on the labels – “Oakwood Farm’s Gold Medal Cider”. And the Devon Agricultural Meeting would just be a start. I’ve heard that agricultural meetings and shows are starting up all over the country, some are already quite well-established. Soon every county will have its own; we could compete in each of them.’
‘At that rate there wouldn’t be room on the labels to portray all our medals, we’d have to have bigger bottles.’ Cal’s face was alight with enthusiasm. ‘What a partnership we’ll be. There’ll be none to match us.’ He grasped hold of her energetically as if he were about to kiss her.
‘Please!’ she gasped, her face scarlet, for they were in full view of everyone in the shop.
‘My apologies.’ He released her promptly but with reluctance. ‘I forgot where we were.’
‘What do you propose to do now?’ she asked, awkwardly smoothing down her apron. ‘About the Agricultural Meeting,’ she added hastily in case there was any doubt.
‘It says here the Secretary lives in Totnes. I’ll call in on him on my way home and find out the conditions of entry.’
He did not offer to take her home. Since her father’s complaint he had been meticulous about such things, and she knew that Joshua would come for her when it was time to close the shop.
Things would be much easier when they were married, she decided; at least, in some areas.
* * *
Harvest time in the fields was over. The corn had been gathered in and duly celebrated with hymns in church and with more lively goings-on at the various harvest suppers held in farmers’ barns throughout the parish. But in villages like Stoke Gabriel, the year’s work on the land was not finished. The cider apples were beginning to fall, scattering the orchard grass with their splashes of bright colour, varieties that had been grown for as long as anyone could remember, with names as colourful as the vivid fruit – Crimson King, Pig’s Nose, Star O’Devon.
‘Things are looking good,’ Cal announced, watching the first of the fallen apples being delivered to his yard. ‘Demand for our cider has increased to such an extent that I’m going to have to double the quantities of apples I buy in this year.’
‘That’s marvellous,’ said Maddy, delighted at such progress. ‘What will you get? Sweet Alfords?’
‘Yes, if I can. I like to go for the most flavoursome apples. There’s a crop of Woodbines in an orchard up towards Staverton that I hope to buy too, although the farmer’s asking an extra ten shillings a ton.’
‘Woodbine? I’ve never heard of that one before. Is it a new variety?’
Cal laughed. ‘Hardly. It seems the farmer’s wife has pretensions towards refinement, and she won’t let him use the old name of Slack-Ma-Girdle.’
‘I suppose Woodbine does sound better in polite society,’ Maddy chuckled. ‘But it’s not half so descriptive.’
‘I’ve to drive over there tomorrow. Why not come with me and see what an orchard of refined cider apples looks like?’ Cal suggested, adding swiftly, ‘Nan can mind the shop, it will be good experience for her. And as for a chaperon, perhaps your stepmother might like a little outing. You will soon be busy with the Paignton shop. Enjoy some leisure while you can.’
Maddy was touched by his concern. During their betrothal she had enjoyed several such ‘little outings’ – invariably chaperoned by Joan. And while she took much pleasure from seeing the countryside, she found that she derived greater enjoyment from learning about Cal’s business in greater detail. It did not matter that the gathering and buying in of fruit did not directly concern her, nor that she did not need to know what varieties were required to make the best quality cider, she found every aspect of it fascinating.
‘The builders are still busy at the Paignton shop, so I can’t do much there yet,’ she replied. ‘Yes, I would like to come with you.’
‘It were kind of your Cal to take us with him,’ declared Joan, when they returned home after their trip to Staverton. ‘I enjoyed that. He’m proper thoughtful. You’m got yourself a good man there.’
‘I know,’ said Maddy. The more she was getting to know Cal, the more she was beginning to appreciate his many excellent qualities. She was, indeed, very lucky.
‘And the excursion have done you good, you’m got some pretty colour in your cheeks,’ Joan said approvingly. ‘Cal were right, you’d do well to take advantage of all the fresh air you can get. Once you open that new shop you’ll get less chance than you do now.’
The advice was timely, for when the builders and carpenters had finished, Maddy went into action.
Very conscious that they would be catering for a more varied clientele, it had been Maddy’s idea to divide the new premises into two, allowing those who preferred to sit in comfort with their pint of cider and their pasty to do so, while those who declared they ‘didn’t want naught fancy’ could enjoy simpler surroundings. Maddy was on tenterhooks in case it did not work. She chose colours and fittings she thought appropriate – with one eye forever on her budget. With the Totnes shop she had needed Cal’s approval for almost everything; now it was all left to her, and she was nervous of such responsibility.
She need not have worried. The new enterprise was a success from the beginning, mainly due to her hard work. She was first to arrive in the morning, last to leave at night, her keen eyes never missing an opportunity for improvement. She had anticipated a fair amount of local trade, but before long she was delighted to find they were acquiring seasonal business as well. Cal had been right; their proximity to the railway station was certainly attracting customers from the increasing number of people who came to winter at the resort.
‘Six boxes of pasties we sent up by train today,�
� she told Joan when she arrived home one stormy evening. ‘Along with the flagons of cider to wash them down. They were private orders – folk sending a few local delicacies to friends and relatives up in London.’
‘All that way?’ Joan was amazed. ‘I can see you opening Oakwood shops up-country afore long. But there idn’t no need to start this minute. If you keeps dashing about from hither to yon you’m going to be wore out long before the wedding.’
‘I’ve plenty of time to recover if I do, with the wedding not until June,’ laughed Maddy. Then she grew serious. ‘I hope Charlie will be home. I’d not like to be married without both my brothers there.’
‘As far as Charlie be concerned, ’twill depend on the weather and the stone company’s sailings,’ said Joan. ‘Still, as you say, ’tis a fair way off. You come and sit by the fire. Your father be fond of a treat, going up to the Church House on a bitter night like this.’
‘Lor’, ’tis a rare old storm out there,’ said Annie, entering the kitchen. ‘The rain’ve stopped, though.’
‘The wind habn’t,’ retorted Joan. ‘Come on in, and let me bar that door. The draught be cutting through yer like a knife. Have William gone?’
‘Yes, he and Jack and Joe Crowther have gone up the hill together. Mazed fools when they can bide in comfort.’ Annie settled herself in front of the burning logs. She nudged Maddy conspiratorially. ‘I got summat for you, maid. Our Kitty’ve called, and her brought a couple of paper patterns. One of them’d make a lovely wedding dress.’
‘I thought I told you, I’m getting wed in my new two-piece.’
‘But that be wool,’ protested Annie, producing the patterns from her pocket. ‘You’m going to swelter in wool come June. Yer, have a look at they.’
For the next hour or more the three of them sat by the fire arguing amicably about wedding clothes, their skirts turned back over their knees to get full benefit of the warmth.
Suddenly Maddy sat bolt upright. ‘What was that?’ she said.
Daughter of the River Page 41
