The Winter Baby

by Sheila Newberry

  TEN

  By October 1904, Kathleen mused that she seemed to have been in Kent forever. Here she was, settling into the Barn House with Sam, almost a year after her arrival and her adoption by the warm-hearted Mason family, and the birth of her daughter, Heather.

  She had spent many hours scrubbing walls and floors, mixing whitewash in a bucket and applying it liberally to brighten the place, and looking after Sam and the workers. Sam had done his best to help her by providing a copper to boil the water, which he pumped up for her use every day, and installing a second-hand range for her to cook on. She made regular batches of soda bread, as her mother had done back in Ireland. In the larder, she kept a round of strong cheese, wrapped in muslin, slices of which, with chunks of the new-baked bread, she handed out to the workers outside. Butter and milk were provided by Jessie, and Sam insisted they pay for these, but they were glad of the vegetables and apples they were given.

  ‘Next year,’ Kathleen said, ‘if Sam digs me a garden, I’ll grow my own.’

  The new clay pit was taking shape, but if the weather worsened, work on this would have to be abandoned until spring. At the moment, snow and blizzards seemed to be confined to Scotland and the northern counties.

  Kathleen’s pots and pans were cast-offs from Jessie’s kitchen, but they gleamed on the shelves Sam had put up for her, and she spent her evenings making rag rugs, with Jessie’s encouragement, to cover the wooden floors so they were warmer to tread on. Laundry was done in the scullery, where another wood-fired copper had been installed for boiling the linen. She strung the washing between the trees and imagined that it fluttered like flags in the wind. The sight of it made her feel less isolated.

  Kathleen had a companion, a small Labrador pup who made extra work with his occasional puddles and muddy footprints. She named him Oliver, because she had been reading Oliver Twist, who’d asked for more, and her little Ollie was a great trencherman, as Sam said. Kathleen was working her way through the bookshelves, for Sam had brought piles of his books here. She peeped into Nostromo, by Joseph Conrad, but it was, in her opinion, a man’s book, by a writer who had been at sea for most of his life. She sometimes recalled the journey by boat from Ireland, when she had been terribly seasick, then travelling to the place, where . . . She blanked out the rest in her mind. What does it matter now? I am safe here, she thought.

  Every afternoon, Sam took Kathleen over to the farm to spend a few precious hours with Heather, and then returned at supper time, when his mother would cook for them. Kathleen appreciated this, but she hoped that soon she would make the evening meal for the two of them, in their new home. They stayed until Kathleen put Heather into her cot and kissed her goodnight, and then the two of them returned to the Barn House and sat together in the living room with a strong fire going.

  On Friday nights, the hip bath was placed near the hearth, and Sam filled it with hot water. ‘You first,’ he insisted to Kathleen. ‘The water will be black when I’ve finished with it.’ He tactfully held up his newspaper and turned his head as she dropped her towel and stepped into the water. He took his turn when she swathed herself in the towel and tiptoed away into her bedroom.

  One evening, when she reached for the towel, the pup, in playful mood, seized a corner of it and tugged so that the covering slipped. Kathleen cried out, ‘Stop it!’ Without thinking, Sam dropped his paper and rushed over to remove the dog. Kathleen had quickly turned away from him, and he saw close up the scars on her back, not as livid as they had been, but a permanent reminder of what had been inflicted on her merely a year ago. He shooed the pup away, retrieved the towel and draped it round her shoulders.

  ‘Please don’t cry, Kathleen,’ he said softly. Then he guided her out and opened the door to the small room where she slept.

  ‘You saw, didn’t you?’ she managed. ‘I will bear those scars for life – who will love me once they see those?’

  He picked up her nightgown and gave it to her. ‘Here, put this on and get into bed. I’ll make a hot drink, shall I?’

  ‘After you’ve had your bath, Sam. Thank you for not saying what you really thought.’

  ‘What I really thought was: why have I been so stubborn? Why can’t I tell Kathleen how I feel about her? You must know I love you, but the last thing I want to do is compromise you.’

  ‘If you . . . if you want me to be really happy, you will give me a fatherly kiss.’

  ‘I certainly don’t feel fatherly at this moment,’ he said, ‘Can you wait until I’m clean like you, and have emptied the bath, taken Ollie out and made the cocoa?’

  She smiled and wiped away the tears. ‘Don’t be too long,’ she said.

  Sam took his time over the evening chores, and then accompanied the pup outside to ensure that there were no puddles in the night. It was about an hour later that he looked in on Kathleen and saw she was fast asleep. He sighed, snuffed out the candle and retreated to his own bedroom next door with both mugs of cocoa. Clean sheets, he thought gratefully. She always thinks to change the beds when we have a bath.

  Around midnight, he woke suddenly to find Kathleen beside his bed.

  ‘You didn’t come back as you promised you would,’ she cried accusingly, hurt in her voice.

  He sat up. ‘Kathleen, please go back to your bed. You’ll catch cold . . .’

  ‘You can’t deny you care for me, Sam, and you must know I feel the same about you. I was ready to prove it tonight, but you changed your mind.’

  ‘Kathleen, I was eighteen when my father died; he was strict, not easy-going like my mother, but he told me the facts of life when I was younger. He said I should always respect women because they are superior to men – that I must be honourable and decent towards them and follow his moral code. An impulsive act, he told me, could lead to an unhappy marriage. He was a good man and he made my mother happy, I know that. Now do you understand? I want to marry you Kathleen, when you feel ready for that. But before it can come about, I need to know what happened to you before you arrived at Home Farm in such distress.’

  ‘You know I can’t remember all of that,’ she cried.

  ‘I think you don’t want to recall it; you’ve closed your mind to it. Let me help you deal with it, please.’ I have a secret to reveal too, he thought, about what I discovered in the newspapers. I feel guilty about concealing that.

  ‘I’m shivering . . .’ was all she said. She stretched out her arms in an imploring gesture.

  ‘Wait a minute and I’ll take you back to your room and tuck you up,’ he told her.

  He picked her up, and a few moments later she was settled back in her own bed. He bent over and kissed her. ‘Goodnight, Kathleen. We are learning to live together; getting to know each other better. I’m not impulsive like Danny. It may not be a conventional courtship, but that’s how it is.’

  *

  Doc Wiseman was moving into his new quarters in the farm. Sam offered to convey his possessions in his cart. He and Danny carried these between them up to the attic rooms and set them in place.

  ‘I don’t have many worldly goods,’ Doc commented. ‘I learned to travel light to survive when I left the place where I was born. I have an affinity with Kathleen in that respect: neither of us likes to look back.’

  In the bedroom there was a narrow single bed and a bedside cabinet fashioned from a stout apple box, which he’d upended and inserted two shelves into. On top of the cabinet was an oil lamp and a single photograph in a silver frame; the image on it was somewhat blurred, but it was of a young woman with a child in her arms. Jessie, without commenting on the picture, spread one of her patchwork quilts on the bed. ‘Would you like an extra pillow?’ she enquired. ‘I have several spare.’

  ‘Thank you, but no, I am used to one flat pillow.’

  The grey-looking pillow was filled with flock, not feathers like Jessie’s, but at least he hadn’t rejected the old washstand by the window, she thought. He had hung a rather threadbare towel on the rail. Where will he p
ut his clothes? she wondered. Coming to a decision herself, she shouted, ‘Sam, there’s a chest of drawers in the attic. Will you bring that in, please? Oh, and the spirit kettle, we don’t need that now, and a big jug for water.’

  The space adjoining the bedroom was the place Doc had chosen to have his desk, a table where he could play chess, and two odd chairs. There was a skylight above, making this a good room to work in. Doc was busy stacking boxes into a pyramid in a corner; they appeared to contain documents and other paper.

  ‘Here’s your ink stand,’ Danny said, putting it on the desk.

  ‘Thank you, you are all so kind. I shall be very comfortable up here.’

  Jessie and her sons exchanged a worried glance. We could have done so much more if we had been allowed to, she thought, but we have to respect his wishes . . .

  Marion, who was looking after Heather while Jessie was busy, came in with the little girl in her arms. ‘Heather seems to be running a temperature – she refused her bottle and is grizzling most of the time. D’you think . . .’ She held the baby out to Jessie.

  ‘Allow me to take a look at her,’ Doc said. ‘It will be easier if we do that in her bedroom.’ He picked up his black bag. Jessie knew he had a stethoscope and other medical aids. She supposed he had brought the rather battered bag with him when he came to England.

  At Doc’s request, she laid the baby down on what had been Kathleen’s bed, and he began his gentle but thorough examination. He didn’t speak until he had finished. Then he turned to Jessie, who was looking anxious.

  ‘Her chest is rattling; she is very hot and seems unwell. Where is her mother?’

  Sam answered. ‘Kathleen thought she should stay out of the way this morning. I was going to bring her over here as usual this afternoon.’

  ‘Well I think you should do that now. And tell her to pack her a bag – Jessie cannot be expected to care for a sick child on her own.’

  *

  When Sam arrived back at the Barn House, he found Kathleen just taking a batch of soda bread from the oven. She looked up. ‘You’re earlier than I expected. I haven’t made lunch yet, Sam.’ Her face was flushed from the heat of the stove.

  ‘Kathleen,’ he said quietly, ‘Heather is unwell. Doc said for you to pack a bag, as she will need you to look after her until she recovers.’

  She plucked at his arm. ‘Sam, is it serious?’

  ‘Doc didn’t say,’ he replied.

  ‘Will you be all right on your own?’

  He smiled wryly at that. ‘As you have discovered, Kathleen, I am self-sufficient, but I admit that you have made a home out of a shack.’

  ‘Is that all?’ she said tremulously.

  ‘You know it isn’t, but please hurry,’ he said.

  *

  Kathleen sat on her bed, sponging her little daughter’s forehead with a flannel dipped in cool water. ‘It is important not to wrap her in too many blankets,’ Doc advised. ‘You need light coverings while her temperature is high. Too many cuddles are not advised. Although you’ll need the fire going night and day in the bedroom, and a kettle steaming on the hob.’

  I am facing up to my responsibilities at last, Kathleen realised. Heather is so well looked after here, but she needs her mother now.

  Just then, Heather looked up and murmured, ‘Mumma.’ She had only recently begun to talk.

  ‘Oh Heather, I will be a better mother from now on – I promise!’

  A knock on the door, then Danny came in with a tray. ‘Nourishment – you must eat, Kathleen, you didn’t have any supper. How is Heather? Marion has become attached to her, you know, and she is worried about her.’

  ‘I hope you will have a baby of your own before too long,’ Kathleen said, experiencing a twinge of jealousy. Marion had seen more of her daughter than she had since she’d moved to the Barn House with Sam, she thought. ‘Doc says she is on the mend; he had feared she might develop bronchitis.’

  Danny sat himself down on the chair by the bed and gently stroked Heather’s soft dark hair. ‘She looks more and more like you every day,’ he said softly. ‘Are you happy with Sam? Will you marry him eventually?’

  ‘Dada,’ the baby said clearly.

  ‘I wish I was, you know . . .’ Danny cleared his throat. ‘Mother says those are the first sounds a baby makes, it doesn’t mean—’

  ‘I’d better put her in her cot, I think,’ Kathleen said. She had mixed emotions about what he had said. ‘You asked if I am happy with Sam; well I am. We’re not married yet, nor are we behaving like a married couple, but that will come in time, I hope. Sam will be Heather’s father then,’ she added firmly.

  ‘Marion and I have had no luck with conceiving so far, but Mother says it is early days. Well, goodnight, Kathleen – I can’t help thinking what could have been if—’

  ‘Don’t! Please don’t, Danny.’

  *

  Sam had been sawing logs all afternoon; there was plenty of dead wood to clear near the Barn House. This would be his occupation now: delivering logs to customers, stockpiling them for Christmas. It would be their only income until they could dig clay again and get on with brick making, what with the severe weather they were experiencing. Though he was still able to employ his workers to help with the wood, which was important for them and their families.

  It was almost dark before he went indoors and made up the fire. The place looked empty without Kathleen; no welcoming cooking smells wafting from the range. He sat down heavily on the one armchair. I must get a lady’s chair for Kathleen, he thought. She usually sat by his feet on a tapestry stool, with Ollie beside her. The dog missed her too.

  Will she come back? he wondered. Although Heather was very attached to Jessie, he knew that she needed her mother. He decided to tell Kathleen that now the place was more comfortable, Heather should come and live with them.

  Having come to one decision, he made another. It took him a good hour to achieve, but he moved Kathleen’s bed from her room into his bedroom, and placed the two beds together. He would get a double bed when he could afford one, but for now they could share this arrangement. Heather’s cot would be in the other bedroom, close by.

  Ollie gave a reproachful whimper and pushed his food bowl across the floor.

  ‘Sorry, old boy, I’ll get your supper and then I must find something for me – there’s all that soda bread and plenty of cheese, eh? I hope it isn’t too late to make all these changes, and that Kathleen won’t decide to stay back at the farm . . .’

  *

  A week later, Sam brought Kathleen and Heather home. He took Kathleen right away into what had been his bedroom. She looked at the big bed, the new coverlet, and then at Sam. ‘I don’t understand . . .’ she faltered.

  Sam was holding Heather, who was wriggling to be put down. She could walk now, although she still sat down unexpectedly sometimes with a grin on her face. ‘Dada,’ she said approvingly now. He took her hand.

  ‘Come and look at your room next door, Heather, and see what is in there for you . . .’

  Kathleen followed them. There was a cot ready made up. ‘I bought it second-hand, but it was only used by one child before,’ Sam said.

  A soft toy sat on the pillow. ‘It’s a frog, Heather,’ Kathleen said through her tears. ‘Shall we call him Froggie?’ She passed the green velvet frog in the red waistcoat to her daughter. ‘Dada bought him for you.’ She tried not to remember Jessie’s face as they had waved goodbye this afternoon and driven away. ‘Be happy!’ Jessie had called. ‘Love one another . . .’

  ‘We’ll see you tomorrow!’ Sam had replied.

  Heather was tucked up in her cot, and after she fell asleep during a lullaby, Kathleen went hesitantly along to her new room. Earlier she had unpacked her bag and put her treasured possessions in place. Sam was outside with the dog, intending to wait until she was ensconced in bed. He looked up at the night sky, at the stars, and felt nervous himself. Was he doing the right thing? She had not yet confided i
n him about what had happened in Croydon, but then he had kept the facts he had learned about that time to himself too.

  She closed her eyes while he changed into his nightshirt. He washed and cleaned his teeth, for this was a very special occasion. He nipped the candle out and slid into bed beside her. There was silence; perhaps she really was asleep. He sighed, and at that moment she moved closer and murmured, ‘Aren’t you going to kiss me, Sam?’ His arms closed round her warm and pliant body.

  ‘I can do better than that, but only if you want me to,’ he whispered.

  Kathleen twisted the ring on her finger. Soon, she thought exultantly, soon I’ll be entitled to wear it – and I’ll be Kathleen Mason, not Kitty Clancy. I’ll really belong here then.

  ELEVEN

  Doc was settling in well, and although he kept mostly to his own quarters, when Jessie was on her own some evenings she invited him to supper. Afterwards they would sit on the sofa drawn up close to the crackling fire, with old Bob curled up by their feet, getting to know one another better. Jessie told him how she’d coped with her grief after losing first her husband and not long after, her only daughter. ‘Now,’ she confided, ‘I miss dear Kathleen and the baby I call my granddaughter.’

  ‘But you are happy that she and Sam are together with little Heather?’

  ‘Yes, and I know I am old-fashioned, but I wish they would tie the knot!’

  ‘Perhaps it is difficult for them to decide where to marry. I believe Kathleen was brought up as a Catholic in Ireland, and Sam – does he attend church with you?’

  ‘Both boys did when they were younger, but now . . . Still, I was happy when Danny and Marion chose to be married there.’ She hesitated and then asked, ‘Are you a believer, Doc? Or did your experiences before you came here affect you too much?’

  ‘I am not an Orthodox Jew,’ he said slowly. ‘In fact my mother was from a Gentile family. I went to church with her. I was an only child. When the scourge began, she was a widow, but she had been married to a Jew, and like me, my wife and child, she ended up in the Catorga prison camp in Siberia. I suppose you would like to know what happened to us?’