One Sunday afternoon, when the priest was coming over, Bridget shyly asked Heather if she would like to attend the service in the Barn House. ‘I expect your mother is Catholic, coming from Ireland, isn’t she?’
‘I’m not sure,’ Heather said. ‘She never talks about religion, or about Ireland, and Mum and Dad were married in the minister’s chapel not far from here. We go to the local church with Grandma sometimes, but I’d like to come. Does Min play the harmonium?’
‘Auntie Lou plays it for our services,’ Bridget said.
The schoolroom was transformed, with Josh’s desk covered in a snowy cloth. The chalice and the prayer books were on display, along with religious pictures and a small figurine depicting the Virgin Mary. The big Bible rested on a wooden stand, marked at relevant pages. There was a dish of small wafers, not pieces of bread as Heather remembered from the chapel. ‘Stay in your seat when we are called up to the table to receive the sacrament,’ Bridget advised her.
The young priest arrived and removed a dark cloak and hat, revealing his colourful robes. Heather was impressed. The prayers and singing began. Auntie Lou had a sure touch on the harmonium and Heather was impressed by the priest’s rich baritone voice when he sang the responses. In fact, she was entranced by the whole ceremony. She plucked up courage to speak to the priest as he was preparing to leave. ‘I would like to join in again,’ she said.
He looked at her for a long moment and then smiled. ‘I would welcome you, Heather.’ He paused before asking, ‘Have you been confirmed in the Anglican Church?’
‘No, you see I haven’t even been baptised . . .’
‘You feel drawn to the Catholic faith?’
‘I . . . I don’t know.’
‘Talk to your mother about it; she is the one to advise you.’
Heather didn’t confide in her sister regarding her experience. She waited until she was alone with Kathleen. ‘Mum,’ she said earnestly, ‘I would like to become a Catholic.’ When Kathleen didn’t respond immediately, she added, ‘I know you were one in Ireland, because you gave Dad a rosary to take with him to war.’
Kathleen said faintly, ‘Have you spoken to Josh about this – he is the best person to counsel you, Heather.’
‘I just know that it is something I must do,’ Heather said. ‘Like you said when you came here in the snow.’
‘I was seeking redemption.’
‘Does that mean forgiveness? What for?’
‘I found it Heather, that’s all I need to say . . .’
THIRTY-ONE
While the O’Briens were busy settling in at the brickyard house, Sam was conveying troops across the desert in a rattling truck. In the searing heat, men dropped like flies, not from gunfire, but from mosquito attacks; malaria was a nightmare. Sam even wished sometimes that he was still wallowing in mud in the trenches.
He’d always had an interest in Egyptology, but had never thought he would see the ancient wonders pictured in his books, and now here he was, though as a soldier rather than a tourist. In letters home, he described the pyramids and the camel trains. Kitty, in reply, asked naïvely, Have you seen a mummy, Dad, in an ancient tomb?
They reached their destination, Mesopotamia, at last. Long before the war, the region had been part of the Turkish Ottoman Empire, but now Turkey was allied with Germany. In Great Britain, there was much rhetoric from Lloyd George and Winston Churchill advising Parliament that a victory over the Turks was essential after stalemate on the Western Front. Most of the men thought it an impossible mission.
The task force had to leave the trucks to be ferried across the water in a big carrier boat because there were no proper roads; passenger boats conveyed the troops and equipment along the river. Baghdad was still over five hundred miles away, upstream from the Gulf.
The only water supply was from the river, and dysentery was rife. Some men, already weakened by illness, succumbed and did not survive the journey. Kathleen would have been shocked to see how thin her beloved Sam had become, how much older he looked. The heat had been exhausting, but the troops had been told they now faced a bitter winter. Sam organised a team to dig latrines in the desert, but their services were also called upon to dig graves.
At last the British forces closed in on Kut, where the garrison was under siege. Those inside were near starvation. Supplies of food and ammunition dropped by the Royal Flying Corps mostly ended up in the River Tigris or in the hands of the enemy. A bloody battle ensued, which in April 1916 ended in an Ottoman victory. British forces surrendered.
*
In June, the family at Home Farm heard that Sam was a prisoner of war. Heather found it difficult to communicate with her mother; Kathleen was often in tears over Sam’s misfortune.
‘Oh be quiet about what you want,’ she cried in exasperation when Heather mentioned the word Catholicism. ‘I haven’t said no, but you need to speak to your father about it.’
‘How can I?’ Heather shouted, before rushing upstairs and banging her bedroom door shut. Kitty wisely disappeared outside with Jimmy and Wilf. She was upset because her sister no longer seemed to want her company. Only Jessie seemed to understand.
‘She’s just finding her feet, Kit. She’s growing up and you’ve got left behind, but it’ll happen to you too one day, and you’ll become close again.’
Heather calmed down, and alone in the bedroom, she felt like poking around. She knew Kathleen’s bundle was kept in the washstand drawer, and that she shouldn’t touch her mother’s private things, but she untied it anyway. The contents were mostly uninteresting, though she had a look at the documents: her mother’s birth certificate among them, as well as her parents’ wedding certificate – Heather’s eyes widened as she realised she must have been a year old when they married. There was a prayer book, mostly in Latin, for Roman Catholics; her mother’s name was inscribed at the front in childish handwriting, Kitty Clancy, and Heather said aloud, ‘That’s not fair, she called Kitty after herself!’
The third document that she picked up was an adoption certificate. She had to read it twice before she understood what it said: that her beloved father, Sam, was not her nat-ural father. With trembling hands, she replaced everything in the bundle and put it back in the drawer. Then she lay on her bed and sobbed her heart out.
Much later, Kathleen ventured upstairs and found that her daughter had succumbed to an exhausted sleep. She touched her shoulder hesitantly. Heather stirred and opened her red-rimmed eyes.
‘Mum, why didn’t you tell me that Dad isn’t my real father? I know it was wrong looking in your bundle, but I . . .’ Tears suddenly coursed down her cheeks, and Kathleen sat down on the bed and took her in her arms, rocking her like a baby.
‘I’m so sorry, Heather, but what could I say? Sam always thought of you as his flesh and blood; you are his daughter as far as we are all concerned.’
‘I want to know who it was,’ Heather said. ‘Didn’t he want me?’
‘Heather, I was only seventeen at the time. He . . . was much older.’
‘Was he a bad man?’
‘No, but he was a weak person, afraid of causing trouble. I was sent to England after my mother died in Ireland, to a cruel employer who terrified me. The man . . . he lived there too; he was an Italian artist. I thought he was trying to protect me, but he . . . took advantage of me.’ She paused, swallowed convulsively. ‘I ran away, that’s all I can tell you, and Danny found me in the snow, then Jessie took me in and I met Sam and they all cared for me. After you were born, I never wanted to leave my new family. Please don’t blame me for something that was not my fault.’
‘But you love Sam – Dad – don’t you?’ Heather demanded.
‘You know I do. But we wanted to tell you the truth together. Sam always says, “Heather is my daughter, and I am her father,” and he means it. Oh Heather, I miss him terribly.’
‘So do I,’ Heather whispered. ‘Will you forgive me, Mum, for looking at your personal things?’ S
he added, ‘We won’t tell Kitty yet, because she’s not old enough to understand.’
‘Oh Heather, I love you so much.’
‘I love you too, Mum. Now I know I’m half Italian . . . well, that’s a Catholic country, isn’t it?’
‘If you want to become a Catholic, I won’t stand in your way,’ Kathleen said.
That evening she told Jessie what had happened. Doc had gone to see Josh after a phone call from Min to say her husband was not well.
It was Kathleen’s turn for a hug. ‘My dear girl,’ Jessie said softly, ‘you became my daughter when you arrived here in such distress. I always felt my Mary would have loved to have you as a sister. It was the same for Sam; he accepted Heather as his child and that was that.’
‘Oh Jessie, I can’t bear to think what might be happening to him now. I wish there was more news . . . When is this war going to end?’
‘All we can do is pray for peace. I had a telegram this morning while you were at the stables; I knew you would be upset when you heard the news, so I was waiting for the right moment . . . Danny has been injured and is in hospital in France. He may be sent home. No details yet. I told Daisy, because of Wilf, and Abraham. I haven’t said anything to Mrs Amos yet, but she had some news of her own: she is going to stay with Lily at the Brickyard House while Aunt Lou visits her husband in London. The bombing seems to have abated for a bit.’ She heard a noise from outside. ‘Oh, is that Abraham back?’
Doc walked in. ‘Any chance of a hot toddy? It’s chilly out tonight.’
‘How is Josh?’ Jessie bustled about.
‘He said Min was making a fuss about nothing, but I’m not so sure. He might have had a slight stroke. He is doing too much, I think.’
‘Like you, old dear,’ his wife said fondly as she passed him a glass of whisky with hot water, a spoonful of honey and a squeeze of lemon.
There were more sad events to come nearer home. Auntie Lou had been reunited with her husband in Stepney, but the very next night a bomb destroyed the house where he had temporary accommodation. ‘They died together, as they would have wanted,’ Mrs O’Brien repeated over and over.
It was Mrs Amos who broke the news to Lily – her fellow grumpy grandmother, as she now referred to her. She took Lily’s hand in hers and told her, ‘Don’t worry, I promise I won’t leave you, my dear.’
‘But your job . . . your family . . .’
‘I’ll get the vegetable patch here going again; I’ve still got my health and strength. We’ll have a goat and a few hens, and young Bridget and that lad Dennis will help us to be independent.’
‘You are a good woman,’ the old lady said tremulously.
No one has ever called me that before, Mrs Amos thought. Marion would have been happy to hear it . . .
*
It was almost Christmas, and Danny was back in England after two years away – not at home, but in a nearby military hospital. His horse had collapsed from under him when the cavalry was involved in a charge against the enemy, and as he fell to the ground there was a barrage of shots and he received wounds to his head and chest. He remembered no more until he recovered consciousness in a field hospital and heard a disembodied voice. His sight was still blurred and words would not issue from his mouth.
‘Danny, I was told you were here. Can you hear me? Just press my hand if you can . . .’
He grasped the doctor’s hand. The voice continued. ‘It’s Bruce Gillespie – do you remember me?’
Danny squeezed the doctor’s hand again.
‘You’re going to be all right, Danny, but it may take a long time for you to recover.’
‘Marion . . .’ Danny managed.
‘The wonderful girl we both loved . . . I had hoped I would meet you again, though not like this. Fate has brought us together.’
*
There was still no news of Sam. Kathleen now slept on her own in the room Mrs Amos had vacated. She could cry in there, she thought sadly, and not disturb the girls; it was a comfort and relief to her that she now had no secrets from her elder daughter. Life had to go on. She worked hard, and that helped, but at night she had vivid dreams of the time before Sam went away to war.
Sometimes she dreamed of being in his arms, and then she would wake and stretch out to the space in the bed where she had imagined him to be, and find it empty, the sheets cold to the touch. She knew she wouldn’t be able to go on without the support of her adopted family and the children, two of whom were the result of such a loving relationship.
One night, the wind was howling outside and she slept uneasily. She awoke screaming, and Jessie came, followed by Doc. She could hear them asking what was wrong, and she held on tight to Jessie as she whispered, ‘He’s gone, Sam is gone. He won’t come home ever again . . .’
*
They received the official news in the new year, 1917, after a subdued Christmas: We regret to inform you that Sergeant Samuel Mason died of cholera on 15 December 1916. His effects will be sent home to you in due course.
They learnt that Sam had been among the prisoners of war who had been forced to march to Aleppo. Some had fallen on the way. Sam had arrived at the prison camp, but like many of his comrades, he did not survive prolonged imprisonment due to the cholera epidemic.
‘I knew,’ Kathleen cried out. ‘I just knew . . .’
THIRTY-TWO
It was July 1917, and back at Home Farm they were picking the luscious strawberries. It was almost like old times, before the war. The three O’Brien girls were eager to help and worked alongside Kitty. Wilf, who had grown up quite a lot, kept an eye on Jimmy, who was always up to mischief, while Jimmy’s inseparable companion, Bobby the dog, waited patiently in the shade of the hedgerow with his ball between his front paws.
Dennis, the only young man they could call on now, carried full trays of strawberries to the house and stacked them in the cool pantry, ready to be taken to market the following morning. If the war dragged on, the family were aware that Dennis would be eligible to be called up the following year.
Heather was now at the posh all-girls school, having passed her entrance examination, the fees funded by the legacy from Mr Bartholomew. Although schools closed earlier now for the summer holidays, she was mostly with her mother at the stables, for Doc was now semi-retired at his wife’s insistence.
‘I don’t want to lose you too,’ Jessie told him. Besides, he was the only one who could drive the motor, and they needed to visit Danny regularly in hospital. Mrs Amos kept her word, and she and Olga were in harness, as she put it, over at the brickyard. Josh and Min were always there if advice or help was needed.
Dennis helped himself to a glass of milk and sat down in the kitchen, having earned a break after depositing the heavy trays. The door opened and Heather came in. ‘Oh, I was hoping for a cup of tea; I thought Grandma would be making one by now,’ she said.
‘I can take a hint,’ Dennis said, but he didn’t move.
‘Why are you staring at my bosom?’ Heather asked indignantly. ‘Or do I smell bad after seeing to the pigs?’
‘I’m sorry,’ he blurted out. He drained his glass of milk. ‘Kettle’s boiling. I’d better make a couple of pots; they’ll be glad of one out in the field . . .’
Dennis thought Heather was very beautiful, but rather stuck-up, and he knew she would never be interested in him. He was trying to grow a moustache, but he really needed a beard to disguise all his spots. Heather didn’t have any of those, though she did blush quite a lot, which he found attractive. She was growing up fast; she was approaching fourteen now, and was obviously a young woman, and he couldn’t help noticing the change. She no longer had a straight-up-and-down figure.
He said awkwardly, ‘You and Kathleen look more like sisters now than mother and daughter.’
Jessie appeared and noted the awkward silence between the two young people. ‘Oh thank you, Dennis, we all need to take a few minutes off for a cup of tea. It’s so ho
t out there, but what a wonderful crop this year, eh? I hope we’ll have finished picking before the rain comes . . .’
‘Doesn’t look like it’ll rain,’ Dennis said. ‘I’ll take the teapot out, and milk and sugar; they’ve got mugs, haven’t they?’
‘It’s wet over most of the country, the papers say, but we’ve been lucky here so far. Heather, Daisy will be here, of course, but could you keep an eye on Wilf and Jimmy for me this afternoon? We won’t be picking then, so the O’Briens will be off home and I reckon Kitty will go with them, don’t you?’
‘Are you going to see Uncle Danny?’
‘Yes, we’ll take a tray of the strawberries over to the hospital; a treat for the patients, the ones who are able to eat them . . .’ Jessie paused, then added, ‘I’ve persuaded Kathleen to come with us. Danny would like to see her.’
‘Are you sure Mum is up to it?’
‘To be honest, I don’t know; she will probably be upset, but Danny will understand.’
‘I wondered,’ Heather said, all in a rush, ‘if Mum and Uncle Danny would, you know, get together when he is well again.’
‘I wouldn’t mention that to her,’ Jessie said, but she was wondering the same.
*
Doc drove them to the hospital in Sussex. It was a large manor house that had been requisitioned early in the war, and straight away they spotted Danny in a bed chair on the veranda. It was soon after lunch, so he had not yet been joined by his fellow patients.
‘I’ll park round the side,’ Doc said. ‘You’ll want a few moments on your own.’
‘I’ll go with you, as I want to leave the fruit in the kitchen for the staff to share out,’ Jessie told him. ‘He’s seen us and is waving – you go and say hello, Kathleen.’
Kathleen walked slowly towards the veranda and climbed the steps to where Danny sat. She felt too choked up to say anything, but he held out his arms and said simply, ‘Oh Kathleen, is it really you? You look so pale and tired.’
She could have said, ‘So do you, Danny,’ because close up, apart from his bright copper hair, he looked so much older. Instead she simply bent over to kiss his cheek.
The Winter Baby Page 24
