Tilly Trotter Wed (The Tilly Trotter Trilogy)

by Cookson, Catherine

  ‘With this ring I thee wed, with my body I thee worship, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow: In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.’

  Not until later in the vestry did the full impact of the ceremony and realisation of its meaning affect her. The ring was on her finger. She was married, married to Matthew. She was no longer Tilly Trotter, she was Mrs Matilda Sopwith. She felt faint. His lips were on hers, his eyes looking deep into hers. She heard John laugh and Luke say, ‘It’s my privilege to kiss the bride;’ and she wasn’t really aware that he kissed her hard on the lips.

  John’s face was now hovering close to hers. He looked at her for some seconds before placing his lips against her cheek, saying softly and without any stammer, ‘Now I’ve got a sister whom I can love.’

  The word sister brought back the scene of a week ago when Jessie Ann had descended on the house merely to tell her brother what she thought of him and to order him not to go through with this thing that was almost sacrilegious in her eyes and, she had added, in those of everyone else.

  She hadn’t come face to face with Jessie Ann, she had only heard her voice and seen Matthew escorting her almost forcibly to her carriage. Oh, she was glad she was leaving and going to America to a new life. Oh she was. And she was happy, so happy she couldn’t believe it. But she wouldn’t be able to let that happiness have full rein until she saw the shores of this country receding from view; then, and then only, she knew she would feel free because then no-one would know about her except Matthew, her beloved Matthew. And he was her beloved Matthew. She felt no shame now in her love for him. Nor did she feel guilt for the part she had played in his father’s life.

  And then there was Katie. Katie would be a comfort. She would never feel that she had lost all the Drew family as long as she had Katie . . . And her child. Well, he would grow up in a new country, free; even if his sight was impaired there would be no-one to shout after him, ‘Witch’s spawn!’ She was leaving this country without one regret. Well, perhaps just one. She wished she hadn’t to carry the memory of the look on Steve McGrath’s face. They had met only once after the news of her impending marriage had set the village and the district aflame. She had met him on the main road and they had stopped and stared at each other; and as she looked into his face she had longed for words that would bring him some kind of comfort, for the look in his eyes had been the same as on that day when, a boy, he had asked her to marry him.

  There had been no lead up to their brief conversation. ‘Do you still want to stay in the cottage, Steve?’ she had asked him quietly, and after a moment he had answered, ‘Why not? One place is just the same as another.’

  As she nodded at him and made to move away he had added, ‘In spite of what I feel, Tilly, I still wish you happiness,’ and to this she had muttered, ‘Thanks Steve, thanks. That’s . . . that’s kind of you . . . ’

  She was outside in the street. Matthew had helped Biddy up into the carriage, and when he turned to her, after a moment’s pause he put his arms about her and almost lifted her in. Then Luke entered and John climbed on the box beside Fred Leyburn, and Matthew cried, ‘To breakfast!’ and seated himself beside Tilly.

  His hand gripping hers, he looked across at Luke, asking now, ‘How long have we got before the train goes?’

  ‘Oh.’ Luke glanced at his watch. ‘An hour and a half, ample time.’

  Following this there was silence except for the rumbling of the wheels over the cobbles. Nor was there much merriment at the breakfast except that which was supplied by John. His stammer much in evidence again, he kept up an almost one-sided jocular conversation during the meal.

  Little over an hour later they were all standing under the awning of the station. The train was in, the engine noisily puffing out steam, their personal luggage was on the rack, and now the actual moment of parting had arrived.

  When Biddy and Tilly put their arms about each other there were no words spoken. Their eyes were wet and their throats were full. Then Luke was kissing her again, a soft kiss now, his face straight, his eyes thoughtful, and what he said was, ‘Be good to him, Trotter.’

  Next came John and what he said was, ‘I’ll ha . . . have a w . . . w . . . wife shortly, Trotter, b . . . b . . . but I’ll never have a fr . . . riend like you.’ He touched her cheek gently with his fingers, then turned her round towards where Matthew was waiting; and Matthew, silently now and soberly, lifted her up the high step and into the compartment. Then he was saying goodbye to his brothers.

  At one moment he was holding both their hands, then they stood close, their arms about each other’s shoulders like triplets, and like triplets about to be severed there was pain on each face.

  And lastly, Matthew stood before Biddy and, bending over her, he put his lips to her wrinkled face and what he said to her under his breath was, ‘Look after the house and all in it, for who knows, we may be back some day . . . ’

  They hung out of the window until those on the platform were lost by the curve of the rails and the steam from the engine, and then for the first time they were really alone.

  Sitting close now, their fingers linked tightly, they looked at each other; but it was some moments before any words came. Gently withdrawing his hands from hers, he put them up to her head and there slowly pulled out the pins from her hat and laid it on the seat opposite; then putting his fingers into her hair he brought her face close to his and his gaze was soft and his voice tender as he said, ‘You’re beautiful, Mrs Matilda Sopwith, and you’re mine. At last you’re mine, all mine for life.’

  Mrs Sopwith. Tilly Trotter was no more. She had turned into Matilda Sopwith and she knew that Matilda Sopwith would be loved as Tilly Trotter had never been, and that as Matilda Sopwith she would love as Tilly Trotter had never loved. She put her arms about his neck and all she could find to say was, ‘Oh, Matthew! Matthew!’

  PART FOUR

  TILLY TROTTER WED

  One

  As Matthew helped Tilly down the gangway at Galveston she prayed silently and fervently that she wouldn’t be called upon ever in her life again to board any kind of boat.

  The crossing of the Atlantic had been such that during it she had longed to be back anywhere in England, even in the village, anywhere but on the heaving, rolling, stomach-erupting sea. That she had got over her bout of seasickness within the first week hadn’t helped for there were the cramped quarters to contend with, and Katie who was in a bad state for the whole of the following two weeks of the journey; and then the child. At one time he had been so ill she thought she was going to lose him.

  One thing the journey did teach her was that the heat of love, rising from no matter what depth of passion, could be cooled by the physical weaknesses of the body. Constant retching and the efforts of will it took to attend to Katie and the child caused her to ask herself more than once why she had done this mad thing. To marry a man six years her junior and follow him across the world would have been test enough for a young girl with an adventurous spirit, but she was no longer a young girl, she was thirty-three years old with the responsibility of a handicapped child and an almost equal responsibility for Katie who, from a tough little woman when on land had, from first setting foot on the ship, disintegrated into a bundle of nerves, and the ship was then still in dock.

  That Matthew experienced no seasickness, in fact seemed to enjoy every minute of the voyage, did not help in the least; nor did the fact that he did all he could to alleviate their sufferings; his very heartiness became an irritation.

  But now it was all over. They were on dry land, standing amidst smiling faces, black faces, brown faces, white faces, most of the latter seeming to be bearded. There was bustle and talk all about her, deep guttural laughter, hand-shaking, people being met, all except them apparently.

  Matthew was looking about him. He turned to her and smiled, saying, ‘They’ll be here somewhere. Look; stay there, sit on that trunk.’ He pressed her down. ‘I’ll be back in a minute.
’

  As she watched him making his way among the throng, she felt a sudden pride rise in her and with it an onrush of love that the sea seemed to have washed away. He was a fine, upstanding figure of a man, handsome, and he looked older than his years, for which she was glad. She turned to Katie who was sitting on the trunk beside her holding the child in her arms whilst staring about her in bewilderment, and she said, ‘We’ll soon be home.’ It sounded so natural to say, ‘We’ll soon be home.’

  When Katie, bringing her white peaked face towards her, said, ‘Aye, well, thank God for that,’ she laughed out aloud, which brought the eyes of two strange-looking black men upon her. They were carrying big hessian wrapped bales on their shoulders and they twisted their heads towards her, pausing for a second before going on.

  Her hand still over her mouth, she looked at Katie and said, ‘You sounded just as if we were back in the kitchen.’

  ‘Aye, well, I’ve got to say it, Tilly, I wish I was at this minute.’

  ‘Oh, it’s going to be all right.’

  ‘You think so?’ There was a tinge of fear in the question, and Tilly, her face straight now, said, ‘Of course it is.’

  Katie moved her head to gaze beyond the child’s face towards the end of the quay, then turned it slowly to take in the buildings, some that looked like warehouses, others squat-shaped huts, and what she said was, ‘Everything looks odd. An’ the faces, some of them would scare the daylights out of you.’

  Tilly now leaned towards her and muttered, ‘You’re in a different country, Katie,’ and Katie, nodding her head now, replied tartly, ‘There’ll be no need to keep tellin’ me that, I’ve got eyes.’ Then lowering her glance, she spoke under her breath, saying, ‘There’s a fellow just to your right starin’ at us. He’s comin’ this way.’

  Tilly turned her head sharply and saw coming towards them a tall, gangling young man wearing a wide hat that looked as if it was about to fall off the back of his head, or perhaps it had been pushed there to show off an abundance of red curly hair. He wore an open-necked shirt, tight breeches that disappeared below the knee into high leather boots. His face was long and clean-shaven, his open mouth showed a set of big teeth, from which one only seemed to be missing. This left a gap in the middle of the lower set through which now he seemed to whistle as he scrutinized Tilly. After a moment he walked behind her and looked at the name on the trunk; then he rounded the remaining pile of luggage before stepping in front of her again, saying, ‘Doug Scott, ma’am.’

  Tilly slid to her feet as she said, ‘How . . . how do you do?’

  ‘I’m fine, ma’am. Where is he?’

  ‘He’s . . . Well’ – she moved her head – ‘I think he must be looking for you, Mr Scott.’

  ‘Doug, ma’am, if you don’t mind, Doug.’ He grinned widely at her.

  Tilly swallowed, made a motion with her head but said nothing, until Mr Doug Scott turned his attention to Katie and the child, when she put in quickly, ‘This is my friend, Miss Katie Drew, and my son, Willy.’

  ‘Son?’ Doug Scott’s eyes were narrowed now as he stared at Tilly. ‘You are Matt’s missis, aren’t you?’

  ‘Yes; yes, I am.’

  ‘Oh!’

  She smiled at his perplexity and repeated what they had arranged to answer in just such circumstances. ‘I was a widow when I married Mr Sopwith.’

  ‘O . . . h. Oh yes, ma’am. Yes. Yes.’

  ‘Doug! Why Doug!’

  At the sound of his name Doug Scott swung round. Then they were striding towards each other, Doug Scott and Matthew, their hands outstretched, then shaking and thumping each other, as Tilly thought, like long lost brothers. When they came towards her Doug was saying, ‘Bloody axle broke just passing through Hempstead. Should have been in yesterday by rights. God! was I sweatin’. Heard the boat was sighted. Anyway, got two fresh horses from Lob Curtis. Boy! was he pleased to know you’re comin’. An’ the girls. But their noses are put out now you’ve got yourself a spicy piece.’

  Matthew was smiling widely. He looked relaxed and happy as he put his arm round Tilly’s shoulders, saying, ‘You’ve met this bloke already. He’s the only articulate ranger in the whole of the frontier.’

  ‘What do you mean, articulate, you little islander?’

  Matthew again hugged Tilly to him as he said, ‘He’s the only Texan I’ve ever met who never stops talking. I’ve told you, haven’t I? You can sit for days with some of them and they never open their mouths, but not our Doug here.’

  ‘Aw, don’t make me out to be a blatherer. Come on with you, I’ve got you rooms in the tavern a little way out. You’ll be more comfortable there for the night. It’ll be like barbecue night at the hotel here, so many comin’ in and none leavin’; we’ll soon won’t be able to move.’ He laughed at his own joke. Then beckoning a tall negro towards him, he said, ‘Give a hand here,’ then added, ‘You take the ladies on, Matt; the buggy’s at the end of the row. Diego is drivin’. See you in a few minutes.’

  The buggy was like a cab that was a common sight in Newcastle, only it was bigger and was driven by two horses, not big strapping looking animals but more like the horses that had been used down the pit, not the ponies but the ones who pulled the wagon sets. Yet these looked thinner and unlovely beasts. Matthew had told her that this was horse country, that most of the wealth had lain in horses and cattle until the gold rush started; and then in some cases a horse had become as precious as the gold dust itself.

  During the voyage Matthew had talked endlessly about this country. He had tried to take her mind off the heaving seas by telling her about the ranchers, the homesteaders, and the Indian tribes. He hadn’t dwelt much on the Indians, just to give them names, strange sounding names like Tonkawas and Wichitas, and some that he called the Comanche. The Indians, she understood, were people who lived by hunting the buffalo, the deer, and such animals, and the ranchers lived by trading horses and cattle called shorthorns, while the homesteaders were what she surmised to be like English farmers. They ploughed the land, grew corn, they built their own houses and lived mostly by means of the exchange of goods. But nothing he had told her had fitted in with anything she had seen so far. But hadn’t she just landed! She chastised herself.

  ‘Hello, Diego. Hello there. How are you?’

  The half-breed Mexican Indian smiled widely at Matthew; but Matthew did not extend his hand, nor did the man seem to expect it, but that he was delighted to see Matthew was evident.

  ‘Wel . . . come back, boss-two.’

  ‘Good to see you, Diego. How is Big Maria and Ki?’

  ‘Good, very good. Ki shoot well . . . own gun now. Eight years old.’

  ‘Oh, that’s good, that’s good . . . This is my wife, Diego, and my stepson.

  The man gazed at Tilly for a moment; then slowly touched the brim of what she took to be a bowler hat, which was set ludicrously on top of his long straight black hair, and what he said was, ‘Good’; then turning his gaze on to Katie and the child, he looked them over before repeating ‘Good,’ before once again letting his eyes rest on Tilly. Now he spoke in a strange tongue while he moved his hands over his face, then swept one hand down the length of his body, and his actions caused Matthew to laugh and say, ‘I will tell her, she will be very pleased,’ and turning, he said, ‘Ah, there comes Boss Scott. Give him a hand, Diego.’

  The man turned away but he did not hurry towards Doug Scott and the negro who were holding the luggage, his step was slow if not stately, and as Matthew helped Tilly up into the buggy he said, ‘Diego’s a character. He’s a half-breed, he speaks mostly Mexican. He paid you a fine compliment, he said you were beautiful like the land beyond the plains where it towers high.’

  As she sank down on to the hide-covered straight-backed seat she made a slight face at him, saying, ‘And that’s a compliment?’

  ‘Indeed! Indeed!’ He turned now and, taking the child from Katie’s arms, he lifted it on to Tilly’s lap; then putting his hands under Katie’s oxte
rs, he said, ‘Up you go! and take that frightened look off your face, nobody’s going to eat you, not yet at any rate.’

  Presently the sound of thumping coming from the back of the buggy caused both Tilly and Katie to look round. The luggage was being stacked, but now Doug Scott’s voice drowned the noise as he shouted, ‘Great sport next week. ’Tis all arranged, a bear hunt. Lob Curtis, Peter Ingersoll, the Purdies . . . ’

  ‘Quiet, man! Quiet!’ That was Matthew’s voice, and both Katie and Tilly now exchanged glances as Katie’s lips silently formed the word bears.

  Tilly said, ‘Well, there’s bound to be wild animals here, it’s a big country.’

  ‘But bears! Tilly.’

  ‘Aw, for goodness sake, stop worrying, Katie. Look, we haven’t got there yet.’ There was a note of impatience in her voice now. ‘There’ll be plenty of time to start worrying when there’s something to worry about.’

  ‘Aye, perhaps you’re right. But somehow I don’t think that’ll be very far ahead.’ Katie sounded so like her mother as she made this terse remark that Tilly knew a moment of homesickness while at the same time seeming to take into herself the dread that Katie had expressed, and she recalled the words she had said to Matthew on the last night of the voyage, ‘What if I don’t turn out to be made of pioneer material?’

  They were on the road again, bumping and jostling. At times they were thrown from one end of the seat to the other. What seemed to make things worse for Tilly was being alone in the buggy with Katie and the child, no longer having Matthew’s support. He was riding alongside Doug Scott. From time to time she caught sight of them galloping away into the distance; then Matthew would turn about and ride back to the window, laughing in on her, nodding and gesticulating. He was happy as she had never seen him happy. This was a different Matthew; he seemed to be one with the people and the surrounding countryside.