Another Man's Child

by Another Man's Child (retail) (epub)

  By dinner time there was still no sign of Mrs Collins but the delivery boy arrived with the provisions. Lots of lovely bacon and eggs, butter, cheese, potatoes, carrots, cabbage, onions and potatoes, as well as milk. Molly emptied the milk in the boy’s jug into another and returned his to him. As she put the groceries away she realised how weary she was but there was still washing to do.

  She had brought rags with her to bind herself and a day’s supply was all that was left. Em had given her three tiny nightdresses, brushing aside her offers of payment, two of which were also in soak. Molly was finding that babies were messy and time-consuming and hoped she could cope. For the first time in her life there was nobody to correct any mistakes she might make and that was scary, as well as a challenge.

  She lit a fire under the copper in the outhouse, which wasn’t easy because the wind blew beneath the door and kept shifting her waxed taper. In the end she managed it but her fingers were sooty. She put everything in to boil together.

  Hunger gnawed at her insides as she fried bacon, onion, sliced potato and cabbage in the blackened frying pan. It was her most substantial meal in days and tasted heavenly when washed down with two cups of sweet, milky tea. She felt almost a new woman and her worry about being pert to Nathan Collins eased. Even so she must be nice to him. It was obvious the poor bloke was feeling pretty dreadful about losing his wife. She knew what that was like so should have been more understanding. A yawn escaped her and within minutes Molly was asleep.

  She woke to hear a baby’s screams. Feeling stiff, she hurried upstairs. It was chilly in the bedroom so she carried both babies downstairs. Placing Jessica in the cradle she saw to her daughter’s needs first, knowing she would have to give more time to Nathan’s child. ‘I should give you a name,’ she said, cuddling her daughter. ‘Perhaps I should name you after your gran.’ She kissed the fluffy, soft-as-silk hair, placing her at the opposite end of the cradle to Jessica and lifting her out. Molly kissed her, too, thinking: Poor little mite, having no mam.

  The child was lethargic and took hardly any milk. Molly was worried and hoped Em would call as promised. She hung the washing on the line, dismayed to find that the whites were no longer white but streaked pink and red. Stupid! Why hadn’t she thought of washing Nanna’s red flannelette nightie separately? Still, no use worrying now.

  She made another attempt at feeding Jessica but could not wake the child so sat in the rocking chair, nursing her. Molly dozed off. When she woke the fire was almost out, a baby was crying and there was someone knocking at the door.

  ‘Wait! Please wait!’ she called, placing Jessica on the chair.

  It was not Em as she’d hoped but a woman she realised must be Mrs Collins.

  Her gaze swept over the bedraggled Molly, who involuntarily glanced down at herself and saw that her skirt was soiled. ‘You are Mrs Payne?’ The older woman’s tone was chilly.

  ‘That’s right.’ She made an attempt to appear in control of the situation. ‘P-Please, come in. Fm-Fm afraid you’ve caught me offguard. I-I fell asleep.’

  Mrs Collins stepped over the threshold. She was of medium height with a well-corseted figure, dressed neatly in a black jacket and a long black serge skirt. Her grey hair was almost concealed by a black bonnet. ‘You’re very young but I appreciate what you’re doing,’ she said stiffly.

  ‘I’m grateful for the job,’ said Molly, leading the way in, certain the other woman had not recognised her. She went to the rocking chair and picked up Jessica. She was about to say, ‘Here’s your grand-daughter,’ when she saw something in the baby’s face that turned her own heart to stone. Molly pressed her cheek to the child’s. It was cold and she could feel no breath in her.

  At the same time Mrs Collins spotted the cradle and hurried forward, bending over the crying baby. ‘Shouldn’t you feed my grand-daughter first?’ she said impatiently, reaching in and lifting up Molly’s daughter.

  The words ‘That’s not Jessica’ died on Molly’s lips and her mouth went dry. In a voice she barely recognised as her own, she said, ‘If you’ll just give me a minute, I-I must change my skirt.’

  She hurried out of the room, up the stairs and into the front bedroom with Jessica clutched to her bosom. She felt sick, really sick. Trembling, she sat on the bed, staring down at the dead child in her arms. She could hear her own baby screaming downstairs. What was she to do? Oh, Lord, what do I do? she thought frantically. Mrs Collins called upstairs, demanding that she hurry.

  Swiftly Molly placed the dead child in the drawer and covered her up. Then she glanced down at her own soiled skirt and revulsion struck her. Shaking she went over to the alcove in the corner of the room and pulled back the curtain. Behind it hung several skirts and a coat that had been Nanna’s. She took out a skirt and found a clean rag in a drawer. With trembling fingers she undressed, taking out a clean blouse to replace the one that was damp with milk.

  Feeling faint, she leaned heavily on the bedpost, trying to slow her rapidly beating heart. After a few moments she felt a little better but could not bear to look in the direction of the drawer where she had placed the dead baby. Trying to blank out all thoughts of Jessica, she went downstairs to find Mrs Collins standing by the fire, fingers in her ears.

  ‘There you are! And about time, too,’ she said crossly, lowering her arms. ‘I can’t stand hearing a baby cry. Feed my granddaughter immediately. She’ll give Nathan something to live for once he’s done with mourning that woman.’

  Molly dredged deep inside her for the right way to say that this baby was her daughter. That if Nathan Collins’s future depended on his child’s being alive then he didn’t have one. But a thought struck her, as painful as a blow from a dagger. What if they blame me for the baby’s death? I might end up in prison! And what will happen to my baby then? Oh, Lord!

  She sat down and with trembling fingers unfastened her blouse. As her child began to suckle Molly’s mind worked overtime. What were the odds against Nathan Collins recognising his own child? He had scarcely given either baby a glance, for all his mother seemed to believe his child would be his saving grace.

  Molly looked at Mrs Collins and saw the woman frowning as she watched her. She forced a smile, wondering what was going on in the visitor’s head. She couldn’t possibly have any suspicion that the baby Molly was feeding was not her granddaughter. After all, she had laid claim to her herself. Nevertheless Molly felt guilty and closed her eyes, wanting to shut out the older woman’s face. Suddenly she thought of Em and Mrs Smith and felt chilled to the marrow. Would they be able to distinguish which baby was which?

  ‘You shivered,’ said Mrs Collins abruptly. ‘I hope you’re not coming down with something.’

  ‘No, I’m fine. Just tired,’ murmured Molly, willing herself to keep her nerve.

  ‘I think I knew your mother,’ said the elder woman, eyes narrowing. ‘Wasn’t she Mabel May?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I thought so. She was one for the lads. People used to say how attractive she was.’ There was a peculiar note in her voice. ‘You’re not like her, though. You’re no beauty.’

  That’s a bit of an insult, thought Molly indignantly. Who was this woman to say such things about her and her mother? ‘No better than she should be,’ she remembered Nanna saying about Dorothy Collins once. As for her son… Molly remembered once coming across him with his bum hanging out of his pants when he’d been scrumping plums. The owner had suddenly come out of her house and Molly had called to Nathan, telling him to hurry but to be careful and not break a leg. He’d come down that tree too fast and torn his pants and she had laughed and laughed, partly from nerves, thinking he might get shot and she’d be implicated as well, and partly because his expression was so comical. He’d been furious and boxed her ears and told her not to tell anyone, that he was depending on her to keep it quiet. In those days he and his mother had been as poor as she and hers, his farm hand father having been kicked in the head by a cow and killed.

  There was
the sound of someone at the door and Mrs Collins went to open it. Em entered the room and Molly’s heart began to pound. The moment of truth. She took a deep breath. ‘My little one hasn’t been too good today. I wonder if you could take a look at her, Em? She’s upstairs sleeping.’ ‘Course I will,’ said the midwife, stopping in the middle of the room and running a hand over the cradle. ‘This is a lovely piece of craftsmanship. Your son’s got a real talent, Mrs Collins.’

  ‘It’s not what I wanted for him,’ she said stiffly. ‘But he’s always been stubborn, like his father before him. I believe I’ve you to thank for saving my grand-daughter.’

  Em sighed. ‘I was only sorry I couldn’t save the mother. Sad it was.’

  ‘Aye. But he married against my wishes, you know. Still he’s only young and can marry again and have a son the next time.’

  ‘Well, that’s up to the good Lord,’ said Em shortly. ‘I’ll go upstairs, Molly, and take a peek at your little lass.’

  ‘She seems to be having trouble breathing.’ That was true all right, poor little mite. ‘I’ve wrapped her up well and put her to sleep in the drawer.’ She lifted her head, knowing there was no need to pretend to look worried because she was scared out of her wits.

  Em’s expression softened. ‘Don’t thee be fretting, lass. I’ll see to her.’

  As the midwife left the room Molly’s back ached with tension and her ears strained to catch every sound overhead. When Em’s footsteps stopped Molly fixed her eyes on her sleeping daughter. She must start thinking of her as Jessica. She rocked her gently as Em’s footsteps came hurrying downstairs. She held the dead baby in her arms and anyone looking at her would have known instantly that something was terribly wrong.

  ‘What is it?’ said Molly, voice trembling.

  Em’s eyes fixed on her face and the girl had to force herself to hold that stare. Did Em suspect? Surely she delivered so many babies she couldn’t possibly remember what each individual looked like? Em sighed and said gently, ‘I don’t understand it. Molly, I’m sorry but your baby’s dead.’

  ‘No!’ she screamed, rising in the chair and thrusting her own child at Mrs Collins. The woman caught it to her hastily as Molly held out her arms for the dead baby. Em hesitated only a second before handing her over. The tears the girl shed were real as she went through the motions of verifying Em’s statement. She only had to dwell on Frank’s death or Nanna’s to be filled with sorrow.

  Mrs Collins appeared embarrassed and although she expressed sympathy, kept her distance. Then she said unexpectedly, ‘I don’t know if I should let you take care of my grandchild any longer. I mean – to allow your own child to die says something, doesn’t it?’

  Molly was dumbstruck but Em turned on the woman. ‘Molly hardly allowed it! There but for the grace of God goes your son’s daughter, Mrs Collins. It is the Lord who decides who to take and who to leave. If it weren’t for Molly you wouldn’t be holding a live baby in your arms right now.’

  ‘You’ve got a nerve, speaking to me like that,’ said the older woman, turning scarlet. ‘This is my grand-daughter, and I’ll say what’s right for her.’

  Terrified she was going to be parted from her baby, Molly found her voice. ‘She’s not your child, though, is she, Mrs Collins? Your son hired me to look after her. I think he should have the final say as to whether I’m fit or not to look after her.’

  ‘I agree,’ said Em, folding her arms across her chest. ‘And I’m willing to go and see Mr Collins right now in his workshop and tell him what’s happened here.’

  Mrs Collins looked affronted and her eyes flashed. ‘You do that! And tell him to come right away.’

  Em hurried out.

  Molly and Mrs Collins stared at one another resentfully. She hates me, thought Molly, wondering why. Am I mad to put myself in a position where this woman has a say in my daughter’s future? Might as well have stayed with Ma Payne. Might as well tell the truth. Yet where would that lead?

  They’d want to know why I pretended it was my child who was dead. They might think I deliberately killed Jessica. She glanced down at the dead baby in her arms and realised just how thick her eyelashes were. Had Em noticed? Had Nathan Collins? Terror gripped her as she imagined the hangman’s noose.

  Without a word to Mrs Collins she left the room and went upstairs. Once more she placed the dead baby in the drawer and covered her with a blanket. She thought of Nathan Collins and his attitude to the child; of Mrs Collins and the way she spoke of her son being stubborn. Molly considered how Mrs Collins had called her daughter-in-law ‘that woman’ and so obviously been against the marriage. Could it be that there was little love lost between mother and son? Molly smiled tight-lipped, convinced it was so, and thought, surely he wouldn’t have noticed such a thing as the length of his daughter’s eyelashes? When he arrives I’ll put on the act of my life, playing the role of grieving mother with such conviction there won’t be any doubt in his mind that the dead baby is mine. I also have to convince him that the surviving child cannot possibly survive without me.

  * * *

  Nathan leaned against the dresser, arms folded, staring at Molly. The tears were still damp on her cheeks. They were alone except for the baby sleeping in the cradle. He had told his mother to get out. She had refused at first but when he had shown signs of evicting her forcibly had left, protesting volubly.

  Suddenly he spoke and although Molly had been waiting for him to do so, she jumped. ‘Sorry!’ She cleared her throat and although she’d heard what he said, asked him to repeat it.

  ‘I said, won’t you find it upsetting, Mrs Payne, feeding my child when your own is dead? Taking care of her as if she was your own?’

  ‘I think that goes without saying, Mr Collins.’ Molly’s voice was low but distinct and she resisted the urge to pleat the skirt of her apron between her nervous fingers. She wished she could read his thoughts. He knew who she was all right. Probably had done immediately Em had mentioned Nanna’s death and gave him this address.

  ‘I don’t want you breaking down…’

  ‘I won’t,’ she said earnestly. ‘I care about Jessica’s well-being.’

  He raised his thick dark eyebrows. ‘Maybe.’

  Molly took a deep breath. ‘What are your choices if you sack me? Will your mother feed her with cow’s milk from a bottle? Em says that can upset a baby’s stomach. Or will you search for another woman who’s just given birth? The trouble with that is, her husband might not like the idea of her feeding another man’s child.’

  His expression froze. ‘Is that how your husband would have felt? You’re a very young widow, Mrs Payne. Did you really have one?’

  Her cheeks flamed. ‘That’s an insult! If my mother were here to hear you say such a thing, she’d swipe you one! You’re not a very old widower, Mr Collins. What kind of girl do you think I am?’

  ‘I wouldn’t know. I don’t know you very well.’

  ‘You do know me, though?’ she challenged.

  ‘Aye, I remember you,’ he said softly. ‘You told the whole school about me falling out of that tree and tearing my pants so my arse stuck out. You told them I was a scaredy cat.’

  ‘I said nothing of the sort!’ she said indignantly. ‘That must have been Anna Hepple-white. I happened to meet her going home after it happened. I was crying because you really hurt my ear when you boxed it and she wanted to know what was wrong. Bum… that’s what I said to her. And “the whole school’s” an exaggeration. And weren’t you scared? Old Mrs Howarth had a shotgun.’ She folded her arms. ‘Anyway what’s that got to do with here and now? It’s no good reason for implying I lack morals.’

  ‘I think it’s everything to do with it! You lack respect for me.’ His eyes did not leave her face.

  ‘I do have respect for you,’ muttered Molly. ‘Although Nanna always said respect must be earned.’

  ‘What!’ He glared at her and took a step forward. ‘Are you saying I have to earn your respect?’

  ‘No!’ sh
e squeaked, stepping back a pace. ‘I’m sure you’re very respectable now. And so am 1. I only said what I did because I was hurt. Of course I had a husband. I must have done if I’m a widow, mustn’t I? You didn’t doubt it before the baby died. Or did you? Perhaps you didn’t but do now because you think I killed her?’ Molly said boldly.

  He looked astonished. ‘Have you gone off your head?’

  ‘Of course not!’ Her dire situation struck her afresh. ‘I’ve just had one shock on top of another. It’s not surprising I’m in a bit of a state. Aren’t you feeling terrible with your wife dying?’

  He said nothing but his lips tightened as he went over to the cradle and looked down at the sleeping child lying snugly wrapped in a shawl so that only the top of her head showed. He put out one hand. ‘Don’t disturb her!’ Molly’s heart danced a crazy, terrified he might suddenly remember what his baby had looked like. She hurried over to him. ‘Look at her, so peaceful.’ Her voice was soft and loving. ‘Let her sleep. Why don’t you come and see her tomorrow when she’s awake?’ It was a daft thing to say because how was he to know when the baby would be awake?

  ‘The funeral’s tomorrow.’ The pain in his eyes reminded her of a dog her stepfather had once kicked. The poor creature hadn’t understood why it was booted out of the pub just for cocking its leg.

  Nathan moved away from the cradle and slumped into a chair. He dropped his head into his hands. ‘You didn’t know my wife.’ His voice was muffled. ‘She wasn’t from the village but Newburgh. Near enough so she could visit her family when she wanted.’

  Her family! Molly’s heart performed that crazy rhythm again and she felt dizzy, reaching out to clutch the cradle. She hadn’t thought of his wife having sisters or a mother. Perhaps she should take her daughter and run?