Honey's Farm

by Iris Gower

  Jamie straightened and stared at her frowning. ‘Go back to the farmhouse. Stay right away from the cows in calf, do you understand?’

  Fon was taken aback. Anyone would think she had caused the animal to fall sick. ‘But, Jamie, perhaps I can help,’ she said, and Jamie brushed the earth from his hands without looking at her.

  ‘Do what I say. Take my son back to the house. Keep him indoors until I come.’

  Without a word, Fon led Patrick back to the farmhouse, and as soon as he was occupied with his toys she began to build up the fire, ready to heat the oven for the dough she had proving in the hearth.

  What had gone wrong with her marriage, she wondered. It seemed that Jamie couldn’t even trust her with the animals now. She sank down at the table and stared at her hands. They were grimed with dust from the udders of the milk cows as well as streaked with coal. She rose and went to the pump in the yard and washed diligently before dealing with the bread-making.

  Later, Jamie and Tommy came back to the farmhouse, and Fon heard them talking outside at the pump. She could not hear the words but she sensed from his tone that Jamie was very troubled.

  They ate in silence, and Fon, still smarting from the tone of Jamie’s voice, didn’t attempt to make conversation. Tommy glanced at her worriedly and Fon stared back at him until the boy looked away in embarrassment.

  It wasn’t until she and Jamie were working at the books that she managed to get the words out that had been irking her all day.

  ‘Is it my fault the cow is sick?’ she asked quietly. Jamie looked at her in surprise. ‘Is it something I did wrong in the feeding, or what?’

  ‘Of course not. What in God’s sweet earth gave you that idea?’

  She wanted to tell him that he did, his tone of voice intimating that she had mishandled the situation, but she kept quiet, waiting for him to go on.

  ‘The cow sickness will surely spread,’ he said evenly. ‘It can be transferred somehow to humans, so I don’t want you going near the animals at all, do you see? And you must keep Patrick away too. I don’t want anything happening to either of you.’

  A warmth spread through Fon. He cared, he really cared about her as well as his son. Then she realized the utter seriousness behind his words and suddenly she felt chilled. ‘Do you think the other animals will get it?’

  ‘Maybe,’ Jamie said. ‘For sure the cows in calf will abort, but I’m going to do my damnest to try to save the herd and put them to the bull again once they are dry.’

  ‘Dry? You mean we won’t even have any milk from them?’ Fon asked incredulously.

  ‘The milk, it will be full of the sickness,’ Jamie said sternly. ‘I will see to the disposing of it, me and Tommy.’

  ‘How will you do that?’ Fon asked, feeling fear creep over her. If the sickness was serious, what were Jamie’s chances of catching it?

  ‘I’ll buy in a healthy calf,’ Jamie said. ‘It will take the milk from the cows until they run dry. It’ll have to suckle day and night – it won’t be easy.’

  He smiled at her suddenly.

  ‘Don’t look so worried, I’ve survived worse things in my time. We’ll be all right, trust me, my colleen.’

  Her face softened. He had not called her colleen for what seemed a very long time. She reached out and took his hand and the look he gave her healed the breach between them in an instant.

  One by one, the cows cast their calves at six months, and Fon knew that for each calf aborted Jamie was losing money. Not only would there be no calves to sell at spring market next year, but the herd of mature cows might have to be slaughtered if they became barren through the sickness.

  It was Fon who turned to Jamie now, took him into her arms and kissed and caressed him until she felt him harden in desire. They made love almost desperately; Jamie thrust into her with almost painful intensity, as though at any moment she might be snatched away from him.

  Afterwards, as they lay in each other’s arms, Fon knew a cold fear that Jamie might contract the sickness and die. She turned her face into his warm shoulder and realized that he too was lying awake, staring the uncertain future in the face with courage, which was more than she could do; for, without her husband, her life would be over. She was bound to Jamie O’Conner with the strongest bonds of all, the bonds of love.

  CHAPTER SIX

  At the edge of the O’Conner farmland, on a rise of a softly sloping hill, stood the big barn where in the lambing season the ewes were kept. This was Gary the shepherd boy’s domain, and here he ruled supreme.

  It had always amused Fon that Gary was still referred to as a ‘boy’, because he was fifty if he was a day, with grizzled white hair that protruded from under a worn cap, and a thin face, as craggy as the hills that sheltered his sheep. But, for all that, Gary was still upright and strong enough to handle the herd at all seasons, from the lambing to the shearing.

  His method of shearing was one that fascinated Fon. Gary would manhandle the animal and hold it close to him, almost tenderly, like a lover, and swiftly cut away the thick winter fleece, scarcely ever nicking the vulnerable flesh beneath the wool.

  But the sheep, for now, must take second place, because with the cow sickness causing a crisis on the farm, even Gary was needed to help. In just a few short days, all of the breeding cows had become infected.

  Gary grumbled constantly and bitterly, but he took his turn bringing the bought, healthy calf to the milk-laden cows morning and night in an effort to save the animals. Everyone on the farm knew the consequences of losing an entire herd of beasts; it would be little short of a catastrophe.

  The milk, Jamie insisted, was infected with the sickness, and, in contrast to what other farmers in his situation would do, he ordered that the milk not taken by the calf was to be poured away. It ran, in a white river, into the ditch, much to the disgust of old Gary and the wide-eyed disbelief evinced by Tom.

  As a precaution, the big black bull was taken from the vicinity of the farmyard, and tethered high on the hill, away from the infected cows, for to lose his prize bull would be a more bitter blow to Jamie than losing the herd.

  Fon was allowed to take no part in any handling of the sick animals; Jamie was set against it. He had his reasons, and Fon understood them well enough. Jamie had lost one wife, he didn’t want to lose another.

  So Fon’s days were easier, but with no animals to milk in the mornings, the first early daylight hours seemed to drag. Fon tried to fill her time with baking good meals for the menfolk and looking after Patrick, but her mind was obsessed with worries about Jamie, fearing that he would wear himself out on what seemed to be a battle he could not win. The only sign of progress so far was that at least one of the cows had dried up, the bad milk having ceased to flow.

  These quiet mornings, Patrick could sleep in for as long as he liked, and this gave Fon the opportunity to gather in the eggs from under the hens without the small boy’s probing fingers frightening the birds, sending them flying to the ceiling of the hut with raucous cries.

  ‘Good girl, Celia.’ Fon’s voice hung softly in the quietness of the hen-house. The contented clucking of the birds was soothing as she extracted the still warm egg from under an obedient hen and placed it carefully with the others in the basket.

  She straightened, thinking she heard a noise in the yard. Surely Patrick hadn’t come down from bed and wandered outside?

  She hurried out of the hen-house, fastening the door behind her almost absent-mindedly. Head bent, she was half-way across the stretch of dried earth flanking the farmhouse when she became aware of the black bull standing only a few feet away from her. She took a sharp, indrawn breath; the beast was a solid, dangerous barrier between herself and the farmhouse.

  Fon froze in her tracks, not knowing whether to back into the hen-house or try to skirt the huge animal and make for the safety of the house.

  She measured the distance with her eyes and saw that there was little chance of outrunning the beast; her only alternative was the h
en-house, a frail enough structure which would surely collapse should the bull decide to charge.

  The creature lowered his great head and began pawing the ground. As if in a nightmare, Fon saw the dust spurt up in small clouds beneath the angry hooves; the beast was not called the Black Devil for nothing. She swallowed hard, knowing she must think clearly. Any sudden movement on her part would only anger the bull.

  Slowly, she began to back up, inch by inch, watching the bull every second. The animal sniffed the air, as if scenting her fear, and moved a few paces towards her, seemingly still uncertain whether to charge or not.

  Fon took another step back, caught her heel in her skirt and to her horror found herself falling in a flurry of petticoats. She hit the ground so hard that the breath was knocked from her body, the basket fell from her hand, scattering eggs across the dry ground. Fon stifled a scream and edged away from the towering creature.

  There was an evil look in the animal’s eye as the bull continued to paw the ground. At any moment now, the creature would charge, and she would be at the mercy of those cruel horns.

  Quickly, Fon slipped her skirt over her hips. As she tried to clamber to her feet, she waved the skirt threateningly at the bull.

  ‘Get away!’ she shouted, climbing to her knees. ‘Go on, shoo!’ The act served only to enrage the animal, and with a snort of seeming contempt the bull began to rumble towards her. Fon thought she screamed, but the thunder of hooves against the hard ground filled her head.

  She closed her eyes, waiting for the impact, waiting for those pointed horns to pierce her flesh. She imagined in that brief instant what it would be like to be flung like a piece of rag, tossed to and fro, helpless at the mercy of the black bull.

  Then she heard Jamie’s voice and her eyes flew open. He had a stick through the ring in the bull’s nose and was leaning back on it with all his might.

  ‘Fetch the dry cow, Tommy!’ he shouted. ‘She must be bulling.’

  Fon backed up against the hen-house, watching, mouth dry, as Tommy began to run towards the pastures. She knew then what Jamie was about; he would put the cow to the bull, knowing that was the only way to distract and quieten the animal.

  Jamie was having difficulty controlling the bull. He cursed and shouted at the beast, which at any moment threatened to toss his great head and dislodge the offending stick and Jamie with it. Jamie was well-built and muscular, but no man’s strength was equal to that of an animal like the Black Devil.

  Fon saw the sweat on Jamie’s muscled arms as he strained to hold the creature still. She had begun to shake; she feared for Jamie more than she had ever feared for herself. It seemed an eternity before Tommy reappeared, bringing a thin, scrawny-looking cow with him.

  He led the creature into the yard and looked uncertainly at Jamie as though waiting for directions. Jamie jerked his head in a fierce gesture of dismissal. ‘Let the cow loose and get to hell out of here!’ he called.

  The bull suddenly scented the nearness of the cow and his huge nostrils opened and closed like door-flaps. Slowly, Jamie removed the stick and stood back, and Fon held her breath as the bull swung his great head to and fro as though to clear it. Then, nostrils flaring, the bull turned towards the cow.

  ‘Thanks be to the good Lord!’ Fon said softly.

  Jamie was at her side in seconds. ‘Come on,’ he said quickly. ‘Into the farmhouse, and stay there until I tell you it’s safe.’

  Fon wanted to hold him to her, to feel his heart beat against hers; she feared for him, for his task was far from over.

  He seemed to sense her feeling, for his features softened. ‘I’ll be all right now,’ he said. ‘The bull will be well pleased with his day’s work, and he’ll go peaceably when he’s had what he came for.’

  From the safety of the window, Fon watched as Jamie stood aside waiting for the bull to approach the cow. The animal still seemed angry and uncertain, turning his great head as though sensing a trap.

  Patrick came into the room, rubbing his eyes sleepily, and in that moment the bull charged. Fon heard Tommy cry out; she felt her heart lurch, and then before her startled gaze the bull was retreating across the yard.

  She saw that Jamie was wielding a thick branch; he had apparently struck the animal a hefty blow with it, and the bull had thought better of attempting to charge such a formidable opponent again. Instead, the animal moved purposefully towards the waiting cow.

  It was some time later that Tommy led the now docile bull away from the farmyard and back to his field, and Fon knew that the danger was over. She sighed with relief and moved away from the window, sinking down on to a kitchen chair, realizing that she was trembling.

  Now the full import of what Jamie had done washed over her. He had risked the magnificent animal, his pride and joy, putting the beast with the sickly cow. Tears sprung to her eyes; Jamie had risked everything, even his life, to save her. How could she doubt his love? But if only he would say the words out loud, how happy she would be.

  She covered her face with her hands. The tears burned against her lids, but she swallowed hard, telling herself not to be so weak and foolish. She was a farmer’s wife, she must not break down and cry whenever there were difficulties. But it was a long time before Fon stopped trembling.

  Eline closed the door on the gallery with a sigh of relief. It had been a long day, a busy day. She moved tiredly towards the kitchen, where Penny was cooking supper, and sank down into one of the kitchen chairs.

  ‘Tired out, are you?’ Penny’s soft Welsh lilt was more in evidence than usual: a sign, Eline thought, of her concern.

  She smiled at Penny and pushed back a piece of stray curl. ‘I am a bit tired, I suppose.’ She made an effort to smile; how could she explain to the young girl that it was weariness of spirit that made her tired, that it was the longing to see William, and to tell him she was sorry for her cruel words, that drained her energy, not the honest day’s work in the gallery?

  Penny was a sweet girl, entirely lacking the usual subservient attitudes of the run-of-the-mill serving maid. But then Penny was from an unusual family. Her parents did not care a fig for convention; they were happy in their unity and left their daughter free to pursue her own ambitions. They did not, as many parents did, insist on her making an early marriage.

  Penny’s family had been as glad of handouts of food during the hardships of the oyster troubles as everyone else in the vicinity, but now that finances had improved there was every opportunity for Penny to give up her job if she so wished.

  ‘What’s for supper?’ Eline asked. She enjoyed Penny’s bright company and, in spite of the girl’s youth, her almost motherly attitude towards herself.

  ‘A nice bit of rabbit pie,’ Penny said proudly. ‘The crust is as light and tasty as you’ll find anywhere.’

  Penny served the meal straight from the stove to the table and sat down to eat. Eline smiled. She had long since abandoned any attempt to act the lady; with Penny there was no need for pretence.

  ‘I’m going up to Swansea, tomorrow,’ Eline said softly. She knew she must swallow her pride, make a determined effort to see Hari and ask her where Will had gone.

  ‘Duw, that heathen place, you want to watch out you don’t get your purse robbed while you’re there, mind,’ Penny said, issuing the dour warning without the least realizing that she knew very little of Swansea except what she’d heard from her parents.

  ‘I’ll be careful,’ Eline said, suppressing a grimace. Oh, she would be careful all right, careful to ask discreetly about Will’s whereabouts, though she had no doubt that Hari Grenfell would see right through her; Hari was nothing if not perceptive.

  Eline sighed heavily. Why had she allowed such a situation to develop? She would marry Will tomorrow, give up everything she had worked for if only she could be his wife. But Will was proud and stubborn; he wanted to make his own way in the world, to become a success in his own right, and she couldn’t in all honesty blame him for that. The thing she most regretted was he
r angry, unjust words to him, underlining his own sense of failure.

  Eline found it difficult to sleep again that night; indeed, she scarcely seemed to have had any sleep at all since the separation from Will. She lay awake now, eyes wide and dry, looking up at the ceiling, dappled with moonlight, burning to be in Will’s arms, to feel his lips on hers. Well, she would not let him go so easily. Tomorrow she would learn where this shop in Cardiff was situated; she would travel the fifty or so miles to see him, if need be.

  She sighed and turned her face into the pillow. Who was she trying to fool? She knew that her courage would fail her when it came to actually making the journey. What if he would not see her, had really finished with her for good and all? She pressed her face into the pillow, and the hard, painful tears came at last.

  Hari Grenfell welcomed Eline in her fine suite of rooms above the emporium. ‘Please sit down,’ she said softly. ‘I’m very pleased to see you, Eline, it seems such a long time since you used to come here and discuss patterns with me.’

  Eline sank into an upholstered chair and looked down at her hands. She could not make small talk, not even to be polite, because she felt sick and ill and fear seemed to rob her of words.

  ‘It’s about Will, isn’t it?’ Hari urged gently. Eline looked up at her and swallowed hard. She seemed to have suddenly become bereft of pride; nothing mattered save learning of Will’s whereabouts.

  She nodded her head miserably, wondering if Will would have left instructions that his address should be kept secret, but Hari had drawn a sheet of paper towards her and was busy writing on it.

  ‘Here’s the address of the shop in Cardiff,’ she said softly. ‘I hope you and Will can make up your differences, whatever they are.’ She smiled and her lovely face was illuminated. ‘You are so obviously in love with each other, it seems foolish to be apart.’

  Eline suddenly found her voice. ‘I said things, unforgivable things.’ She spoke quietly. ‘I wouldn’t blame Will if he never wanted to see me again.’