Honey's Farm

by Iris Gower

  ‘Stop!’ Fon said. ‘For God’s sake, stop before you kill him.’

  ‘Kill him?’ Jamie echoed. ‘Sure and shouldn’t I be castrating him, for what he’s tried to do to you today?’

  But Jamie stood back and looked down at the man, who was on his knees, swaying from the beating he’d received.

  ‘Get out of here,’ Jamie said, ‘and don’t let me see you on my land again, or I’ll take a gun to you, do you understand?’

  Bob Smale lurched to his feet, glowering through the eye that remained open. The venom in his face made Fon shudder.

  Jamie watched for a time making sure the man was well out of sight before turning to Fon and folding her in his arms.

  ‘The bastard!’ he said, ‘daring to lay hands on you. He’s lucky he can still walk.’

  Fon clung to him. She was trembling, but she made an effort to smile. ‘I tried to beat him off,’ she said, ‘but I couldn’t run very fast up the hill.’

  Jamie’s shoulders were tense with anger. ‘Come on home, colleen,’ he said. ‘You’re safe now. I can only thank God I heard you calling my name.’

  In the kitchen later, Jamie washed her gently and helped her put on fresh clothes.

  ‘The bastard has bruised you,’ he said, ‘and from now on I’ll make sure he won’t touch you again.’ He fetched a gun and stood it near the door. ‘I’ll put the ammunition on the shelf,’ he said. ‘With Patrick around we can’t keep the thing loaded. But don’t answer the door to anyone, do you understand? No strangers must cross this threshold.’

  When Jamie had returned to the fields, Fon brought in the tin bath and washed again, soaping herself liberally, closing her eyes as she saw the blackening bruising on her breast and thighs. She felt so tainted, so unclean, and she hoped that washing would make her feel better.

  She could still feel hands upon her breasts, on her waist, gripping her, preparing to violate her, and she shuddered. It would be some time before she would be able to forget what had happened today. Never again, she told herself, would she venture into Swansea alone.

  How awful it would have been if Jamie had not come to her aid when he did! Imagine being taken by force by a man who was nothing more than a violent stranger. It didn’t bear thinking about.

  She stayed in the hot water until it cooled, and only then did Fon step out on to the flag floor and rub herself dry.

  Her torn clothes she pushed on to the fire; she never wished to see them again, not ever. Quickly she dressed in fresh clean underwear and a good serviceable skirt Jamie had found for her. She felt refreshed and almost normal again as she brushed out her long hair; soon, she promised herself, the incident would fade in her memory.

  When Jamie came in for his supper, he took her in his arms and held her close, kissing her face and neck, his hands tender as he held her.

  She cupped his face in her hands. ‘I’m all right, love, really I am,’ she said softly.

  He buried his face in her neck, and she felt him tremble. ‘If anything happened to you, Fon, my little colleen, I think I’d want to die.’

  ‘Nothing is going to happen to me, my love,’ she said softly, ‘except that I’m going to be the best wife in the world to you.’

  ‘Let’s forget about supper,’ he said, kissing her mouth so tenderly that tears came to Fon’s eyes.

  ‘That’s the best idea I’ve heard for a long time,’ she whispered, and together, arms entwined, they climbed the stairs to their bedroom.

  Over the next few days, there was a response to the advertisement in the Cambrian. A labourer by the name of Mike the Spud came to work on the farm, and as the potatoes were lifted and the fields limed sooner than expected, Jamie was ready to start the replanting of the greens.

  Fon had seen him go out to the fields looking fitter than he’d done for some days, and she was happy that a great deal of pressure had been lifted from his shoulders. So she was surprised when she saw the men come back to dinner early.

  ‘Hello, love.’ She looked anxiously into Jamie’s drawn face. ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘Clubroot,’ he said as he flung himself down into a chair. ‘The whole field of caulis diseased – what a waste!’

  Fon felt chilled. Bad luck seemed to be dogging their footsteps; just as one problem was solved, another came to take its place.

  In silence, she served the dinner to the new labourer, keeping herself distant from him – a little afraid, if the truth was told. She could have sworn that Mike, who kept giving her covert glances from the corner of his eye, was no stranger to these parts, as he had claimed.

  Mike the Spud, as he called himself, made Fon uneasy, and something about him seemed to be vaguely familiar; but she couldn’t place him anywhere in her mind. Still, she reasoned, once the hay was cut the men wouldn’t be needed until September, when Jamie would be busy again, lifting late potatoes, reseeding the grass as well as cutting the corn.

  As Fon served the potatoes from the huge black pot, Mike moved his chair deferentially, and Fon forced a smile, telling herself she was being ridiculously suspicious; not all men were like Bob Smale.

  It was later, when the men had gone out to the barn to bed down, and Jamie had brought out the books, that the crash came. Fon leaped out of her chair at the sound of breaking glass, and Jamie pushed her to one side, making his way through to the kitchen.

  There on the floor lay a large stone with a piece of paper wrapped around it. Jamie picked it up and smoothed out the creases while Fon stood watching him, her heart in her mouth.

  ‘What is it?’ she asked shakily, catching Jamie’s arm.

  Grimly he turned to her. ‘Here,’ he said. ‘Read it for yourself.’ He handed her the note.

  The words wavered beneath Fon’s eyes:

  IF YOU THINK YOU’RE SAFE, THEN YOU ARE VERY MUCH MISTAKEN. NOTHING IS FORGIVEN OR FORGOTTEN.

  ‘What does it mean?’ Fon asked, crushing it between her fingers. Jamie took the note from her and ripped it into tiny shreds.

  ‘Stay here and lock the door behind me,’ he ordered. He moved outside, as silent and stealthy as a cat, and Fon closed the door and bolted it as he’d ordered. Her heart was beating so swiftly that it sounded loud to her own ears, and her breathing was ragged in the silence.

  It seemed an eternity before Jamie returned. He tapped on the door and spoke her name quietly. She let him in and clung to him in relief.

  ‘Nothing,’ he said. ‘But what worries me is that we have a complete stranger in our barn. I should have vetted Mike the Spud more closely before I took him on.’

  Fon suddenly felt chilled. She had realized in that instant who Mike reminded her of. It was the man who had tried to rape her, the man whom Jamie had beaten within an inch of his life; Mike bore more than a passing resemblance to none other than the hated Bob Smale.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  ‘Well, everything seems to be in order.’ Jamie spread the handwritten letters on the table before him. ‘Mike the Spud has worked on most of the farms around here; good references he’s got too.’

  In the cold light of day, Fon realized that her fears of the previous night had been groundless. Why should the casual labourer harbour any grudge against her and Jamie? Mike and the older hand Dewi were glad of the work, and even more glad of the food and shelter and the generous remuneration Jamie gave them. The resemblance of Mike the Spud to Bob Smale must have been a figment of her imagination.

  ‘I suppose all we can do is trust people a little,’ Fon said, though her doubts persisted, in spite of all her reasoning.

  ‘I’ll keep an eye on Mike,’ Jamie said. ‘And as for trusting, I don’t trust anyone as far as I can see them, not unless I’ve vetted them personally.’

  Jamie folded the letters away. ‘I’ve asked Gary the shepherd boy to keep an eye on things for today, because you, me and our boy are going to have the day off. I think we all deserve it.’

  Fon looked at him questioningly. She was hot from having cooked a hot breakfast for th
e men and was glad to sit down for a moment and drink her tea.

  ‘Can we afford to take a day off?’ she asked weakly, knowing that nothing would be more wonderful than to spend the whole day with Jamie.

  ‘Whether we can or not, we’re going to,’ Jamie said firmly. ‘The potatoes are all raised, and while we’re out the men can lime the odd field that hasn’t been done already. We’ll start cutting the grass tomorrow up on the top field. That’s the last then, the rest has been done.’

  ‘What will we do, and where shall we go?’ Fon felt as excited as a child. She looked at Jamie in his crisp clean shirt, open at the neck to reveal the strong column of his throat, and felt the ache of love within her. She was so lucky to have found him, and, more, to have become his wife, protected and cared for by him.

  ‘There’s a fair in Swansea,’ Jamie said. ‘Perhaps I’ll buy you some lovely green ribbons for your hair. It’s high time you had a treat, colleen.’ He smiled at her warmly, and Fon sighed, a feeling of happiness enveloping her like a blanket.

  It was only occasionally that the ghost of Katherine, his first wife, rose like a spectre between them now, like the times when Jamie had talked of having more children. But mostly she felt secure now, sure of his love, and it was a wonderful feeling.

  Patrick wandered into the kitchen, his hair tousled, his eyes still full of sleep. Fon lifted him on to her knee.

  ‘We’re going tatters,’ she said to him. ‘Daddy is taking us out. What do you think of that, my fine boy?’

  ‘Tatters,’ Patrick repeated. ‘Daddy taking us tatters.’ He snuggled against Fon’s breast, still half asleep, and she smiled over his head at Jamie.

  ‘I’d better get him some breakfast. We’ll be ready in about an hour – is that all right?’

  ‘That will be just fine.’ Jamie rose from his chair and scooped the letters of recommendation up in his large hands, thrusting them into a drawer.

  ‘I’ll just give the men their orders for the day and see to one or two things, then I’ll bring the cart around the front. We’ll ride to Swansea today.’

  Fon kissed Patrick’s hair. ‘Fonny’ll get you some breakfast, and then you must have a nice wash. We’re going to the fair, Patrick, what do you think of that?’

  It was later, when she sat with Patrick on the narrow planking of the cart, that Fon felt a dart of apprehension. What if they should come across Bob Smale while they were in Swansea? Jamie would surely set about him again.

  She smiled then at her own foolishness. Swansea was a big town; the fairground would be swarming with copper workers and Romany gypsies and all sorts of people; why should they come across Bob Smale? She supposed it was the events last night. The stone through the window and the threatening note that had put her on edge.

  She glanced up at the cloudless sky. The threatened rain had not come after all, and she sighed, exasperated with herself. She must stop worrying about every little thing and enjoy the day; it was what Jamie wanted for her.

  She looked up at him as he guided the big grey down the hillside towards the town. Jamie’s hair gleamed darkly, with red lights shining through the curls, and his broad shoulders were straight and strong. He was a fine man, this husband of hers.

  On the way, Patrick curled up beside her and closed his eyes. He was very sleepy, and Fon smiled down at the plump cheeks and sweet mouth. For a second she frowned; he was inclined to sleep a lot these days. Perhaps the work in the fields was too much for him; he was only a small boy, after all.

  It didn’t take long to reach Swansea, where the streets gleamed in the sunlight and the tall buildings threw deep shadows on to the roadways.

  Jamie had chosen to take the route through the village of Sketty, and the crossroads were comparatively quiet, an indication that many of the inhabitants were, like them, taking the day off to go to the fair.

  Past the church of St Paul’s and down the leafy lane in the direction of the beach, the cart jogged and jolted, and still Patrick slept on. Fon put the back of her hand against his forehead. It was a little hot – but then the day was hot, the sun now rising overhead.

  Patrick stirred and opened his eyes and smiled so sweetly at Fon that she hugged him impulsively. ‘Want a nice drink of dandelion and burdock?’ she asked him quietly.

  ‘I do.’ Jamie turned to look at her. ‘I’m that thirsty I could drink the sea dry.’

  Jamie reined in the grey and Fon handed him a drink. He smiled at her and then drank it in one long swallow.

  ‘That went down well,’ Fon said, refilling his cup.

  He took it and nodded his head. ‘Would have gone down better if it had been a mug of ale, though,’ he said, with mock seriousness. ‘I could have got drunk and forgot all about my nagging wife, if I had some ale inside me.’

  Fon pretended to throw the empty bottle of cordial at him, and the dregs flew through the air and landed against the side of his face, trickling along his cheek and into the collar of his shirt.

  He moved like lightning, gripping her hands in his and drawing her close. The cart swayed precariously and Patrick laughed out loud in glee.

  ‘Sure I deserve a forfeit for such an attack,’ Jamie said, holding Fon tightly. ‘You must give me a kiss, I insist on it.’

  ‘Silly fool!’ Fon twisted away from him. ‘Why should I kiss such a nasty, insulting husband?’

  ‘And why should I tolerate a scold?’ Jamie caught her chin between his fingers and, holding her, kissed her lightly on her mouth.

  ‘Take that for now,’ he said, ‘but you will prove yourself an amenable wife when I have the time to teach you a proper lesson.’ His eyes were filled with laughter.

  ‘And I shall do my best to obey you in all things, lord and master,’ Fon said, with a pretence of meekness.

  Jamie’s hand lingered for a moment on the back of her neck. ‘You are very precious to me, colleen, do you know that?’ he said softly.

  She could have wished he’d spoken of love, but his words were enough for now. ‘And I love you, very much, Jamie O’Conner,’ Fon said, a catch of tears in her voice.

  ‘I want to go on the horses.’ Patrick’s voice broke into the silence. ‘I want toffee apples and goodies.’

  ‘Right, my son,’ Jamie said, ‘let’s get on, we’ll soon be at the fairground.’

  The fair was held on a large field, with the lovely trees of a valley on one side and the long stretch of the bay on the other. Music blared out in a distortion of a tune from the barrel organ at the entrance to the ground, and further into the field a group of musicians dressed as clowns played their own kind of music.

  At her side, Patrick jumped about in glee, and Fon felt just as excited as her stepson. It was rarely she’d gone to fairs, for before her marriage there was the hard business of oyster fishing and the backbreaking work on the perches to occupy most of her time. In any case, there had been little money to waste on frivolities.

  Fon glanced at Jamie, knowing that if she was to be realistic, she shouldn’t be allowing him to waste money on such pleasures as fairgrounds, for times were difficult. But the look of relaxed pleasure on her husband’s face told her that it was money well spent.

  Patrick insisted on riding on one of the small donkeys that did nothing more than plod sedately around the perimeter of the ground.

  ‘The boy has got horses on the farm to ride whenever he wants,’ Jamie said, shrugging, ‘so what can be the attraction of these little beasts?’

  Fon shook her head. ‘It’s just that it’s something different,’ she said. ‘It’s a day out, a bit of fun, that’s all.’

  Jamie stopped before an old man in a battered hat who was dressed in a long dark coat in spite of the sunshine. Ribbons spilled from the man’s hand, ribbons in many colours, but, as he promised, Jamie bought her one in green shiny satin.

  ‘Here, colleen,’ he said, ‘to do up your pretty red hair.’

  ‘My hair isn’t red!’ Fon said, pretending to be indignant, ‘it’s a lovely shade of
chestnut.’

  ‘Whatever you say,’ Jamie agreed, ‘but, whatever it is, I like it when I lie beside you in bed and bury my face in it.’

  ‘Hush!’ Fon felt the colour rise to her cheeks. ‘You are a wicked man, Jamie, talking about such things in public.’

  ‘And you are a funny little girl,’ he said. ‘I’m married to you, remember?’

  ‘How could I not remember?’ There was the hint of a smile curving Fon’s lips. ‘You give me enough reminders.’

  ‘Well, if it isn’t my very own daughter!’ A voice broke into Fon’s thoughts, taking her attention away from the look in Jamie’s eyes. ‘Irfonwy, why didn’t you let me know you were coming to Swansea?’

  ‘Mammy!’ Fon embraced her mother and stood back a little. ‘I didn’t know you’d be coming in from Oystermouth. Duw, aren’t you looking well?’

  ‘Oh, aye,’ Nina Parks smiled. ‘Well enough. Gwyneth’s here somewhere, with Mr William Davies, would you believe?’

  Before Fon could speak, Nina carried on. ‘Brought me with them, they did – chaperone, like.’ She smiled. ‘Being a gent, he don’t want any gossip about our Gwyneth, see?’

  Fon concealed her surprise. It wasn’t like the gentry to be seen in public with one from what they thought of as the ‘lower orders’. But then, to be fair to Mr Davies, he wasn’t like that, and perhaps the rumours about him were true and he himself had come from a humble background.

  ‘There she is now.’ Nina waved her arms in the air. ‘Gwyneth!’ she called. ‘Come and see who’s here! It’s your little sister.’

  Gwyneth looked well and happy; her hair was glossy, her eyes gleamed, and even her skin seemed to glow with good health.

  ‘Fon!’ Gwyneth hugged her. ‘So you’ve managed to get that fine man of yours out of bed for long enough to come to the fair, then, have you?’

  Fon concealed her embarrassment and glanced up at Jamie, who as always seemed amused by Gwyneth’s openness.

  ‘Will, have you met Fon’s husband?’ Gwyneth stepped back to introduce the two men, and Fon measured them both with her eyes. She was biased, of course, but wasn’t Jamie just a fraction taller than Will Davies? A little broader in the shoulder, and, of course, much more handsome?