Honey's Farm

by Iris Gower

  She broke off as Jamie rose suddenly and swept her up into his arms. ‘In that case, I might just as well have my wicked way with you, colleen,’ he said.

  In the bedroom, he dropped her lightly on the bed, and then he was beside her, his hands caressing, his eyes alight. The scent of him was of the sun and the grass and the open air, and Fon was as desperate as he was as her fingers opened the buttons of his shirt.

  He took her quickly, and she moaned in surrender, feeling the fire in her that he always roused. The second time, calmer now, he was tender, teasing and tantalizing her until she could have screamed out for release.

  Afterwards, they lay in each other’s arms, bathed in late September sunlight from the open window. Fon pushed herself up on one elbow and looked down at her husband.

  ‘You are a fine man, Jamie,’ she said softly. ‘I don’t know what I would have done with my life if I hadn’t met you.’

  ‘You’d have turned into a dried-up spinster, no doubt,’ he said, kissing the breast nearest to his face, ‘and I would have found myself a rich widow who would have died in gratitude for a kiss and would not be wearing me to a shadow with constant demands.’

  Fon leaned over him. ‘Wearing you to a shadow, am I?’ she said softly and put her mouth against his throat. Gently, her hands stroked him and she felt him become aroused to her touch.

  ‘What are you doing, colleen?’ he asked. ‘Don’t you know I’ve got work to do?’

  ‘The work can wait,’ she whispered, ‘but first I want to wear you to a shadow.’

  It was almost dark by the time Eddie returned from Swansea. He joined the others at the supper table and looked at Fon questioningly.

  ‘It’s all right, Eddie,’ she said. ‘Let us all know what you’ve found out.’

  ‘It’s quite staggering,’ Eddie said, accepting the plate of meat and potatoes that Fon handed him. ‘There’s going to be a new road, a big road running all the way through the hill and down into the town.’

  Jamie was ahead of him. ‘And the road will go through the piece of land I bought from Tommy’s mother.’

  ‘That’s right,’ Eddie said. ‘You made a good investment when you bought that, Jamie, for now you’re all set to make a quick profit.’

  Jamie sat back in his chair, a satisfied expression on his face. ‘You can fill me in on the details later of what you and my little wife have been hatching between you,’ he said. ‘For now, eat your supper; you’ve earned it.’

  Jamie’s eyes met Fon’s and she read admiration in his gaze; desire she was used to, but the way he appraised her now, as though seeing her as an adult woman for the first time, gave her a heady sensation of triumph.

  Slowly, meaningfully, she smiled at him. ‘You see,’ she said softly, ‘you’re better off without your rich widow, after all.’

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  ‘But, love, you’ve got to see him, tell him about the baby. He’s the father, and he’s got the right to know.’

  Gwyneth listened to her mother’s words, but they seemed to be washing over her like the waves of the sea outside.

  Gwyneth looked through the window, wishing herself any place but here, in Oystermouth, bearing this terrible feeling of hopelessness.

  ‘I can’t ruin his life,’ Gwyneth said slowly, her lips almost failing to form the words. She felt weighed down with misery. She couldn’t forget the picture of William and Eline Harries, so close, so right together.

  ‘Well, I won’t sit down and watch my daughter go through the hell that I did,’ Nina said fiercely. ‘I know what it’s like to be looked down on, mind. I know the feeling of being an outcast, a fallen woman, and I don’t want any daughter of mine experiencing that sort of treatment.’

  ‘Just let me think things out, Mam,’ Gwyneth begged. ‘Give me a few days and then I’ll decide what’s the best thing to do.’

  Nina moved to the window and stared along the street. Her mouth was a tight line in her pale face. Gwyneth realized that Nina was suffering more heartache for her daughter’s plight than she ever had for her own.

  Had Nina yearned to be with Joe Harries as she yearned to be with William, Gwyneth wondered? Had Nina felt the tearing, destructive force of jealousy that wanted to kill the obstacle between her and her love?

  ‘I know it hurts,’ Nina said softly, as though reading her daughter’s inner thoughts. ‘It hurts like nothing on God’s earth to see your man with another woman. And it had to be that Eline Harries standing in your way, didn’t it? I wish she’d never come to Oystermouth.’

  Gwyneth felt suddenly very tired. She longed for silence, for rest from the feelings that warred within her, and for respite from her mother’s indignation.

  She moved towards Nina and rested her arm around her mother’s shoulders. ‘Thank you, Mam,’ she said softly. ‘Thank you for not judging me or blaming me.’

  Nina looked into her daughter’s face. ‘How could I judge you, when you got your nature from me?’

  In an unexpected show of affection, Nina hugged her. After a moment, Gwyneth disentangled herself from her mother’s arms and moved away slowly towards the stairs. ‘I’m going to lie down, Mam,’ she said softly. ‘I’ve got a bit of a headache.’

  ‘A bit of a heartache more like,’ Nina murmured, but Gwyneth didn’t answer. She made her way wearily upstairs and sank on to her bed, staring around at the room as if she’d never seen it before.

  It was as neat as it had ever been, but the curtains were growing shabby; the patchwork quilt on the bed was faded with washing; even the enamel washbasin on the table was chipped and discoloured.

  Mam was getting older, Gwyneth thought, with a dart of pity. Nina could no longer go out and work on the oyster beds as she’d done when Joe Harries was alive. It was as though, with his death, Nina had given up her youth, allowed herself to become older, a woman in a shawl content to work in the house, cooking and cleaning and sometimes even spending the evenings near the fire knitting or sewing.

  Nina had always provided for her family, and now, it seemed, it was Gwyneth’s duty to repay her mother for all her years of toil.

  Sal was married, and so was Fon, the youngest of the sisters; they both had their own lives to lead. It was left to Gwyneth to take care of Mam.

  Gwyneth sighed. Perhaps the solution to her problem was a visit to Mrs Kenny. She was known only by word of mouth, but she was reputed to be adept at helping young girls to slip an unwanted baby. And she charged much less than the proper midwife.

  Gwyneth hugged her stomach. She was carrying Will’s child; it was growing here within her. How could she even think of getting rid of it? And yet – her mind went round like a trapped fly in a web – what was the alternative? She couldn’t work on the beds with the other women, not once her condition began to show; she just couldn’t face it.

  Mrs Kenny, it seemed, was the only way out. Tomorrow, Gwyneth would go to see her. There was nothing else for her to do.

  She curled up on the bed and pulled the quilt over her head, trying to burrow down into the darkness. She didn’t want to think any more, or to feel any more pain. She just wanted to go to sleep and never wake up again.

  ‘You’ve done an excellent job, Mrs Harries, I congratulate you.’ Mrs Bell positively beamed, and Eline smiled warmly in return.

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Bell. It’s very kind of you; but, even though I’ve worked very hard, I’ve enjoyed every minute I’ve spent at your emporium.’

  And Eline meant it. She had felt the creative juices flow as she’d decorated first the window for Will and then, at Mrs Bell’s insistence, the other windows in the store.

  ‘I confess myself wrong.’ Mrs Bell eased herself into one of the chairs strategically placed around the store for the comfort of her customers. ‘It was old-fashioned of me to think that people don’t change. They do; at least my customers seem to have changed.’ She smiled. ‘There’s more of them, for a start, since you had a hand in things, young lady.’

  Eline was
pleased and warmed. It wasn’t like Mrs Bell to make congratulatory statements, and she usually meant every word she said.

  ‘Well, I suppose you’d better be on your way, then. I mustn’t keep you.’ Mrs Bell smiled to soften the edge to her words. ‘But you’ll be back in two weeks? That’s definite, I trust, for I shall want my new stock shown off. It will have arrived by then.’

  ‘I will be back in two weeks, I assure you,’ Eline said, holding out her hand.

  Gravely, Mrs Bell shook it. ‘That’s a promise, then?’ she insisted, and Eline smiled warmly.

  ‘That’s a promise.’

  Eline felt strange walking out of the store into the pale sunlight. She looked up at the trees, bare now, stripped of the last of the red and gold leaves. The last of the warm weather had gone; the streets would grow cold, and in the country the earth would seem to be quietly drifting off to sleep.

  Eline thought suddenly of autumn on Honey’s Farm, the days spent among the ripe corn, the backbreaking work of cutting and drying it, and the threshing and winnowing. It had been hard, but she had loved it. And then in winter, the ground hard, appearing as though nothing would ever grow on it again. And yet spring always came, bringing green shoots thrusting strongly through the ground, looking for sunshine. In a way, this was the winter of her life. The old ways were over and done with; she must face the future with courage.

  She walked more briskly now. She was meeting Will to say goodbye before she returned to Swansea. Goodbye – it was such a sad word. And yet, in spite of herself, Eline felt warmed by the thought of seeing Will again, even for a few minutes. At least they were friends now, and, though she could never forget his infidelity with Gwyneth Parks, she could believe now that it had happened in one weak moment when he felt as lost and alone as she sometimes did.

  And for men it was different; she knew that from her marriage to Joe. Men had greater urges, urges they found it hard to control. She didn’t condone it, because love wasn’t to be given carelessly – that way led to pain and suffering – it was a thing to be cherished, encouraged to grow.

  But, to be realistic, how many times had she surrendered to her husband, not out of love at all, but out of duty? Joe had wanted her so much; he had earned the right to take her to his bed, he had married her.

  Will had simply used Gwyneth Parks as a momentary assuaging of his loneliness and passion: not a kind act, certainly, but one she could understand.

  Eline felt suddenly sorry for Gwyneth. She loved Will just as surely as Eline loved him, and now her feelings of rejection must be terrible.

  For a moment, anger with Will filled Eline. How could he be so thoughtless, so careless with his passion? He had no doubt aroused hopes in Gwyneth that could never be fulfilled. It was cruel of him to have shown her happiness only to have taken it away from her again.

  The ornate doorway of the Cardiff tearooms was only a few steps away now. Eline paused and took a deep breath. She must not meet Will with the tumult of anger and jealousy and love – yes, love – warring within her; she was simply saying farewell to a friend.

  Don’t fool yourself! The inner voice was insistent. You want him as much as you ever did, the voice said.

  The inner voice was right; she wanted to forgive Will, but some perverse sense of anger wanted to make him suffer first.

  He rose when she entered the room, and she saw no-one but him. Across the. white-covered tables, the chatter of people and the clinking of china, she saw only Will, and her heart seemed to stop beating.

  But she appeared serene as she moved towards him and sat with superb composure in the elegant chair that he held for her.

  ‘I was beginning to think you weren’t coming after all,’ Will said softly.

  Eline looked at him with deliberate coolness. The anger was still with her at her thoughts of his betrayal with Gwyneth Parks; she just couldn’t help it.

  ‘We could have said our goodbyes at the emporium,’ she said. ‘Mrs Bell was very reluctant to see me go.’

  ‘Damn Mrs Bell!’ Will leant towards her. ‘I wanted to say goodbye to you properly, in private.’ He glanced round him ruefully. ‘Or as private as you would allow.’

  Eline made no comment, but there was a happy glow within her that she couldn’t deny. She looked up as Will poured her a cup of tea; his manner was proprietary and she smiled a little to herself.

  ‘I promised Mrs Bell I’d come back in two weeks’ time,’ she said. Her eyes met Will’s, and the light in them made her colour rise.

  ‘I love you, Eline,’ he said. ‘And I know you love me. We must be able to find our way back together.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ Eline conceded, ‘but don’t try to rush things, Will, please.’

  He put a small velvet box on the table. ‘No ties, but I want you to have this small gift,’ he said. ‘I wish I could say it was my mother’s, but my mother had nothing but poverty all her life.’

  Eline touched his hand impulsively. She knew how his whole family had died from ‘Yellow Jack’, the fever that had swept Swansea some years ago, and the thought of Will as a child left alone tugged at her heart-strings.

  She opened the box slowly. Inside was a gold ring set with a single pearl. ‘It’s beautiful, Will,’ she said, ‘but you can’t afford to be buying such gifts, not the way things are at the moment.’

  ‘I know,’ Will said, ‘but I wanted so much to give you something to make you think of me once in a while.’ He laughed. ‘I’ll probably spend the next few months working for nothing to pay for it, but that’s my problem.’

  Eline was touched. Her heart felt heavy with love and compassion. She was spiteful and jealous and unforgiving – but how could she change that? He had hurt her; there was no getting away from it, and the hurt went deep.

  She closed the box and placed it in her bag. ‘I’ll treasure it, Will,’ she said softly.

  ‘But not wear it?’ Will’s voice was harsh with pain, and Eline felt a stab of satisfaction. He should be hurting; he had hurt her, hadn’t he?

  ‘Eline, are you never going to soften your attitude?’ he asked impatiently. ‘I didn’t murder anyone, you know, I simply slept with a woman. Your husband had a mistress and you accepted it as part of man’s nature. I did nothing of that sort; we weren’t even married, Eline, so why are you passing such harsh judgement on me?’

  She was silent for a long moment. ‘You are right,’ she said at last. ‘I could forgive Joe because I didn’t love him.’

  His face softened; the tenseness went from his shoulders. ‘You do love me, then?’ he asked, and his hand reached out, rested warm on hers.

  ‘Yes, I love you, God help me,’ Eline said in a whisper. She rose to her feet. ‘I have to go, I’ve got to catch a train. I’ll see you in two weeks?’

  ‘Before that,’ Will said. ‘I’m coming to Swansea to talk business with Hari the day after tomorrow. Will I see you then?’

  Eline smiled. ‘Yes, I’d like that, Will. I’d like it very much.’

  He rose and accompanied her to the door, and she looked at him in surprise. ‘Where are you going?’ she asked, and he looked down at her, a smile in his eyes.

  ‘You don’t think I’m going to let you walk to the station alone, do you? Some discerning man might snap you up on the way.’

  Eline laughed. It was good to laugh with Will again, and good to walk along with him at her side. It was time, after all, for forgiveness; she’d carried on the feeling of hurt pride for far too long.

  She looked up at Will and then deliberately tucked her arm in his. He smiled and drew her close, and together they walked in the sunlight beneath the falling leaves.

  ‘The gallery is doing well.’ Calvin Temple smiled down at Eline as she stood in the largest room, staring round at the paintings.

  Eline returned his smile; she felt good, somehow refreshed. She had spent a good night dreaming about Will, and the ring he’d given her was hung safely on a gold chain around her neck. She had relished the closeness of their
last meeting, and now she felt ready to face the world.

  She hugged the thought to her that he was coming home tomorrow; she would see him, be with him, and that, she realized, was very important to her. The days they had spent together in Cardiff had made her understand how much she loved and needed him. Will was part of her life’s blood, and whatever he had done, it was past and over with. And what had he done, except make one mistake?

  ‘Did you hear me, Eline?’ Calvin’s voice held amusement. ‘I’ve been accused of many things, but never of being boring.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ Eline put her hand on his arm. Calvin was a personable, pleasant man; not handsome, as Will was, of course, but he had charm and Eline liked him enormously.

  ‘You’ve done well here,’ she said, looking round her. ‘You have some fine paintings in, and it’s clear from the books that they are turning over very nicely.’

  ‘We never have anything for too long,’ Calvin agreed, ‘which is very fortunate for us.’

  ‘More due to your efforts than to good fortune, I think,’ Eline said quickly.

  ‘You know something, Eline?’ Calvin said. ‘You and I make a very good pair; we should be partners in more ways than one, don’t you think?’ He was smiling, and Eline pretended to slap his hand.

  ‘Don’t tease,’ she said amiably. ‘It’s not kind to trifle with a lady’s affections.’

  ‘Who said I’m teasing or trifling, come to that?’ Calvin had trapped her hand, and now he raised it to his lips.

  ‘I would be more than honoured if you would accept me as a suitor.’ He was serious now, and Eline was at a loss for words.

  ‘If you had a father, I would ask him most humbly for his daughter’s hand in marriage,’ Calvin continued. ‘As it is, I can only ask the lady herself.’

  ‘I’ll consider it,’ Eline said, in a spirit of lightness, doing her best to distract him, ‘but for now, let’s get on with the business in hand. I thought you wanted me to arrange the window for you.’

  Calvin sighed. ‘It’s my burden never to be taken seriously,’ he said, but the mocking gleam was back in his eye.