The Miller's Daughter

by Margaret Dickinson

  Lottie gave a squeal of glee, sprang up and rushed around the table to fling her arms around her mother. ‘Oh Mum, thank you, thank you.’

  ‘Now wait a minute,’ Emma began. ‘I’ve said I believe him, but that doesn’t mean I agree to you getting married now.’

  ‘Oh no, we don’t intend to – at least not yet,’ Lottie said excitedly. ‘Micky’s decided to leave school and get a job. And me, well, there’s a job going at the main post office in Calceworth. I’d have to go away for a few weeks’ training, but then,’ she beamed ecstatically, ‘we’d both be working. And after about two years, perhaps then we could get married.’

  ‘Well now, what sort of a job were you thinking of, young man?’ William, happier than he had been feeling for two days, winked broadly at Emma.

  ‘Anything. Maybe I could get an apprenticeship somewhere.’

  William leant across the table. ‘Ever thought of becoming a miller?’

  When the mouths of the two young people sitting opposite them dropped open, William and Emma leant against each other and laughed.

  ‘Are you serious?’ Micky said. ‘After all that’s happened, do you really mean it?’

  William nodded and Lottie hugged her mother again and then her father. Emma went on laughing until tears ran down her face.

  ‘Whatever’s got into you?’ William said as her infectious laughter spread to them all and in turn they each began to giggle too, even though they were not really sure what they were supposed to be laughing at.

  Emma wiped the tears away with the back of her hand. ‘I’ve just thought of something else. I was just wondering just how old Sarah’s going to explain all this – ’ she spluttered so that her final words came out in a high-pitched squeak, ‘to the bees.’

  Forty-Seven

  ‘So, they’re getting married on Lottie’s eighteenth birthday?’ Sarah asked.

  Almost two years had passed and during that time Lottie and Micky had remained devoted to each other. They had both achieved good results in their GCE O Levels and had shown Emma and William they possessed a growing maturity that demanded respect. And now they wanted to be married.

  Emma linked her arm through Sarah’s as they walked from the shop through the orchard towards Sarah’s cottage. ‘Yes. We can’t find a good excuse to make them wait any longer.’

  ‘Do you really want to? I know they’re young, but if they’re half as happy as you and William . . .’

  The unspoken words hung in the air between them and Emma smiled, savouring yet again the memory of the day William had returned from the town after consulting a solicitor regarding the legality of their own marriage. ‘I’ll put it tactfully,’ he had promised. ‘I’ll not give Leonard away.’

  Emma had remained silent. She had no feelings for Leonard now, not after the latest devious stunt he had tried, but there were others involved about whom she did care, Lottie, Micky and even Bridget. No, she did not want to bring trouble on Leonard, yet she had needed to know about her own marriage. She couldn’t bear it if . . .

  But William had returned home beaming, spreading his arms wide as he crossed the yard towards her and folding her into his embrace, quite oblivious to anyone who might see them. ‘It’s all right. You’re my wife, my own darling wife.’

  She had clung to him and breathed a sigh of relief.

  ‘That court order we got before getting married,’ he explained, ‘it’s like a divorce so even if the first husband turns up again, we’re still all right. Mind you, if we hadn’t followed Mr Revill’s advice at the time and done it properly, then we might have had problems.’

  ‘But we did, we did. Oh, God bless dear Mr Revill.’

  Now, as she held the door of the cottage open, Emma answered Sarah’s question. ‘No, we don’t want to make them wait any longer. He is a good lad and we’re both very fond of him. Now, are you sure you’re all right?’

  ‘Yes, yes, I’ll be fine. I’ve lived on my own before you know.’ Sarah patted Emma’s hand. ‘And now you’ve had the telephone put in for me, I’ve only to ring for you. Mind you, I will miss old Ezra. We’ve been happy together, you know, Emma.’

  ‘I know. He was such a lovely gentleman.’

  ‘He did so want to be at Lottie’s wedding.’ Sarah sighed. ‘But it wasn’t to be.’

  ‘And he wanted to make her a cake.’

  ‘Oh, he did, he did,’ Sarah’s eyes filled with tears.

  They had buried Ezra Rabinski in the village churchyard three days earlier and since then Sarah had stayed with Emma and William at the millhouse, but tonight she was insisting on returning to her own cottage. She gave another heavy sigh. ‘I know how you must be feeling though, Emma. They are still very young.’

  Emma smiled reminding herself that at the very same age she had been waiting for her sweetheart to return from the war and imagining herself as a spring bride. The thought of the first war which had altered the whole course of her life, made her think of the second which had taken her son. ‘My boys were younger than Lottie is now when they went to war,’ she murmured.

  ‘That’s true. At least you’re not going to lose Lottie. They’re going to settle here, aren’t they? I mean, they’re not even leaving home to go miles and miles away, like your Billy. Where are they going to live?’

  ‘With us to start with. There’s plenty of room and Lottie’s leaving her job in Calceworth and going to run our little post office.’

  ‘Oh, now that is nice. And with Micky at the mill, you will all be together.’

  ‘Ah, now that’s a bit more difficult. He tries very hard, you know, but he’s not really cut out to be a miller. William was trying to show him how to dress the stones and the tools slipped and the lad cut his hand quite badly.’

  ‘Well, they’re difficult to do, Emma.’ Sarah remarked.

  ‘My Luke used to curse every time he had to help ya dad dress the stones. Even he’d come home with cuts on his hands and you know how good he was.’

  ‘Mm,’ Emma agreed then began again, ‘Are you sure . . .?’ but Sarah reached up and cupped Emma’s face in her plump hands.

  ‘Yes, I’ll be fine. Now off you go, back to William. You’ve got a wedding to plan.’

  ‘Oh, Lottie, do stop getting in such a tizzy. You don’t want to keep Micky standing at that church forever, do you?’

  ‘Oh, Mum, what if he’s not there? What if he doesn’t turn up?’

  ‘What!’ Emma began and burst out laughing. ‘Charlotte Metcalfe. How can you possibly even think such a thing? The boy is besotted with you.’

  Lottie was smiling again. ‘I know, I know. But I’m just so terrified that something is going to go wrong.’

  ‘My darling, you look a picture.’

  And she did. Her blonde curls framed her sweet face, the blue eyes were sparkling with happiness and the long, lace wedding dress hugged her tiny waist and then flared out in a full skirt. Gently, so as not to disturb the finery, Emma bent forward and kissed her daughter. ‘Now I must go, before I start to cry. Your dad’s downstairs waiting for you and I must go with the bridesmaids. Come down in about five minutes.’

  She hurried away, down the stairs, calling to William who was standing stiffly in the kitchen, unused to the pinstriped suit he was obliged to wear. ‘She’ll be down in a moment and the car will come back for you.’ She paused a moment, fussed with his tie and then suddenly planted a kiss on her husband’s cheek. She was anxious to be gone. She knew that when William saw his daughter in her wedding dress, even he would shed a tear.

  Fancy me having such a beautiful daughter, she marvelled yet again. More than ever today, Lottie reminded Emma of her own pretty, feminine mother. As the car drew out of the gate and turned to go the few yards up the village street and round the corner to the church, any morbid thoughts were driven from Emma’s mind by the nervous giggling of the two bridesmaids, school friends of Lottie’s, who sat beside her.

  In the front pew, Emma sat beside Jamie.

  ‘You lo
ok grand, Emma,’ he whispered to her and she turned to smile at him. Her figure was matronly now. But her pure white hair was neatly set beneath a frothy pink hat that matched her suit. She wore gloves to cover her work-roughened hands and, today, she felt almost elegant. She glanced nervously over her shoulder to where Bridget, slim in blue chiffon, sat. Emma let out a sigh of relief. ‘Thank goodness,’ she murmured.

  ‘What?’ Jamie wanted to know. ‘Summat the matter?’

  Emma’s violet eyes, still their brilliant colour, sparkled at him. ‘No, everything’s wonderful. I was so afraid that Leonard might show up, but there’s no sign of him. Thank goodness.’

  The two brothers had buried their differences on VE day and over the years Jamie had become a frequent visitor to their home. He knew all about Micky and whose son he was. He seemed about to say something more, but there was a stir at the rear of the church, and the organist launched into the Bridal March. The congregation rose and Emma saw Micky stand and turn to greet his beautiful bride.

  At her side, Emma heard Jamie say softly, ‘Emma, oh Emma.’ She glanced at him and saw the depth of longing in his eyes and knew that he realized just what he had thrown away all those years ago. She smiled at him, a warm smile of understanding, of forgiveness, and then turned to watch as William gave away his daughter in marriage.

  ‘Oh, what a day. My feet!’ Emma sank into a chair at the kitchen table.

  ‘Well, the pub did us proud with the reception, didn’t they?’ William said.

  ‘Where’ve they gone on honeymoon, then?’ Sarah asked, easing her stout frame into another chair.

  Emma chuckled. ‘I wouldn’t dare ask.’

  William grinned. ‘Well, they don’t need to go to Gretna now,’ and they all laughed.

  They sat together chatting about the events of the day until the shadows lengthened in the yard and Sarah levered herself up again. ‘Well, I’d best be on me way. Now where’s that bit o’ wedding cake. Ah, here it is in me bag.’

  From her new patent handbag, Sarah pulled out a small square of cake wrapped in a paper napkin.

  ‘You could have brought a bigger piece than that home, Sarah,’ William said. ‘There’s plenty left.’

  ‘Oh, ’tain’t for me,’ she began and then smiled coyly, ‘it’s . . .’ But before she could finish, Emma and William joined in and the three of them chorused at once, ‘it’s for the bees.’

  Forty-Eight

  ‘A boy. Oh, William, it’s a boy.’

  Tears of joy were running down Emma’s face as she turned towards her husband. She still held the telephone receiver clutched tightly in her hands. She was shouting into the mouthpiece again. ‘And Lottie? She’s all right? You’re sure she’s all right?’

  Gently, William took it from her. ‘Hello? Hello, Micky? That you?’

  The young man’s voice came excitedly down the phone, so loud that they could both hear him clearly as they bent their heads together close to the receiver. ‘Yes. Isn’t it wonderful? They’re both fine. He’s a grand little chap. Yelling loudly already. He’s got lots of black hair that sticks up in spikes, just like a brush.’

  ‘Give Lottie our love and tell her we’ll be in tomorrow afternoon to see her.’

  ‘Is Lottie all right?’ Emma hissed. ‘Ask him again.’

  ‘She’s fine,’ Micky said. ‘Honest. It was a long labour and she’s tired, but really, she’s fine. It’s only fathers are allowed to visit at night, but I’ll tell her you’ll both be in tomorrow to see her and – our son.’ He paused as if realization was only just beginning to dawn. ‘I’m a father. I’m really a father. And almost a year to the day since our wedding. Isn’t it absolutely wonderful?’

  ‘And we,’ William was smiling broadly as he replaced the receiver in its cradle, ‘are grandparents. Can you believe that, Emma Metcalfe? And you still looking scarcely old enough to be a mother.’

  Emma, dabbing ineffectually at her tears, laughed and cried all at once. ‘Oh, go on with you, you old softie. With all this white hair?’ Then she shook her head wonderingly. ‘No, no I can’t take it in really. It’s silly, isn’t it? Babies are born every day, yet it still always seems like a miracle.’ She was silent a moment, thinking back. ‘I never thought when we had all that trouble with Leonard three years ago that things could turn out so well.’

  ‘No, nor did I. But Micky’s a good lad and he really does love Lottie.’ William smiled. ‘What really makes me laugh, though, is the thought that Leonard reckons he’s got his own way at last, when all the time it’s what we all want too.’

  ‘Well, it’s only right, I suppose, that they should have the mill one day, yet somehow I just can’t bring myself to hand it over legally, not just yet. Perhaps I’m being unfair. Maybe I’m still letting Leonard cloud my better judgement. I mean, now they have a family, maybe we should start to take things a little easier ourselves and let them take over.’

  ‘Hey, I’m not ready for the scrap heap yet and they’re still only nineteen. Let’s leave it another few years. See how things shape up, eh?’

  ‘You’re right, of course,’ she said, kissing his leathery cheek. ‘Grandad.’

  He caught her by the waist and swung her round. ‘I’ll give you Grandad!’

  Emma giggled, broke free of his grasp and ran to the foot of the stairs. Then laughing, she scampered up them with the sprightly agility of a woman half her age and several pounds lighter. William pounded after her with the eagerness of a first-time lover.

  They lay in each other’s arms, his head resting against her plump breast listening to the beat of her heart. In the aftermath of joyful lovemaking, they were quiet together each thinking their own thoughts, even though no doubt those thoughts ran along similar lines.

  ‘A son,’ Emma murmured at last. ‘I can hardly believe it. At last, a boy to carry on the mill.’

  William stirred and shifted his weight. She heard him sigh. ‘As long as there’s something for him to carry on.’

  Again there was silence between them for Emma knew full well that their milling business was in decline.

  ‘Jamie was only saying yesterday he’s no work at all on the wheelwright side, hasn’t had for years, and very little on the smithing. It’s mostly his fancy wrought iron work now. There’s a few folk still bring their horses to be shod. He gets quite a bit from that riding stable that’s opened up in Thirsby, but if it wasn’t for them . . .’ He left the words unspoken but Emma knew his meaning only too well. Her eyes strayed automatically to the bedroom window where she could still see the sails of the mill.

  ‘Grandpa Charlie said there’d always be a Forrest at Forrest’s Mill,’ she murmured.

  William covered her hands. ‘Well, there will be, my dear. Sadly, the only thing in question now in this modern era is – how long will there be work for the mill to do?’

  She sighed and then turning her eyes away from the window smiled and said, ‘Let’s not get morbid. Today, we have a grandson. And wouldn’t Grandpa Charlie have been tickled pink?’

  ‘Aye, and your dad.’

  She gave him a playful push on the shoulder. ‘And yours,’ she reminded him, almost accusingly. ‘He must be up there in Heaven rubbing his hands with glee.’

  They laughed together and then Emma said pensively, ‘I wonder what Lottie will call him.’

  ‘Now then, Em, don’t go getting your hopes up. He’s their son, not ours.’

  ‘I know,’ Emma said wistfully, remembering her own boys, though she said nothing aloud for they were not William’s sons. ‘I know, but it would be nice.’ She shook herself and threw back the covers. ‘I don’t know, William Metcalfe, lovemaking in the middle of the afternoon, whatever next?’ She slid off the bed and glanced at him archly.

  His deep chuckle rumbled and he said, ‘Aye well, I’d best get back to me work and you,’ he wagged his finger at Emma, ‘had better go and tell Sarah the good news.’

  Despite William’s warning, the moment Emma held the child in her arms sh
e knew in her heart that he was ‘her boy’ and when Lottie told her the names she and Micky had agreed on for their son, Emma’s happiness was complete.

  ‘Oh, thank you, Lottie, thank you,’ Emma murmured, gently placing her lips against the black downy hair of the baby. She looked down at him and the child stared solemnly back at her with dark blue eyes. ‘My own precious little Boydie,’ she whispered.

  But Lottie’s sharp ears had heard her mother’s endearment and laughed. ‘I like that, Mum. His proper name’s a bit of a mouthful for such a mite, isn’t it? But Boydie?’ She tried out the name again. ‘Yes, yes, I like that.’

  Even after his christening three months later he was always known as Boydie, and, as the small party returned from the christening service in the Chapel, Emma carried him across the yard and stood beneath the towering shape of the mill. ‘Look, Boydie, look. See the mill? Your great-great-grandad built this mill with his own hands. And one day, it will be yours.’

  Was it her fond fancy or did the baby’s eyes focus on the sails, his hand wave in the air, his fingers outstretched towards it?

  ‘Now, Mum, he’s a bit young to be a miller yet.’ She heard Lottie’s voice behind her and Emma had the grace to laugh a little shamefacedly. ‘I was just telling him . . . Ah well, time enough, but if you don’t mind, I’ll just pop into Sarah’s with him. She’s so disappointed she couldn’t make the christening, but her legs are that bad today.’

  ‘Ok, but mind him going past those bees. There are hoards of ’em buzzing about the orchard today. I reckon they must be on double time.’

  As she walked towards the cottage, Emma held the child close to her, shielding him. She paused a moment and listened. The still summer air was filled with the sound of the bees, the buzzing came closer and three bees rose from a yellow flowered bush nearby and circled her head. In her arms the child gurgled and waved his chubby arms. One bee flew closer, diving towards the baby. Emma gave out a small gasp of surprise and fear and stepped back. But the bee merely circled the child’s head and flew away.