Thoughts as dark as the night swept in, and for a few minutes Esther was powerless to do anything but let them swamp her mind and emotions. From somewhere deep inside, the cry of a child rose, saying that she wanted her mother; she wanted the woman who had borne her to love her and hug her, and tell her everything was going to be all right; that she hadn’t been cast aside for convenience’s sake, and that she was loved and thought about often. And it was in that moment that Esther realized the children’s home wasn’t just about wanting to help little ones less fortunate than Joy; it was about herself too.
She stood with the letter hanging limply in her fingers, and tears pouring down her face for long minutes – grief for what had been lost paramount. Joy had been the catalyst for finding out the truth, and because she’d had a tiny baby to care for by herself, combined with Monty’s rejection and Harriet’s death, she had never allowed herself to grieve for her mother and father. She had just got on with life. But now pain and sorrow were uppermost, and she was powerless to prevent their onslaught.
It was Joy beginning to stir that brought her back to her senses. Scrubbing at her face with her handkerchief, she took a great shuddering breath. She had to pull herself together. Joy mustn’t be upset. Brushing a few strands of hair from her damp cheeks, she reached for her handbag and stuffed the letter inside it. And as she did so, she saw a little square of paper that Caleb must have slipped inside it at some point the previous evening, before he left her on the doorstep, as Mrs Birch decreed.
Opening it, she read:
Sweetheart, whatever you want to do is all right with me, and a children’s home sounds good. We’ll have to look into it, and it won’t be plain sailing, I’m sure, but together we can conquer the world, so this is nothing. And I like the idea of it being a family thing, with Prudence and her bairns, and Priscilla and Kenny. Maybe even my parents can get involved? Bairns need grandparents. Anyway, I love you, and the minute you get that certain piece of paper I want to know, because I have something to say to you: okay? Sleep tight, my darling.
Your Caleb
He was; he was her Caleb. Her world stopped fragmenting and she shut her eyes tightly, whispering, ‘Thank you, God. Thank you for Caleb.’ And she knew she had to get Joy up and dressed quickly, because she intended to catch Caleb before he left for work.
‘Esther, lass, you’re early the day.’ Eliza stared at Esther’s face; the lass had been crying, if she wasn’t mistaken. What now? she thought. She couldn’t understand why the lass continued to live in that poky little room and had carried on working at the hotel, when she could buy and sell half of Sunderland if she’d a mind. Caleb had told her Esther wanted to keep everything the same for Joy, until they got the divorce through and could get married, so the child only had to cope with one set of changes, but she thought that was daft. Why work if you didn’t have to? But at least they’d begun to look for a house – that was something. But now it looked as though something, or someone, had thrown a spanner in the works. Brushing her thoughts aside, Eliza said, ‘Come in, come in, lass, it’s bitter this morning. They’re saying we’re in for a packet this winter, and I reckon they might be right. That’s all we need, on top of rationing and the rest of it. All through the war we went without bread and flour being rationed, and what happens? We win the war and things get worse. Can’t work that one out, meself.’
Esther was only listening with half an ear. Joy immediately went to Eliza, for she was used to having a cup of weak tea and a teacake as soon as she arrived at her ‘grandma’s’ in the morning, and as Caleb’s mother lifted the child into her arms, Caleb walked into the kitchen.
He started to say what his mother had said: ‘You’re early.’ And then stopped abruptly. ‘What’s the matter?’ He couldn’t quite fathom the expression on Esther’s face, and although it was clear she had been weeping, there was something – an expectation – that made his heart kick against his ribs. Without waiting for a reply, he said, ‘We’re going in the front room, Mam. Look after the bairn for a minute.’ And before Esther could speak, he had taken her hand and pulled her out into the hall and then into what the family irreverently called ‘The holy of holies’: Eliza’s front room, which was her pride and joy. As he shut the door, neither of them noticed the faintly musty smell that pervaded the mausoleum. Their senses were immersed in each other. Softly Caleb said, ‘It’s come?’
‘This morning. Mrs Birch brought it up first thing after the postman had been. Joy was still asleep and—’ Her words were smothered as Caleb took her in his arms and kissed her until she was gasping for breath.
Only then did he loosen his hold and press her a little way from him. Looking down into her face, he murmured, ‘At last. I’ve been waiting for this day all of my life.’
‘You’ve only known me for the last bit of it.’
‘No.’ He was deadly serious. ‘I was born loving you.’ He gently traced the soft outline of her lips with the tip of his forefinger, the expression on his tough face causing her eyes to mist. ‘You’re the other part of me, Esther. The best part. Why you love me I’ll never know, but I thank God every night that you do. Wait here a moment.’
To her surprise, he whirled round and was gone, shutting the door behind him. She stood where he had left her as she heard him climb the stairs, his footsteps unmistakable because of his leg. Her heart was racing now, anticipation of the moment she felt sure was coming causing her to tremble.
She was glad she had made her peace with Monty before this day. The thought came out of nowhere.
Once Theobald’s estate had been wound up, she had sent Monty a substantial cheque – enough to see him live comfortably for the rest of his life, if he invested the money wisely. She had written a letter explaining how she felt, and she had shown both the letter and the cheque to Caleb before she had sent it. The letter had been short and to the point:
Monty, I don’t want to embarrass you, but I feel it’s right you have the enclosed cheque. Thank you for making the divorce easy. Caleb and I will marry as soon as the decree absolute comes through, and he’d like to officially adopt Joy at that time. Will you give your consent to this? If you refuse I won’t press the matter, but I would like her to have his name.
Best wishes for the future, Esther.
Monty had replied by return of post, thanking her for the cheque and saying that once the decree absolute was issued, he would have no objection to Joy taking Caleb’s name, nor would he be pressing for any contact with her. It would be far less upsetting and confusing for the child that way.
She had stared at this letter for a long time, angry and sore of heart, while telling herself she was being silly and irrational. It was so much better that Monty was willing to step out of their lives completely, considering how he felt about Joy, she knew that. But it still hurt. Illogical and unreasonable maybe, but it hurt that he didn’t want his own child.
And then all thoughts of Monty went out of her head as she heard Caleb returning.
Caleb’s heart was thudding so hard it actually ached, as he opened the door and saw Esther standing there, waiting for him. He had pictured this moment for so long; had dreamed of it, played it out in his mind, during the long night hours when his body had burned to have her at his side so that he could make love to her until dawn. Now the moment was here, and he was terrified it wouldn’t be perfect for her. He had bought the ring – a half-band of diamonds that had taken most of his savings – a few weeks ago and had been thrilled with it; now he was worried she might not like it. He didn’t doubt that Monty’s ring (which Esther had sent back to her then-husband just after Joy was born) had been a splendid thing, and that Monty had proposed in style: a fancy dinner maybe, or a drive into the country. Certainly it hadn’t taken place in a rather dismal, stiff front room that smelled of mothballs. He wouldn’t even be able to go down on one knee, damn it.
‘Come and sit down.’ He drew her to the sofa of the three-piece suite, which was ten years old now, but had only bee
n sat on a dozen times, if that. It was upholstered in a green paisley pattern and Caleb had always hated it.
Quietly he took her hands in his and, when he felt she was trembling, it actually gave him the courage he needed. ‘I love you with all my heart and mind, and soul and spirit,’ he said softly, ‘for now and eternity. Will you marry me, Esther?’ He let go of her hands, reaching into his pocket and bringing out the small leather box. Opening it, he revealed the ring nestling in its bed of blue velvet.
She had thought she would cry when the moment happened, but now she looked at him with shining eyes, her face alight. ‘Yes, yes, yes.’ And as he slipped the ring on the third finger of her left hand, she murmured, ‘It’s so beautiful. Oh, my darling, I love you. You have no idea just how much I love you.’
Chapter Twenty-Eight
They were married in the midst of the worst winter the country had experienced in decades. The freezing weather began before Christmas, but the inhabitants of the north-east were used to severe conditions now and again. They would have been less complacent if they’d known what was going to follow: a long spell of ferocious cold – the worst of the century – was about to descend, with heavy snowstorms and sub-zero, arctic temperatures for weeks on end, bringing Britain to its economic knees.
On the last weekend of January the temperatures all over Britain plummeted. Snow fell continuously, accompanied by raw gale-force winds from the east, and it was this Saturday that Esther and Caleb had chosen for their small, quiet wedding. The house in Southwick was ready to move into and was waiting for them to begin their married life, and after the service the guests – consisting of Caleb’s parents; his sisters and their families; Priscilla and Kenny, who was Caleb’s best man; Vera, Lydia and Beryl and her Yorkshire boyfriend, who was now her fiancé; along with a few other friends and relations of Caleb – were driven through the whirling snowstorm to Esther and Caleb’s home, where the wedding reception was being held. But Esther and Caleb didn’t care about the terrible weather; it was their wedding day, and they couldn’t have been happier.
When Esther walked into the register office on the arm of Stanley, radiant in a simple cream dress with a matching fur-lined cape with a sweeping hood, she was beautiful enough to take Caleb’s breath away. Joy, who was sitting on Eliza’s lap, stole the show when she clapped her hands, shouting, ‘Pretty Mummy, pretty Mummy’, especially as the little girl was dressed in a miniature version of her mother’s outfit.
Esther had written to Rose and Farmer Holden and his wife, inviting them to the wedding and offering to put them up for a day or two at the house. She’d received a letter from Rose saying that although they would have loved to attend, everyone at Yew Tree Farm was working from dawn to dusk seven days a week, and no one could be spared. It was a valid excuse. Esther was aware of the government’s emphasis on the growth and increasing self-sufficiency of British agriculture, and of the threat held over farmers by the retention of wartime disciplinary powers of enforced supervision and, ultimately, dispossession, if government targets weren’t met. Yew Tree Farm had been in the Holden family for more than a century, and it would have broken Farmer Holden to lose it. Rose had promised that she and Nancy would visit in the summer, when circumstances permitted, and with that Esther had to be content. Their relationship would never be what it had been, but at least some contact had been maintained.
Esther and Caleb had hired a fleet of taxis to drive their guests to the house and, wrapped in Caleb’s arms in the leading car, Esther didn’t even notice that the snow was coming down thicker than ever. She was Mrs McGuigan at last. A dream come true.
As though he’d read her mind, Caleb murmured between kisses, ‘How does it feel to be Mrs McGuigan?’
‘Wonderful.’
Caleb smiled. Tonight he would make her his, in body as well as mind; and if he’d had his way, he would have packed everyone off home the minute they’d eaten, rather than make a day of it. One thing troubled him, and he had been pushing it to the back of his mind for some time. How would Esther feel when she saw the stump where his leg had been? Repulsed? Embarrassed? Nauseated? Worse – pitying? He didn’t want her to feel sorry for him; he wanted to be her lover: vigorous, masterful and manly.
Taking her hand, he kissed the finger where a gold band now sat beside his engagement ring, telling himself it would be all right. Esther had never seen him as a cripple, he knew that, and he was grateful. Nevertheless, he’d be relieved when that hurdle was over, and he couldn’t help how he felt.
Blazing fires in the drawing and dining rooms greeted the guests as they walked in from the cold, and in the kitchens at the back of the house, Fanny Kennedy and her sister were busy finishing the hot and cold wedding buffet. The new owner of what had been the Wynford estate had offered to keep all the resident staff on, but when Esther had approached Fanny and her sister with the proposition of running the kitchen and catering for what was to be a children’s home in the future, they had been thrilled. They had moved into their quarters in the house the week before.
The day sped by and it was a happy one, and when the taxis arrived to transport the guests to their homes – those who weren’t staying overnight at the house – Esther and Caleb stood entwined on the doorstep to wave them off, with Joy perched on Caleb’s shoulders. Everything was covered in a mantle of white, but the clean, pure vista somehow suited the day. The world was bright and new, and that was how Esther felt later that evening, when Joy was asleep in her pretty pink bedroom and she and Caleb were alone in the master suite.
She looked at him as he shut the door and, as he took her in his arms, she murmured, ‘Are you sure you didn’t mind, about having to get married in a register office?’ She would have loved a church wedding, but as a divorced woman it hadn’t been possible in the parish church.
Caleb smiled. ‘Do I look as though I mind?’ he said softly. ‘We had everyone we care about there, and it has been a wonderful day, but I’d have been just as happy to get married in a coal hole, as long as it meant we were man and wife.’
Esther giggled. ‘You’re a heathen.’
‘I know it.’ And then, as he drew her over to the bed and they sat down, he gave her an envelope. ‘My wedding present.’
‘Wedding present?’ she said in surprise. ‘What is it?’
‘Read it and see. It only came a couple of days ago, and I wanted to give you it at the very start of our life together.’
The envelope had already been opened, and now she said, ‘Caleb?’, an inexplicable nervousness filling her.
‘Read it, sweetheart,’ he said again, his voice husky and filled with love.
Slowly she drew out the letter the envelope contained, along with a smaller envelope, which was unopened. She read:
Dear Mr McGuigan,
I was very glad to receive your letter. I think I have been waiting for it for a long time, without realizing it. Ruth Flaggerty was my sister, and before she died she entrusted me with a letter, which I now enclose.
Esther gasped, dropping the letter as though it had burned her, and again she said, ‘Caleb?’, reaching for him blindly.
‘It’s all right, darling.’
‘Who . . . who is this person?’
‘Your aunt. Look, I’ll explain everything, once you’ve read what she has to say.’ He handed her the letter again. ‘Read it, Esther,’ he said for the third time, his voice soothing.
Her hands trembling, she took the letter from him. Her aunt wrote:
As you will see, Ruth’s letter has not been opened. She never told me who she gave her baby girl to, only that it was a kind gentlewoman of good birth, rather than the nuns at the convent she was bound for, before the shipwreck. As you know, my parents forced my sister to make that journey; and what I now have to tell you makes for harrowing reading, and for that I am sorry. The only thing I would ask is that you do not judge my parents too harshly. They were products of their time – a time which, thankfully, is changing. I must explain their bac
kgrounds before I go any further.
Esther shut her eyes for a second, unable to take in that this was her aunt’s handwriting – that this woman was her mother’s sister. And she said what she had to tell was harrowing. With her heart thumping hard against her ribcage, she opened her eyes. And her mother was dead; this woman had said so. She would never meet her now. Pain gripped her, but her eyes were drawn again to the letter:
My mother’s and my father’s parents emigrated to America from Ireland at the height of the potato famine, as newly married couples. Those men and women who pursued this path only did so because they knew their future in the country of their birth would be more poverty, disease and terrible English oppression. They left Ireland on ships that were so crowded, and with conditions so dire, that my grandmother always referred to them as ‘coffin ships’.
When the boats docked, for those who’d survived the journey, life was going to get worse. Hundreds of men known as runners – harsh, greedy individuals devoid of pity or basic human kindness – swarmed aboard the ships, grabbing the immigrants and their bags with the purpose of forcing them to tenement houses, where they would then exact an outrageous fee for their services. Both my grandfathers were barely sixteen years old, and their poor wives were even younger. They had no idea what was happening to them or whom they could trust, and they were treated cruelly. Almshouses were filled with hundreds of immigrants who begged on every street corner, and their position in their new country was one of shame and even more poverty. My grandmother told us that no group was considered lower than Irishmen in America during the 1850s, and she was terribly bitter about that to her dying day.
Both couples tried to get work, in spite of all the advertisements for employment that stated: ‘No Irish need apply’. My grandparents were proud people, Mr McGuigan. Can you imagine how they must have felt? They were forced to live in a cellar in a kind of shanty town, with no plumbing or running water, and these conditions bred sickness and early death. I understand that my paternal grandmother lost her first baby a day after it had been born, when they had only been in America six months. She went on to have ten more, and only my father and one other sibling, a girl, survived. On my mother’s side, she and two sisters lived, out of nine children born to my grandmother, but my mother’s sisters were apparently always ailing and died in early adulthood.
The Colours of Love Page 34
