by Iris Gower
It took Eline only a day to organize the distribution of the soup in the church hall. She had won the support of many of the councillors and prominent citizens of the area and now, as she stood before the haphazard assortment of tables, with the cauldrons of soup waiting, she clasped her hands together, praying the people would come.
The vicar and his helpers from the village church stood anxiously waiting to serve the food and Eline stared around her in desperation. Why was the hall still empty?
She went to the door and looked outside, the street was deserted, the doors closed and with a sense of despair, she knew that the people were too proud or too hostile to take the food she was offering.
She returned inside. ‘It’s no good,’ she said, ‘I don’t think anyone is going to come.’
‘Well, more fool them.’ Penny was at her side, her young head lifted in indignation. ‘It’s good food I’ve cooked and plenty of it and if I’ve wasted my time I’ll never forgive the lot of ’em here in this village. We wouldn’t behave like that in Swansea, mind.’
‘But the villagers are strong and independent,’ Eline said defensively, ‘they have never had to ask for anything before and it’s not easy for them to swallow their pride.’
‘Well,’ Penny said, ‘I’d listen to my empty belly before my pride any day.’
The door swung open and a stooped figure, swathed in black, stood there for a moment before walking determinedly into the hall. Eline looked up, her heart thumping with hope, someone at least had come to accept her food.
‘Good God,’ Penny said, ‘it’s Mrs Carys Morgan, the poor soul that’s just lost her baby, there’s brave, isn’t she?’
Carys came up the table and picked up a bowl, her face was white and her eyes, though red-rimmed, were clear.
‘I’ll have some of that soup, Penny,’ she said, her voice hoarse, ‘it seems Eline Harries is the only one in the village with some sense in her head and me, I’ve no pride left, see.’ She turned to the vicar. ‘I’ve found that pride is an empty thing.’
She took the bowl and moved to the door and stood outside in full view of the villagers who now were looking from behind closed curtains watching as Carys unashamedly ate the soup.
The vicar took up a bowl and stood with Carys in the roadway and after a few moments, Penny hurried forward to stand on tiptoe and peer over their shoulders. She came back to Eline and she was smiling.
‘They’re coming out of their houses,’ she said as though it was something of a personal triumph. ‘The villagers are following Mrs Morgan’s lead, they’re coming to eat our soup.’
It was Sam Morgan who came through the door first, his hand resting for a moment on his wife’s thin shoulder. There was pride in his eyes and the glint of tears on his weather-beaten cheeks.
Behind him came a straggle of villagers, hesitating uncertainly in the doorway. Sam led the way, looking grey and sick, but he held out his bowl towards Eline with a steady hand.
‘You are a good woman,’ he said, loudly, ‘and I for one am grateful to you.’ He touched his cap and moved away and stood beside his wife. They exchanged a loving look but neither of them could speak, words were unnecessary.
Eline took a deep breath as she saw Gwyneth Parks stand sheepishly in the doorway for a moment and then, drawn by hunger, move to the end of the queue.
Skipper George, his eyes warm with admiration, spoke out clearly as he accepted his food.
‘Eline Harries deserves our respect as well as our gratitude,’ he said loudly, ‘none of us has been very neighbourly to her and yet she has turned out to be more of a good Samaritan and more generous than any of us have ever been.’
Eline found herself choked with emotion at his words, and her eyes blurred with tears. But soon, she was too busy filling bowls and jugs with hot soup to think of anything else. The ladle hung heavily in her hand, her arm ached with lifting but she kept dipping into the cauldron and filling vessels until her back hurt.
‘So, it’s you giving out charity, is it?’ the voice of Nina Parks was unmistakable and, as though by a command, the chattering of voices and the clinking of spoons against china fell silent. All eyes were turned on the two women who seemed to stand isolated in a gap in the crowd.
‘Well, we have never been friends and never will be,’ Nina continued, ‘but I’ll say this by here in front of everyone, you are all right, Eline Harries, you are one of us.’
She held out a bowl and Eline filled it to the brim, swallowing hard, and, as she held out a plate of bread, Nina took a hunk of the crusty loaf, inclining her head in thanks. And then she was walking away, her piece said.
The chattering voices rose to a crescendo, folk were smiling again. Villagers crowded around Eline congratulating her, thanking her and, with red cheeks, Eline protested that it wasn’t she but the rest of the townfolk of Swansea who had worked the miracle.
Eline leaned against the table, her shoulders weary, her arms aching but she was happier than she’d been for a long time. She felt a hand warm on her shoulder and turned to see Will standing beside her. A shock ran through her as she looked into his eyes and saw love reflected there.
‘I’ve been so pig-headed, so damn intolerant.’ He spoke quietly. ‘I love you, Eline, and I know you love me.’
Eline swallowed her tears, searching vainly for the right words to say to this man who meant more than anything in the world to her.
Will spoke again, this time more loudly. ‘I’m proud of you, Eline,’ he said, his clear voice carrying across the crowded hall. ‘You are a fine, generous woman and I want you to be my wife.’
‘William,’ her voice broke as she stood quite still, the tears now unchecked, running into her mouth.
‘Come here.’ He held out his arms and after a moment, Eline went into them. She closed her eyes, breathing in the scent of him, listened to the sound of Will’s heart beating so close that it might have been within her own breast.
It was time now for new beginnings. Joe would have wanted things this way, Eline knew that as clearly as if he’d spoken to her.
‘Go on, marry the man, you are meant for each other!’ Nina Parks called across the hall. And it was Nina who began the clapping that warmed Eline’s heart with happiness.
Someone cheered and as the sound of hands and voices rose and filled the church hall, rising high into the rafters, Eline clung to William, her mouth turned up to his.
‘Of course I’ll marry you,’ she whispered, ‘I love you more than life itself.’ And as their lips met, Eline knew that with William, she had found her destiny, she had come home.
THE END
About the Author
Iris Gower was born in Swansea, where she still lives. The mother of four grown-up children, she has written over twenty bestselling novels. She received an Honorary Fellowship from the University of Wales Swansea in 1999 and has been awarded an MA in Creative Writing from the University of Cardiff.
Also by Iris Gower
COPPER KINGDOM
PROUD MARY
SPINNERS’ WHARF
MORGAN’S WOMAN
FIDDLER’S FERRY
BLACK GOLD
THE LOVES OF CATRIN
THE SHOEMAKER’S DAUGHTER
and published by Corgi Books
TRANSWORLD PUBLISHERS
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www.transworldbooks.co.uk
Transworld is part of the Penguin Random House group of companies
whose addresses can be found at global.penguinrandomhouse.com
First published in Great Britain in 1992 by Bantam Press
an imprint of Transworld Publishers
Copyright © Iris Gower 1992
Iris Gower has asserted her right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.
All the characters in this book are fictitious and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
A CIP catalogu
e record for this book
is available from the British Library.
Version 1.0 Epub ISBN 9781446465271
ISBN 9780552136884
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