by Evie Grace
‘He needs a damned good hiding if you ask me.’ Donald squirmed as Mr Carter tweaked his ear. ‘He’s got to learn to keep his hands off other people’s property. This is his last chance. If he does it again, he’ll be straight in front of the vicar – he’s also our local magistrate – and he’ll decide his punishment according to the law of the land.’
‘He won’t do it again,’ Rose said quickly. ‘I’ll make sure of it, I promise.’
‘We’ll see about that,’ Mr Carter said. ‘Good day, young ladies.’
When he’d gone, Rose turned to her brother.
‘Donald, if you ever do something like that again, I swear you will stew in your own juice.’
‘Why are you so cross with me?’ He had tears in his eyes. ‘You said we had nothing for dinner. Minnie needs food – we all do, to keep body and soul together. Look at me.’ He lifted his shirt and pinched the spare flesh on his belly.
There was no fat on his bones, but that didn’t make it right.
‘You can’t go around pilfering from the farm,’ Rose told him, ‘especially when the Carters have been so good to us. We need to make more money.’
‘How? I’ve been asking around, and there’s nothing else out there. I wish Arthur had let me go to London with him. I’d have found work there. We should all go. There’s nothing keeping us here in Overshill.’
‘We aren’t going anywhere until Minnie’s better. Mr Carter has had great success so far with mending her leg. I’m not prepared to ruin her progress by uprooting her to London. It could so easily be out of the frying pan and into the fire.’
‘You’ve become very dull. Where’s your sense of adventure?’
‘I’m responsible for you two – I have to be sensible.’
‘Rose, you were going to ask Mr Carter about getting this blimmin’ cast off,’ Minnie interrupted. ‘I’m going to die from this itch.’
‘How could I? It wasn’t a good time, thanks to Donald.’
She felt like dropping everything and walking out. It was all too much. She turned to her brother with tears pricking at her eyelids. ‘I do everything I can for you and this is how you thank me. How can I face the Carters, knowing what you did?’
‘Oh, I’m sorry. Rose, I don’t know what we’d do without you.’ Donald stepped towards her and gave her a hug. ‘I’ll speak to Mr Carter about Minnie and I’ll grovel to him to make sure I keep my job at the farm.’
‘Thank you,’ she said, moving back. She used to believe that people like Baxter’s father held their fate in their own hands, but that belief had turned out to be wrong. She hated the fact that her brother had stolen from the Carters, but she could understand why he did it. She glanced towards the table where Mr Carter had left Donald’s haul. At least one positive thing had come out of it – they’d have a good supper tonight.
The next morning, Donald had already left for the farm when there was a knock at the door.
‘I wonder who that is.’ Minnie stopped sweeping the floor and leaned against the besom she’d made from twigs tied together, while Rose went to answer the door.
‘Grandma?’ she said, fearful of being read the riot act about the missing beans.
‘Hello, my dears. I’ve brought you a gift. May I come in?’
‘Yes, of course.’ Rose held the door open and Mrs Carter stepped inside with Sam following, a wicker basket in his arms. ‘Morning, Sam.’
He grinned. ‘You’re going to love this.’
‘Come on through, lad,’ Mrs Carter said. ‘Wipe your boots on the mat. Minnie, let us through to the garden.’
The four of them went out the back and walked along the shingle path to the coop in the far corner as the contents of Sam’s basket squawked and clucked.
‘We have hens,’ Minnie exclaimed. ‘Thank you, Grandma.’
Rose smiled, thinking of the eggs they would have.
‘Rose, open the coop. Sam, put the basket inside and let them out,’ Mrs Carter said. ‘Go on. What are you waiting for?’ she added when Rose slid the plank of wood across and Sam stood stock-still, gazing at her. Blushing, she stepped aside.
‘Stop giving my granddaughter the eye,’ Mrs Carter said lightly, as Sam put the basket on the floor of the coop. He untied the string holding the lid down and opened the basket to reveal three bright-eyed brown hens that bobbed their heads up and down, surveying their new home.
‘You’ll have to lift them out of there.’ Mrs Carter turned to Rose and Minnie. ‘What do you think, girls?’
‘This is the best thing that’s happened to us for a very long time,’ Rose said.
‘I love them,’ Minnie said as Sam picked them out of the basket one by one and placed them on the floor. They cawed and clucked as they explored the coop. One pecked and scratched at the earth, looking for food.
‘How much do we owe you?’ Rose asked.
‘I told you – they’re a present from me and Mr Carter. It won’t take them long to settle if you give them a little corn or mash. Mind the foxes – let them out in the morning and bring them in at night. Sam, you go on back to the farm. I’ll be along later. Rose, are you going to ask me to stop for a while so I can take the weight off my old feet?’
‘Of course. Come on in.’
‘I’m going to stay and watch the hens,’ Minnie said, and they left her at the coop and went inside to talk for a while.
‘I’m sorry about what Donald did yesterday,’ Rose began.
‘Oh, it wasn’t your fault. You know, you look worn out. Are you well?’
‘I’m a little tired, that’s all.’
‘It isn’t surprising. You have a lot on your plate. I remember what it’s like to care for someone day in, day out, to watch their every move and make sure they don’t get into any trouble.’
‘Oh, Minnie’s a good girl. She knows not to overdo it with the chores, or her leg won’t mend.’
‘My brother John – he was such a funny and handsome lad.’ Mrs Carter sat down on the bench. ‘I miss him as he was before the accident, and after. He died in his sleep at the age of forty-two, unmarried, childless …’
It was clear that her grandmother wanted to tell her what happened even though it was causing her some distress. She went on, ‘Thomas Rook, my …’ there was a slight hesitation before she continued, ‘… pa was tenant back then. He was a progressive farmer, keen to make improvements to raise yields and make life easier for the labourers. He bought a horse-powered threshing machine—’
‘Excuse me for interrupting, but what is that for exactly?’
‘You are a townie, not a country girl. I forget.’ Deep creases formed at the corners of her eyes as she smiled. ‘It was a monstrous beast made from metal and wood, for separating the grain from the stalks, and a sight to be seen. John was on the top, feeding the barley into it, when his smock got caught. He fell and broke his head.’ Mrs Carter shuddered.
‘He came off much worse than Minnie in some respects. He could shuffle about all lopsided, but he was no longer himself. He was happy in his own way, but he couldn’t be trusted. Given the chance, he would eat the larder bare, and he couldn’t dress himself or tie his laces. It was awful time-consuming watching him, and there were times when I wished I could walk away.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Rose murmured. ‘How must your pa have felt?’
‘Guilty through and through. He smashed up the machine in a temper, and we never did have another. You might think these are tough times, but they were a hundred times worse back then.’ With a small smile of resignation, she moved on to the subject Rose had been dreading. ‘I understand why your brother filched those beans of mine. It doesn’t make it acceptable, mind you, but Mr Carter and I have forgiven him on this occasion. I had to put in a good word with my husband about the way Donald’s been working on the garden so you can grow your own next year, but I can’t help noticing that precious little of the muck heap has gone.’
Rose wished she could persuade him to dig harder.
�
�Stephen’s given him his punishment: whitewashing the stables. He’ll be home late tonight. Oh, and my husband will be calling on you this evening to take that cast off Minnie’s leg. Donald told him she was suffering with an itch, which reminded him that it was time to check on the outcome of the bone-setting.’
‘She’ll be over the moon,’ Rose said, trying to get a word in edgewise as her grandmother continued with scarcely a breath.
‘Would you be able to help Alice with the baking today? She is overwhelmed with work.’
Rose nodded.
‘And don’t worry about the rent this week. It can wait.’
‘I don’t know how to thank you.’
‘You don’t have to.’ Mrs Carter smiled. ‘We’re family. And Mr Carter understands that too.’
Rose worked in the kitchen at the farm all day, then later that evening, Mr Carter came round to the cottage with a large saw.
‘You are going to cut my leg off?’ Minnie said worriedly, sitting on the bench with her leg outstretched.
‘I hope not.’ He grinned. ‘You’ll be quite safe if you sit very still. Rose, you must steady her leg – hold the cast at her ankle.’
She felt a little faint as she watched him saw slowly through the plaster bandage and gradually rip it apart, sending up small clouds of fine white powder and revealing the lost knitting needle.
‘Well, is it healed?’ Minnie asked.
Having torn the cast right off, Mr Carter examined her leg.
‘The ends of the bones have formed a good, strong callus, but the muscles will take some time to recover. It isn’t quite straight and this leg is slightly shorter than the other, but you’ll be able to get around on it without too much pain. It’s better than I expected.’
‘Can I go out and about now?’
‘Yes, you’ll need to do plenty of walking up and down hill: the more the better.’
‘Will I be able to work?’
‘As long as you don’t tire yourself out. You can continue with your mending and join in with the ’op picking when it starts.’
‘This is a miracle,’ Rose said, suppressing her impulse to throw her arms around Mr Carter’s neck in gratitude, but he changed the subject, apparently accustomed to successful outcomes.
‘How are the hens? You have shut them in?’
Rose nodded. ‘We’re hoping for eggs very soon.’
‘You might find they take a few days to settle in and start to lay. What are you having for supper tonight? I reckon your brother’s going to be a mite peckish by the time he comes home.’
‘Oh, I don’t know. Some ham and bread, perhaps.’ She had saved the onions from Donald’s pocket the day before.
‘That doesn’t sound like much.’
‘It’s enough,’ she said, not wishing to impose on the Carters any further, but when Donald returned from the farm in the dark that evening, covered in whitewash and smelling of horse, he brought one of the pies she had baked with Alice.
‘You haven’t been up to your usual tricks?’ Rose said suspiciously.
‘Mr Carter made me bring it.’ He placed it on the table. ‘It’s still warm.’
They feasted on mutton and potato pie, and looked forward to better days now that Minnie could contribute more to the household and Donald had served his punishment.
They joined in with the hop picking, then the apple harvest after that. According to their grandmother, some of the trees had been grubbed out to make way for grazing for Stephen’s beloved horses, but when Rose stood in the orchard gazing at the early morning mist, the fairy rings in the wet grass, and the branches laden with fruit, she felt there were still more than enough trees on the farm.
She turned to her sister, who’d had no breakfast because the hens had grown lazy about laying eggs as the days shortened.
‘Let’s get started.’ Rose walked across to collect a basket from where they were piled up on a cart. ‘We’ll pick together. It will make the time go quicker.’
The hop pickers from London and some of the Irish had stayed on in Overshill, making the harvest a sociable occasion. Sam was there too. He took his place beside them and showed Rose how to pick.
‘You take hold of the apple like so,’ he demonstrated. ‘Give it a twist and when it’s ripe, it breaks cleanly off the tree.’
‘Thank you for that,’ she said, a little sarcastically. ‘I have picked apples before.’
‘When?’ Minnie said.
‘Oh, a couple of times,’ Rose responded, wishing she hadn’t mentioned it. She had once or twice, while out walking, been unable to resist taking an apple and putting it in her pocket to eat later. It was wrong, she knew, but she had never seen so many apples … and she hadn’t been caught, and nobody had missed them.
She and Minnie picked from the lower branches while Sam climbed a ladder up to the higher ones. After a while, he returned to Rose’s side, his presence making her feel uncomfortable.
‘Rose, are you avoiding me?’ he said in a low voice.
‘I don’t mean to be rude, but everyone is looking at us. It’s awkward.’
‘Let them. I don’t care. You’re a lovely person, Rose, and I was wondering if you’d walk out with me sometime.’
‘I’m sorry. It’s a lovely thought, but no, not on this occasion.’ She was flattered, but she wasn’t sure about him. Would he make a good match? Her doubts were soon confirmed when she caught sight of him larking around behind the hedge with one of the Irish girls later the same day. She felt both offended and relieved – if he was that free with his affections, then she didn’t have to feel guilty for rejecting him.
After a week of picking from dawn to dusk, Donald continued working for Matthew Carter in the forge, Minnie took in more mending and an order for making up aprons for the family who ran the bakehouse, while Rose returned to helping her grandmother in the farmhouse. The morning after the apple harvest, Mrs Carter met her in the yard.
‘There’s no time for dawdling today, Rose. We have to put the apples in store so they’ll keep until after Christmas, but before that we’re going to move the pig and her piglets to the orchard to clear up the windfalls. This is Margaret.’ Rose followed her grandmother to the pigsty. ‘I give our sows the same name so as not to cause confusion.’
‘But I am confused.’ Rose frowned.
Mrs Carter chuckled. ‘We only keep one at a time. Stephen doesn’t like pigs – he says they scare the horses. Anyway,’ she leaned in and scratched behind the sow’s ear, ‘it all started when I was a girl. Ma Rook’s name was Margaret.’
‘Your mother?’ Rose said.
‘That’s right, except she wasn’t my ma.’
‘Oh?’ What else could she say?
‘She was my grandmother. It turned out that the person I had thought was my sister, Ivy, was actually my mother.’
‘My parents gave me the name of Rose Agnes Ivy Catherine.’
‘Ah, you are Agnes after your mother, Catherine after me, and Ivy after your great-grandmother.’
Rose touched the corner of her eye, recognising how Ma had kept the memories of her forebears alive through her.
‘I can’t help noticing how Sam takes an interest in you.’ Mrs Carter opened the gate into the sty and let the sow out, her piglets scampering along behind her.
‘He doesn’t any more – he asked me to walk out with him and I turned him down, not being sure if he was a gentleman and if I liked him enough. He got one of the Irish girls to dry his tears – if he shed any, that is – the very same day.’
Mrs Carter smiled wryly as she picked up a wooden board and directed the sow down towards the gate into the orchard, the piglets following her in single file, snorting and snuffling as they went.
‘I can safely assume there’ll be no wedding bells then?’
Rose laughed. ‘Definitely not.’
‘I’m not saying you should rush into wedlock, but there are advantages in being married, especially if it’s to a young man who works hard to bring
home the bacon. Someone will come along, but in the meantime, you can have one of the piglets to rear instead. I’d suggest that we keep him here at the farm with the others – they can make a terrible mess, rooting about in a small garden. You can collect acorns and bring any scraps you have to feed him.’
‘I’ve never looked after a pig.’
‘Then there’s all the more reason for him to stay here and grow fat.’
‘Thank you, Grandma.’ Watching the sow and her piglets investigating their new surroundings and crunching on the windfalls, she felt a little more secure at the thought that they might one day have a gentleman who could pay the rent.
1878
Chapter Seventeen
Mighty Oaks from Little Acorns Grow
They collected buckets of acorns to feed the pigs in what little spare time they had, and Minnie took up patchworking again. They managed to make ends meet, but it was a hard life. When Rose looked back, she realised that Ma and Pa had had it easy.
In the winter, they were always cold – Rose would wear her coat and two layers of black wool stockings indoors as the water in the bucket they put out to catch the drips turned to ice, and her fingers became swollen and itchy with chilblains.
But there were compensations: ham served with home-grown winter cabbage from the garden; the sight of the woods in spring, carpeted with windflowers; finding frogs and wiggleheads in the stream; planting potatoes in the freshly dug beds; watching Donald and Sam playing cricket with the other village lads.
By early summer, they had been living in Overshill for nearly a year. The weather was unusually warm and dry, and the farmers were complaining that the barley wasn’t growing as it should. The June drop of immature fruits was more than usual, leaving fewer apples on the trees, but the beans, carrots, beetroot and potatoes that Rose had planted in spring were flourishing. The hens were happily laying at least four eggs each and every week, and the pig was growing fat.
Rose had received word from Aunt Marjorie that she would pay them a visit, and she was expected in a couple of days. All it would take to complete her happiness would be for Arthur to walk in through the door with news from London, and for Donald, who was now fourteen and old enough to know better, to stay out of trouble.
