Late Harvest

by FIONA BUCKLEY

  And, of course, James Bright turned to me at once and said: ‘Peggy! Want to dance? That’s a pretty dress you’re wearing!’ and then seized my hand before I’d had time to answer and led me off. As we went, I saw his father and my mother, smiling fondly after us. None of them aware that I was looking round for the Duggans. And especially for Ralph.

  I knew they would be there. I had seen Ralph three times since the funeral. Twice he had ridden over with his father to discuss what were tactfully called matters of business with my mother; once he came on his own to deliver some tea. Each time, we had managed to have some private talk, and on the last occasion, he had told me that his father would not object to our marriage. That was the first time the word marriage was mentioned between us, and it sent a frisson of joy down my spine, and yet it seemed as natural, as normal, as birdsong. He had added that if we married, the Duggans would help my mother out by paying for an extra hand or two to keep Foxwell in good order. He had also promised to see me at the dance.

  My mother as yet knew nothing of all this and in fact had eyed Ralph askance and said to me, after the third visit: ‘Why does the Duggan son keep turning up? I hope he hasn’t got his eye on you, my girl. You’re as good as settled with James Bright. Farming families should marry into one another. The sea and the land don’t mix.’

  Now, as James and I took our places in the set, I wondered if I should have talked to my mother as Ralph clearly had to Josiah. Her idea had been that James should wait until I was out of mourning, but that was officially happening today. Here and now, in fact! What if James proposed to me at once, on this pleasant evening, in the middle of this very dance, before I’d had a chance to speak with Ralph?

  ‘Thank the good Lord it’s grand and sunny,’ James said, as the dance began. ‘Bit of luck, that. When it rains, the village hall’s all right, but it’s not the same as dancing on the grass, out in the sun.’

  ‘No, I agree. The hall always seems so shadowy,’ I said dutifully.

  ‘Did your dad decide on sowin’ wheat this year?’ James asked. He had asked the same thing at last year’s May Day dance. Once again, I said yes and told him which field. It was the same conversation, word for word. As we parted to revolve briefly, hand in hand, with other partners before returning to each other, I wondered if his next remark would be another enquiry about our wheat. It had been, last year.

  It was.

  ‘How do you fancy the crop’s coming along?’

  I found something new to say. ‘Very well, and I just hope that stags won’t get into it, the way they did last August. Father was very upset.’

  ‘Aye, they’re as big a nuisance as bad weather. Can’t go after them with a gun, though; the hunt won’t have it.’

  ‘The wheat crop’s important. Maybe we should go after the hunt with guns!’

  ‘What?’ said James in an outraged voice.

  ‘I didn’t mean it. I was making a joke.’

  ‘Oh. I see,’ said James, who obviously didn’t. He had little sense of humour, I thought. The dance separated us again at that point, but a few moments later, when we were hand in hand once more, he began to talk about the trouble his mother had, keeping things cool in her dairy during hot weather. I said: ‘I agree,’ again.

  Conversation with James was heavy going. It wasn’t just that he said dull things; his voice was monotonous too. And then he said something that wasn’t dull at all, but on the contrary was what I had been dreading.

  ‘Peggy, now ’ee’s wearing colours again – and that there dress is pretty; a proper picture, that’s how ’ee looks – well, b’ain’t it time we talked about marriage? I know your mother last year was still sayin’ you were young yet and she didn’t want to lose your help round the place, either, but time’s goin’ on and my father’s been urgin’ me on and I’ve had a hint or two from your mam too. She’s got good sense and she knows it’s time to let ’ee go. What do ’ee say?’

  So here it was, as I had both expected and dreaded. Now what was I to do? At that moment I caught sight of Ralph, along with both his parents and his brother Philip; they had just arrived. I smiled at James, feeling sorry for him, knowing I was going to hurt him, trying to hold him off for just a little while, until I was sure, and knowing in my heart that I was sure already.

  ‘It is time for us to talk, James, but not in the middle of a dance! This evening I just want to enjoy myself. Life has seemed so serious for so long. Today I just want to be a filly in a field, kicking up my heels and being gay and giddy.’

  ‘I see,’ said James. I heard the disappointment in his voice.

  I was thankful when the dance ended and he led me back to the side of the green, where we found my mother and the Duggans together. Mother was talking animatedly to Mrs Duggan, who was Welsh-born and whose first name was Bronwen. We had met her on a few occasions. She had been on our side of the Bristol Channel for long enough to have lost much of her Welsh accent, but there was still a trace of lilt and an occasional Welsh turn of phrase to remind people.

  Bronwen Duggan was dark-haired, dark-eyed, stocky and full of vitality, and had a lovely smile when she was happy but when we joined them on the green, she was clearly holding forth on something that displeased her. The dark eyes were flashing but the smile was not in evidence.

  ‘Philip ought to take a stronger line, indeed he ought, if he wants to wed that Maisie Cutler, not that I’d worry if he picked someone else. She’s as good-looking a lass as ever I saw, and healthy, but look at her now! She comes to the dance with Philip, and then poor Phil turns his back for half a minute to say good day to someone and up comes that Laurence Wheelwright that was hanging round her already when Phil met her, and off she goes to dance with him! And who is he, compared to Phil? That’s what I’d like to know!’

  ‘Attractive,’ said Mr Duggan. ‘And with ambitions he might well achieve. He’s foreman now on that Aclands farm where he works and he’s said to have a bit of money behind him. Don’t care for him myself – pushy, I call him – but he’s got a way with the wenches, and Maisie’s fallen for it, by the looks of things.’

  James was still beside me, ready to lead me out to the next set. I turned slightly away from him and with a show of interest, asked Mrs Duggan what Maisie looked like.

  ‘Fair hair and big blue eyes and she’s mighty proud of them,’ said Bronwen forcefully. ‘But not much sense, I’m sorry to say.’

  ‘She’s just young,’ said Philip sharply, and then, as another dance was announced, swung away from us, grabbed a girl apparently at random, and departed into the set.

  ‘Trouble is, Philip’s wild for her, and now he’s miserable,’ said his mother crossly. ‘Look at him now, dancing, yes, but with a face like a tombstone. All in the dismals, indeed he is, and all because of that little flirt. That’s her, over there, and that’s Laurence. They’re not dancing now. Wooin’, more likely. Look how he’s got his arm round her!’

  I looked. The couple in question had sat down on the grass beneath a tree. Maisie was indeed pretty, a buxom lass with a cloud of pale hair, as Bronwen had said, and a flawless complexion. I didn’t greatly admire the supposedly attractive Laurence, though. He seemed to be a wiry type, not very tall, with untidy light-coloured hair. Though just now, he was being amused by something Maisie was saying and I saw that he had a pleasing, monkeyish smile and splendid teeth.

  Ralph said: ‘Peggy, would you like to dance? The set’s just forming up.’

  ‘Let’s!’ I said thankfully.

  I took his hand. From the corner of my eye I saw James turn abruptly away and I heard him inviting Bronwen Duggan. As I went on to the green with Ralph I caught sight of Ned and John Bright, frowning. And then we were in the dance, skipping to the music, and Ralph was saying: ‘If you’re still of the same mind, Peggy, my love, what if we announce our engagement when we get back to our parents? I keep being afraid that James Bright will get in before me.’

  ‘He already has. I put him off,’ I said.


  ‘You … you mean it, then? It’s you for me and me for you?’

  ‘Yes, if you mean it too.’ One, two, link hands with each other and the adjacent couple, and round in a circle we go. Briefly, we exchange partners. Then I was back with Ralph, who said: ‘I’ve meant it since the moment I saw you, at your father’s funeral, looking so sad. Lovely brown hair you have. Beechnut colour. I want to wake for the rest of my life to see that brown hair straying over my pillow.’

  I laughed. ‘It will turn grey one day. Will you like it so much then?’

  ‘By then we’ll be so much one person we won’t notice things like that and I’ll have turned grey too, anyway. If I haven’t drowned at sea or been caught by the Revenue. You’ll be marrying into a family that takes risks. You do understand that?’

  ‘Yes. I understand.’ I spoke soberly, knowing that he spoke the truth. But he was Ralph. We belonged together.

  ‘I will marry you,’ I said. ‘I will … be like Juliet and follow you, my lord, throughout the world.’

  We were going down the set, hands clasped and held high. His grip tightened. ‘I will do all I can to make you happy and keep you safe. Peggy, sweetheart, let’s get it settled. There won’t be any trouble with my parents; I told you, my father is agreeable and my mother knows her boys will go their own way, anyhow!’

  ‘My mother may not be so agreeable.’

  ‘We’ll talk her round.’ The dance was ending. The set broke up. Hand in hand, we walked back to our families, who were still together in one group.

  ‘Will she worry because you’re marrying a free trader?’ Ralph asked and then answered his own question. ‘I suppose she might. She doesn’t disapprove of free trading, though, does she?’

  ‘I don’t think so, no. The Brights do but I think Mother might just be anxious in case my husband got caught.’

  ‘I worry more about my father than about me,’ Ralph said. ‘I’m afraid of him getting caught. I don’t think he’d survive in prison, not at his age. What do you feel about us?’

  ‘I just haven’t thought about it much. But so many people seem to have a share in it, don’t they? It seems odd that just importing goods and selling them can count as a crime.’

  ‘It isn’t a crime. The crime is the enormous duties the government charges. If the duties were more reasonable, free trading wouldn’t be half as popular, though a lot of us would probably do it for the excitement. It’s why we still bother to bring in tea, even though the government has actually reduced the duty on it. But some of the other duties are sheer extortion. Ruling folk never understand what ordinary people will put up with and what they won’t. We’re not wicked, my lass. Not Dad and me, anyhow. I wouldn’t be so sure of some of the men in the trade, I grant you, but we Duggans have never murdered anyone or harmed any Customs man beyond a punch on the nose or a shove into the harbour once in a while. Well, here we are. Here they are.’

  They were indeed. My mother, the Duggans and the Brights were all close to each other, watching us as we approached. ‘I’m nervous,’ I admitted.

  ‘I dare say. Your mother won’t like it at first and the Brights won’t like it at all. We may have the devil to pay!’ His hand tightened on mine. ‘Don’t worry. I’m here. Peggy, you are sure? Say it to me, darling. You are sure?’

  ‘I am sure.’

  I was. My future path lay before my feet. I would travel it with him and I could not even think of walking on through life in any other direction or any other company.

  We were back with our families and friends. Ralph beamed at them. ‘That was a lively dance, Father, Mrs Shawe. And now we have something to tell you. Peggy and I,’ said Ralph, as easily and calmly as though he were commenting on the weather, ‘had a little talk while we were dancing. We are happy to announce that we’re engaged.’

  Paying the Devil

  There was the devil to pay, all right. It started with a triangular shouting match, then and there, between my mother, the Duggans and the Brights. James, his face red with humiliation and fury, and his eyes as hard and round as blue marbles, declared half a dozen times that I couldn’t do this to him, no I couldn’t, I was engaged to him and he’d not stand being jilted.

  My mother cried and said I was a foolish girl and didn’t know my own mind and didn’t I know that James was the one for me and it had been understood for years, only she and my father had thought me too young for marriage and been too fond to let me go before they must. She then rounded on Josiah Duggan and demanded to know how he could let his son behave like this. Then, glaring at Ralph, she told him to go away, to leave her daughter alone. ‘Don’t you dare come near Foxwell or my Peggy again!’

  Josiah Duggan looked amused, if anything. Bronwen Duggan shook her head at us but smiled, which caused Ned Bright to ask her what she thought was so funny. Philip Duggan, who had rejoined his family, attempted to say: ‘If they’re in love, what does it matter?’ and was trounced in a furious chorus by James, Ned Bright, John Bright and my mother.

  Ralph and I held on to each other, tight. People nearby were turning round and staring, and some of those who had made out what it was all about, were grinning.

  Finally, Josiah Duggan somehow managed to convince the rest that this was not a subject for discussion under the trees round Exford Green in the midst of the May Day dance. Wouldn’t it be best if we all met quietly at Foxwell tomorrow morning, and talked things over like sensible folk?

  This was finally agreed, though not before Ned Bright had thrown a punch at Ralph and had it neatly parried. Ralph said: ‘There, there,’ whereupon, John and James caught hold of their father to stop him from further violence. They had noticed Exford’s constable making his way towards us. The ugly scene broke up.

  It was resumed, with vigour, at ten of the clock on the following morning.

  John Bright didn’t come (‘It b’ain’t rightly his business,’ said his father grimly), but Ned Bright and James were there in good time, both glowering. A few minutes later, the Duggan family arrived in force. ‘What’s he doing here?’ Ned demanded, on seeing Philip.

  ‘We spent the night at the inn in Exford. We’ll all go home together,’ said Josiah mildly. ‘Philip won’t interfere.’ The Brights scowled more than ever.

  Then the business of the meeting began.

  It was like a parody of a social occasion. We sat glumly in the parlour while Betty and Mrs Page, supervised by my mother, offered cider and tea, chicken and bacon pies and fresh baked scones, refreshments which were scorned by the Brights but partaken of cheerfully by the Duggans.

  ‘Now, let’s all be reasonable,’ said Josiah. ‘It seems we’ve two young folk here who’ve fallen suddenly in love and we all know what that’s like. The days are gone by when parents arranged these things. It’s for the youngsters themselves to decide, surely we all agree there.’

  ‘The youngsters did decide, after listening to their elders first, and that’s how it should be!’ barked Ned Bright. ‘And then your son – oh yes, he’s good-looking – comes and pushes in and turns the wench’s head. No, I don’t blame ’ee, Peggy; you’re too young to know your own best interests but …’

  ‘That’s what I say!’ My mother had her handkerchief out and was dabbing her eyes. ‘Peggy’s not yet twenty-one and until she is she can’t wed without I say so, and I don’t say so, not unless it’s to James like it ought to be!’

  ‘When’s your birthday, my lass?’ Josiah enquired, turning to me.

  ‘August the tenth,’ I said.

  ‘And what age would you be now?’

  ‘I’m twenty!’ I said defiantly. ‘So I’ll turn twenty-one this coming August and it’s only a bit over three months away!’

  ‘We can marry on the eleventh of August,’ said Ralph calmly, stretching from his chair to mine to take my hand. ‘And there’s none can gainsay us.’

  ‘I was goin’ to ask ’ee at the dance, and you went on about wantin’ to be fancy free for the evening and all the time … all the time …�
� James choked and stopped. I saw with distress that his eyes were wet.

  ‘I know, James. I’m sorry. This … just happened.’ I really was sorry. James is one of the people I hurt, and hurt badly, in the course of my life. Yes, I do regret it. But …

  At the time, everything I did seemed inevitable.

  Josiah tried to be a calming influence. ‘In my view,’ he said, ‘James and Peggy here ought to talk to each other alone for a bit. The rest of us ought to go to the kitchen and let them stop here till they’ve done.’

  Ralph’s grip on my hand grew stronger. ‘There’s nothing Peggy needs to say. It’s all been said.’

  ‘No, Ralph.’ Bronwen was firm. ‘She do owe James a word or two. They should talk. My husband’s right.’

  ‘It’s all right,’ I said to Ralph. ‘Don’t worry. I do need to say sorry – in private, as it were.’

  Everyone got up except James and myself. Ralph was reluctant and looked at me anxiously but he went out with the rest. I looked at James.

  ‘How could ’ee, Peggy?’ he said. ‘How could ’ee treat me like this? All the years we’ve known each other … I’ve had hopes, ever since I wur a boy at school with ’ee … how could ’ee hurt me like this?’

  The anger and injured pride had gone, to be replaced by bewilderment and pain. ‘I’m so sorry,’ I said miserably. ‘I’m so sorry. But I can’t marry you, James. I … would you want me to, would you really want me to stand beside you at the altar and take those vows and all the time be wishing you were somebody else? That’s how it would be.’

  ‘Not for long, I promise ’ee. You’d forget soon enough. We’re well suited; you know we are. What would ’ee do in a boatbuilder’s family, and they’re what they call free traders, too! You shouldn’t be mixed up with the likes of they …’

  ‘James, please …’

  ‘I’d be coming to Foxwell to live. There’d be little ones to bring up and we’d always be busy, working together here, there’s a heap of things I can think of to do. Look at that herd of Red Devon’s ’ee’s got – fine animals but your bull’s gettin’ on, and Bert Page thinks he knows where we can get a young one, ready for work in a couple of years, if they Quartly brothers over Molland way, will just let go of that half-grown calf they’re so wild about. You heard us talking about it, at the funeral. Look, love, bemused ’ee’ve been, well, it happens, but think ahead, think of the future, think about they Red Devons …’