Late Harvest

by FIONA BUCKLEY

  ‘The Darracotts have black cattle,’ I said thoughtfully. ‘An old, well-established breed, but I like Red Devons better. We could start by buying some heifers, a different bloodline from the Foxwell herd, and mate them to my bull …’

  Ralph began to laugh. ‘You’re a real farm lass, aren’t you, my Peggy? How many ladies, dining in a smart hotel, would accept a proposal of marriage and then start discussing cattle breeding?’

  ‘I used to be impatient with James for being too practical,’ I said. ‘But perhaps I learned something from him after all.’

  ‘Being practical can be useful.’

  And we were both laughing, and the world was warm around us.

  Six weeks later, at long last, we stood side by side at the altar of St Salwyn’s in Exford and became man and wife. Charlie Duggan was best man and Mr Silcox, though he was now very frail and leaning on a stick, gave me away. William had declined, not because he disapproved of the marriage, but because he said there was something not quite right about sons giving their mothers away. Indeed, he was far from disapproving. He was pleased to think that I would have a good farm of my own, and he liked Ralph.

  We laid on a feast to remember, back at Foxwell. Annie and Mattie and Jenny, aided by me and Charlotte, had toiled over the preparations for days. Jenny helped with a will, though she had no love for the institution of marriage. She knew what it led to. A houseful of bawling brats, that’s what, she told me.

  ‘There’s no danger of that for me,’ I told her, amused. She meant it, though. She is still at Foxwell, well into middle age by now, and cheerfully unwed.

  We enjoyed the feast and afterwards, danced to the music of the Exford band. Few of the players were the ones who had played for the dance at which I accepted Ralph the first time, but the instruments were the same. But while the dancers were still gliding and prancing in the parlour, which had been cleared of all furniture to make room for them (actually, it was quite a squash to get the dancers in as well as the band), Ralph and I slipped away.

  We were to leave for Standing Stone the next morning. That first night we spent in the room that once I had shared with James. I hoped that his shade, if it existed anywhere and knew what was happening, would not mind too much. But soon, I had put him from my mind, as for the first time, Ralph and I lay in each other’s as man and wife, as lawful lovers.

  That was thirty years ago. The first twenty of them, we had together. We saw our daughter Charlotte married and Ralph had the pleasure of giving her away to a good husband.

  They met, by chance, when she and I were at a market in Dunster, and for them, as for Ralph and myself, it was an instantaneous thing. He is a farmer, so Charlotte did end up as a farmer’s wife after all, but I had dowered her well and she has never had to work on the land. Later, when Ralph was gone, they gave up their tenancy and moved to Standing Stone and here, too, hers is the life of a lady. Her children have met and made friends with the children of my estranged daughter Rose, their cousins. I heard that Rose and her husband were outraged by this, but it pleased me greatly.

  The children of William and Susie have all turned out well, even Harry. He’s a family man himself now, and has the tenancy of a farm near Taunton.

  Twenty years, and then it was over. But when Ralph died, it was mercifully easy. A hateful shock for me, but not for him. He had not been ill. He went out one morning with Dickie Webster to repair a leaning gatepost at the entrance to one of our fields, and then Dickie came rushing back, to say that all of a sudden, Ralph had just fallen over and lain still ‘and when I went to ’un to see what was amiss, he was … he was dead, missus. Just dead. But all quiet like and he never cried out nor nothing and so I don’t think he ever knew what happened …’

  That was ten years ago. I am used now to life without him. After all, I was without him for most of my life. I regret those lost years still. We could have had so many more, except for Laurence Wheelwright.

  And yet, in that case, William would never have been born and nor would John … dear John, lost at sea the year after my wedding to Ralph, but a wonderful son while I still had him.

  Sometimes, I think about William and his children, and I think about Charlotte and how I came to bring her into the world, and about Ralph’s useful capital that took care of us while he lived and became mine when he died. That useful capital was the fruit of some thoroughly unlawful transactions, but I don’t brood about these things because, as I have so often felt and said, it’s all too complicated to worry about.

  What those unlawful activities did do, as Ralph intended and I thankfully accepted, was to preserve my secret hoard. Over the years, once free of the fear that James might seize it, I used some of it. Some of it went to provide Charlotte with her generous dowry, and both Standing Stone and Foxwell now have red Devon herds which are famous. Each has a pedigree bull whose services are widely sought.

  The rest I retained and still retain, but when I am gone, William and Rose will both benefit. Yes, Rose too. Perhaps then she will feel more kindly towards me.

  Meanwhile, much as I miss Ralph, I remember that I had him for twenty years. I have memories to treasure. Let that be sufficient.