by Rosie Harris
Chapter 17
The arrangement at Bulpitts worked surprisingly well. Ruth and Mark enjoyed being there from the moment they moved in and even little Lucy thrived, growing plump and brown as the summer advanced.
She would lie in her pram on the sloping green lawn, gurgling happily at the trailing fronds of the willow tree as they waved and danced in front of her.
Donald was captivated by Lucy. He made frequent detours so that he could pass her pram and stop to talk to her.
Watching them together, Helen felt a lump in her throat. If only Adam had lived to see his new daughter; if only Lucy could have known a father’s love.
She knew that could be easily overcome. Right from the start, Donald made it very clear that he was more than ready to marry her, but she turned down his frequent suggestions with unswerving firmness, making it quite clear that no one could ever replace Adam.
Remaining true to Adam’s memory was her tribute to him, because their marriage had been so unsurpassable. Their relationship had been so special – something she couldn’t express in words but which burned deep inside her, filling her heart with tenderness whenever she thought about him. Helen felt sure that, had she been the one to die first, Adam would never have married again.
She had tried to explain all this to Donald when he had said with his characteristic bluntness, ‘It would look better if we got married now that you’re living at Bulpitts, Helen.’
‘Married!’
‘I’ve always wanted you, Helen. And now I feel my patience has paid off … it was obviously meant to be,’ he told her arrogantly.
Anger because he had the audacity to assume she would say, ‘Yes’, welled up in her. As she stared at the round, florid face with its large full-lipped mouth and prominent bony nose, she remembered with repugnance the first time he had kissed her and knew he hadn’t changed at all. It took all her self-control to suppress the shudder his words invoked and hold back the scathing answer that burned on her lips. In her present position, to antagonise Donald was a luxury she dare not indulge in.
With icy coldness she told him firmly that she wouldn’t marry again … ever.
‘Let me know if you change your mind.’ Donald smiled complacently.
‘I won’t, so if you feel uncomfortable, or embarrassed about us living here, then say so,’ she told him defiantly, her heart in her mouth in case he did decide to turn them out. The thought of them all having to cram back into Willow Cottage, even for a short time, was daunting. Nevertheless, she intended to set matters straight, right from the start.
‘No, let’s leave things the way they are. I won’t pester you … I promise.’ He gave his characteristic loud laugh. ‘I’m too clever for that. I shall go on waiting, just as patiently as I’ve done all these years. One day you’ll change your mind and when you do …’ His laugh boomed out again, and his close-set hazel eyes glittered.
Although they had their own separate sitting-rooms, most of the time they lived as a family. They took their meals either in the enormous kitchen or in the oak-panelled dining-room that looked out onto the lawns at the front of the house. Donald automatically sat at the head of the long, polished dining-table, playing the family man as if it was his natural role.
As the months passed, Helen became more and more aware that in so many ways Donald acted as father to her three children. He taught Ruth to ride and on her sixteenth birthday bought her a black gelding. He encouraged Mark to enjoy the farm, allowed him to drive the tractor and took him fishing. He spent a lot of time with Lucy, nursing her when she was fretful, playing with her when she was lively. He also spent hours patiently encouraging her to walk and talk.
Seeing them together, watching the trusting way Lucy held his hand, and the way her face creased into a smile whenever Donald came near, Helen often wondered whether she had, after all, made the right decision. Having decided to live at Bulpitts, perhaps it would have been more honest, and better for the children, had she married Donald.
Such thoughts usually troubled her at night, when she tossed and turned, unable to sleep, even though she was tired. Then she would ask Adam for guidance. It was a habit grown out of years of separation. Usually she fell asleep before her problem was solved, but, next morning, when she awoke, the solution would be there, just as if she had discussed it with him.
For the first few months after they went to live at Bulpitts, Helen refused to let Donald take them out as a family, in case people drew the wrong conclusions. But he was patient and persuasive and eventually won her round. He started by taking Ruth and Mark to local county shows and agricultural events. And, seeing how much they enjoyed such outings, Helen eventually agreed to go along as well.
Ruth was doing exceptionally well at school, renewing Helen’s hopes that she would go on to university. Donald’s encouragement had a lot to do with it. Ruth seemed anxious to please him. He seemed to be able to stimulate her competitiveness and make her work. When Donald pushed she rose to the challenge, but if Helen tried to persuade her to turn down an outing, or spend less time playing with Lucy and more time studying, Ruth accused her of nagging.
Mark, though happy to be living on a farm, still hankered to join the Army.
‘Why don’t you try and get into university and then go into the Army as an officer,’ Donald suggested, but Mark was not to be talked round. He recognised Donald’s ploy as being a delaying tactic.
‘Or join the Army Cadet Corps,’ Donald suggested. ‘They train, go to camp, and do most of the things a regular soldier does. It’s a good way of finding out if Army life is really what you want.’
‘I’ve lived in barracks ever since I was born,’ Mark pointed out. ‘I know all about the Army, and I’m quite certain it’s the life I want. I’ll never be really happy doing anything else.’
At fifteen, Mark was already tall and had his father’s powerful build. His hair was dark and thick, like Adam’s had been. His eyes though were a much deeper blue and lacked the intenseness Helen remembered so well.
Lucy, golden-haired and adorable, was undoubtedly the catalyst for them all. Delicately built with fair skin and huge blue eyes she had completely captured Donald’s heart. For her third birthday, he bought her a Shetland pony and after breakfast each morning he took her out on it. For the rest of the day, she would pedal after him on her tricycle, following him all around the farm, not wanting to let him out of her sight for a moment. When he was ploughing, harrowing or spraying, she would climb up on the gate to watch, happy and contented as long as he waved to her each time he circled the field.
Lucy was sitting astride the huge iron gate that divided Bulpitts from Home Field, the morning the accident happened.
Helen, busy in the kitchen preparing lunch, heard her screaming and ran outside to find out what was wrong. Lucy came running towards her, tears streaming down her face, choking with sobs.
When she finally understood what Lucy was saying, Helen’s heart thudded with fear. When she reached the meadow, Helen found Donald pinned beneath the tractor.
He was unconscious and there was not even a flicker of movement from his still figure. She tried to feel for his heart but the heavy machinery lying across his body made it impossible. She rubbed his hands and called his name, but not a muscle of his face moved. Blood was oozing from a gash on his forehead and his eyes seemed glazed. She felt for his pulse, but there was not even a tremor of movement in his thick wrist.
Grasping Lucy’s hand she raced back to the house to get help. She phoned for the fire brigade as well as an ambulance, because she was sure cutting gear would be needed to free him. While she waited, she telephoned to ask if Ruth and Mark could come home from school to look after Lucy so that she could go to the hospital with Donald.
As it turned out, that wasn’t necessary. Donald had died instantaneously. The blow to his head had knocked him unconscious and, when the tractor had turned over, his chest had been crushed by the weight of it.
Shocked though she was by
the news, Helen was relieved to learn he hadn’t suffered. She was, however, filled with remorse as she thought of how she had taken all Donald had offered and given nothing in return.
After the funeral, the Bradys’ family lawyer explained that Bulpitts had only been left in trust to Donald. In the event of his death it went to Isabel. Knowing she would not be coming from Australia for the funeral, the lawyer had already asked her for instructions and had been told she wanted Bulpitts to be sold.
Helen stared at him aghast, knowing that once more her own future was in jeopardy.
‘There is a provision for you in the will, however,’ the lawyer told her. ‘Mr Brady recently acquired a small farm just a few miles away. He bought it as investment property. His long-term plan was that, in due course, your son Mark might wish to farm on his own. Fortuitously the lease expires next quarter-day and, since the tenant has not applied for an extension, it would seem he intends moving on. Under the terms of Mr Brady’s will the farm is left to you, in trust, until your son is twenty-one, so you could move in as soon as it is vacant, should you so wish.’
‘1 really don’t know what to say,’ Helen said wearily. ‘I need somewhere to live … but it would be a pity not to use the farm …’
‘Mr Brady has left you, personally, a small legacy. You could use that to buy stock. Or, of course, you could rent the farm out and find other accommodation for yourself and your family.’
‘I don’t know enough about the everyday running of a farm,’ Helen said in bewilderment. ‘And Mark is only a schoolboy. Anyway,’ she said, sighing, ‘his heart is set on joining the Army.’
‘I can probably find a good all-round man to help out,’ the lawyer offered. ‘Your son is familiar with farm equipment …’ He hesitated, as Helen, remembering Donald’s accident, shuddered and shook her head violently.
‘I was referring to milking machines … equipment of that kind,’ he said hastily.
‘Yes … yes, of course.’ With an effort Helen pulled herself together. Could she take on a farm, looking after animals, haymaking, gathering in corn, raising chickens, taking pigs to market? With the right help, she decided, it would be worth trying. It meant independence for her and for the children. Anything was better than going back to live with Aunt Julia.
After the spaciousness of Bulpitts, Hill Farm seemed cramped and inconvenient at first. Helen valiantly hid her dismay and, whenever Ruth and Mark began to criticise the place, reminded them that they should be grateful Donald had left them a home of their own.
Jim Baines, who had been hired to help out, was a willing, though rather plodding, worker, so Mark did the milking before he left for school in the morning, leaving Helen to see the milk through the cooler and put in churns, ready for collection by the local dairy.
Helen herself fed the hens and ducks while Jim Baines saw to the cattle and then attended to some of the field work. He refused to do any of the ploughing or to drive the tractor, so most of this work was contracted out to a neighbouring farmer. The rest Mark managed to do at the weekends or during his school holidays.
Remembering Donald’s accident, Helen hated Mark using the tractor, for fear of an accident, and would usually take Lucy along to the field where he was working on some pretext or the other.
Ruth showed no interest in the farm at all. Far from resenting this, Helen was secretly pleased, since it meant that Ruth was spending more and more time studying.
Helen had become obsessive about Ruth going to university and achieving what she herself had failed to do. It was the one thing she felt would make everything worthwhile. She was so confident that Ruth had done well in her ‘A’ levels that after the exams were over she encouraged her to go on a school trip to Brecon, as a reward for all her hard work.
Chapter 18
Ruth’s trip to Brecon was a turning point in all their lives. Her insistence on marrying Hugh Edwards, although she had only known him for a couple of weeks, shocked and saddened Helen. And her outspoken condemnation of the life they had led since leaving married quarters disturbed her deeply.
Sitting downstairs, long after the others had gone to bed, Helen pondered on Ruth’s outburst and also on the way Mark had reacted.
At the time of Adam’s death, it had never entered her head to discuss with them the changes she was making. She had simply done what she thought was for the best. And, looking back, she didn’t see how else she could have acted.
Homeless, and with a new baby, Donald’s offer of accommodation had seemed the perfect solution. They certainly couldn’t have gone on living at Willow Cottage for any length of time; it had been far too cramped, and it had seemed unfair to put such a strain on Aunt Julia.
Perhaps if Donald hadn’t been killed and they had been able to go on living at Bulpitts instead of having to move to Hill Farm, Ruth and Mark would have felt differently about things.
She wondered what would have happened if Ruth hadn’t met Hugh Edwards, and how long they could have gone on living as a family without some dramatic outburst.
She felt a deep-seated guilt because Ruth wanted to leave home. It was almost as if it was some sort of retribution; history repeating itself. She thought guiltily about the agonies her own parents must have gone through when she had been equally determined to marry Adam.
The circumstances were different, of course. In wartime everyone snatched their happiness when and where they could. And she had been pregnant. Yet she couldn’t help wondering if her own mother had felt as depressed and helpless as she did now, because she had insisted on letting her heart rule her head.
She was so deep in retrospection that she didn’t hear Mark come downstairs. She looked up, startled to find him in the room, a dressing-gown over his striped pyjamas, his hair tousled and his eyes screwed up against the light.
‘Mark! Why aren’t you in bed …’
‘I could ask you the same question. Do you know the time, Mum?’
‘Around midnight … I wanted to think things through.’
‘It’s half-past one!’
‘You go on back to bed, dear. I’ll be up in a few minutes.’
‘Not much point if you’re not going to be able to sleep, is there? Why don’t we talk about it?’
‘About Ruth?’
‘If that’s what’s troubling you,’ he said as he sat down on the floor beside her chair.
As Helen reached out to ruffle Mark’s shock of dark hair, he caught her hand and held it firmly between his own. The strength of his grasp confused her. As she looked down into the serious blue eyes set in the strong, square face, it was like looking at the Adam she had known when she was eighteen.
‘Why are you so upset about Ruth wanting to get married?’ Mark persisted. ‘Hugh seems a decent sort.’
‘You don’t understand … she is just a child.’
‘No she isn’t. She’s eighteen. She’s old enough to drive a car and vote, so why can’t she get married?’
‘But why does she want to leave home, Mark? I’ve always tried to be a good mother to you all; where have I failed?’
‘You haven’t failed. We’ve grown up just that little bit quicker than most kids. Dad being in the Army probably had something to do with it.’
Helen looked at him in surprise. ‘Someone else once said that to me,’ she said quietly. ‘Perhaps it is true. But we’re not an Army family now.’
‘And we haven’t got Dad,’ he added, his voice gruff with emotion. ‘Ruth’s probably looking for someone to replace him. Think it lucky she didn’t go for someone old enough to be her father! Girls like Ruth often do.’
Helen bit her lips to stop them trembling. How did Mark know things like that? she thought aghast.
‘If you stop her marrying Hugh Edwards,’ Mark went on, ‘then she’ll probably elope with him. And if she does that we may not see her again for ages, not until the rift heals.’
‘What do you think your father would have said about all this, Mark?’
‘I think
he would have agreed to them getting married.’
‘But Ruth is so young …’
‘Hugh isn’t though,’ Mark cut her short. ‘Look,’ he said, standing up and reaching out a hand to pull Helen to her feet, ‘why don’t you sleep on it, Mum? It will all make sense in the morning.’
As he leant down and kissed her cheek, she raised her hand to caress his firm jawline. ‘You sound just like your father.’ She smiled. ‘That was the sort of thing he always used to say when there was a problem and we couldn’t find a solution.’
She saw him flush with embarrassment. Then with a grin he said, ‘Well, what about taking my advice? I am the man of the house, you know.’
Comforted by Mark’s concern, and hopeful that it would all look different in the morning, Helen went to bed and slept soundly until the noises from the farmyard and the early-morning birdsong woke her.
Helen was in the kitchen preparing breakfast when Ruth came downstairs next morning. Dressed in jeans and a blue and pink checked shirt, she looked subdued and very young. Her eyes met her mother’s hesitantly, almost as if expecting an outburst.
‘Is Hugh ready for breakfast?’ Helen asked quietly.
‘I don’t know. Shall I go and call him?’
‘Tell Lucy to do it. You lay the table. Mark will be in from milking any minute now.’
As she spoke, Mark came into the kitchen, Hugh with him.
‘Good morning.’ Hugh smiled briefly at Helen, then, walking over to Ruth, placed his hands on her shoulders and stood looking down into her eyes, before kissing her lightly on the lips.
Lucy watched, round-eyed. Then she ran over to Hugh and raised her face, ‘Kiss!’
Laughing, he swung her high into the air, while she squealed excitedly, then kissed her on both cheeks.
When they had finished breakfast, Helen looked across at Hugh challengingly. ‘I’ll agree to you and Ruth being married … on one condition,’ she stated.
