‘We need another place set,’ Ada remarked as she passed through the room.
‘Another place?’ Sarah was puzzled. She’d already laid out three place settings.
‘Yes, for Daniel.’ Ada looked equally puzzled. ‘I enquired as to his Christmas plans when I wrote to him and, when I heard that he would be spending the day alone in Manchester, I insisted he should come to us. I’m sure I told you.’
Sarah experienced a momentary flash of worry at her grandmother’s absent-mindedness. Ada had always been so sharp and never missed a trick; it was most unlike her to forget to tell Sarah about Daniel’s visit. This thought was quickly replaced by another: what would Joe make of Daniel’s presence? They’d never met, or had they? Daniel had been present at the wedding but now she couldn’t remember whether he and Joe had been introduced. And Joe’s previous visit had been so hasty that she had never found the right moment to tell him of her sorrow at the loss of her sisters and mother, nor to explain the important role that Daniel had played in their last days.
Would Daniel and Joe get along? They were very different characters. Sarah felt a wave of misgiving. Suddenly she wasn’t quite as excited about the prospect of Christmas as she had been just a few minutes earlier.
‘Is that all right? Do we have enough food?’ Ada was looking at her with concern. Sarah became aware that her own feelings were probably written too clearly on her face.
‘Yes, of course. It will be lovely to have Daniel here. I was just surprised, that’s all. And we have plenty of food. But I don’t have a gift for him.’ This new thought dismayed Sarah all over again.
‘It’s quite all right. I’m sure he won’t expect anything. But I have knitted him a muffler, so all is not lost.’
Ada looked rather pleased with herself and it occurred to Sarah that Daniel had become the son or, more properly, grandson that she’d never had.
Chapter 19
When the knock on the door came, Sarah was apprehensive. Would it be Joe? Or Daniel? She hoped it would be Joe, so that she could prepare him for Daniel’s arrival. When she unbolted the door, at first she couldn’t make out who stood there, well wrapped against the cold. But when the person stepped forward into the light of the lamp that she held up she saw the frank, open features of Daniel, his nose pink with cold and his freckles standing out against his pale skin.
Her misgivings were forgotten in the change in the atmosphere that Daniel brought with him. All at once, there was excitement in the air. Daniel was clearly in the mood for celebrating. He’d barely shrugged off his overcoat before he was producing items from a cloth bag and laying them out on the table: a large pork pie, a pot of mustard, a box of dates, a bag of nuts and a couple of bottles of ale. He apologised to Ada for the latter and said that he would gladly drink them out in the garden if it offended her to have them in the house, but he was so happy to be free of work for a day or two, and to be spending time with them again, that he felt he couldn’t let the day pass without a small celebration.
‘I would have brought something to drink for you both, of course,’ he added hastily, ‘but I wasn’t sure it would be welcome. I just wanted to make a small contribution to the dinner-table.’ He gestured at the things he had laid out. ‘The shops in Manchester were so full of good things for Christmas that I couldn’t resist.’
Sarah paused as she was hanging up his overcoat. ‘I’ve never been there. Never even been beyond Nortonstall. You must tell me more about it.’
So while the soup heated gently on the range, Daniel described the shops in Deansgate and Market Street to Sarah and Ada. When he told them about the Barton Arcade, Sarah was uncomprehending at first.
‘Shops on two levels, under a glass roof, you say? How can that be?’
Daniel, who had lived in Manchester all his life, was used to the developments that prosperity had brought to the town and struggled to convey all the riches on offer. He described small shops designed for the purpose of solely selling furs or dresses, perfume or flowers.
‘But how can folk afford such things?’ A frown furrowed Sarah’s brow. ‘On mill-work wages?’
Daniel patiently explained that, while the mills and other industry had brought thousands of workers to the town, they had also brought riches and there were many wealthy people who could well afford to shop in the streets of central Manchester. He liked to wander the shopping streets and observe them, and it was something that Ellen had enjoyed too. This time he had determined to buy a few things as gifts for Sarah and her grandmother.
His expression grew sad when he mentioned Ellen and the mention of her sister’s name struck Sarah to her heart. Although they hadn’t spent Christmas as a family since before her mother and sisters moved to Manchester, this was her first Christmas without them being in the world at all. It felt wrong to be celebrating, somehow, no matter how quietly.
‘You know,’ Daniel said, ‘Ellen spoke about you so often, and of her happy memories of living here. Even though I only knew her in Manchester, I feel her presence very strongly here because she described it to me so vividly. She would have loved to be here with us this Christmas. Perhaps she is, in a way.’
Sarah, caught up with the idea, looked around the room as if she expected her mother, Jane and Ellen to suddenly materialise. Ada broke the spell by moving over to the range to stir the soup.
‘We should eat,’ she said. ‘Daniel must be famished after his journey and I confess to feeling almost faint myself.’
It was only as Sarah was setting out the ham and preparing to serve the soup that she started to feel the first twinges of anxiety again. This time she was worried as to where Joe could be. The evening was already well advanced. Could it be that her grandmother was right and he was to be found in The Old Bell? Resolutely she pushed the thought from her mind and concentrated on enjoying the evening ahead. Joe had always been a law unto himself. He would show up when he was good and ready.
‘Are we waiting for someone?’ Daniel asked once they were seated, the soup bowls steaming before them. He indicated the unused place setting.
‘Joe, my husband,’ Sarah said. ‘We won’t wait. His supper will keep.’ And she picked up her spoon. ‘Eat, before it cools.’
‘Grace first,’ Ada admonished, and they bowed their heads while she offered a few words of thanks, then they fell to. Daniel ate slice after slice of the crusty bread with his ham and cheese, exclaiming in delight over its freshness, until Sarah, fearful that there would be none left for Joe, wished that she had set some aside.
Once the table was cleared they moved into the parlour and Daniel produced a pack of cards and suggested a game of Whist. Ada would not hear of any form of gambling, even with matchsticks, so they contented themselves with playing purely for the pleasure of it. Sarah found she had done rather well when they tallied up the score at the end of the evening and she accused Daniel of letting her win. He was vehement in his denials and so, still disbelieving, she went upstairs to fetch bedding for him while Ada made her way up to her room.
‘There is no word from Joe?’ Daniel asked on her return.
Sarah paused, her hand on the door handle as she prepared to leave the room. ‘No. But I would expect none. Who could be found to carry a message on Christmas Eve night? I am sure he has his reasons and we will no doubt see him in the morning.’
She made herself sound more cheerful than she felt, wished Daniel a good night and took herself up to bed. There she shed more than a few silent tears of disappointment into her pillow before she slept. Where was Joe? And why hadn’t he thought to send word? The baby kicked in her belly and she laid her hands over it to soothe it, forcing herself to stop crying. Tomorrow would bring him, she was sure.
When Sarah awoke the next morning, she was struck by the cold quality of the light in the room. She was puzzled for a few seconds, until it dawned on her that it must surely have snowed in the night. As she summoned up the will to leave her warm bed and look out of the window, her thoughts strayed to
the day ahead. It was Christmas Day and there was much to be done before dinner could be set on the table.
She counted to three, took a deep breath and flung back the bedcovers. Sure enough, as she pulled the curtains aside, she saw that a blanket of snow carpeted the garden. It was as deep as last time, just less than a month ago, but today it wasn’t sparkling under a bright winter sun but lay instead under leaden skies. The curious yellowish tinge of the clouds promised more snow to come and indeed, as Sarah watched, a few flakes started to drift lazily from the sky.
Shivering, she turned away to take a shawl from the bedroom chair and to straighten the bedding. Remembering that Daniel was downstairs, and that last time she had appeared before him totally unprepared, she splashed her face with icy water and hastily brushed her hair, before loosely twisting it up and securing it with pins. When she turned back to look out of the window, the air was filled with falling snow, whipped into flurries by gusts of wind. As Sarah placed her hand on the bedroom door latch, Joe again came to her mind. She wondered what chance there was that he would be with them that day.
Chapter 20
With dinner over and Christmas Day rapidly drawing to a close, although the darkness of the snowy skies meant that it had never seemed to truly begin, Sarah had ventured out into the garden to scatter some crumbs for the birds before bedtime.
‘Poor things,’ she thought. ‘Wherever do they hide from the bitter cold overnight?’
She kept the ivy untrimmed on the outhouse wall on purpose, in hope that the sparrows would make their roost there on winter nights, cosied up together without squabbling. She knew that the wrens were happy to band together to provide each other with winter warmth, for she’d found at least ten of them tucked in amongst old sacks stored in the outhouse. They, at least, were tiny enough to squeeze in below the eaves to find shelter on such harsh winter nights.
She was on the lookout, though, for her favourite garden visitor. The splash of red on the robin’s breast would surely make him stand out against all this snow but, to her concern, there was no sign of him. He’d followed her around the garden towards the end of the summer, once his brood was raised, singing a subdued but no less sweet song and always but a few feet from her, whatever she was doing. He had a confiding air about him, his head cocked to one side as he watched her, and she was in the habit of chatting to him whether she was working in the garden or hanging out the washing. At morning and evening he sang his heart out from the topmost branches of the tree in the garden; it was the first thing she listened for on waking.
She shook out the crumbs from the tablecloth and broke up some extra pieces of bread for good measure, then waited anxiously. Had she left it too late in the day? Had he already found a roost for the night, feathers fluffed up to protect him from the bitter cold? She admonished herself for not thinking of him earlier in the day. ‘And on Christmas Day, too,’ she thought to herself as she turned to go back to the house.
Then a movement in the ivy caught her eye and there he was, muttering rather than singing his song. ‘He means to scold me,’ she thought, and called out to him.
‘Hello, Mr Robin. Happy Christmas. I’ve brought you some crumbs and a special treat, just for you.’ She reached into the pocket of her apron for the morsel of plum pudding hidden there, then crumbled the rich mixture between her fingers and scattered it onto the snowy surface. She caught a flash of the robin’s rich red breast as he flew down and alighted on the snow, dipping down to eat then righting himself swiftly as if to guard against attack or possible intruders.
‘It’s going to be another cold night,’ she told him. ‘I hope you have somewhere warm to sleep. You are all alone, just like me. No one to keep you warm at night.’
Joe had not appeared that day. She hadn’t really been surprised. The snow had fallen steadily all morning and she suspected they were as good as cut off. It hadn’t stopped her looking up ten times an hour as she prepared dinner, or indeed while they were eating it, to see whether his face was pressed to the window, to check up on what they were doing inside, before he banged on the door demanding entry.
That morning, as soon as she had risen and seen how the snow was coming down, Ada had declared her intention of foregoing attendance at Christmas service.
‘There’s not a chance I could make it there and back,’ she had said. ‘If I need to speak to God I can just as well do it here on a day like today.’
Sarah had been relieved; she and Daniel had discussed it before Ada got up and he had stoutly declared himself more than happy to escort her if needed, while Sarah got on with the dinner. Privately, Sarah believed that they would be lucky to get beyond the garden gate, but she’d set about laying fires and had asked Daniel to make sure that all the coal scuttles were well stocked so that they wouldn’t need to venture out later.
She had reason to be thankful again for Daniel’s presence at dinner; it would have been a sorry affair with just Sarah and her grandmother, and no doubt swiftly over. Daniel was not only very good company but, since he was their guest, they were obliged to make sure that he was entertained. Otherwise, Ada would have withdrawn into her own world, which was something she did a great deal of late, and Sarah would have been brooding over where Joe might be.
As it was, they had dined well on beef with roast potatoes, carrots and greens and rich onion gravy, a speciality of Ada’s. The plum pudding steamed gently on the range and, whilst it took longer to cook than Sarah had expected, this was no bad thing. Daniel had declared he would need to take several turns around the room if he was to find any room in his belly for more food, then decided that a vigorous bout of washing-up, despite Sarah’s protests, would serve just as well.
She had sat back in contentment, happy to take a rest for twenty minutes, and caught Ada’s quizzical gaze as she did so. Ada hadn’t commented on Joe’s absence and, although Sarah was upset that he hadn’t joined them as promised, she also had to acknowledge that their day would have passed very differently if he had been there. Would Daniel have been so relaxed if Joe had been present? Would Joe have been difficult around Daniel? She had no way of knowing, nor how she herself might have reacted.
Now Sarah, deep in thought in the snowy garden, was startled to hear, ‘Whatever are you doing?’
The voice, just behind her, made her jump. She hadn’t heard Daniel’s approach. As she spun around he came towards her, holding out his overcoat to her.
‘Here, put this around your shoulders. You must be frozen.’
Sarah realised that she was, indeed, thoroughly chilled and, as soon as she acknowledged it, her teeth started to chatter.
Daniel shook his head as he draped the coat around her shoulders and ushered her back to the house.
‘You know, you mustn’t worry,’ he said suddenly. ‘I am sure your husband would have been here if he could. But with this weather –’ he gestured at the garden, carpeted by its thick blanket of snow ‘– why, it would be folly to try to get through. Indeed, I fear you may have to put up with my company for longer than I had intended.’
Sarah was thankful to be back in the warmth of the house but turned on the threshold to take one last look over the garden as dusk began to creep across the sky.
‘Who were you talking to out there?’ Daniel followed her gaze.
‘Oh dear. You heard me! You will think me very strange.’ Sarah laughed. ‘It was the robin. He’s such a special creature. Listen.’
She held her finger up to her lips for silence. The robin had taken up his perch at the top of the tree and was singing; not his full-throated song, but loud enough to spread beyond the confines of the garden.
Daniel listened for a moment or two. ‘It’s beautiful. He’s letting the others know who’s in charge around here, I’ll be bound. Now, come away inside. Ada would have us play some games and it can’t be done with just the two of us.’
Sarah bolted the door and turned down the lamps then went through to the parlour where the evening passed in rounds
of Happy Families, Snap and Snakes-and-Ladders, Ada having resolutely refused to play Whist again as she felt it was wrong to play a gambling game on Christmas Day, despite having very much enjoyed it the previous evening.
Chapter 21
It wasn’t until a couple of days after Christmas that the cold released its grip on the land and the snow started to thaw. Sarah had mixed feelings as she waved Daniel off early one morning. She had enjoyed his company over Christmas, particularly in Joe’s absence, but he had clearly started to suffer from cabin fever and an eagerness to return to work as his enforced imprisonment went on.
‘I do hope my presence hasn’t been a burden to you,’ Daniel said as he left. ‘Spending four nights instead of the two I had planned must have stretched my welcome to the limits.’ As Sarah started to protest he held up his hand. ‘I confess to being eager to return to work but I hope you will keep an eye on Ada. She seems much changed, even since my last visit just a few weeks ago.’
His words checked Sarah’s protestations. Although she’d noticed that Ada seemed unlike her usual self the change had, she supposed, been a gradual one. It was clearly much more obvious to Daniel.
‘The loss of my mother and my sisters has hit her very hard, particularly since she was with them in Manchester at the end. But I will keep a close eye on her and try to make sure that she recovers her strength.’
Daniel made a mock bow of farewell then strode away along the path, leaving Sarah smiling as she watched him go. He was like a young colt released out into the field, eager to scent the air, kick his heels and make a bid for freedom. His enthusiasm for his work was a novelty to her, although she had little on which to base her judgement. Apart from Joe, she had no experience of working men other than those in the village, who were, in the main, shopkeepers, publicans, blacksmiths or farmers, with a few mill-workers among the younger men of her distant acquaintance.
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