Sarah's Story

by Lynne Francis

  Ada’s appearance in the room with Alice was greeted by the minister leaping to his feet, almost spilling his tea in the process, and a relieved smile from Sarah, which she hoped had escaped the minister’s notice.

  ‘Mrs Randall, your presence has been much missed at the chapel. Why, I believe we’ve barely seen you these last six months.’

  ‘Well, Minister, I’ve been unwell of late. As you know, I lost my daughter and two of my granddaughters just last October.’ Here Ada paused as her voice threatened to crack. ‘I think you will find I was a faithful worshipper even after that until the weather turned against me. I’m not as young as I was and the journey has proved taxing in the winter months. Then, of course, our darling Alice was born and I have been kept much at home, helping Sarah.’

  Sarah was surprised by the note of reproof in her grandmother’s voice. As Ada held Alice out for the minister’s inspection, it dawned on Sarah that Ada had, indeed, been remiss in her attendance at chapel. Her welcome of the minister, while polite, was less than fulsome. Sarah found herself observing her grandmother covertly, struck by this revelation.

  The minister, clearly a little uneasy around babies, made the appropriate complimentary comments before returning to his cup of tea and his slice of malt loaf, which he declared to be ‘exceptional’. After some polite discussion of village events, the minister said, ‘Well, I must confess that one of my primary reasons for visiting you was to discover what plans you have for Alice’s baptism.’

  ‘None,’ said Ada, pleasantly. ‘I think that will be a matter for Sarah and her husband Joe to decide. As you know, Joe is away a great deal and is as yet unaware that he has a daughter.’

  ‘I understand,’ said the minister, although his expression suggested otherwise. ‘But perhaps we can agree on a date in the not too distant future when we might perform the ceremony? It would, of course, be delightful to see you all at Sunday chapel, once the weather improves.’

  Ada rose to her feet, meaning that the minister had to hastily finish his tea and set down his cup in order to do the same. ‘I’m not anticipating that that will be any time soon, given the weather just now. It would be quite impossible to risk taking a small baby so far in the chill and the wet. Sarah will consult with Joe on his return and you can be sure that you will be the first to know when a decision is reached.’

  Sarah felt her cheeks burning with embarrassment. It seemed to her that Ada was managing to be rude in a very polite way to the minister and she hurried him into the kitchen, helped him on with his now dry coat and exclaimed about the downpour outside to distract him from taking offence.

  When the minister had gone, refusing their half-hearted attempts to persuade him to stay awhile to see whether the rain might ease a little, Sarah turned to Ada with a look of enquiry.

  ‘Is there something wrong? You never used to miss Sunday chapel. It hadn’t occurred to me until just now how rarely you have been of late.’

  Her grandmother remained silent, collecting up plates and teacups while indicating to Sarah that she should sit with Alice by the fire. After a while she sighed and spoke.

  ‘I prayed to God every night, and every waking hour of every day, to spare your mother and sisters. He didn’t see fit to hear me and I’ve found that my faith has been tested to its limit. I couldn’t understand why they had to be taken from me and on my return I found no solace in the words of the minister or in the sympathy of the congregation. I can’t say that I won’t be drawn back to worship again in the future, but for now I find more to engage with in the new life that we have here.’

  Ada’s sombre expression was transformed as she reached out and hooked one of Alice’s tiny fingers in hers. Sarah, who had been dreading a battle over Alice’s baptism, convinced as she was that it was not something Joe would countenance, could hardly believe what she had just heard.

  ‘So, you don’t mind if I don’t baptise her? For now?’ she added hastily, mindful that Ada’s lapse of faith might well be only temporary.

  ‘She’s perfect as she is. What will it add? How could I mind?’ Ada said, taking the tea tray into the kitchen and leaving Sarah to sit by the fire, shaking her head in wonder.

  Chapter 24

  As it turned out, only a few hours separated the departure of the minister and the arrival of Joe. The minister’s visit had set Sarah thinking about her husband’s absence; he had known well enough that she was due to give birth in mid-March and now it was nigh on Easter. It seemed as though her thoughts must have somehow conjured him up because, glancing out of the window to check on the weather later that afternoon, she spied Joe walking up the path.

  She met him at the door, Alice clutched to her shoulder.

  ‘Well now, that’s some expression to welcome a husband with, isn’t it?’ He was teasing, and Sarah tried hard to adjust her scowl but her frustration couldn’t be contained.

  ‘Joe, where have you been? I’ve been a mother for a month now and you’ve not even clapped eyes on your baby.’

  ‘Well, I’m here now, aren’t I? And how was I to know? ’Tis said that first-time mothers are more often late than early, so I was thinking myself right on time.’

  Joe gave her his best smile, the one always guaranteed to win her round, as he shrugged off his coat and reached out his arms for the baby.

  ‘So what have we got here? Am I to know if I have a son or a daughter?’

  ‘This is Alice.’ Sarah’s pride in her newborn couldn’t be held back.

  ‘Alice, hmm. And am I to have no say in the matter?’

  ‘Well, if you’d got yourself here a sight earlier you could have had first pick,’ Ada said crisply as she came into the kitchen. ‘But seeing as you’re a month late, why, Alice has got used to her name by now.’

  ‘The minister was here today, looking to set a date to baptise her,’ Sarah said, in an effort to divert the conversation.

  ‘We’ll be having none o’ that,’ Joe said. He held Alice away from him. ‘Let’s be having a good look at ye.’

  Sarah was about to warn him to be sure to support Alice’s head when she realised he was handling her with every appearance of being an expert. Alice seemed to appreciate the new voice and presence in the room: she was staring at him intently.

  ‘Well now, aren’t you the serious little thing?’ Joe said. ‘I don’t see much of me about her, do you?’ he asked, turning to Sarah.

  ‘She looks exactly like you,’ Sarah protested. ‘I can’t see an ounce of me.’

  Joe chuckled and settled himself by the range, Alice cradled along the length of his thighs. ‘So, what does a man, and a new father at that, have to do to get fed around here? I’m fair starved,’ he said.

  ‘Since we weren’t expecting you, there’s nothing special to be had other than what we were planning for our own supper.’

  Sarah sensed in Ada’s words her irritation at Joe’s presence and his instant usurping of her role as chief babyminder. ‘Perhaps I can persuade Gran to make a rhubarb pie,’ she said, looking pleadingly at Ada. Making the pie would keep Ada occupied and allow Sarah to devote a little time to Joe, and the baby.

  In fact, Joe had limited patience with Alice. Once she started to grizzle for food he was more than happy to hand her back, taking himself off upstairs for a sleep before supper. Ada had to remind him to remove his boots before he climbed the stairs, which he did without a murmur, apologising and saying that stairs, and indeed dry land, were a novelty after so much time spent on the boat. Sarah noticed that his socks were out at the heel and resolved to take them from him for washing and darning before he had to leave again.

  Alice slept through their suppertime, by the end of which Joe and Ada had overcome their initial prickliness and found a way to settle into a polite tolerance of each other.

  At breakfast the next morning Joe announced that he would be staying for a week. Sarah, frying an egg for him on the range, was delighted. It would be the longest time they had spent together, either before or after
they were wed. After breakfast she set him to work on some of the tasks that she and Ada had struggled with. The outhouse door was half off its hinges, meaning it had to be lifted in and out of position, which Sarah had found increasingly difficult through pregnancy. The dry-stone wall at the end of the garden was in urgent need of repair in more than one place and there was wood to chop, too.

  Despite the cold, Joe was cheerful in his work and Sarah enjoyed watching him from the kitchen. Ada was happy to have Alice to herself for a bit and so Sarah undertook pie-making and baking in honour of Joe’s visit. After their lunchtime meal, which Joe declared to be the best meat pie he had ever eaten – even though Sarah knew that potatoes and carrots made up the bulk of its contents – he announced that he would take a walk into the village.

  ‘Is there aught you require there?’ he asked.

  Sarah had to bite back a question as to what business he might have in Northwaite. She feared it was most likely to involve a visit to The Old Bell, but he had worked hard around the garden that morning and she wasn’t sure that she had the right to deny him.

  No sooner was he out of the door than Ada, who had been glowering since he made his announcement, turned to her. ‘Has he given you any money yet?’ she asked.

  Sarah flushed. ‘I never thought to ask him,’ she replied.

  Ada shook her head. ‘It’s the first thing you should have done. He’s been working on the boats; he’ll have had his wages. If you don’t take them from him he’ll feel all the better off and he’ll be spending it. You should have taken it from him and given him back an allowance.’

  Sarah was angry with herself for not thinking of this and now that it had been pointed out to her she was worried. She had a vivid picture in her mind of Joe standing rounds in the inn while his much-needed wages turned into a pile of rapidly diminishing coins on the bar. So it came as a welcome surprise when Joe returned within a couple of hours, seemingly none the worse for wear if a little inclined to be over-amorous. Embarrassed in front of her grandmother, she fended off his kisses, holding Alice out for his attention instead.

  Ada donned her bonnet and shawl and announced her intention of delivering a remedy in the village and, as soon as she had gone, Sarah decided she must be bold and resolve the issue of Joe’s wages.

  ‘Joe, you haven’t mentioned money since you arrived. I need money to keep house, to look after Alice and myself … and you, while you are here,’ she added hastily, unnerved by the rapid change she observed in his demeanour.

  ‘You went on well enough before, you and the old lady together. What’s changed now?’

  Sarah ignored the less than complimentary reference to Ada. ‘We’re married now,’ she said, trying to sound firmer than she felt. ‘You have a responsibility to me. And to Alice. I can’t expect Gran to house us and take care of us for ever.’

  With a grim expression, Joe dug around in his pockets, pulled out a small handful of coins and flung them on the table. ‘’Twill have to do until I collect my pay.’

  With a sinking heart Sarah ventured, ‘But were you not paid on delivery of your loads?’

  ‘Aye,’ Joe said. ‘But the money isn’t mine. It goes to my master and he pays me when he sees fit.’ With that he went outside, slamming the kitchen door behind him, and Sarah saw him pick up the axe and start chopping wood with more vigour than finesse. She shuddered and drew Alice to her, hoping her warm presence would help calm the fast beating of her heart.

  After ten minutes Joe threw down the axe and came back into the kitchen. Sarah shrank back against the range, fearful of his anger, but he strode over to her and gave her a rough hug.

  ‘I had no call to take it out on you. Truth be told, my master ain’t paid me yet and my ire should be saved for him, not you or the firewood.’ Joe gave her a rueful smile. ‘Am I forgiven? Come, let me make it up to you.’ He took Sarah by the hand and led her into the parlour.

  ‘It’s too cold to be in here,’ she protested.

  ‘Then light the fire.’

  Sarah hesitated. A parlour was for visitors and special occasions rather than family and Joe’s proposal was at odds with this.

  ‘I’ve just chopped firewood. I think we can afford the fire,’ Joe said, not unreasonably. ‘Sarah, we’ve hardly spent any time together since we were wed and I don’t think your grandmother will be against us having a bit of privacy.’

  Sarah still hesitated, less convinced of this than Joe.

  ‘Well, would you rather we went upstairs?’ Joe said, rising to his feet.

  ‘No, no.’ Sarah was shocked; this proposal seemed even stranger than their use of the parlour. ‘Here, take Alice and I’ll lay the fire.’ She quickly deposited the sleeping baby into her husband’s arms and went to collect the makings of the fire, passing her grandmother in the kitchen as she did so. Ada had returned from her errand and seated herself by the range, a pile of mending and her workbasket beside her. She raised her eyebrows as Sarah passed, but said nothing.

  The sight had jogged Sarah’s memory, however, and as she knelt down to lay the parlour fire she said to Joe, ‘I noticed the heels were out in your socks yesterday. Do you have more socks, or any linen, in need of repair?’

  ‘Nay, don’t bother yourself,’ Joe replied.

  ‘It’s no bother,’ Sarah said, surprised. ‘I’d like to do it for you. Consider it a wifely duty.’ The last was said in a light-hearted way; Sarah was only too conscious that she didn’t feel like a wife, even though she was a mother already.

  ‘Aye, well, it’s a job I can do well enough mysen,’ Joe said.

  The fire lit, Sarah rocked back on her heels and swivelled to face him, pushing a strand of hair back from her face and leaving a trail of ash on her skin as she did so. ‘Well, that’s as may be but you don’t seem to have done a good job of it up until now,’ and she laughed, looking pointedly at his shirt-front, where one button was missing and another two were hanging by a thread.

  ‘Aye, well …’ Joe muttered. He seemed reluctant and embarrassed to give up his mending so Sarah didn’t push the matter further, thinking that she would simply go through his things over the next day or two to discover the garments in need of repair.

  ‘I can get us meat,’ Joe said suddenly. ‘A rabbit for the pot, mebbe, or a pheasant.’

  ‘Where from?’ Sarah asked, although she knew well enough.

  ‘Tha’ knows,’ Joe said, in a tone of reproof. ‘But thy grandmother need not.’

  Sarah thought for a moment or two. There was no denying that some meat would make a welcome addition to their diet. She and Ada had become used to having meat just once or twice a week but she had a feeling that Joe would require heartier fare. For herself, she didn’t mind the idea of poaching. Why should it matter whether a rabbit or a fowl that was running free was caught on one side of a fence or another? She wasn’t sure that her grandmother would feel the same, however. She made a sudden decision.

  ‘We’ll have to say it’s a gift, or in exchange for monies owed to you,’ she said. ‘It can’t be denied that it will help with the housekeeping.’

  The following day Joe took himself off late in the afternoon, as it began to grow dark. Sarah steeled herself again to say nothing whilst fearing he was heading to the inn. He returned a couple of hours later, less flushed than the previous day and, as he entered the kitchen, he pulled a rabbit from his pockets and laid it on the table in front of Ada.

  Sarah started and glared at him but he ignored her.

  ‘Here you go, Mrs Randall,’ he said. ‘I met up with a friend in the village and he repaid a debt.’ There was a touch of defiance in his voice; like Sarah, he was expecting Ada to give him a sound telling-off.

  Instead, she gazed at the body before her then reached out to stroke its fur. ‘A fine specimen,’ she said. ‘I haven’t seen one as large as this, Sarah, since your grandfather used to bring them back. Hunter’s Wood?’ she asked, turning to Joe.

  ‘Aye,’ he said, with a broad grin.

/>   Sarah was aware that her mouth had fallen open. At times like these, she wondered whether she knew her grandmother at all.

  Chapter 25

  ‘I told you not to do it.’ Joe, who was staring down at a pair of his socks in his hand, frowning at the darning, had raised his voice.

  Sarah had been concerned that her handiwork was poor quality but his reaction seemed a little extreme, even so. ‘What’s wrong?’ she asked, shushing Alice, who, seemingly sensitive to the charged atmosphere, had started to grizzle.

  Joe’s week at Hill Farm Cottage, during which Sarah had at last begun to appreciate what it felt like to have a husband and to live together as a family, had come to an end. He had arisen early and was collecting a few things together while she nursed Alice. Sarah had laundered his clothes, fixed the loose buttons and repaired the rips in his shirts and darned the threadbare socks. Because he had been affronted by her original suggestion she had done this secretly, while he had been at work in the garden, away in the village or poaching in the woods. She hadn’t given it a further thought, assuming he would be back on the canal before he even noticed.

  Now he was glaring at her and she couldn’t understand his reaction. They’d had a good week, she thought. He and Ada had resolved a way to be around each other without too much unpleasantness. Ada had been mollified by how good he was with Alice, and the fact that he wouldn’t be around for long had allowed her to be magnanimous towards him and resist her jealousy over his usurping her role in relation to her great-grandchild. That he failed to provide much of a contribution to the family purse other than by poaching had, however, counted against him.

  For his part, Joe had been respectful around Ada and conscious of the fact that he was a guest in her household. He had clearly found this irksome at times, showing a disinclination to keep company in the kitchen with Ada and preferring to have a fire lit in the parlour. Sarah’s unease at using the best room in this way had continued, but Joe had pressed her, citing long hours cooped up in the confines of a narrow-boat and a wish to be able to enjoy the company of his family when he could.