by Iris Gower
He watched as she hurried over the fields, her arm through that of the young Irishman and a pain burned within him. He looked down at the grass, at the place where they had lain together, at the eggs, brown, white and speckled, lying broken on the ground and somehow it seemed like an ill omen and he was afraid.
Catherine crept into the darkened bedroom and bit her lip, hesitating a moment, almost afraid to move towards the bed. Her father was not alone, Fon sat beside him, her face pale and anguished, her pain and fear too deep for tears.
When he saw her, Jamie lifted his hand, it trembled as Catherine took it.
‘Cath, my little girl,’ he patted the bed, ‘sit by me.’ His voice was threadlike. She obeyed him and felt the presence of Liam behind her and knew she was glad he was there.
‘Dad.’ She touched his cheek tenderly, the skin rustled beneath her fingers, parchment thin. He had sunken into himself, he was not the father she’d known only a few weeks ago. Jamie had always been a big hearty man but now the disease had taken its toll and he was sinking beneath the burden of it.
‘Make me a promise, Cath.’ It was clearly difficult for him to speak. ‘Give him up, he’s married, he’s no good for you.’
‘Dad!’ Her voice was thin with fear. ‘Don’t ask that of me, please don’t.’
‘It’s for your own good, Cath, you know it in your heart. You need a man who will work the farm, look after you and your mam, give you a brood of children. Please, Catherine, won’t you promise me this, even on my deathbed?’
Guilt clutched at Catherine with cruel claws, while her father lay dying she had been out in the fields, rolling around like a whore.
‘Cath …’ His voice failed and Catherine leaned close to him, tears streaming down her face. He closed his eyes for a moment and then, with a supreme effort, spoke again. ‘I wouldn’t ask it of you but I know it’s for the best. I love you so much, I don’t want to see you live out your days as the mistress of a married man. He will never leave his wife, you know that.’
‘Hush now, Dad,’ Catherine’s voice was hard with tears, ‘don’t talk any more.’
‘I must…’ Jamie broke off, his eyes moving beyond Catherine to where Fon was standing, her face white, her eyes overlarge in her drawn face.
‘Promise him, for God’s sake.’ Fon spoke in a strangled voice. ‘He only wants what’s best for you.’ Her hand squeezed Catherine’s shoulder.
Jamie stared into her eyes as though he would draw her soul from her. ‘Quickly,’ he whispered, ‘there’s no time left.’
‘I promise, Dad!’ The words spilled from her in a torrent of love and fear and pain. How could she deny her father when he was dying before her eyes?
Fon knelt beside the bed and touched Jamie’s face and on the other side of the bed, Liam stood silent and yet staunch in his strength.
Jamie smiled briefly and then, gently, his head rolled to one side and the breath slid from between his lips like a sigh. There was silence for a moment and then Fon was weeping, her head on the bedclothes, her hands stretched out before her as though in prayer.
Liam took Catherine’s arm and led her from the room. ‘Come away, colleen, let them be together this one last time.’
Downstairs, he held her to him and rocked her as she cried. She rested her wet face against the sweet clean smell of his shirt-front. She was so grateful to him; he was here, Boyo was not.
In contrast to Catherine’s mood of despondency, the day of the funeral was bright and warm, with the spring flowers in full bloom. Beyond the sloping ground of the cemetery, the panoply of the docks was spread out like jewels flung to the ground, sparkling with sunlight. Catherine stared at the water, wishing she was anywhere but here.
She had not seen Boyo since her father’s death more than a week ago. He had written to tell her that Bethan was poorly and he would be in touch as soon as he could. Catherine had held the letter to her breast, kissing the writing, imagining his hand on the paper, and then she had thrown it into the fire. That part of her life was over and done with, for ever. How could she love him when he was failing her, now when she most needed him?
She swayed a little as the coffin was being lowered into the dark earth. Her hands clenched into fists as she realized the finality of death. She would never see her father again, not on this earth.
She felt a warm arm around her and looked up into Liam’s face. He looked sombre in his good dark suit and she realized how much his presence meant to her.
Fon was standing close to the open grave, her face was covered by a dark veil. She was upright, dignified in her grief and Catherine felt a surge of protective love for her mother.
She glanced up at the sky, it was blue with a scattering of fluffy white clouds and Catherine tried to envisage pictures in the shapes. Was that the face of an old man, of God come to take Jamie’s soul? Perhaps the thought was blasphemy but she didn’t think so. She hoped that God was looking down on her, she would need strength from somewhere if she was to keep her promise to her father to stay away from Boyo.
The return to Honey’s Farm in the hired coach was a silent one. Fon had refused to consider the Catholic ritual of a wake and instead had opted for the Welsh tradition of a tea of ham and pickle and fresh bread.
Catherine had become separated from her mother and from Liam in the crowd. She took one look at the hoards of visitors who were making their way towards the farmhouse and was spurred into action, running across the fields as if the hounds of hell were after her. She ran until she was breathless and then she fell onto her knees. The tears ran unchecked as she cried out her pain. He was gone, her father was lost to her for ever and so was Boyo, that was something she must face sooner or later. It was over, her childhood was gone, it was time to grow up.
At last, she returned to the farmhouse, knowing she could put off the evil moment no longer. She dreaded facing her mother, so stricken, so silent in her grief, but Fon needed her.
Liam was alone in the kitchen, clearing away the dishes, for the tea had been over some time. Ham curled dryly on large platters and butter melted in the dish. He looked up at her and seeing her face, put down the stack of plates and took her in his arms.
She leaned against him gratefully. He smoothed her hair, making soft noises to soothe her, swaying to and fro as though he was rocking a child. And she had been acting like a child, Catherine thought with self-loathing; a selfish, grasping child, wanting what was not hers, could never be hers.
She clung to Liam, sobs racked her body with a violence that almost tore her apart. Liam lifted her in his arms and carried her to the rocking-chair and sat there with her in his lap, gentling her as though she was a creature from the fields. From the parlour came the low murmur of voices. Someone laughed and Catherine wondered how anyone could laugh today of all days.
At last, the tears ceased. ‘I’m all right now.’ She made an effort to control herself and Liam rose and set her in the chair and fetched a bowl of water to wash her blotched face and burning eyes.
‘How’s Mam?’ she asked and Liam smiled reassuringly.
‘Don’t worry, she’s bearing up well, putting on a show for the friends and relatives. Later I’ll see she goes to bed for an hour, it will do her good.’
He left her side and sat near the table looking at her in compassion. ‘I know what your father made you promise was the hardest decision you’ve ever had to make,’ he said. ‘I admire you for giving him what he wanted so badly for you.’ He paused and leaned forward earnestly. ‘I know Uncle Jamie wanted you to marry me but I wouldn’t hold you to anything, sure you must know that Catherine?’
She looked down at her hands without replying, she did not know what to say to him. Her mind was numb, she felt dead inside, it did not matter one way or another what she did with her life now, it was over for her before it had begun.
‘Why don’t you get away for a while?’ Liam said. ‘Have a change of scene. Go back to Ireland with Dad and Maeve, sort out your problems in the pe
ace and quiet of my country.’
‘And what about Mam?’ Catherine asked softly. ‘I can’t leave her, can I?’
‘Take her with you,’ Liam smiled. ‘I’ll be here for a while yet; if Fon doesn’t want to go away, I’ll take care of her. I don’t have to go back to the farm for a few weeks yet, the manager is taking care of everything very well, according to Dad.’
It was as if a cold splash of water had hit her face. ‘You will be going back then?’
‘Of course, I’ll have to. But it won’t be for ever, Catherine, not if you need me here.’
‘How can you be so nice to me, how could you stay here when you knew my dad was trying to push us into marriage?’
‘Catherine, I love you, that’s why I’ve been here all this time. And I love you too much to try to tie you down to something you might regret. Anyway, you have enough to deal with for the time being. You’ll be happy again, in time, I’m sure.’
‘How can you be sure?’
‘I can be sure because I know the sort of girl you are; a girl with courage, with fire in her belly, a girl who will get up and fight her corner.’
Catherine sighed heavily, ‘You are a very nice man, Liam, I’m only sorry I didn’t meet you before …’ her words trailed away. ‘Anyway, you wouldn’t want me, not now. You deserve a wife who is pure and good, not a scarlet woman like me.’
He smiled and then he shrugged. ‘That’s just the way of the world, colleen. It’s not easy for anyone in this life and a man or a woman must take a little bit of happiness where they can find it and while they may. That’s what you were doing so don’t feel too bad.’
He moved towards the fire. ‘Sounds like the last of the guests are leaving. My father and Maeve are staying at the Swan Inn, you remember that they’re taking Fon with them, don’t you? I’ll say good night for you when I go down there later, if that’s what you’d like.’
Catherine was grateful to him, she could not face anyone at the moment and certainly not her mother with her haunted, haggard face.
At the door he turned and looked at her. ‘I’ll riddle the ashes before I go. Why don’t you get off to your bed?’
She stared at him for a long moment and then spoke timidly. ‘I’m frightened to be alone, will you stay in my room with me till morning?’
He hesitated and then nodded briskly. ‘I’ll be back as soon as I can, no-one need ever know I’ve come back here.’
She waited for what seemed an eternity but, at last, he returned. Holding her round the waist, he led her upstairs.
Catherine lay in his arms, a great weariness overtaking her. She must have drifted off to sleep because she was at the graveside, staring down into the earthy darkness. A shape was emerging from the open ground, rising up, confronting her, a skull with a hideous grin. She cried out and sat up and then Liam was beside her. He took her in his arms and rocked her gently.
‘It’s all right, I’m here, you’re not alone.’
She looked beyond his shoulder fearfully, the bedroom was as it had always been, a dull fire glowed in the grate and on a chair was a pillow and a blanket, Liam had kept his word and stayed with her.
She was shivering and he held her close in his arms. She leaned wearily against his shoulder and slowly, softly, she drifted into sleep again. When she woke again it was morning, sunlight spilled into the room and a breeze lifted the curtains in a gentle billow. Outside, the birds were singing. Of Liam there was no sign.
When Catherine went downstairs to the kitchen it was to find the room empty. The fire burned cheerfully behind the blackleaded bars and on the hob the kettle simmered, gently issuing forth steam.
Liam would not leave her alone for long. She must cook breakfast for when he came in. Catherine made a pot of tea and looked in the pantry for something to cook for breakfast. She had been utterly spoilt by her mother she realized suddenly, she didn’t even know how to cook a simple meal of bacon and eggs, but she must try, for Liam’s sake. Working on the farm gave a man a healthy appetite. It was about time she grew up, she reminded herself, as she took the side of bacon from the hook on the beam above her.
It was difficult to cut but at last she had some ragged pieces of bacon ready to fry. Soon, the bacon was sizzling reassuringly in the large pan and she felt an absurd sense of achievement.
Catherine had seen Fon wait until the bacon was almost cooked and then break half a dozen eggs into the spluttering fat, surely that couldn’t be difficult?
The first egg she cracked spilt into the fire, the yellow yolk running over the bars, sizzling as it solidified. Catherine looked round guiltily as though she was going to be given a dressing-down for her carelessness and then she smiled. For the first time in days, there was no-one to witness her awkwardness and there were eggs by the basketful; she would try again.
She made another careful attempt to crack an egg and this time most of it landed in the pan. She added several other eggs, becoming more adept with each one and watched as the egg-whites turned from transparent to opaque, feeling a tiny glow of achievement. She carefully lifted the eggs onto a plate, breaking them in the process so that the yolks spread in a yellow flood over the pieces of bacon.
‘Damn!’ The word fell from her lips in a moment of exasperation just as the kitchen door opened behind her.
‘Cursing and so early in the morning, who got out of bed the wrong side then?’
Liam smelt of grass and beasts and chickens and Catherine was reminded of her father. Pain caught her and she took a deep breath, determined to put a cheerful face on things.
‘Hey, look at that then, bacon and eggs, I’m famished.’ He sat down at the table and then looked up at her. ‘And where’s your breakfast, madam?’
‘I’ll just have some toast.’ Catherine forced herself to eat a little. The tea she drank eagerly, it was hot and comforting.
‘You’ll make a farmer’s wife yet,’ Liam said, ‘though I would have liked a bit of fried bread with the eggs.’
The latch of the door lifted and Fon came into the kitchen. She was like a sleepwalker, there was a dullness in her eyes and tired lines on her face and for the first time she looked old to Catherine.
‘Mam! Have you walked all the way up from town then? Come and sit down, have some breakfast.’
Fon shook her head. ‘Just a cup of tea, love.’ She sank into a chair and looked round her, almost as though she did not recognize the room.
Catherine touched her mother’s cheek. ‘Come on, Mam, you must eat something to keep up your strength, there’s a lot of work to do here, mind, can’t neglect the farm, can we? Have something to eat, if it’s only a bit of toast. See, have this piece, it’s lovely and brown with salt butter on it.’ She pushed her own plate across the table.
If she had hoped to bring a little normality into her mother’s face, she was disappointed. Fon looked distantly into the fire and then, as though the words had just sunk in, shook her head. ‘I can’t eat, not now he’s not here with me. Oh, Cath, how can I bear life without him?’
Catherine swallowed her own tears. ‘I need you, Mam, I made an awful mess cooking the eggs, see, yolk all over your lovely grate and I’m dying for some breakfast.’ She wasn’t, she felt food would choke her, but her words had the desired effect.
‘All right,’ Fon shrugged off her hat and coat. ‘Fetch me my pinny and I’ll cook you something nice.’
Catherine looked at Liam and he nodded encouragingly, it seemed she had done the right thing. She went up to the room her mother and father had shared for so long. Without looking at the empty bed, she took an apron from the drawer and then stood for a moment staring out at the fields beyond the small glass panes of the window. She felt shackled, there was no way she could make a new life for herself, not now; Mam needed her, badly.
Without someone to live and work for, Fon would fade away and die. Catherine was trapped, here on this land, in this house; she would just have to face it, there was no alternative.
Slowly, she
descended the stairs, clutching her mother’s apron to her face, smelling the fresh ironed scent of the cloth, trying hard not to cry.
She should be ashamed of feeling sorry for herself and thinking only of her own happiness. Well, she would make it up to her mother: she would run the farm for Fon, make it flourish. It was too late to make up to her father for all the grief she had caused him, all she could do for him now was to keep the promise she had made him never to see Boyo Hopkins again.
As she made her way towards the kitchen, she forced herself to look calm, composed; she must care for Fon now, forget herself and her own needs. She swallowed hard, the future suddenly seemed bleak.
CHAPTER NINE
Bethan had been sick for over a month; she rested in her bed in the huge room overlooking the gardens and the sea, looking as though she was facing the end of the world. She was pale and drawn and Boyo’s heart ached for her.
He was sitting now at the window staring outwards but he didn’t see the magnificent view spread beneath him; in his mind’s eye, he was with Catherine, touching her red hair, her pale skin, making love to her, feeling the freshness of her body respond to his.
‘Boyo.’ His wife’s voice penetrated his thoughts and he rose hastily.
‘What is it, are you feeling worse?’ He moved to her side and took her hand and her forced smile tugged at his heartstrings. She was a brave woman, this wife of his.
‘I think the baby is coming early,’ she was clearly making an effort to be calm. ‘You had better send someone for the doctor.’
He felt a surge of something that was a mingling of excitement and fear and, even as he rang the bell for the maid, he knew that it was relief that his enforced imprisonment was almost over.
The bedroom became an area of bustle, of the midwife and doctor talking quickly, speaking words Boyo did not understand. The smell of soap and disinfectant made him feel ill and finally, the midwife ushered him from the room.
‘Fathers are best out of it,’ she said cheerfully as she closed the door in his face. Boyo was relieved, he had felt it his duty to be with Bethan through her ordeal, because ordeal it was. The pain, judging by the contorted expressions on Bethan’s face, was almost unbearable but it appeared that husbands were a hindrance not a help in such situations.
