Wait For the Dawn

by Jess Foley

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  It was a bright Saturday in June, and after breakfasting with Davie, Lydia had left him with Ellen, and come into the shop to work. That afternoon she planned to take him to Capinfell, there to spend the last part of the weekend with the boy’s grandfather. With this intent, it was arranged that Ellen would bring Davie into town shortly before the time when they were due to set out.

  The shop was already busy with customers when Lydia arrived, and she at once set to work. Following Alfred’s death she had been forced to hire an additional assistant, and she had chosen a young man named Carrins, who lived nearby. A short, prematurely balding man in his early thirties, he had taken to the work with enthusiasm, and had proved to be a good choice. Miss Angel and Mr Federo were still there, and indeed it was the latter who had taken over some of Alfred’s former tasks, and to whom Lydia often turned for advice in respect to the business of the shop. Further, he it was who now opened up the premises first thing in the mornings, allowing Lydia still to have breakfast with her son.

  Well over a year had passed now since Alfred’s death and the business had continued to prosper. Lydia worked almost every day there, and could not imagine her life now without it, and because of her commitments and responsibilities she had come to rely more heavily on those around her, not only the assistants in the shop, but also Ellen. That past April Davie had reached five years old and had started school, but Lydia had decided to keep Ellen on for the time being, so that she would have her services over the long summer holidays that were to begin in July. However, when the new school term began in September new arrangements would have to be made, and would have to be thought about very soon.

  For the time being, though, Lydia’s immediate concern was the business in the busy shop, and she set to along with the others to serve the many customers who came and went.

  The red-coated postman came calling halfway through the morning, and delivered into Lydia’s hands a single envelope. This was the second delivery of the day. The first had brought a couple of bills and enquiries, but this envelope was different. It was addressed to Lydia herself.

  She stood staring down at the envelope’s face, thinking that perhaps there was something familiar about the handwriting, but she could not place it, and as a new customer came bustling towards her across the shop floor, she thrust the envelope into her apron pocket.

  At the midday break, when the shop was shut for half an hour, Lydia went with Miss Angel into the room at the back to eat her sandwich and drink a much needed mug of tea which the girl from the teashop had brought in on a tray. At the same time Mr Carrins went to his home which was just around the corner, and Mr Federo to the small coffee shop just along the side of the square. As Lydia had her lunch, she glanced at that day’s edition of The Times. She had just finished her sandwich when she remembered the envelope that had been delivered, and took it from her pocket. Opening it up she drew out a single piece of paper.

  She had expected it to be a letter or somesuch, and was surprised to find in her hand a little picture.

  While on the other side of the table Miss Angel sipped at her tea, chewed on her potted meat sandwich and read her romantic novel, Lydia looked at the picture. It had, she supposed, been roughly cut from a child’s storybook. It was not large. In black and white, obviously a reproduction from an ink drawing, it showed a small boy and girl in a woodland scene. All about the pair, who walked with their arms outstretched, the tall trees were dark, shadowed and threatening. She stared at the picture for several moments, having no idea, no clue, as to its meaning, or for what purpose it had been sent to her. Then she turned it over to look at the back. There was no print on the other side, but someone had written two words in black ink: We too?

  We too?

  Lydia frowned over the inscription, and turned the paper over to look again at the illustration. Then there came into her mind the old stories of The Babes in the Wood, and Hansel and Gretel. The picture might well depict a scene from either tale, she thought, but what did it mean?

  A sound came from the shop, and she realised that the dinner break was over and that Mr Federo had come back. In another minute Mr Carrins would follow, then the Open sign would be turned to face the door, and there would be customers waiting for attention. Lydia slid the picture back in the envelope and, drawing her bag towards her, put the envelope into it. As she did so, Miss Angel carefully put a little leather bookmark into her novel and closed the covers. ‘Oh, well,’ she said with a sigh and a little smile, ‘No peace for the wicked. I suppose we’d better get back to work.’

  Ellen brought Davie to the shop at a quarter to four that afternoon, well rested from his afternoon nap, and looking forward to the trip to Capinfell. On their arrival Ellen took him into the back room and there sat with him on the sofa, and they read together while Lydia finished serving a customer, then Mr Carrins went outside to hail a cab to take Lydia and Davie to the station. While he was gone, Lydia put on her jacket and hat and got her bag together. Mr Carrins then returned, saying that the cab was waiting, and Lydia took Davie by the hand, and with her valise in the other, said her goodbyes to Ellen and the others and went out into the square. The three assistants would continue working until eight o’clock, when Mr Federo would lock up for the weekend.

  There were few people waiting for the coach and she and Davie got seats with no difficulty. Luckily, they were by a window, and Davie was able to look out on to the passing countryside.

  Every other month or so, weather permitting, she took Davie to Capinfell to visit his grandfather. It was a positive exercise for both the boy and the man, and it was good too for Lydia to see her father from time to time. Occasionally still she would meet him from work when he got out in the early afternoon on a Saturday, but a visit overnight on a Saturday and Sunday was sometimes the best thing. It also allowed her to call on Evie.

  The coach made good time, and by five-fifteen they were in Capinfell and in the house and Lydia was hanging up her jacket and putting on the kettle for tea. She sat down then with her father over their teacups, and they chatted of this and that. He had mellowed even more, she thought as she watched him and listened to his conversation with Davie.

  A little later, they all three went out into the sunlit rear garden where her father cut half a dozen yellow roses. Then, with her bonnet on again, Lydia left her father chatting to his grandson, and made her way to the churchyard. On reaching it, and going to the grave where her mother and Ryllis lay, she stood for a moment in silence. The lilies that sat in the old pot set into the soil were wilting now, and beginning to wither, and she took them out and threw them onto the little compost heap in the corner of the yard. That done, she refilled the pot with fresh water from the pump and carefully arranged the roses in it. As she bent over them the scent of the blossoms rose up sweet under her nostrils, and for some moments she stood with closed eyes while she let the perfume drift over her. She came to the graveside every time she came back to Capinfell. Sometimes she brought Davie with her, and at other times came accompanied by her father. Today she had wanted to come alone.

  Gathering up her skirts, she lowered herself to kneel in the dry grass, and the scent of the roses came up more strongly. Reaching out, she lightly brushed her fingertips against the stone, slightly warm now under the midsummer sun.

  ‘Hello, Mother,’ she whispered. ‘Hello, Ryllis.’

  There was the trace of a sad little smile on her face as she took in the stone and the flowers and the neatly kept grave. ‘I hope you like the roses,’ she murmured softly. ‘Davie and I chose them and Father cut them.’ As she spoke she moved her hand to the flowers and gently touched them. ‘They’re very pretty.’

  She leaned back on her heels, her hands lightly clasped before her. There was no one else about and no sound came but that from the birds in the nearby yew and holly trees.

  ‘I’m well,’ Lydia said softly. ‘You’ll be glad to know I’m well, and Davie too, of course. He’s in e
xcellent health.’ Then she took a little breath, and held it for a moment, unable to say more. She wanted to cry out, passionately: Oh, Mother, I don’t know what’s to become of me. I wish you were here now to talk to me, to listen to me. To help me, but she kept silent.

  As she knelt there a robin flew down and lighted on the stone. Lydia looked at the compact little form and the glowing breast and felt a little swelling of tears behind her lids. She did not move again until the bird had flown away.

  Back at the house, she served Davie his supper, and an hour after he had eaten he was tucked up in bed upstairs. Soon afterwards, when he was settled and sleeping, she came back down and began to prepare a meal for herself and her father. She had brought from Merinville some ham and she served it with potatoes and beets and salad. Her father, who was still being looked after by Mrs Harbutt – and with whom he was no better satisfied, and probably never would be – welcomed the change and ate well. Afterwards he carried two kitchen chairs outside into the yard and they sat out in the still-warm air.

  A solitary blackbird was singing in one of the apple trees and Lydia listened to his song and was reminded of that day the previous year – the day when so much had changed; the day when Alfred, following Tinny’s death, had suffered his fatal attack.

  ‘What are you thinking about?’ her father asked. ‘You look preoccupied.’

  ‘Oh – I was thinking of Alfred – and that last day.’

  ‘Ah, yes.’ Mr Halley gravely nodded. ‘How long is it now?’

  ‘More than a year. Over thirteen months.’

  He nodded again. ‘The time goes so fast. I have to say, I’m glad to see you out of mourning at last.’

  ‘Yes, for two or three weeks now. It was time.’

  ‘How’s Davie managing. Does he still miss his father?’

  ‘Yes, he does. As you know, he was inconsolable at first, but he’s so much better now, thank goodness.’

  They had brought tea out with them, and Lydia drank from her mug and then set it back down on the tray that lay on the cobbles between them.

  ‘Davie’s growing so,’ Mr Halley said. ‘Each time I see him I notice such a difference.’

  ‘Oh, it’s hard to keep up with him.’

  ‘He’s going to be tall.’

  ‘Yes, he is.’

  ‘How are things going at the shop? Are you busy?’

  ‘I’m glad to say we are.’

  ‘Your husband would be proud of you, the way you’ve managed.’

  ‘I’ve not been able to do it on my own,’ she protested. ‘I’ve had help. I’ve needed it.’

  ‘You mean your assistants there?’

  ‘Yes. Thank heavens for Miss Angel and Peter Federo. Mr Federo’s been a godsend. He’s been absolutely wonderful. I don’t know how I’d have managed without him; I’ve been able to put so much work in his hands. He’s such a capable man – and the new man we’ve taken on, Mr Carrins, he’s proving quite splendid. Even so –’ she shook her head, ‘I don’t know that I want to continue with the way things are.’

  ‘How d’you mean? In what way?’

  ‘Well, as you know, Davie’s at school now. He’s been going for a few weeks.’

  ‘So he was telling me.’

  ‘Yes, and he loves it, and he’s getting on very well, but I’ll have to be there to collect him from school next term. Ellen does it now, but I can’t keep her on just for little jobs like that. He’s really past the age when he needs a nurse.’

  ‘So what’ll you do?’

  ‘I’m hoping to arrange things so that I go into the shop for less time. I don’t do full days as it is, but working for even less time would enable me to look after Davie without Ellen being there. I know she’ll be upset to leave, but that’s the way it has to be.’

  Her father peered at her in the fading light. ‘You seem rather unsettled right now.’

  She hesitated before she answered. ‘Yes, I am. I just don’t know what’s going to happen.’

  ‘What d’you mean?’

  Another hesitation before she said, ‘With my life. Shall I go on for ever serving in the shop, until I’m a little old lady?’ She shrugged her shoulders. ‘Perhaps I shall. Perhaps that’s the way it’s all going.’

  ‘How old are you now?’ he said. ‘Twenty-seven, yes?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well – you’ve still got the best part of your life ahead of you.’

  ‘Alfred said something like that.’

  ‘Did he now?’ He paused. ‘Well, he was right, and you’ve got to make the most of your life. For your boy’s sake, too.’

  ‘Yes, I know that,’ she looked off towards the trees, their shapes fading now in the dusk, ‘but that’s all I can see for myself for years ahead – just going back and forth to the shop. I can’t see any other life.’ She shook her head. ‘But there, why should I complain? Listen to me – I’ve got nothing to complain about. I have a comfortable life, with no financial worries. All I must think about is my boy. He’s the most important thing.’

  ‘But surely you’re allowed to have some happiness of your own.’

  She could hardly believe she was hearing his words. There was an understanding in him now that she had never known in earlier days. How people could change, she thought.

  The blackbird had ceased his singing, and in the hush Lydia turned and looked up towards the window of the back bedroom.

  ‘Davie’s all right, is he?’ her father said.

  ‘Yes. He’ll be well asleep. He was sleeping so soundly when I left him earlier. The journey made him tired, for one thing.’ She yawned. ‘I’m tired too. I think I’ll go up. D’you mind?’

  ‘Of course not.’ He stirred, stretched. ‘I don’t think you’ll be going to church in the morning, will you?’

  ‘No. I want to go and see Evie before we start back.’

  ‘Right you are.’ He went on then to tell her that he would not be needing any dinner immediately after church, as he planned to leave right away for Hurstleigh to see someone on the matter of a prayer meeting. He would eat a piece of bread and cheese on the way, he said. Lydia replied that in that case she would leave him something for his supper, for when he got back in the evening, and that she and Davie would set off early to return to Merinville.

  Now, the arrangements made, Lydia got up, reached out and pressed her father’s arm. ‘Goodnight, Father.’

  ‘Goodnight.’

  Upstairs she changed into her nightdress – she always kept one there in the chest – and blew out the candle. As she got into bed, Davie stirred briefly and murmured something unintelligible. She stroked his hair and said, ‘It’s all right, my love. Go on back to sleep. Mammy’s here.’

  Darkness had fallen now. Lying on her back with Davie nestling warm against her, she could see the moon’s light breaking between the thin curtains and filtering through the fabric. Turning her head she looked down at the shape beside her in the bed, and saw how the faint light touched the boy’s crown. She wanted to reach out and stroke his hair again, but she held back for fear of waking him.

  Turning her head she looked again at the sliver of moon visible through the crack in the curtains.

  Though the heart be still as loving,

  And the moon be still as bright.

  Into her mind came a picture of Guy. He seemed never to be far away these days – he was on her mind more and more. She had heard nothing from him on the occasion of Alfred’s death, though he must have known about it, for his own newspaper had printed a notice of the sad event. And there had been nothing from him since, but indeed, she had not expected there to be, for he would have observed the protocol of mourning and would not have been so indelicate as to intrude during such a time. In any case, at the time of Alfred’s death he would have received Lydia’s letter – her very final letter – telling him that they could never meet again. Clearly, then, regardless of any observation of her mourning, he had respected her words. No doubt, she now thought, he was building
a new life for himself, as she had urged him to do. She must not think about him, she said to herself; he was a part of the past, and it was time for her too to think about the future.

  Then into her mind came the little picture that she had received that morning at the shop. Was the handwriting Guy’s? She had long since destroyed the one brief letter he had written to her, asking her to meet him all those years ago, and now she could no longer be sure. In any event, what did the picture mean, what did it signify? No, surely it could not have come from him, from Guy – but then – who had sent it?

  The next morning she got breakfast for all three of them, and when her father had set off for church she and Davie left the house to go and call on Evie. Lydia had written to her early in the week, so her friend was expecting her.

  On her arrival at the cottage she found that Hennie was out with her grandmother, and that Evie’s young son Jonathan, nine months old now, was sleeping soundly in his crib. Jack, Evie’s husband, a tall, fair, strongly-built young man, murmured to Evie that she should go off out for a stroll with Lydia, and make the most of her respite. The baby, he added, would be perfectly all right while she was gone.

  So, Evie, Lydia and Davie set off along the lane and out of the village, taking the path that the two women had used so often as girls. For a few moments it seemed in some strange way to Lydia as if she had never been away, but it was only a fleeting sensation. She looked about her with nostalgia. The spring flowers had long gone, and the verges were almost totally green; just the odd spot of colour could be seen apart from the white of the cow parsley and elderflowers and the trumpets of the bindweed. Over on the hill the mustard field, once a vibrant yellow, was a pale, dull ochre. Now that the flowers of spring had gone it looked almost as if nature were taking a rest.

  They walked on and ended up in the little copse in the clearing, sitting on the massive form of the fallen tree. Davie was at once eager to amuse himself and wander off and explore. ‘Don’t go too far,’ Lydia said to him. ‘Don’t wander out of my sight.’ He piped back, ‘All right,’ and scampered away, but quickly returned and contented himself with clambering over and among the branches of the tree on which they sat. Lydia kept an eye on him as she and Evie talked of this and that. As they chatted, Evie brought Lydia up to date on the local news and gossip and also on her own life. Lydia was so glad to see Evie continuing contented, and she sat there, happy to listen as Evie spoke of her husband and the baby.