Saddle the Wind

by Jess Foley

  ‘Good.’ She reached out and gently brushed his shoulder with her fingers.

  ‘I’ve decided,’ he said after a moment, ‘to go on with my painting.’

  ‘Oh – I’m so glad, Ollie.’

  ‘Yes.’ He paused. ‘Next week I’ll get Mary to sit for me for an hour or two – then I can finish her portrait. After that – I’ll start another picture.’

  ‘Oh, Ollie, it makes me so happy to hear you say that.’

  He nodded. ‘I won’t be beaten, Sare. I won’t.’

  A little while later, taking advantage of the children’s absence, she began to prepare water for a bath, filling kettles and saucepans and putting them to heat on the range. Ollie, meanwhile, brought in the tin bathtub from the shed. A little later, while he was lighting the Sunday fire in the front parlour, Blanche began to cry. Sarah took her onto her lap and talked softly to her. Blanche went on crying for some minutes longer, but then at last she became quieter and, lying back in Sarah’s arms, drifted off to sleep.

  Gently, Sarah laid her in the perambulator, loosely tied the rag cords to stop her falling out, and stood gazing down at her. She was a year and three months old now. She was a beautiful child. Her closed eyelids were rimmed with the densest lashes, while her softly curling hair, unusually thick, was, like Ollie’s and Mary’s, the colour of pale corn.

  Since Blanche had been taken back to Hallowford House to ease Marianne’s pining six months had gone by and there had been no word from Mr Savill regarding the question of her leaving the nursery and returning to the cottage. He was well content, it seemed, for the situation to continue and, as Sarah had said nothing to him about it either, the situation had gone on. Blanche now had spent practically all her life at Hallowford House, Sarah reflected. And, she realized with a pang of guilt, she had not really missed her. Not because she didn’t love her – she did. But there had been no time to miss her with all there was to do. Besides, she had seen her regularly, making it a rule to visit her once or twice each week and bring her back to the cottage almost every Sunday when the weather permitted. It was important that Blanche’s ties with her family were maintained; she mustn’t be allowed to forget them.

  But Blanche was forgetting.

  Sarah had seen the signs over the months and she had tried to disregard them. It did no good, though; it had to be faced; just as Mr Savill’s daughter had been unhappy at being separated from Blanche, so, it appeared, Blanche was unhappy when she was away from Hallowford House. She always became fretful when she was kept away for any length of time, and when she did settle in the cottage the peace was usually an uneasy one.

  Sarah thought of what Ollie had said about bringing Blanche back to live at the cottage again. And that’s what they should do, she knew. Blanche should be where she belonged, with her family – before she grew even more accustomed to her present life …

  When the water on the range was boiling Sarah left the baby and drew the curtains while Ollie poured some of the water into the tub and added cold to it from the pails he had brought in from the pump. Then while he refilled the kettles and put them back on the range Sarah got undressed and stepped into the tub.

  When she had bathed she got out and washed her hair. Then, while she dried herself and wrapped herself in a towel Ollie renewed the water and got in. After a minute or two Sarah knelt beside the tub and washed his back, her soapy hands moving over the smooth, muscular shoulders – she could feel the tension there – then down to his narrow, tapering waist. Ollie was the only man she had ever seen naked and the sense of wonder that had first touched her had never quite left her. It was there now as she moved her hands over his body.

  Without either of them speaking Ollie got to his feet in the tub and Sarah took a towel and began to dry his back. When she had finished he turned to face her and she began to dry his front. Stepping back a foot she looked at him as he stood there. How beautiful he is, she thought. Bending her head she kissed his chest and then pressed her face against his loins, feeling against her cheek his hardness, the coarseness of his damp pubic hair and the soft firmness of his lower belly.

  When she straightened a few moments later he stepped out of the tub and drew her naked body to his.

  ‘Oh, I do love you, Sare.’

  ‘I love you too, Ollie.’

  Gently, he kissed her. ‘It’s going to be all right,’ he said against the softness of her damp, sweet-smelling hair. ‘It’s going to be all right. It will.’

  ‘Yes, I know.’

  ‘We’re going to be happy, all of us.’

  ‘I am happy, Ollie. I’m happy now.’

  He kissed her again, a long kiss this time, and as she felt his lips on hers, soft, warm, she knew that she had never loved him more than she did now. She became aware of him growing harder against her belly and then a moment later she felt his hand, low down, as his fingers moved between her legs. Then his lips left her mouth and he said softly, urgently, ‘Come on – before the children get back. They’ll be home before we know it.’

  Taking her hand he began to lead her from the kitchen and into the little front parlour. ‘Wait – one moment,’ she said, and went back to the scullery and wheeled the perambulator with the sleeping infant into the kitchen. ‘There,’ she said, ‘– we’ll hear her if she wakes and cries.’

  Ollie had pulled the curtains closed and as she turned the key in the lock he spread a blanket on the rug before the fire. They lay down together on the blanket and, putting off the prize moments, kissed and fondled one another. Time had gone by, though, and all too soon they could hear the sounds of the children’s return. Sarah sat up. After a moment there came the sound of the door handle being tried and she got to her feet and moved to the door. ‘Don’t wake the baby,’ she whispered loudly and then added, ‘What do you want?’

  ‘Can we come in?’ Ernest’s voice came whispering in reply.

  ‘No – not right now.’

  Ollie came and stood at Sarah’s side. ‘You and your sisters go and play outside for another ten minutes,’ he said.

  ‘Oh, Ollie,’ Sarah whispered to him, ‘they’ll be all right in the kitchen.’

  ‘No,’ he replied, ‘they’ll wake the baby.’

  Sarah nodded and then called softly through the door:

  ‘Do as your father says – but don’t get dirty.’

  The children went away then and, hearing the silence in the house again, Sarah moved back to where Ollie was settling himself on the rug once more.

  After closing the scullery door behind him Ernest quickly started off along the lane. When Mary called after him, asking where he was going, he answered that he was going into the village to rejoin his friends. Mary shrugged, without interest, but Arthur started forward, eager to join him. He was too late, though; in just another moment Ernest was turning the corner out of sight.

  ‘You can come with me if you want to,’ Mary said to him as he came back.

  ‘Where to?’ he asked.

  ‘Up on the hill.’ Mary smiled. ‘We’ll go and fly my kite.’

  With her words she turned back to the cottage, went round to the back and softly opened the door into the scullery. On the table lay the kite with its pattern of pink and yellow roses. In a moment it was in her hands and she was letting herself out again. She smiled triumphantly at the other two as she rejoined them in the lane. ‘Come on,’ she said. ‘We mustn’t be long.’

  At the end of the lane she came to a halt and gazed up at the hill. This morning, with her father at her side the hill had not seemed so far away. Now the distance was daunting. After a second she turned and looked off to the left. ‘No,’ she said with a shake of her head, ‘we won’t go up onto the hill. It’s too far. We’ll go up there – up on the Ridge.’

  ‘Oh, no, Mam’ll be angry if we go up there,’ Arthur said. ‘And Papa will be, too.’

  As Agnes voiced her agreement Mary quickly said, ‘Papa won’t be angry with me – not on my birthday.’ She paused. ‘And anyway, we sh
an’t be up there very long.’ Then without waiting to see whether they were with her she left the lane and started up the steep, winding track.

  Holding the kite carefully in her hands Mary led the way up the steep, meandering path, Arthur and Agnes, anxious not to be left behind, following close on her heels. The wind was stronger and colder the higher they climbed and at any other time Mary would have wanted to turn back. Today, though, was different. Today was her birthday and she had the kite. Also, in the absence of Ernest, she was the eldest of the three children.

  It took much longer to get to the top than she had anticipated and when they were there the wind buffeted them, snatched at their clothes and tugged at the kite in her cold hands. They wouldn’t stay long, she decided, just long enough to fly the kite once. Then they would go down again.

  It was strange up here, and she felt a little afraid. They were very high up. Over to the right beyond the pathway stood the spindly little trees and shrubs that marked the edge of the Cut. Above was nothing but the sky. Moving closer to the edge she could see beyond the trees, down below, the thatched roofs of the cottages.

  ‘I don’t like it up here,’ Agnes said. ‘I want to go home.’ Her voice had a faintly nervous ring to it.

  ‘Oh, Aggie, not yet,’ Mary quickly replied. ‘We haven’t flown my kite yet.’

  ‘I don’t care,’ Agnes said. ‘I want to go home. Besides, I’m cold.’

  ‘Oh, please, Aggie.’ Mary’s voice was pleading. She didn’t want to be left up here alone, and at the same time she didn’t want to lose face by appearing too anxious to get back down again. ‘We’ll fly the kite just once and then we’ll go back, all right?’

  Reluctantly Agnes nodded and Mary quickly began to unwind some of the string from the winding card. When she had unwound a good length she played out a little of it the way her father had shown her and then started off at a run, at the same time throwing the kite up into the wind.

  And, miracle of miracles, the wind caught it at once.

  Arthur and Agnes gave little whoops of joy while Mary cried out ecstatically, ‘Look! Look! It’s flying!’

  Coming to a stop on the turf she let out more of the string until the kite was drifting high up above their heads. Proud, jubilant, she watched as it swayed in the air, swinging from side to side, a diamond of pink and yellow roses, straining at the string she held in her hand until, to make it easier to hold, she wound a little of it around her wrist.

  And then all at once the kite did a somersault and began to dive downward. Mary gave a little cry of despair and, in an effort to keep the kite aloft, leapt forward, turning as she did so, running backwards across the turf.

  In the same moment that the wind snatched at the kite and flung it high into the air once more, Agnes and Arthur squealed out in horror. A second later, while their cries were still ringing in the air, Mary’s own shout of jubilation turned to a scream as her scampering feet took her out over the edge of the Cut.

  To the terrified eyes of the two watching children it seemed that for a moment Mary hung there in the air, her arms and legs thrashing the wind, her mouth and eyes open wide as she shrieked in terror and surprise. The next moment she was gone.

  For seconds Arthur and Agnes just stood and gaped. And then as one they reached out and groped for the other’s hand. Then, fearfully, slowly, they moved forward, creeping towards the chalky edge where the ground fell sheer away.

  Five yards from the edge they stopped, too afraid to go nearer, and hands damp in one another’s grasp they stood there, white-faced in the teeth of the wind. Then after a few moments they turned and, shrieking out into the cold air, began to run back down the path towards the lane.

  Chapter Ten

  The bath water had been emptied away and the bath tub put into the scullery, there to wait until the children had their baths that evening before going to bed. Ollie, dressed again and wearing his worn old carpet slippers, sat in his chair beside the range reading a book. Sarah was laying the table for tea. Blanche was still sleeping. The cottage was peaceful.

  Sarah was just setting out the bread when Arthur, with Agnes running screaming behind him, suddenly came bursting in at the back door, through the scullery and into the kitchen. ‘Quick! Quick!’ he yelled out. ‘Come quickly!’ His tear-filled eyes were wild and he was gasping for breath.

  ‘Easy, easy –’ Ollie started up from the chair, while Sarah put the bread down on the table and stepped forward. Blanche, disturbed by the noise of Agnes’s hysterical shrieks, awoke and began to cry. Arthur reached out, snatching Sarah’s hand. ‘Oh, Mam, come quickly – it’s Mary!’

  Ollie’s book fell to the floor as he moved towards the boy. ‘Mary?’ he said. ‘What about her? Where is she?’

  Agnes went on screaming, automatically now, as if she was no longer in control, and with the baby crying too it was hard for Sarah to tell what Arthur was trying to say as he sobbed and babbled incoherently against the din.

  Thrusting Sarah aside, Ollie bent to the boy. ‘You say Mary fell down?’ he shouted. ‘What d’you mean, she fell down?’

  ‘The Cut!’ Arthur cried out. He turned and pointed off. ‘Mary – she fell over the edge!’

  Ollie’s face went chalk-white, and lashing out he struck the boy hard across the face. Then, even as Arthur reeled backwards Ollie was turning. A moment later he was flinging himself out of the door.

  As the children had run towards the cottage their horror-stricken cries had attracted attention and now as Ollie ran along the lane some of the neighbours came from their doors to see what it was all about.

  As Sarah emerged from the cottage moments afterwards she saw Esther Hewitt at her gate and she called out, her voice breaking with fear, ‘Oh, please – Esther – will you come in and stay with Blanche for a minute?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’ Esther nodded and began to hurry towards the Farrars’ gate. ‘What’s the matter?’ she asked.

  ‘It’s Mary. Something’s happened to Mary.’

  ‘Oh, dear God …’

  Sarah dashed on past and, with Arthur and Agnes running crying in her steps, ran after Ollie along the lane.

  By the time she reached the foot of the Cut there were several people already there. They were standing motionless, silent, watching Ollie scramble down into the wide shallow basin at the foot of the great chalk cliff and pick his way across the rocks and rubble. Peering past him Sarah could see a little dark blue shape lying between him and the face of the cliff. It showed up starkly against the white of the chalk.

  Sarah’s head swam and for a moment the sight receded and wavered before her. She could feel her heart thudding in her chest and her knees were so weak that she felt they might give out beneath her. She had started to climb down into the rocky basin when she felt a hand snatch at her sleeve. Turning, she looked into the frightened, crying faces of Arthur and Agnes. ‘No – no,’ she cried out, her voice breaking, ‘go on back. Go on back!’

  She was dimly aware then of Jack Hewitt standing there, and as she turned away she saw him bend and put his arms around the two children. Then, unsteadily, and feeling as if she were in some kind of nightmare, she stepped down into the basin and, in Ollie’s footsteps, started off across the rough, uneven surface.

  She reached his side as he knelt down beside the little dark blue shape.

  Mary’s body lay there like some rag doll, as if her limbs had no bones in them. She lay oddly twisted, her face pressed into the chalk floor, one arm flung out sideways and the other bent beneath her. Stripped of all dignity in the dying her skirt and petticoat had risen up around her waist so that her darned and patched drawers were exposed to the eyes of the onlookers. Her woollen hat had partly come off and her blonde hair streamed out over the chalk, now turning red beneath her head.

  Silently Ollie bent and scooped the limp form up into his arms. As he lifted her up her head fell back and the blood poured out of her mouth. Her hat hung there briefly and then fell to the ground. Ollie remained st
anding there for a moment as if transfixed and then raising his head he opened wide his mouth and howled out, a long, hollow cry, like some animal in torment. Then, slowly, he sank down again until he was kneeling on the chalk, rocking backwards and forwards, Mary’s body held close to his chest, his right hand supporting her shattered skull.

  Standing before him, blinded by her tears and feeling that she might choke on her despair, Sarah fell to her knees and reached out her arms. Ollie, without even looking up, tightened his grip on Mary’s body and shrank back.

  He stayed there for some seconds, bending over Mary’s body, and then he rose and began to move slowly away across the basin of the Cut. As he did so Sarah saw a pink and yellow shape moving behind him, trailing along in his wake. For a moment she didn’t know what it was, but then she realized that it was the kite, dragging and dancing over the rough ground, still held by the string around Mary’s wrist.

  Chapter Eleven

  The leaden days that followed seemed to Sarah to pass by without recognizable shape or pattern. Later she would look back and see it all as a blur of shifting images, a series of incidents that stood out in her mind like pictures in a book. Somehow over that time things were taken care of. Somehow all the necessary jobs were done. She didn’t remember when, but at some time that evening Esther Hewitt took Blanche back to Hallowford House, and somehow Sarah set a part of her numbed mind to feeding the children. Life had to go on.

  Someone had sent for Dr Harmon, but he was not at home, so word had gone then to Dr Kelsey. He came at once and went straight to Ollie and Sarah’s bedroom where Ollie had placed Mary’s body on the bed. There Kelsey found that, apart from the child’s broken skull, her neck and spine had also been shattered. There would, of course, have to be an inquest, he said, but it would only be a formality.

  He went away then saying that he would set in motion the necessary wheels for the inquest and also send for the Coolidges, the undertaker and his wife who would come and lay out the body.