Firebird

by Iris Gower

  Joe was enjoying a pipe with the men. Soon he would come into the lodge and he would expect her to be ready for him. There had been no opportunity to talk to him alone. From the time the strangely dressed Indian chief had conducted the ceremony, bride and groom had been surrounded by people.

  She heard a rustle in the grass and Joe entered the lodge. He stood looking down at her for a long moment and then he fell onto his knees beside her.

  ‘Llinos, my love.’ He bent and kissed her mouth and she leaned against him, weak with love and desire. His mouth seemed to possess her, to draw her into a world where there was no logic, just emotion and sensation.

  He touched her breast lightly and she drew away in panic.

  ‘Hush, it’s all right, I won’t hurt you, my little Firebird.’

  ‘Joe, we must talk.’ She spoke desperately. He sat back on his heels.

  ‘Have you some terrible confession to make?’ He was teasing her and she shook her head.

  ‘You know I haven’t, Joe, but . . .’

  He pressed her back against the softness of the shawls and skins that made up their bed. ‘I love you, Llinos, I want you so much it hurts.’

  ‘Please, Joe, listen to me.’ She pressed her hands to his cheeks. ‘I want to wait, Joe, until we get home. I want to be married properly before we . . . I want a church blessing and I want my father to be there. Oh, Joe, I’m sorry!’ She felt tears burn her eyes, she was failing Joe, disappointing him. He rose and moved away from her and stood for a long moment, staring out through the entrance to the lodge into the night.

  ‘Joe, please don’t be angry with me.’

  He came to her and took her in his arms as though she was a child and cradled her gently.

  ‘I’ve waited this long for you, I can wait a little longer.’ He touched his finger to the tip of her nose. ‘But only a little longer, mind. Do you know what you are asking of me?’

  She closed her eyes in gratitude. ‘I am asking it of myself, too. I love you, Joe.’

  ‘I know.’

  She spent her wedding night wrapped in her husband’s arms and when she woke in the morning he was there, smiling down at her.

  ‘You snore.’ He pulled at her hair and she swung away from him.

  ‘I do not!’

  ‘Yes, you do. I lay awake all night listening to you. Like a buffalo in pain, you were.’

  She scrambled to her knees and aimed a playful blow at him. He caught her wrist and drew her close.

  ‘You look so beautiful, my Firebird, with your eyes flashing and your hair tumbled. How can I resist you?’

  Mint came into the lodge, carrying a large bowl of beans and a freshly baked loaf.

  ‘I see you are behaving like a couple of children, not like the old married couple you are.’ She sounded severe but her dark eyes were bright with laughter.

  ‘Eat, you need to keep up your strength.’ She looked up at him as Joe stood beside her, towering over her. He put his hands on her shoulders and looked into her face.

  ‘I know, son, you will be leaving soon.’

  ‘Will you come with us?’

  Mint shook her head. ‘I want to live out my old age here and have my bones buried under the mountains.’

  ‘That day is a long time off, Mother.’ Joe kissed her cheek. ‘You run about the place like a young squaw.’

  ‘I could not live in the coldness of your country, Joe. But you will make a name for yourself, you and Firebird. And your name will echo back to your people in America. So when you leave, son, it will be with my blessing.’

  The days passed in a haze of happiness. Llinos knew that Joe’s patience would not last for ever. He was a young, strong man and he needed a good wife. What made it worse was that she wanted Joe as much as he wanted her. A week after the wedding, she asked Joe if they could go home.

  They were sitting at the perimeter of the clearing, away from the firelight. Binnie was spread out on the floor beside them, hands under his head as he looked up at the stars.

  ‘You go home if you like,’ he said. ‘I’m staying here, in America.’

  ‘Binnie, you can’t mean it.’ Llinos leaned over him and prodded his thin chest. ‘You wouldn’t know how to make a living out here.’

  ‘I don’t mean here,’ Binnie said. ‘I’ll come with you and Joe to the coast and I’ll find work in Troy.’

  ‘Joe, tell him, he must come with us.’ Joe shook his head and remained silent.

  ‘Binnie, I couldn’t bear to think of you out here on your own.’ Llinos spoke heatedly.

  ‘Perhaps I’m meant to be alone,’ Binnie said mildly. ‘I didn’t make much of a success at being a husband and father, did I? Anyway, America is full of opportunity for a young man and I am still young, Llinos.’

  ‘I know you are. Oh, Binnie, think about it again when we get to the port. I’ll bet you won’t be able to watch Joe and me sailing for home without you.’

  ‘We’ll see.’

  The wagon in which Llinos had ridden over the long tracts of virgin American soil had lain idle for months. One of the wheels needed attention and part of the boarding at the side had come loose.

  Joe looked at it for a long time and then set to work. Llinos stood watching him until Mint took her arm and led her away.

  ‘Your man will not disappear if you take your eyes off him for a minute, child! Come and see what your friend Binnie has done for us. Everyone is in the clearing behind the lodge, there is so much excitement, I think it calls for another celebration.’

  Towards the edge of the stockade, a crowd of braves and squaws were standing in a circle, even one of the old chiefs had been tempted from his pipe and his lodge.

  Binnie had been at work for several days, and now the results of his labour were evident in the strong lines of the stone kiln.

  ‘Binnie! You clever old thing, you. That’s the finest oven I’ve ever seen.’

  ‘Aye, not bad, is it? I’ve had to chip the rocks into some sort of shape and I’ve bound them together with clay from the river. See how neatly my fires fit in around the edge.’

  ‘Have you tried it yet?’ Llinos peered eagerly into the dimness inside the kiln. Pots were stacked on shelves and already the warmth from the fires was changing the colour of the clay.

  ‘I’ll close up the door and by morning we’ll know if it’s worked or not.’

  Binnie brushed the clay from his hands, leaving dry finger marks across his coat and trews. ‘I can’t see why it shouldn’t work, mind. It’s built on exactly the same principle as the kilns at home, except that it’s much smaller, of course.’

  Llinos hugged his arm. ‘You are so good, Binnie, you’ll make life so much easier for the Indians if your oven works.’

  ‘Well, I’ve done my best, it won’t be for want of trying.’

  ‘I’m going to tell Joe,’ Llinos said and behind her she heard Mint laugh.

  ‘Can’t keep away from him, can you, Firebird? Go on with you, then, but you’ll be wasting your time. Joe knows all about it.’

  ‘So I’m the last to know, am I?’ Llinos shook Binnie’s arm and he turned to look at her, a smile on his thin face.

  ‘You wouldn’t have listened. You’ve lived in the clouds since you married Joe.’

  ‘I suppose you’re right,’ Llinos said. ‘Well done, Binnie, I’m proud of you.’

  It was a fine, bright day when Llinos helped Joe pack their few belongings onto the wagon. As a farewell present, the chief presented Joe with two fine horses, the most valuable gift he could give. Mint gave them shawls and skins and beads and held back her tears as she kissed them goodbye.

  Binnie, too, received gifts in honour of his kiln, which had worked splendidly and was the pride of the village. He was given a horse and a small chest containing a ceremonial pipe.

  The back of the wagon was filled with provisions and a half dozen skins of water. As the gates were opened, Llinos felt a constriction in her throat. She swallowed hard and made an effort to smile. Jo
e put his hand over hers.

  ‘Don’t grieve, we’ll be back one day,’ he said. ‘But now, Llinos, my little bride, I am taking you home.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Eynon sat outside in the garden. The house had begun to feel claustrophobic. He looked at the sheet of paper in his hand and he read the neat script again and smiled. Llinos was back on British shores.

  He leaned back in the solid wooden seat and stared up at the trees. The branches stood naked against the sky but soon they would come into leaf and spring would warm the land. But even now the sun was shining, true, it was a pale winter sun, but Eynon breathed in the freshness, enjoying the moment.

  Things were looking up. Georgina and Aunt Catherine had left to stay with his father; Eynon’s home was his own again. And soon, now, he would be seeing Llinos.

  Maura came out of the kitchen door, a tray on her arm. She looked thin and drawn. Her red hair was dull and lifeless. She was missing her husband, though she would deny it with her last breath.

  ‘I’ve brought you some hot tea,’ she said. ‘Watch you don’t get a cold now, you’ve not got your strength back yet.’

  ‘Don’t fuss, I’m well enough.’ He tapped the letter. ‘This is from Llinos, she’s resting at Bristol after the long sea voyage from America. She’s coming home, Joe too. The whole party will be back in Swansea in a few days.’ He paused, realizing that Maura’s colour had drained.

  ‘Don’t worry, I’m sure Binnie will want to sort everything out.’

  She put the cup on the wrought iron table at the side of him. ‘I don’t know if I want Binnie back.’ She met his eyes. ‘I’m not sure if I love him or hate him right at this moment.’

  If only he could say how much he wanted to see Llinos again, to say openly how much he loved her. He sighed, he had no choice but to believe she was lost to him for ever.

  ‘Your father’s coming up the path.’ Maura spoke warningly.

  Eynon felt his shoulders grow tense. ‘Look out, here comes trouble,’ he said softly.

  ‘I see you have managed to crawl out of your bed, then, Eynon.’ Philip sat on the carved wooden seat on the other side of the paved terrace, as far away from Eynon as possible. ‘It’s taken long enough. You don’t seem to heal very well, do you?’

  Eynon was used to criticism from his father and this time the implication was especially clear. Philip was saying that his son did not do anything very well.

  ‘Perhaps you should go to Mrs Lane again, ask her for some of that weed killer. I believe you’ve used it once before, Father?’

  ‘Mrs Lane? What do you mean? If it’s an accusation you are making you’d better be very careful.’

  ‘I am not accusing you of anything, Father. Perhaps you have a guilty conscience. By the way, I didn’t take any of that foul medicine you brought me.’

  ‘Foolish boy! I don’t understand you, are you insinuating that I’m trying to poison you?’

  ‘I think we’d better change the subject,’ Eynon said coldly.

  ‘I think you are right. Now, I’ve been to see Duncan.’ Philip took out his pipe and pressed down the tobacco with thick fingers.

  ‘Father Duncan? So?’ Eynon felt that something bad was about to happen.

  ‘I’ve told him and that fop Martin to keep away from here. They are a bad influence on you.’

  Eynon felt a cold anger inside him but he did his best to control it. ‘You don’t want me to have any friends, then, Father? Since those drunken thugs took it into their heads to give me a hiding, the only people I’ve seen are the servants and the two vicars, do you realize that?’

  ‘And do you realize that I donate a great deal of money to our church. I think Father Duncan will have the good sense to listen to what I have to say.’

  Eynon knew his father was right. However much sympathy the two clerics had for him they would need to do what was best for the church.

  ‘I have enjoyed my discussions with Martin, Father. Do you want me to be totally alone?’

  ‘There’s no point continuing this discussion. I won’t have you hiding behind the Church. Get on out there in the real world and be a man.’

  Eynon was silent and Philip looked at him thoughtfully. ‘Just think about it. You can cower here in your house for the rest of your life or you can face up to facts. No good ever came of being afraid to do what you want. Even if it means another beating, another six beatings, you must face the town, show you are not going to be intimidated. Of course, the next hiding you get might just finish you.’

  Eynon shook his head speechlessly. Did his father hate him so much that he wanted him dead?

  Maura came into the garden with a tray of tea. Philip smiled at her politely. ‘I’m not staying, but thank you for the thought. How’s the little one?’ Philip was unfailingly polite to the Irish girl. It was his policy, always, to be seen as a benefactor; an upholder of the rights of the lower orders.

  ‘Very well, sir, thank you, sir.’ Maura was perhaps the one person who was not taken in by Philip’s outward show of geniality. She bobbed several times, paying lip-service to Philip, but she did not raise her eyes.

  ‘Very good.’ Philip reached into his pocket and took out some coins. ‘There, put these in the child’s money box.’

  Maura bobbed again. ‘Thank you most kindly, sir.’

  Philip stood before Eynon and quite deliberately picked up the letter from the table.

  ‘Father, that’s private, it’s mine.’

  Philip read the contents and flicked the paper into Eynon’s lap. ‘So the little Savage girl is coming back to Swansea, is she? Well, I for one will be pleased to see her, I might have a little surprise for her. I’ll be off now. Good day to you, Eynon.’

  Eynon watched as his father strode to the gate, unhitched his horse and swung himself into the saddle. ‘What on earth is he up to now, Maura?’

  Philip rode away without a backward glance and Maura looked into her hand and spat on the coins. ‘Don’t know, but it can’t be anything good, can it?’

  Eynon almost smiled at her small act of rebellion but then his father’s words swept back into his mind. Perhaps it would be just as well to get right away from Swansea. He had given up the idea of ever persuading Llinos to be his wife. At least he could look for some solitude in his life, some peace.

  He sighed and rose to his feet with difficulty. His body still ached, the bruises had faded but he was in constant pain. He pushed himself upright. If he wasn’t very careful, he would begin to feel sorry for himself. He took one last look around the garden, at the fading sun and the winter earth and went into the house.

  ‘I’m sorry, Martin, but the Bishop wants you to be transferred to Bangor in North Wales. It’s a fine place, so I’m told, and they are in need of a good man.’

  ‘This is part of a vendetta and you know it as well as I do.’

  ‘Maybe, maybe not. In any case, ours is not to question why. When the Bishop gives an order we obey.’

  ‘Morton-Edwards warned me to keep away from his son; I knew then I was asking for trouble, I could see it in his face.’

  ‘Well, you did rather give the impression that you thought he was behind Eynon’s . . . mishap. It’s not up to us to point a finger.’

  ‘I think Eynon is a good man, Father, and very much misjudged.’ Martin spoke heatedly. ‘He is not a coward even though he is a peace-loving man. In any event, he does not deserve that father of his.’

  ‘Well,’ Father Duncan said, ‘that’s as may be. Anyway perhaps you are being a mite oversensitive, Martin. Philip surely has his son’s best interests at heart. And he does give generously to the church.’

  ‘But are you convinced by his show of goodness, because I am not.’

  ‘Not altogether.’ The older man stroked his chin. ‘Still, none of us is without sin so I hesitate to cast stones.’ He smiled. ‘Or to make sudden judgements based on little more than a feeling in my bones that the man is a scheming reprobate.’ He puffed on his pip
e. ‘I’ll be sorry to lose you, you know that, don’t you, Martin? Now, let’s not talk about the matter any more.’

  It was evening when Martin made his way across the valley to Eynon’s house. He had been a constant visitor since the attack on his friend and quite obviously this had not gone unnoticed.

  Philip Morton-Edwards was a wicked man. A lion pretending to be a lamb. But it did not wash, not with Martin. He had seen the scorn in Philip’s eyes when he talked about Eynon. No, not scorn, it was stronger than that, it was hatred. The man was a monster, he wanted to control and manipulate everything and everyone.

  ‘Martin, I’m glad to see you.’ He was welcomed warmly into Eynon’s cosy sitting-room. A bright fire burned in the grate and the heavy curtains were drawn against the chill of the night.

  ‘There’s been some dirty work afoot, Eynon.’ Martin slumped into a chair. ‘I’m to leave Swansea. At the end of the week,’ he said, stretching his feet towards the fire.

  ‘My father’s doing, no doubt.’

  ‘I suppose so. The order comes directly from the Bishop. If your father has interfered, then he has friends in high places.’

  ‘I know that to my cost,’ Eynon said ruefully. ‘Where are they sending you?’

  ‘North Wales, Bangor. I suppose I’ll fit in there, given time, but it’s going to be so different to Swansea.’ He looked across the room. ‘I’ll be sorry to leave you at the mercy of your father but there’s nothing I can do.’

  ‘Don’t worry, I’m going to sell up and leave Swansea, my friend. It’s the only way out.’

  ‘Won’t your father object to that, too?’ Martin frowned. ‘It seems to me he won’t rest until you are six feet under the earth. It’s a strange world, all right. I will never work out the machinations of the minds of men, not if I live to be a hundred.’

  ‘Have a glass of porter, it will do us both good.’ Eynon rang the bell and the maid came at once, bobbing her head, her eyes curious as they rested on the two men.

  ‘Bring me some porter, Jessie,’ Eynon said briskly. ‘And mind your manners, it’s rude to stare.’