Feathers in the Fire

by Catherine Cookson

  The thought of her mother reminded her that she had been without Winnie for the past half-hour, so she must go and visit her. She rose slowly and went out and across the wide landing to her mother’s door and knocked, as always, before she entered the room. To her great surprise she found that Delia was out of bed, actually sitting in a chair by the window and she ran to her, crying, ‘Oh! Mother. You feel so much better?’

  ‘Yes, dear. I, I thought that . . . that before the winter comes I may get downstairs and go out in the fresh air.’

  Jane stared down into the faded blue eyes, the thin worn face, and she said softly, ‘That would be wonderful, wonderful. Shall I help you dress now?’

  ‘No, dear, not today, I will just sit here. I . . . I can see the gate from here. I saw Winnie; she . . . she had the child with her.’ Delia turned and looked at her daughter and, putting out her hand, that was like a bony claw now, she clutched Jane’s and with a break in her voice said, ‘I . . . I have made a grave error in . . . in shutting him out. It was wrong of me, very wrong. I . . . I must try to make amends.’

  ‘Oh! Mother, Mother.’ The tears slid slowly down Jane’s face; she gathered the two hands to her, and holding them tightly against her breast she said, ‘Oh, that’s wonderful, wonderful. He’s so bright, clever, he could grow up to be anything he chose. Parson Hedley says that he has great hopes for him.’ And now she bent forward and kissed her mother on the cheek, and she had not done this, either, for many years . . .

  For a moment, Delia stroked her hair, then, her attention drawn to the window, she looked out and towards a small figure toddling across the yard below, and she said quite calmly, ‘Molly’s child is quite pretty, don’t you think?’

  Jane gave no answer to this, she was too overcome at the turn of events, she just watched Biddy toddling in the direction of the cowshed. Before she reached it, however, her father emerged. The child looked up at him, but he paid no attention to her, he ignored her as he would have done Amos.

  Jane looked at her mother. She was staring down into the yard following her husband’s progress. Her gaze still on him, she said quietly, ‘He’s getting old.’

  There was such a deep note of satisfaction in the remark that again hope and joy was dimmed in Jane; whatever reconciliation would take place between her mother and the child there could never be any hope of such happening between her parents. Beneath her mother’s fragile exterior she sensed an ever-growing hatred of her husband. She turned away and went out without saying anything further . . .

  Down in the kitchen, Molly was busy cooking the dinner. Besides the housework and the dairy she now did most of the cooking, but the long hours and hard work seemed to have little effect on her, she was strong and straight-backed. She turned from the table where she was dressing a bird, saying, ‘Eeh! Miss Jane, I think you’re goin’ to find these partridges as tough as your boots. This lot must’ve dodged the gun for the last ten years, they’ll be stringy. Still, there’s some saddle o’ mutton left, an’ I’ve made a plum puddin’, you can fill up with that.’

  She drew the inside out of the bird as she said, ‘You could do with a bit of fish, we’ve never had any for over a week. Our Johnny’s goin’ eeling the night. Now if he gets any, I’ll collar one and that will be a bit of a change for the morrow, start the first course off . . . ’

  ‘Yes, that will be nice, Molly.’ For a moment she stood watching her larding the birds, then she said, ‘I’ve often wanted to cook. Perhaps now Master Amos can get about on his own I’ll have more time; you’ll have to show me.’

  ‘No, not me, Miss, you’ll have to get Winnie to do that. Winnie’s a grand cook; given the time she can turn out anythin’.’

  ‘Yes, given the time,’ she repeated sadly; then on a brighter note she asked, ‘By the way, you know that Davie’s back?’

  Molly did not look up from what she was doing, and she did not speak immediately, and when she did her tone was noncommittal. ‘Yes, Miss,’ she said; ‘yes, I know he’s back.’

  Jane went out thinking that perhaps she shouldn’t have mentioned the fact that Davie Armstrong had returned. Yet why not, it wasn’t a thing you could hide. It was a pity though he had gone away in the first place, for in spite of everything, he and Molly would likely have been married by now.

  Again she commented to herself how strange it was that her feelings towards Molly were utterly devoid of animosity; she would like very much to see her happy with a man who could be a father to Biddy, a real father.

  It was rarely she thought of the relationship between Molly’s child and herself, and when she did she could not take in the fact that they were half-sisters.

  She walked out of the gate and down the road towards the Armstrongs’ cottage, and long before she reached it she heard Amos’ high squeals of glee.

  The cottage door was open and she stood unobserved for a few minutes watching the blue-clad sailor, whom she hardly recognised, holding Amos up by one hand towards the beam that spanned the width of the stairs about a foot below the ceiling. There was a similar beam at the head of the stairs in the farmhouse; each acted as a span between the stout oak pillars to which the balustrade was attached. A fox’s skin was nailed across the beam in the house. She stood breathless now as she saw Amos swinging from the beam without any support.

  Davie Armstrong had withdrawn his hand and with his head back he was laughing up at the child, crying, ‘Go on, move along it, hand over hand like I showed you.’ And Amos followed his instructions. Six times he moved one hand in front of the other and swung himself along the beam. Then she put her hands swiftly to her mouth when, pulling himself upwards with the strength of his arms alone, he squeezed between the beam and the ceiling and, his head hanging over the side, he laughed down at them, until Winnie said, ‘Come on, come on, that’s enough.’

  ‘No, no, I am not coming down.’

  ‘Time’s up, lower away.’ She watched Davie Armstrong put up his hands towards the boy, but Amos just laughed at him and defied him.

  She was about to enter the room when Davie ran up the stairs, then turned and stepped on to the banister. One hand outstretched supporting himself against the staircase wall, he leaned forward and gripped the back of Amos’ coat and with a swift tug he pulled him from the beam and held him dangling in mid-air; then jumping down on to the stairs he hoisted him on to his shoulder. When he came to the foot of the stairs he stopped as he saw Jane standing in the doorway.

  Amos also catching sight of her shouted, ‘Jane! Jane! Look. See what I can do. Push me up again.’ He bent forward and looked into Davie’s face, and Davie saying, ‘Enough is enough, young man,’ lowered him to the floor.

  ‘Hello, Davie. I’m glad to see you back home.’

  He took her outstretched hand and shook it twice before he said, ‘Thank you, Miss Jane; I’m glad to be back. I’m only sorry me stay will be short.’

  They looked at each other smiling, and she thought, ‘He’s changed so, bigger, broader, and he’s very self-assured.’ The second cowman was gone, there was no remnant left of the young man who had comforted her in the straw of the malt house, then put his hand over her mouth to stop her crying aloud at what she was seeing and hearing; nor yet of the young man white with anger who, in the dead of night, had put Amos into her care. She noted that he wasn’t dressed like the common seamen. She knew how these dressed, she had picture books of them, and Winnie had already told her of his promotion, and more to follow. First mate he’d be soon, she had said, and then, who knew, captain. And she didn’t doubt that Winnie was right. Davie Armstrong had grown into a man, a determined looking man.

  ‘How are you, Miss Jane?’

  ‘Very well, thank you, Davie.’

  He considered she had a nice voice, not la-di-da or anything like that, and it had a lilt to it. He remembered that she had always spoken nicely, due to Pars
on Hedley’s coaching no doubt; and her face – his granda had said she was plain, well he wouldn’t have said that, not really, not when she smiled, she had a right bonny pair of eyes on her; she was on the thin side, but then she was young, she would fill out. She hadn’t changed all that much; he could like Miss Jane, the young lady, as much as he had liked Miss Jane, the young girl.

  ‘You’ve got a handful here.’ He nodded down at the boy, who was now standing between them looking up first at one and then the other.’

  ‘Yes, I’m afraid so, Davie.’

  ‘He’s a bright spark.’

  ‘He’s a naughty boy at times.’ She looked down in mock sternness on the boy where he was now supporting himself by gripping Davie’s thigh, and Amos, his head back gazing up at Davie, said, ‘Will you stay here? I want you to stay here.’

  ‘Well now.’ Davie nodded at Jane. ‘Tell me, is that an order or merely a request from the captain? Oh, I’m forgettin’, captains never make requests, they just give orders. But I’m afraid, Captain’ – he saluted the boy now – ‘I’ll have to disobey your command. It’s mutiny I know, farmhouse mutiny on the high fells, but it’s off to sea I’m going the day after the morrow.’

  Sep laughed, and Winnie laughed, and Jane laughed, but the boy didn’t; what he said was, ‘You’re making fun of me.’

  Davie looked down at the boy, who was a small child one minute, allowing himself to be hoisted up to the ceiling, but the next refusing to be treated as such. He was disconcerting. That word fitted here, he thought. It was his captain’s nickname; Disconcertin’ Surtees, they called him, for the only response that disaster, from minor to mortal, provoked in him was the term, ‘It’s bloody disconcerting.’ And so was this youngster’s attitude. He was an old child, and it was odd when he came to think about it but whatever he turned out to be, he, in a way, would be responsible for it. In himself he was still convinced that had he not appeared on the scene Molly would have done the job she had been ordered to do.

  ‘Come along now, Amos; you mustn’t be a nuisance.’ Jane caught hold of the boy’s hand but he thrust her aside and clung on to Davie’s leg as he looked up and pleaded, ‘Will you play with me?’

  Davie stared down into the long narrow eyes and, assuming a stance, he said, ‘Well now, let’s see; when does this watch finish?’ He looked round at his mother, ‘Twelve o’clock dinner, is it?’ And when, laughing, she nodded at him, he returned his gaze towards the boy, demanding, ‘What time do you have your dinner?’

  ‘Three o’clock.’

  ‘Then at two o’clock meet me at the burn and we’ll have a swim. What about it?’ The last words were addressed to Jane; and now she blinked and stammered slightly as she said, ‘He . . . he has never been in the water.’

  ‘Well, then it’s about time he made a start. All right, young master’ – he pointed his finger down at him – ‘two o’clock sharp. Not a minute afore, nor a minute after. Meet me on the cow path.’

  The boy stared at him for a moment longer, his face alight; then swiftly he took his arms from about Davie’s legs, scrambled on all fours to where his crutches were leaning against a chair, tucked them one under each arm, and was out of the door, all within a matter of seconds, and his voice came to them as he cried loudly, ‘Biddy! Biddy! I’m going to the burn. I’m going with the sailor to the burn.’

  ‘Oh dear me.’ Jane was turning hastily to the door when Winnie put her hand on her arm, saying, ‘He’ll be all right, Miss Jane; just let him go his own road. It’s got to be like that, he’s doin’ no harm. Remember he’s a lad an’ he’s got to run his energy off.’

  ‘But . . . but I promised Fa . . . ’ she stopped, aware that Davie Armstrong’s eyes were on her, and aware too that there was still one thing left of the second cowman, his hate of her father, and her father’s hate of him. She ended haltingly, ‘You won’t let him stay in too long, he may catch cold not being used to it?’

  ‘He won’t catch cold; there’s no chill on the water, I was in this mornin’.’

  ‘Oh!’ She stared at him, until a flush came to her face, then she turned quickly away and went out of the door. Slowly he followed her and watched her walking to where the boy was standing leaning on his crutches looking down on a little girl who was sitting on the grass verge cuddling a wooden doll, and he thought, it’s a damn shame.

  He carried the boy pick-a-back down from the cow path to the burn. It was a strange feeling because there were no legs around which to entwine his arms. He carried the crutches under his arm and did not hold on to the boy’s hands clasped round his neck for he was clinging like a monkey and his arms seemed as strong as any man’s.

  He did not stop at the bottom of the steps but walked along the bank until he came to the shelf of rock from which he had dived since he was a small boy. He couldn’t remember having learned to swim, only that he had once fallen in and after that it was easy. The water above the shelf of rock ran two feet deep but he had never yet touched the bottom beyond the shelf, although he had tried many times.

  He sat down on the grassy bank and let the boy slide from his back. ‘There, get them all off.’ When the boy hesitated he cried at him, ‘Come on then, off with your gansey first.’ He laughed as he watched the boy struggling with the tight neck of the jersey, and he helped to ease it over his head, saying, ‘Don’t start by chokin’ yourself.’

  In a matter of minutes they were both naked.

  ‘Come on.’ Davie held out his hand, but the boy didn’t rise from the grass, he was staring up at the firm, thickset bare body. His eyes moved up and down it two or three times, and then he turned his gaze on to his stumps with the protrusions, which should have been feet, and his face crumpled as if he was about to cry. Whether or not he would have cried he didn’t know, for the next minute he was jerked from the ground and Davie was saying, ‘No, not on all fours, stand up straight, you can walk on them. Use them like feet; come on, let’s see you. Hang on to my hand. That’s it, come on. Toss your body from side to side like this’ – he demonstrated – ‘an’ you’ll get it. Come on now have a shot . . . Aye, aye, that’s it.’

  When they reached the water’s edge he said, ‘There now, you keep that up and you won’t need those crutches half the time; and your muscles will harden and be as good as any feet.’

  Amos looked up steadily into his face and Davie nodded down at him, saying, ‘I’m tellin’ you, it’s true. Try standin’ straight, try walkin’ straight. Keep off your benders; that’s no way to get about, on all fours it isn’t. Come on now.’

  When the water rose above his stumps and touched his loins Amos shuddered, then gurgled, then laughed aloud, and when it reached his chest he closed his eyes for a moment as if experiencing ecstasy.

  ‘There now, let yourself go, I’ve got a hold of you. Just let yourself go, you’ll float on the water. Move your arms . . . Aw no, not like that, not up and down like the dogs. Look, stand there a minute and watch me.’ He now lowered himself from the shelf of rock into the deep water and swam back and forth for a short way, calling as he did so, ‘Like this, see. Like this. Use your arms and your shoulders.’

  When he got back on to the shelf he laughed out loud when the boy fell fearlessly on to his face in the shallow water and began to imitate him.

  ‘That’s it, that’s it. Well I never! You’re like a duck.’

  Amos righted himself and stood up, and still with the ecstatic look on his face he began to move his hands over his naked body as if he were feeling contact with it for the first time. Then of a sudden he seemed to go mad. He jumped and waved his arms about and shouted. He did not shout words, just sounds, but the sounds indicated glee, pure unadulterated glee. When, the water supporting him, he began to prance like a mythological horse, Davie cautioned, ‘Steady on, steady on’; but Amos had found that by jumping up he went further down into the water and hit the
rock bottom, which sent him up again.

  It happened so quickly that Davie didn’t realise that it had taken place until he saw the body sinking into the depths; and then he dived. Head first he went through the water that appeared like a silver curtain. His mouth was closed tight but he knew that he was bawling out inside, ‘God Almighty! God Almighty!’ For a moment he couldn’t see the child; then there he was. His hand darting out, he grabbed him by the hair and in the filtered sunlight he saw the boy’s face and it had not a vestige of fear on it. So calm was the countenance that for a moment his mind cried at him, ‘God! he’s dead. He’s dead.’

  When he broke the surface again he held the boy up under the armpits and he pushed him on to the ledge and scrambled after him. Then stooping quickly, he carried him up out of the water and on to the bank, and there, putting him on to his face, he began to pump him. When, after a few minutes, he realised he was breathing he turned him round and on to his back, and the boy gazed up at him, his eyes wide. Then swiftly the child thrust his arms around his neck and pulling himself up to him pressed himself close while a deep gurgle came from his throat before he exploded on a high piercing note, ‘I can swim! I can swim!’

  ‘Swim!’ Davie gazed into the face so close to his. His own body was trembling; he’d never had a shock like that in years. It would be odd that, having once saved his life, he had now to go and drown him. By! he was a little marler; he was going to be a handful all right. He didn’t envy Miss Jane, or anybody else who had to look after him. By God! he had got a shock. What he could do with was a drink; he was shaking like a leaf. ‘Come on,’ he said, loosening the arms from around his neck; ‘it’s time to dry off and get into your togs; enough for once.’