by Maggie Hope
‘Brian will be fine with the both of us,’ said Patrick. Today was not the day to start any sort of argument. Best leave things for a while, he thought. Nodding across at Nick he said, ‘I don’t think I’ll be doing much in the way of baby-minding though.’
Karen changed the subject. ‘There’s a card from Annie, look, I’m glad I sent her one. Oh, and see, an embroidered one from Joe. Isn’t it beautiful?’ She arranged them alongside the one from Morton Main on the high mantel shelf decorated with festive tinsel along its length. Closing one hand over the brass rail hanging under the shelf she leaned against it and stared into the fire, reflecting for a few seconds.
The gale did not prove strong enough to prevent the little party from setting out for the concert. Gran loved these meetings with her friends and neighbours and though in some ways Karen would rather have been at home with Patrick and Brian, she still enjoyed herself hugely.
The Chapel was crowded. The concert was part sacred and there was community singing of carols which rang out lustily over the deserted fell in competition with the roar of the gale.
Afterwards they sat down to a groaning board though hardly anyone could do it justice after the Christmas dinner they had eaten at mid-day. And then they were saying goodbye and wrapping up against the wind for the journey home, calling out to each other as they made their way in separate groups over the lonely fell.
The wind had risen further and Karen and Gran huddled together in the back of Fred’s trap behind his family. As they approached the farm entrance with its guardian rowan tree they could see the lighted lamp in the window. Karen felt there was something magical about the darkness and the light, symbol of the love drawing them back to the house.
‘Thanks, Fred, we had a fine time,’ said Gran, echoed by Karen. ‘Merry Christmas, God bless you all.’ She stood waving to the trap as it disappeared down the lonnen and Karen waved dutifully too but felt she couldn’t wait to get inside to the kitchen, the lovely kitchen where Patrick and Brian sat. She had to make sure they were still there, as though they might vanish from her life if she turned her back. She ran ahead of Gran to the door.
‘We’re back!’ she called, and not even waiting to shed her over-boots ran anxiously into the kitchen.
‘So I see.’ Patrick looked up from his seat at the table where he had been reading. He smiled to see her bright face flushed with the cold and her hair all over the place where it had been whipped out of her scarf by the wind. Nick too sat up straighter in his chair by the fire, glad to see her back, happy again.
‘The baby’s asleep,’ he murmured softly, wanting to show that he had been watching Brian. Karen gave him a special smile and walked over to the cradle, looking down at tiny sleeping Brian, his face rosy and his long, dark lashes fanning out on to his cheeks. Love surged through her, love for all three of them.
‘By, you were in a hurry, Karen.’
Gran had followed her into the house but had taken off her outdoor things before entering the kitchen.
‘What a wild night,’ she went on. ‘Never mind, I see you have the kettle on the bar. We’ll have some cocoa before we turn in, eh?’ She bustled about with cups and milk and sugar and soon they were drinking contentedly.
Gran chatted happily about the concert. She felt more alive now the farmhouse was full of family for the first time in years, it was just like the old days. Her face was animated as she talked but the warmth had made Karen sleepy and it was not long before she and Patrick took up the child and went off to bed.
Magic, she thought, as she drifted off to sleep in Patrick’s arms, that’s what today has been, magic. Maybe Patrick had grown used to her going to Chapel. He had looked black for a moment before she went but hadn’t said anything. Nothing was going to spoil their happiness, nothing, she told herself firmly. But still, she would have liked to cast a spell over them all so that they could remain as they were forever. For her feeling of insecurity was not really banished, not yet.
‘I’m worried about Gran,’ Karen said to Patrick one day, a day which was even colder than the one before. Snow was piled high in the lonnen. They were cut off from their neighbours and had been for days.
‘I know what you mean,’ he answered. ‘She doesn’t look well. The cold’s too much for her, I think.’
‘This winter is dragging on longer than usual,’ mused Karen. The cold seemed to diminish Gran somehow. She had complained that morning that it was the worst winter ever and she thought she would never be warm again. Karen watched her in concern as she huddled by the fire. It just wasn’t like Gran to complain, the winter must really be getting her down. ‘I’ll see to the hens,’ she said, and the frightening thing was, Gran didn’t demur. Yet Karen felt safe when they were cut off by the weather. She still dreamed of faceless men dressed in black clerical garb, and woke up in a sweat of fear. In some ways she dreaded the coming of the spring.
She was in the barn one day, watching Nick awkwardly forking hay to the two cows and the ponies which had been brought into shelter as the weather looked like it was blowing up for a blizzard. She had only paused for a moment, but Nick was whistling a tune as he worked, Bobby Shafto it was, and she joined in and sang a verse enjoying the warmth radiating from the animals.
Bobby Shafto’s gone awa’,
Combing down his yellow hair,
He’ll be mine forever mair,
Bonny Bobby Shafto.
Nick grinned in delight. ‘We could have a sing-song the night, Sister,’ he said eagerly. ‘I remember in the Home we had singsongs. By, it was grand.’
Karen laughed. ‘We could do, Nick,’ she began when the door opened and Patrick came in, a flurry of snow behind him. ‘Oh, you’re home early!’ she exclaimed, smiling.
He scowled, looking from her to Nick and back again. ‘What are you doing in here?’ he asked abruptly. ‘Where’s Brian, who’s looking after him?’
‘He’s asleep,’ answered Karen. ‘Gran’s in the house with him, I thought she would be better off in the warm.’ She was perplexed. Something was obviously bothering Patrick. She saw him looking hard at Nick and a suspicion came to her. But surely not … Patrick couldn’t be jealous of Nick?
‘Come into the house, Patrick, and have a proper warm,’ she said. ‘Nick, I’ll have tea ready by the time you’ve finished in here.’
‘Thanks, Sister.’
‘You should call my wife “missus”,’ said Patrick, and Nick flushed.
Karen bit her lip and forebore to say anything about his attitude until they had crossed the yard and entered the scullery. But as they shed their outer clothes, she said quietly, ‘Nick is just a lad, Patrick, don’t be too hard on him.’
‘A lad with a man’s feelings for a woman, that’s what he is. You shouldn’t encourage it, Karen. What were you doing in the barn, laughing and singing with him like that?’
‘Patrick! You can’t think –’
‘No? Then why does he follow you about with his dog’s eyes? Why is he always ready to jump to do your bidding?’
‘Patrick, Patrick, he’s an orphan boy. He thinks of me as a substitute mother, that’s all. Why, man, he still has the reactions of a bairn. Don’t resent Nick, please. He has nowhere else to go.’
They had been speaking softly so that Gran, in the kitchen, wouldn’t hear them but she still had sharp ears and now she called through to the scullery.
‘What are you two doing loitering in there on a day like this? Have a bit of sense and come into the warm.’
‘Coming,’ said Karen. She stared up into Patrick’s face but could read little there except a faint hostility. ‘Nick’s only nineteen,’ she whispered. ‘He must think of me as an old woman.’
Patrick grunted and turned away, walking into the kitchen in front of her. She watched his back and sighed. Maybe she should feel flattered that he was jealous, she thought, but in reality it just made life uncomfortable for the three of them. Nick would feel the atmosphere and it would upset him. It’s all in Pat
rick’s imagination, she told herself, he’ll get over it. But if it comes to it, I’ll not let him send Nick away, it’s not fair on him.
As it happened, Patrick didn’t say any more about Nick. Perhaps he’s realized he was being silly, Karen thought, and sighed. She herself was beginning to realize that her husband had faults just like anyone else, he was only human after all.
When Nick came in he held a wary look in his eyes when he looked at Patrick and he called Karen ‘missus’, as commanded. Karen felt a small surge of anger and almost told Nick to call her Karen, but refrained from saying anything. Perhaps she had been independent too long, she thought. It was only after she was in bed, snuggled against Patrick’s back, that she remembered they had not had that sing-song after all.
Chapter Twenty-Four
‘WILL YOU COME with me to see my parents?’ Karen asked Patrick one evening as they prepared for bed. She had been steeling herself to ask him all day, building herself up to it for weeks, and at last she had managed it.
‘Oh, Karen, I don’t know,’ he answered. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, taking off his socks. He paused, gazing down at the socks, his face troubled.
‘We have to take Brian to see them, Patrick, it’s only right,’ she urged. ‘There was the excuse of the weather before, but now the snow’s going –’
Patrick rolled the socks into a ball and threw them on to a chair. ‘We’ll go then,’ he said calmly, surprising her by his easy acceptance. ‘When do you think?’
‘Saturday? I can write to them, let them know we’re coming.’
‘If you like,’ he said, climbing into bed. ‘Now for the love of God, woman, come to bed. I’m dead on my feet.’
Karen hurried to do his bidding. Indeed he did look tired, lines of exhaustion circling his eyes. She turned to him and he took her in his arms and kissed her brow. But then she felt his arms slacken and saw he was fast asleep.
It’s my fault, Karen thought, worry nagging her. The farm can’t keep us all. If it had been capable of supporting a family without any outside work to supplement the income, Gran’s sons would not have had to go away to work in the coalfield. The small-holdings had been created for lead miners, that was the trouble, and now there was no lead mining in the dale and very little limestone quarrying. And Nick’s pension, which had only just come through, was small and barely paid for his board. If Brian was older she could get nursing work in Stanhope, but she couldn’t leave him yet. It was a thought for the future, though. She lay awake, listening to the rhythmic breathing of Patrick and the occasional tiny snort from Brian in his cot at the foot of the bed. He was just recovering from a cold. Now they had decided to go to Morton Main, she began to feel apprehensive about the meeting with her father and mother. And once she began to feel a little low, her mind running relentlessly on and on over her money worries. She’d had to dip into her meagre savings for the last month’s grocery bill from the store. If she carried on doing that the savings wouldn’t last long.
These last three weeks, Patrick had worked at the lime burning kilns with John Bainbridge, Fred’s son. This was the usual work for the men of the dale in the winter and spring and Patrick had worked from dawn till long after the early dusk, carting coke from Stanhope with Polly harnessed to the old cart. He found it hard.
Karen tried to think of other ways to make extra money, anything. But the small farm on the fell was only fifty-two acres, with allotment of four cows and thirty-six sheep allowed to graze the moor. And even this allotment had not been kept up when Gran was on her own. Now it had to be built up and it cost money to do that. And there was the rent. That was £52 a year.
Oh, Lord, she thought, why do things always look black in the small hours? Deliberately she decided to count her blessings rather than her worries.
Spring was coming, wasn’t it? And Patrick would become used to the hard work, he was a fit and healthy man, wasn’t he? And there was Nick. Though he only had one arm, he was still useful on the farm, especially when Patrick was away working, and a grand help to her with the animals. And she had Patrick and Brian, wasn’t any hardship worth that?
On cue, Brian hiccuped and woke up, and she slipped out of bed and picked him up, offering him her breast. He grabbed the nipple hungrily and sucked away and she was thankful that his cold didn’t seem to be bothering him. His nose must be free for breathing if he could suck so lustily. The quiet contentment which suckling the baby always gave her settled on her mind. She finished feeding him and laid him down in his cradle again, rocking it gently for a few minutes until he fell asleep. Then she climbed back into bed, her mood lighter, and snuggling up to Patrick, fell asleep.
‘By, it’s good to be alive,’ Karen exclaimed. ‘Aren’t the flowers grand?’
‘They are indeed,’ said Patrick. They were walking along the lane to the road where they would meet the bus for Stanhope. Karen had Brian in her arms and Patrick carried a basket of fresh eggs and butter which Gran had insisted on sending for the family in Morton Main.
‘I wish you could have come with me,’ Karen had said to her, but Gran had shaken her head.
‘Nay, lass, I’m all right here, with Nick to help me with the animals. Somebody has to stay to see to them. No, it’s best you go and make your peace with your da. The sooner you go the better for everybody.’
But Karen wasn’t thinking of the meeting with her parents, not yet. It was enough to savour the day and the rare outing from the work of the farm. The harsh sharpness of the moorland air which caught at the breath during the long winter months had softened to an invigorating tang which was almost intoxicating. The very air was optimistic in the spring, she mused, especially now that awful war was over. She shifted Brian on to her other arm. He was growing, she thought happily, getting quite a weight.
‘You’re here then,’ said Kezia. ‘I’ve been watching for you. I thought you might like to have a cup of tea with us before you see Da.’
Patrick frowned and Karen said swiftly, ‘There’s no need for that, is there? I wrote to them an’ all, they’re expecting us.’
‘Please yourself,’ said Kezia tartly. ‘I just thought you might want to catch your breath, like.’
‘We’ll go straight in if you don’t mind, Kezia,’ said Karen. ‘We’ll see you later, will we?’
‘Mebbe. Luke’s in fore shift and he’ll be in for his dinner, and there’s the lads’ll be coming in for theirs. They’re at the Sunshine Corner at Chapel. And little Meg’s fretful.’
‘Oh. I hope she’s not sickening for anything?’
Karen clutched little Brian closer to her and Kezia noticed and smiled in understanding.
‘Nay, lass,’ she said. ‘It’s her teeth. She’s cutting a double tooth.’ A child wailed in the house behind her and Kezia glanced over her shoulder. ‘I’ll have to go in and see to her. Don’t worry, Karen, it’ll be all right with Mam and Da, you’ll see.’
Patrick had said nothing at all during the short exchange between the sisters. His face was impassive; he could have been just an interested bystander.
Karen knocked at the door of number two then felt like an idiot. Why on earth had she done that? Pressing down the thumbpiece of the sneck latch, she opened the door and went in, followed by Patrick.
Mam and Da were in the kitchen, sitting on either side of the fireplace. The room was spotless, not a thing out of place, and Da had on his Sunday suit while Mam was in her good woollen dress. Karen could have cried. There they were, arrayed as for company. Was she not their daughter any more?
Da got to his feet and went to them. Gravely he kissed Karen on the cheek and, hesitating only a moment, held out his hand to Patrick.
‘Now then, Karen, Patrick,’ he said.
‘Hallo, Da,’ she said. ‘We’ve brought your grandson to see you both.’
‘And not before time,’ he answered. ‘It’s long past when we should have made our peace with each other and I pray the Lord will forgive us for it.’ He pulled the blanket awa
y from Brian’s face and gazed at the sleeping baby. ‘He’s more like his da than you, our Karen,’ he observed, his tone lighter now he had said his piece.
‘Eeh, Karen, let’s have a look.’
Mam had risen and Da stood aside for her to look at Brian.
‘Nay, I don’t know, lad,’ she said. ‘He does have a look of our Joe when he was a bairn.’ She looked up at Karen and smiled. ‘Hello, pet,’ she said softly.
Karen put her free arm around the frail shoulders and kissed her. Rachel’s cheek was wet with tears.
‘Come and sit down, Mam,’ she said gently. ‘You can hold the bairn while I take off my coat.’
‘I was going to mash some tea –’ her mother began.
‘I’ll do it in a minute,’ Karen insisted.
She covered her rush of emotion by busying herself with the kettle and teapot. The best teaset was already out on the embroidered linen cloth which covered the bare boards of the table. Mam sat crooning to the baby and Brian woke up and stared solemnly up at her, with Patrick’s black-fringed eyes.
Patrick … oh, she hadn’t even introduced him properly! Karen suddenly remembered that he hadn’t even met her parents before today. She had brought him in to the house and almost forgotten he was there.
‘Da,’ she said, turning to begin a belated introduction, ‘Da –’
But her father was pulling out a seat for Patrick.
‘I’ll take your coat,’ he said courteously, and waited while Patrick put the basket of eggs and butter on the table and took off his coat. Da took it over to the hook behind the door and then turned sternly to the younger man, his tone changing.
‘So you are my daughter’s man,’ he said. ‘Are you treating her right? You don’t stop her from going to Chapel, do you? And you a Catholic, I mean.’
‘I don’t stop her,’ said Patrick.
‘Aye, well, I had to ask you. There’s those Irish up at Paddy’s Row, spend half their time in the pub at Morton. You drink strong liquor, do you?’
