Like Father, Like Son
Page 14
‘Aye, lass, folk will always talk. They did when your father left. But, by the following week, there was something else to take their fancy. Now come on, sit down and have your dinner. I’ll get these tatties out of the side-oven. Is the brisket and pie in the pantry?’ Edmund made for the door.
Polly turned and faced her grandfather. ‘I’m sorry. I’m just lonely and tired, and life is all wrong. I’ll make the dinner.’ She wiped her eyes and gave a wan smile.
‘I know, lass. Life’s been hard this last week or two. You’ve done a good job in that top meadow. It’s worth a new frock, I think.’ Edmund smiled.
‘How do you know I’ve done a good job? You’ve not been up there. You’re too busy with your favourite old sheep.’ Polly smiled.
‘Those blisters between your thumb and fingers tell me you’ve done it. Make sure you put something on them.’ He grabbed Polly’s hands and held them in his. ‘You know I love you, lass. I’ve never told you that before, because I’m an old fool and I never say how I feel. After my day, all this is yours – you do know that?’ His eyes nearly filled with tears as he looked at his beloved Polly and reflected how to do right by her.
‘Give over, you’ll be with us for years yet. And I don’t need to know whose Paradise is. You might change your mind. My father might come back, and Matt might want half, so I don’t even want to know.’
‘No, Paradise should be yours. The solicitor in Hawes knows that, and losing Ada has made me realize that I should tell you. So now you know. Your father will never come back, and Matt was not brought up as ours, so he doesn’t enter into it. So look after it, Pol. Every inch belongs to you.’
‘Sit down, Grandfather, sit down and eat your dinner. I’m not going anywhere, and neither are you. Now, let’s hope the sun shines tomorrow. And then I will have a day in Hawes and, yes, you can buy me a frock in payment for my blisters.’ Polly walked into the whitewashed and slate-shelved pantry and put the beef and pie in her hands. She sighed. How could she lose her temper with the old man seated at the kitchen table? He’d lost just as much as – and more than – her, and she should learn to bite her tongue.
The following morning dawned bright and warm, and Polly breathed in the early morning air that was heavy with the smell of hay, as she stood at the kitchen doorway. The oven was already full with a gooseberry pie and a dozen small plain buns, in preparation for a day spent in the hay-field. She’d fry some bacon and eggs later and place them into sandwiches, and then neither she nor her grandfather had to worry about dinner until nightfall. She’d felt guilty all night, tossing and turning, and going over the words she had said in haste to her grandfather.
‘I thought I could smell something in the oven.’ Edmund came down the stairs and yawned as he reached the kitchen. ‘There was no need to get up this early, lass. We’d have made do with what we already had. After all, there’s only me, you and old Clover.’
‘I thought if I filled the basket like my grandmother used to do, we could be up in the meadow all day. You don’t know how long this weather will last.’ Polly poured a cup of tea and watched as Edmund pulled on his boots.
‘Aye, well, we need the dew to be taken off the grass first. No good taking it into the barn damp, but it looks like the sun will soon do that fairly fast.’ Edmund sipped his tea and stood in the doorway. ‘Looks like I might have to eat my words. I hope you’ve enough in that oven, Polly. We’ve got visitors.’
Polly went and stood behind Edmund and peered over his shoulder.
‘Well, that’s Matt, but who’s with him on the other horse?’ Edmund stared at the two men riding up the lane from the road.
‘It looks like Joe Fothergill, Matt’s best mate. His father has the joinery on the street behind the market hall. You’ll know him, when you see him.’ Polly went and stirred the porridge that was simmering on the fire. ‘I hope they’ve had their breakfasts, else I’ll have to make some more porridge. Come and sit down, and then we’ve had ours, even if they haven’t.’ Polly poured two dishes of porridge out, and Edmund pulled his chair up to the table.
‘Are you two only just having your breakfasts? Me and Joe here have had ours, and ridden down from Hawes, and even caught a trout in the beck for our suppers. Here, you can have mine, if you like.’ Matt held the slippery brown-spotted trout in his hands and teased Polly with it, opening its mouth up and down in front of her, as he strutted into the kitchen and leaned upon the back of her chair.
‘Give over, Matt. I hate fish – they are better off in the beck.’ Polly quickly spooned her porridge into her mouth and then got up from the table. ‘Where’s Joe?’
‘He’s stabling the horses. I left him to it, as he’s better with horses than me. I take it you won’t say no to us both giving you a hand with getting your hay in? Here, Pol, put these fish in the pantry; they need to be cool.’ Matt pulled up a chair and sat across from Edmund.
‘I could just eat a trout – it’s years since I had one, so I’ll not say no to it. And, aye, you’ll be more than welcome to help get in the hay. I never said owt to Polly, but we’d have struggled without your help.’ Edmund leaned back in his chair.
‘We’d have managed. I hate slimy fish!’ Polly washed her hands under the cold-water tap and watched as Joe Fothergill crossed the yard and knocked on the kitchen door. His hair shone nearly white in the summer’s sun, and Polly wondered why she hadn’t noticed his blond good looks before.
‘Come in, lad, we don’t stand on ceremony here.’ Edmund looked at the lanky lad who stood in his doorway. ‘Now I know who you are: your Bob’s lad. I picked my hay-rake off you the other week.’
‘That’s right, Mr Harper. My father and mother have asked me to pass on their condolences. They couldn’t get to the funeral, I’m afraid.’
‘It’s all right, lad, don’t worry. Polly, make them a cup of tea, and then I’ll go and put old Clover into harness. Sit here, Joe. Tell Matt to shift his feet; you’d think he owned the place.’ Edmund pulled a chair out for Joe, not noticing the quick glance between friends with a secret, as he made his way out of the kitchen.
‘Are you all right, Polly? I haven’t seen you since the dance in the hall the other month? Matt here danced you off your feet. I didn’t get a look-in, but of course that was before he knew you were his sister . . . ’ Joe’s conversation trailed off, knowing that he had hit on a delicate subject.
‘I’m fine, thanks, Joe. Sorry I didn’t get a chance to talk to you, but this one here wanted my attention. And then I fell out with Maggie.’ Polly smiled at Joe, who had turned a shade of pink as he tried to cover his words.
‘Hey, Polly, that reminds me: you’ll not have heard the latest. Maggie, your so-called best friend, is off to live in Bradford. Rumour has it she’s having a baby. Her father’s going mad, and old Beattie Swaine is going round the dairy saying it’s only what she expected from her.’ Matt changed the subject quickly.
‘She isn’t! Poor Maggie. Who will she go to in Bradford? I didn’t think she had anyone there!’ Polly stopped in her tracks as she cleared the table. ‘I can’t believe she is in the family way; all she seemed to want to do was give herself to a fella. I couldn’t believe it, when I saw her with that man from the Beresford Band.’ It was Polly’s turn to blush now, remembering that she didn’t know Joe that well and shouldn’t be talking that openly.
‘Aye, she’s a bit outgoing, is Maggie. I think there will be a few men in Hawes wondering if it’s theirs.’ Joe looked wistful. ‘She’s not my sort of lass. You couldn’t count on her looking after your house and bairns.’
‘Oh aye, Joe, so you’re thinking of having a house and bairns, are you? Bloody hell, man, tha’s only twenty – life’s for living! You don’t want to be tied down with all that.’ Matt mocked his friend, just as Edmund caught the tail end of his conversation as he came back into the kitchen.
He looked at his grandson. Matt was the image of Danny, and those words could have been Danny’s – he was his father’s son all r
ight.
‘There’s nowt wrong with having a steady lass on your arm. They are worth ten of any flirty thing, so you think on, Matt. Else you’ll land yourself in trouble, just like your father.’ Edmund looked at Polly. What was she thinking, having fallen for this lad, until she found out that he was her brother? And now Matt was being so flippant with his thoughts.
Polly looked at her grandfather. She could see he was not happy with the way the conversation had gone. The words that Matt had said made her wonder why he’d been so attentive to her. If he wasn’t ready for a proper relationship, why had he persisted in being so close to her? In truth, his words hurt. She’d been just a game to him, she could see that now.
‘I’ll walk your horse and cart up to the top meadow, shall I?’ Joe made for the doorway, sensing that the atmosphere in the kitchen was tense and realizing all too well what his best mate had just said.
‘Aye, all right, lad. We’ll be with you before long.’ Edmund patted Joe on the back. At least he was sensitive to the stupidity of Matt’s words.
Matt watched Joe walk out of the doorway and then sighed. ‘I’m sorry. I was stupid to say that – I wasn’t thinking.’ He put his head in his hands, then looked at both Polly and Edmund.
‘That’s the trouble, lad; neither did your father. And that’s why Polly means everything to me. If she’s ever hurt like that again, you’ll have me to answer to.’ Edmund turned his back on Matt and spat into the kitchen fire.
‘It’s all right. I know he didn’t mean it. I’m not bothered, Grandfather. We are brother and sister, so it isn’t of any consequence to me any more what Matt thinks of his women.’ Polly was trying to ease the tension.
‘Thanks, Polly. You know I didn’t mean to hurt you. I’d best catch Joe up.’ Matt rose from the table and looked at the old man standing over the fire. He was going to have to watch what he said to the old bugger; Edmund was sharper than he thought. Bill Sunter had told him that Edmund was an old stickler, when Matt had talked to him about finding out that Edmund was his grandfather and Polly his sister. Bill had been a fount of knowledge, telling him how his father, Danny, had worked at the family farm for little or no money. Matt had laughed when Bill told him that Danny had loved his women and used to climb out of his bedroom window late at night, in order to go courting without his parents’ knowledge. Bill had also planted a seed of thought in Matt’s head. If anything happened to Edmund, the farm of Paradise should go to his next of kin, which – as it stood – would be Polly, as Edmund would definitely not be leaving anything to his lad. There and then Matt had decided that he was going to worm his way into the family. Paradise would be just right for him. After all, it should rightly be his, for he was the male of the family!
‘I know he’s your brother, but – by, Matt’s got a side of him I don’t like. He’s too bloody much like your father, and he took after my grandmother, and she was a hard woman and all.’ Edmund stood in the doorway, watching Polly take the pie out of the oven. ‘Are you all right? I’m away up to the top meadow.’
‘I’m fine. Matt was only showing off in front of Joe.’ Polly put the pie down quickly on the kitchen table, as the juices from the gooseberries spilt over the edge of it, bubbling and falling in a sticky gloop on the paved floor.
‘Well, as long as you are, lass. Do you want to see this Maggie, before she goes? She’ll need a friend, and now she’ll know what comes of not keeping herself to herself. I’m going to the dairy next week to cancel them taking my milk. I’m going to start sending it to your aunty again, in Liverpool. That Bill Sunter knew what he was doing when he took both you and Matt on – clever bugger. I bet he knows where your father is, but won’t let on. Well, he can bloody well do without our milk, and without you in the shop.’ Edmund swore as he thought about Bill Sunter.
‘If you are going in, yes, I’ll come with you. I know Maggie isn’t much of a friend, but I can’t turn my back on her in that state.’ Polly wiped the floor clear of her spillage with the floor-cloth and smiled at her grandfather.
‘Aye, she’ll need you all right, lass. We’ll go on Monday. Right, I’ll go and sort those two headstrong young lads out. That Joe’s not a bad lad; he seems to have his head screwed on. Are you coming up and helping, when that lot is ready?’ Edmund nodded at the oven.
‘I’ll be up before long. I’ll just fry some bacon for sandwiches. You can manage without me, now you’ve two lads.’
‘Perhaps I can, but one of ’em’s not got much sense; let’s hope he makes up for it in strength.’ Edmund grinned. She was a good ’un, was Polly. She was worth ten of her brother, from the bit he had seen of Matt.
Polly turned the sizzling bacon in the pan and then filled the large wicker basket with her newly baked buns, the gooseberry pie wrapped in a tea-towel, two bottles of home-made lemonade and the cutlery, cups and utensils to enjoy a hearty lunch in the hay-field. She then placed the cooked rashers of bacon onto some newly baked bread and covered them with a tea-cloth, before placing them in her basket. She filled two empty bottles with newly brewed tea. It would be almost cold by the time the men drank it, but nothing quenched the thirst better than a cup of tea in a hot hay-field. As she did this, she remembered the conversations she’d had with Matt, and the memories he had shared about his time on the farm in Dent. She should have known that he’d come and help with getting the hay in. What a shame the day had been spoilt by his stupid, thoughtless outburst. Because that’s what it had been: an outburst of male ego that had shown the worst side of him.
She put her arm through the basket’s handle and hooked it over her arm. It was surprisingly heavy, and made her realize that in years past her grandmother had never been helped in bringing it up to the hay-field. Closing the kitchen door behind her, she made her way through the farmyard and opened the low pasture gate that led to the top meadow.
The smell of chickweed and groundsel from beneath her feet filled the air as she closed the gate behind her. It was now a perfect day: the sky was blue and the sun was beating down; although only mid-morning, its rays were strong. Polly walked slowly up the pasture, the basket handle weighing on her arm and making welt-marks in the pattern of the cane-weave. She rested for a while next to the wild dog rose that was growing in the hedge, and looked down the dale. It was beautiful; she was lucky to live in such a place. The trouble was that she didn’t always feel lucky. She looked up to the high pasture. She could see all three men loading the flat cart with mown hay, and then urging old Clover on a few yards further to the next hillock of dry hay. At least the cattle wouldn’t go hungry this coming winter, for they would have enough to eat. She picked up her basket and started on the last leg of her journey, the short stubble of the hay-field making her walking easier.
‘So you’ve joined us then? We’ve nearly cleared the bottom half. It’s grand hay, really dry.’ Matt leaned on his pitchfork, while Edmund and Joe carried on loading the cart.
‘I just had to wait until everything was out of the oven.’ Polly put her basket down next to her feet. ‘Do you want a drink of lemonade?’ She offered Matt a bottle from her basket, and watched as he wiped away with his hand the sweat that was trickling down his brow. He’d long since abandoned his jacket, and stood in front of her in a collarless striped shirt, with his braces hanging around his waist. He took a long swig from the bottle neck and grinned at Polly. ‘I’d forgotten what hard work this is. Now I know why I like working for Bill Sunter.’
‘Aye, well, at least it’s honest work, and you can have the pleasure of knowing none of our stock will be going hungry this winter.’ Polly looked at Matt. She was trying hard not to notice how handsome he was without his jacket on, and fought back her feelings, reminding herself that he was her brother.
‘Give us a swig of that, Matt. I’m fair gasping – these hay seeds get stuck in your throat.’ Joe came over and grabbed the partly drunk bottle from out of Matt’s hands, gulping the tart lemonade down quickly, until more than half the bottle had gone.
‘Sorry, Pol. I was desperate. That sun’s stronger than it looks, when you’re loading this hay up.’ Joe grinned and passed back the nearly empty bottle.
‘Aye, well, it’ll soon be dinnertime, and we’ll all have a sit and something to eat then.’ Polly put the near-empty bottle back in the basket and made her way over to her grandfather. ‘Want a drink, Grandfather?’
‘Nay, I’ll not bother.’ Edmund lifted his full fork of hay and threw it onto the piled-high cart. ‘You can tell those two this load is ready to go. I’m leaving the hard work to them two. Why keep a dog and bark yourself? These old arms are feeling their age,’ grinned Edmund.
‘I’ll put this basket in the shade under the hedge, and then I’ll go and tell them. Is there anything else you want me to do?’ Polly strode off with the basket and left it in the shade, before returning to Edmund.
‘If you can rake out the hay from the top corner of the field – it’s still a bit green and not dry enough yet for loading – that would be a help. I’ll take that bit in, in the morning. We might as well get all of it in.’ Edmund watched Polly walk off and tell the two lads to take the cartload of hay to the barn and put it up in the hayloft. She then picked up a hay-rake from next to the cart and walked up to the top corner of the meadow, to where the cut grass was still a bit green and in need of a few more hours of sunshine on it, then to be turned one more time.
Joe walked over. ‘Next year, Mr Harper, Matt has asked that I make you a hay-sledge. It won’t be as much work for you, as they are lower to the ground and not as likely to tip over as your cart is, on this steep hillside.’ He grabbed the horse’s reins and chivvied it into motion.
‘Aye, that might be an idea, lad. My father had one, and I’ve always used the cart. But I’m not getting any younger, for throwing forks full of hay around.’ Edmund caught his breath as he watched the young lad lead old Clover to the barn to unload.