A Country Marriage

by Sandra Jane Goddard

  Looking out through the tiny window at her laundry flapping in the wind, she sighed. Maybe she was just being overly fearful. After all, she knew well enough that he was possessed of a forward manner and so wasn’t it entirely possible that it was simply as he had said; that he had been out for a stroll and feeling bored – or inclined to mischief – had thought to amuse himself? Ultimately, it had proved harmless. And that being the case, then perhaps she wouldn’t mention it to George, since not only did she risk making a fool of herself but also of causing trouble where, just maybe, none had been intended.

  *

  A week or so later and Mary was again standing in the garden contemplating the morning ahead. It was another fine day, the sky appearing to have been fashioned from handfuls of puffy white fluff thrown joyously against the exuberant blue of the heavens. And deciding to make the most of it, she went back indoors to fetch the blankets that had spent the mouldy months of winter growing stale on their bed.

  When she stepped back outside moments later, her attention was caught by a robin redbreast bobbing up and down on the roof of the woodshed as it gave forth a burst of liquid song; a few plaintive phrases before a pause to listen for a rival’s response. Cocksure, it puffed out its scarlet feathers and she smiled, thinking it curious that when faced with an adversary, human beings and birds both chose to puff out their chests. And with Annie in her Christmas finery coming back to mind, it occurred to her that it wasn’t only the males of the species that did so, either. She shook her head and laughed, and with the blankets beginning to weigh heavy on her arm, started to hum as she spread them along the line.

  ‘If I were you, I’d take that last one off again sharpish, since I fear that your line is about to give way.’ Startled, she spun about. Tom. And although it appeared that he had been watching from the corner of the cottage, he was now walking towards the apple tree and the end of her line. ‘Lift ’em off again and I’ll take up the slack for you.’ Unnerved by the way he seemed to have arrived from nowhere, she nevertheless did as he instructed and then carried the heavy blankets back indoors, returning moments later to find that he had already tied off the line higher up. ‘There, that should do it.’ For a moment, she stood watching him test the line with his hand, and then when he seemed satisfied with his handiwork she turned to go and retrieve the blankets. But as she lifted them from the table, she could feel that he had followed her in and was standing close behind her. What on earth was he doing? She spun around, ready to challenge him, but before she could form her thoughts into words, he was saying, ‘Here, allow me,’ while in the same instant picking up the blankets and then heading back out to the line. ‘Hang away then, young Mary,’ he commanded as she arrived alongside him. His authority seemed to leave her little choice and so, taking particular care to avoid the directness of his stare, she took the blankets one at a time from his arms and hung them back over the line. ‘There; see how they no longer drag the cobbles?’

  What, precisely, was he trying to do: ingratiate himself into her good books? Make amends for unsettling her the other day? Unsettle her further? It was completely beyond fathoming, except that if it was the latter, then he was succeeding.

  ‘Yes. And I thank you for that.’

  ‘Think nothing more of it. Now, what else can I do for you while I’m here?’

  Leave, was what she wanted to say; not that she would dare.

  ‘Nothing, thank you, truly.’

  ‘You certain?’

  Why this sudden desire to be helpful? After all, it was George’s contention that he was utterly work-shy. It didn’t make sense.

  ‘Yes, truly, there’s nothing, not unless you fancy chopping that pear wood.’

  ‘Chop wood for you, eh?’

  She had meant her suggestion to sound light-hearted, imagining that either he would appreciate the joke or, at the prospect of having to break into a sweat, would simply invent a reason to leave. Unfortunately, while he did indeed seem amused, he also seemed in no hurry to leave. In fact, he seemed to be unbuttoning his waistcoat as though preparing to set to work.

  ‘Oh, but I wasn’t serious!’

  ‘No, no, young lady. Your wish, as they say…’

  And since he was already setting off down the slope, she was left to scamper in his wake.

  ‘No, truly, I beg you, leave it be. George will get to it soon enough, he just ain’t had the time this last week.’

  ‘Then allow me to set straight to it.’

  She stood bewildered, watching as he cast an eye over the tangle of pruned branches and then ducked into the woodshed. What had she done? What had she done? Now he would be here for ages. And she would have to be nice to him. What moment of madness had made her think that it was safe to jest with the man?

  From inside the woodshed came the sound of him sorting through George’s tools and then, when it fell quiet, she saw him reappear with an axe and a saw and carry them over to the trees where he laid them on the grass. Without further comment, he slipped off his waistcoat, held it out for her to take and then set about pulling the nearest branch from the pile.

  Good heavens: he was actually going through with it. Against all the odds and in the face of everything George often said about him, he truly was going to chop firewood. George. Oh Good Lord. He would be livid.

  In front of her eyes, though – and with nothing she could think to do about it apart from wrestle the saw from his hands – neat piles of logs and kindling were already building up. She shifted her weight. She rubbed her arms. She shrugged her shoulders. And then, utterly dismayed, she went back indoors. But even once she was inside, she was still drawn to keep checking through the window on his progress. Weighing in her mind the size of the remaining heap of branches against the completed stack of logs, she tried to work out how much longer the job would take him. And then it struck her that if he was determined to see this through, there was nothing she could do about it. In the name of politeness, she would take him a drink – after all, he did seem to be thoroughly applying himself to the task – and then she would simply leave him to it.

  ‘Ale?’ she asked, walking down the garden to hold the mug at arm’s length.

  ‘Grateful, I’m sure,’ he replied, accepting it from her and downing the contents in one go.

  And then, fetching a pail of water, she went back inside and tried to give her attention to scrubbing carrots. And then peeling potatoes. Now he must be almost done. And then a swede. And then a glance through the window revealed that he appeared to have finished. Quickly, she set aside her paring knife, and wiping her hands on her apron, went to the door, only to see that he was now carrying the logs into the woodshed. No, she willed. No more. Go back home.

  ‘Well, thank you very much for that, then. I can do the rest of it later,’ she said tentatively, arriving alongside him as he gathered another armful of logs.

  When he looked up at her, his surprise was seemingly genuine.

  ‘What? Leave you to struggle with it when I’m already on hand? No, that wouldn’t do at all. At least allow me to finish the job.’

  With a sigh of frustration, she retraced her steps to the kitchen. Still, now he really was nearly done and very soon, he would be gone. She might be no closer to working out how to explain it to George but at least he would be gone.

  ‘Now remember, young Mary,’ he announced, throwing back the door and striding in, ‘pear-wood needs lengthy seasoning, so don’t go tryin’ to put it on the fire yet.’

  She nodded vigorously.

  ‘No, no I won’t. Thank you for troubling to remind me.’

  ‘No trouble.’ And then, in a single movement, he peeled his shirt over his head; his pink and glistening chest far too close for comfort and the width of his slippery grin suggesting that he was drawing great delight from her unease. ‘Well, I’ll just go an’ wash up then.’

  When he went back out through the door, she almost collapsed with relief. Making mischief; that was what he was doing. Once too often sh
e’d let him see how easily embarrassed she was and now it was beyond him to resist making her flush. Yes – and not only that but he knew she wouldn’t rebuke him for it, either. And all this just when she thought that Annie had stopped behaving quite so horribly, too. What a pair the two of them were. Well, he’d had his fun for the day, so now she would—

  ‘That’s more like it. Though I’ll warrant I’ve still sawdust in my hair.’

  ‘Well, thank you again,’ she said, determining not to be drawn. ‘I’m obliged, truly but surely you must need to get back?’ Feeling the unsteadiness of her hands, she pressed them to her hips.

  ‘Not necessarily. Not if there’s anythin’ else I can do for you.’

  Oh good grief. Please, no more of these games! Go home. Put your shirt back on. Cover up and go home.

  ‘I—’ She closed her eyes; the sight of his pasty flesh making her feel nauseous. Didn’t he remember that she was pregnant and prone to queasiness? If he did then evidently he didn’t care, because with no attempt at disguise, he was now looking her up and down. She flushed, her cheeks feeling hotter than the fire in the hearth. The man was shameless. He was also, clearly, not about to leave. In fact, as if to stoke her fear, he was stepping further inside and pushing the door firmly closed behind him. With matters well beyond simple mischief now and uncertain what he might do next, she backed away until, feeling the wall behind her, she could go no further. In less than two of his strides he was up against her, his hands coming to rest on the wall to either side of her shoulders, his expression suggesting that he was enjoying seeing how flustered she was.

  ‘My, you’re quite the little sweetie, aren’t you, what with all that blushing?’ Leering down at her, his face was so close that his features had become little more than a sallow blur. ‘And evidently ʼtis summat my rascal of a brother likes about you, too. Or,’ he whispered in her ear, his breath hot and damp, ‘is it more likely that tight little maidenliness of yours that fires him so? Or indeed, summat else that’s all nice and unspoilt; summat even more enticing, eh? Sly devil; never crossed my mind that he was one to be stirred by such things.’ With the shock from suddenly understanding what he meant, her pulse started to race even faster, obliterating even the peculiar gushing sound that seemed to be coming from inside her skull. She needed to do something; to stop whatever it was he had in mind to do. Since he was much bigger and more powerful than she was, there was clearly little point in wasting her strength trying to fight him off but maybe she could reason with him. It didn’t feel like the strongest of ideas but it was the only one she had, and so taking a preparatory breath she went to say something, only to feel his fingers over her mouth and smell the traces of sawdust and earth on his craggy hands. ‘No, no, don’t start protesting now. See, I know all about young girls like you, Mary; all that passion disguised as purity, all them unmet desires lurking undiscovered and no courage to ask for what you really want. Well, count your blessings I’m here to give it to you, then. After all, I’ll wager you’ve got the moistest little mouth, eh? So what do you think on it then; does your obligedness to me for all that chopping earn me a reward? Now there’s a pretty picture and no mistake: you on your knees, displaying your gratitude, just to get us going, so to speak.’

  ‘Wh-at?’ The sound coming from her throat was faint and unsteady. Reason with him, she reminded herself. You’ve got to reason with him. ‘All them things about bein’ friendly an’ helpful and all the time you wanted to… well…’

  ‘Well?’

  ‘Well whatever you were hoping for, you’re much mistaken!’

  ‘Truly?’ he asked, apparently undeterred, her indignation simply seeming to fire him further. ‘Now see, I don’t think that’s true, Mary. And you know, there’s no need to pretend for my benefit. See, I can picture what you’d like right now, oh yes, I can indeed and I don’t mind saying that it fair rouses me. I mean, it’s all right to feel such a desire an’ so terrible not to be able to satisfy it. And I can’t think how lonely you must be up here on your own all day an’ then with George comin’ home so tired at night. I mean, if he can’t find time nor energy to chop wood for you, well, I’m minded to wonder what else he can’t manage, eh?’ With his clammy chest smothering her face, she tried to cry out but her mouth seemed locked shut. ‘Don’t werret so,’ she became aware of him continuing more softly, ‘I give you my word you’re safe with me. George need never know. Look, I know you’re nervous, ’tis natural enough but there’s excitement in your eyes. You really do want this, don’t you? So how about we start with that nice little mouth an’ see where it gets us?’ Pressing her lips firmly together, she concentrated her eyes beyond his shoulders to the far wall. There was a brown stain in the shape of a winter cabbage high up near the ceiling, and she wondered how she had never noticed it before. Perhaps the light was playing tricks. ‘No? Well, that’s a shame an’ no mistake, since I fancy you’d enjoy it and I know I would, especially once I learned you how to do it just right but no matter, I can get straight to it, if that’s what you want; if you truly can’t wait. See, I’m just the man for this, Mary. I know just what you need and I also know how it ain’t what you get from George. So come on now: after all I done for you out there don’t even think about refusing me. Turn around. Lift up your skirt. Let me see the treat waiting between them nice, pale little cheeks of yours. An’ don’t be shy about enjoying it, either. Don’t hold back on my account; I’ve a particular fondness for a woman who cries out—’

  The sharp crack that rang from the walls left them both momentarily surprised. And in the brief seconds when he was still in shock from her slap, she slipped underneath his arm, ran across the room, flung open the door and, on quivering legs, ran out and up the bank where she stood in the lane, breathing heavily and wondering what to do. Much as she had feared, there wasn’t a soul to be seen in either direction but then, through her confusion, she heard the church bell. She turned wildly in its direction. Midday. Surely, then, he would need to return to the farm for dinner? Surely he wouldn’t wish to invite suspicion by being late. She spun around, and seeing the hedge on the other side of the lane, crawled through a gap at the bottom, grateful for the chance to regain her breath as she crouched in the damp grass on the other side. She could feel her heart still thudding in her chest, while at her feet a rosette of dew-covered dandelion leaves blurred in and out of focus as, without the least warning, she was sick. Shaking uncontrollably, she crawled a few feet away, and hugging her knees squatted low in the wet grass, wiping at her mouth with her skirt. Her face and hands felt clammy and she was perspiring profusely as anger began to replace panic. What on earth did he think she would have done with him? Did he even for one moment think that she would betray her husband; his own brother, for heaven’s sake? And that was without considering what it was that he had actually been proposing. And didn’t he realise that she would have to tell George? Surely he knew that she would, so to carry on in such a manner was madness; beyond all understanding. And why hadn’t he left the cottage yet?

  After what seemed to be ages, she finally heard the door creaking open, and leaning across to peer through the hedge, saw him coming calmly up the steps to the lane. And as if to add insult to injury, as he walked away she could see that he was munching on one of the carrots that she had been about to chop for supper.

  *

  Glad to have reached the end of another working day, and feeling as though his stomach had been replaced by a vast and echoing cavern, George took the steps down the bank to Keeper’s Cottage two at a time and pushed open the door.

  ‘Oh thank the Lord you’re here! I’ve near fretted myself to death!’

  Initially stopped in his tracks by the pallor of his wife’s face, he hastened across the room.

  ‘Mary, whatever’s the matter?’

  ‘Oh, George, a terrible, terrible thing happened… an’ I didn’t know what to do so I sat here all afternoon and waited for you to come home.’

  ‘What? What?’ he aske
d, crouching beside her and searching her eyes for a clue. ‘Is it the baby? What’s happened, Mary? Tell me.’

  ‘Oh, George, it was wicked of me I know but he deserved it, truly he did. Forgive me but I hit him! I hit your brother! But I had to…’

  With no idea what she was talking about, all he could think to do was coax her gently up out of the chair and put his arms around her.

  ‘Mary, look, I’m here now, so whatever it is, just try an’ tell me what’s happened.’ Feeling her face pressed against his shirt and the way that her huge sobs were shaking the length of her body, he waited while she collected herself and then listened as she started to recount the details of his brother’s visit. And although struggling to follow her haphazard recollection of events, with each of her faltering words he could feel disbelief pressing harder and harder against the inside of his skull. Eventually, though, when her tale seemed to peter out, he sat her back in the chair and bent down in front of her. ‘It’s all right, Mary. I know it must have been frightening for you but you’ve no reason to fear that I’m cross with you. ʼTis plain this wasn’t of your making, so all I ask is that you think real careful and tell me for certain that’s what happened.’

  ‘It is! I told you,’ she sobbed. ‘If you don’t believe me, go an’ look at the pear wood. Or the clothesline.’ For a moment he didn’t understand what she was talking about. ‘Truthfully, George, he couldn’t have been more plain about it.’

  Softening his voice from the pitch it had reached in his head, he took hold of her arms.

  ‘It’s all right; I don’t need to go an’ look at anything. I believe you. So, now, why don’t you take the warming pan an’ go an’ get yourself abed while I go and sort it out.’

  *