A Country Marriage

by Sandra Jane Goddard

  ‘And pray tell me, what would you know about it?’ he asked, swivelling towards Tom’s slack-mouthed grin.

  ‘Enough to see the same as anyone with a mind to, which is that no master in the land is going to give in to menace from mere labourers. I mean, stop for a moment and think about it proper, George; masters are masters for a reason and that’s to keep in check those who know no better. And that’s how it should be, since the truth of the matter is that these so-called protestors are nothing more than thugs, with whom it seems you share a worrying affiliation.’

  Oh how he loathed his brother’s pompous attitude!

  ‘So you don’t count yourself a labourer then?’

  ‘Me? Not even for one moment, brother. Not even for one moment.’

  ‘Then you delude yourself, although no, with further thought on the point, you could be right because to be called a labourer would require you to do some work.’

  ‘Oh wit now, is it? Well I’ll tell you this; even with these… these mythical leaders riding about the countryside whipping up discontent, mere labourers will never succeed in rising up against their betters.’ The force of Tom’s finger jabbing into his shoulder momentarily pushed him off balance, but somehow he resisted the urge to swipe him away. ‘No, when it comes down to it, they’ll have no stomach for it; they may not like it but they need their employment and their homes far too much to risk losing them. And even if workers like them weren’t ten a-penny, their demands still wouldn’t ever be met. It’s not the way of things. It never has been and it ain’t about to change any day soon. And that, George, is because ’tis plainly a case of once a labourer, always a labourer.’

  Incensed now that his brother should intend him such a personal slight – especially as they had laboured alongside each other in common endeavour these last four days – his hand shot up from his side – but just as he felt it forming into a fist, he caught sight of his father coming out of the barn.

  ‘Come on then, get in here you pair of girls an’ give your brothers a hand with they trestles,’ he called, apparently oblivious to the animosity that had flared only moments earlier.

  *

  Back in the kitchen, talk from the women kept returning to their exhaustion, almost as though by voicing their desire for enjoyment, they felt they were tempting fate to deny it them.

  ‘Oh, what I’d give for a sit down.’

  ‘Aye, I don’t know so much about dancing; my poor feet’s killing me already.’

  ‘Mine too. I’m already beyond fit to drop.’

  ‘Honestly, you lot,’ Hannah interjected, ‘if truth be told, you can none of you wait to get across there and dance until you fall down!’

  ‘Aye,’ Annie was quick to agree, ‘but tonight that could be a lot sooner than we’d like.’

  Anticipation, though, wasn’t confined to the women; in the yard, Tom and Will were lighting pitch-torches, while in the barn, where the lanterns were already aglow, the musicians were warming up with snatches of tunes; and as the villagers who had helped with the harvest started to arrive with their families, their added eagerness seemed to make the excitement almost tangible, shining from every pair of eyes and spilling out from every set of lips.

  Standing among them, her satisfaction evident in her stance, Hannah cast her eyes over the tables laid ready with food.

  ‘Well,’ she remarked to Mary, ‘generous though it seems, it’ll be gone in minutes. But though I say so as one who shouldn’t, I defy anyone to find fault.’

  ‘It feels like we’ve been baking for days,’ she agreed, ‘but George has told me so much about harvest home that I been looking forward to this for ages.’

  ‘Aye, fair warms my heart to see the place come alive again,’ she heard Hannah saying with a sigh. ‘There don’t seem so many of the big occasions nowadays, you know, but then maybe ’tis just me gettin’ old. Time plays some cruel tricks with a person’s memory.’

  Back indoors, Ellen had already announced that she was too worn out to fuss and bother with changing her clothes but in contrast, Annie and Tabitha had long since disappeared upstairs to wash and dress. For her part, Mary had changed into a clean skirt – although to her mind it looked much like the one she had been wearing all day – and put on the only pretty blouse she possessed. Running her finger along the satiny ribbon at the neckline, she remembered George telling her once that when it shimmered in the light it made her look sweet; and, smiling at the memory, she was just making her way back to the kitchen when she saw Annie coming along the hallway; the sight of such self-assurance bringing her to a sudden halt. Wearing what Mary recognised as the white ruffled blouse from Christmas and the same gold chain about her neck, she was fastening gold-coloured earrings, and as she wafted past, her expression distant, she could hear the rustle of petticoats beneath her skirt. And left standing in a cloud of something that smelled like the scent of roses, she felt her spirits plummet. Why was it that, faced with Annie’s composure, she always felt plain and girlish; like a daughter rather than a wife? Still, she reminded herself, this evening was supposed to be about enjoyment, not about impressing everyone. But even while she was thinking it, she knew there could be no disguising the fact that when it came to womanliness, Annie was always going to make her feel entirely inadequate.

  Chapter 10

  Harvest Home

  From just inside the doorway of the barn, Thomas Strong looked about, ascertaining as best he could that everyone was present. Then he got up on a stool and called for order. Gradually, the babble of voices fell silent and all eyes came to rest on his face, ruddy now from the glow of the lanterns. Already the barn was warm from the heat of so many bodies and after the day’s exertion his wrinkled forehead glistened.

  ‘Family, friends, one and all!’ he announced, and threw up his arms in a gesture of welcome. ‘ʼTis my greatest pleasure to welcome you all here and to invite you to feast on this bountiful spread so ably prepared by my lovely wife and her helpers.’ In response to the hearty cheer that rang out, he held up a hand and waved a finger. ‘And to thank you all for your labours in the safe gathering-in of this year’s harvest…’ This time his words met with the thunder of stamping feet, at which, with a teasing grin, he paused, well aware that no one dare touch anything from the feast until he had made his final pronouncement: ‘We ha’ it in lads, we ha’ it in!’

  ‘We ha’ it in!’

  In the far corner, the musicians struck up a jig that was instantly drowned by the noisy surge towards the tables of food, and from her position seated on a pile of straw in the opposite corner, Mary surveyed the scene, happy to rest her feet and dine from a plate that George had already piled high with food for her. There was a pie of ham and leek made with Hannah’s unmistakeable crusty pastry, a sharp, crumbly cheese and a pickle so fiery that the first mouthful had made her eyes water. Grateful for the mug of barley water at her side, she surveyed the villagers, now spread out in groups across the floor of the barn and in particular, three women of around Hannah’s age, who were sitting not far away.

  ‘She never did!’ she heard the woman in a red headscarf exclaim.

  ‘She did! I tell you it without word of a lie,’ she was assured by her well-rounded friend.

  ‘Shameless!’

  ‘And she’s a deal older than she’ll let you think, too,’ the third added, reaching for a jar of cider lying at her side. With little difficulty, she pulled the stopper and hearing the whoomp as it left the jar, Mary watched her take a long swig and then wipe her mouth with the back of her hand. ‘Ha!’ she remarked, offering the jar in the direction of her companions. ‘Well, it’ll end in tears, you mark my words,’ she prophesised as the other two women took turns to draw similarly long draughts. ‘No good ever came from a woman her age carrying on like that!’

  A little further away, six or seven young girls were sitting in a huddle on the floor. Despite pretending to be engrossed in their own company, every now and then they raised their heads and looked across to
where a number of young lads were leaning against the side of the barn, trying their best to look indifferent. One or two of them were quite good-looking, she noticed, as a flutter of giggles like the wings of startled pigeons went up from the group of girls, followed by a good deal of red-faced and dismissive banter among the lads. She smiled to herself and, looking from one group to the other, wondered how long it would be before the first daring lad made his move. It wasn’t long before her question was answered, though, as the fiddler called ‘A Maiden’s Blush’ and the youngsters stirred themselves for a dance. Straight away, the tallest of the lads descended upon the girls and held out his hand to one with fair hair. Good for him, she thought, watching as two lines of dancers formed – the women on one side and the men on the other – and the fiddler played the opening notes. In little more than a few bars of music, the dancers’ feet had kicked up a haze of dust almost knee high, while to the sight of flouncing skirts and bobbing heads, the music steadily gained speed until it came to an abrupt end and a relieved cheer from the gasping participants.

  Beyond the breathless dancers, Mary’s eyes came to rest on George and Will. Apparently deep in discussion they were leaning against the doorframe, mugs in hand, each of them gesturing with their free arm. And in front of them, she saw Thomas seated at a table with a group of his cronies, their senses seemingly already blurred by ale.

  ‘…no, I told them straight an’ no messing…’ she heard him say, a statement that met with sage but unsteady nods all round.

  Seeing that the next dance was about to start, she got to her feet, and shaking the straw from her skirt, wended her way between the groups of villagers to her husband. Giving him a pleading look, she unfastened the mug from his clammy grip and ignoring his protests about being worn out, dragged him across to join the dance. Although he claimed to be hopeless, she thought he managed a surprisingly presentable turn, smiling back at her until the music ended, when he reached to steady himself on her arm.

  ‘Having… a good time?’ he asked, doubled over and panting.

  She nodded, still breathless.

  ‘Aye… ’tis fun.’

  ‘Indeed… although I could do… with some air.’

  ‘Me too.’

  ‘And just bear in mind that my dancing… is now done for the night!’

  Following him towards the door, she frowned. One dance? That was all? That single dance with him was to be her enjoyment for the evening? Still, to be fair, he had spent the last three days harvesting and she had now seen for herself just what exhausting work that was. She looked across at him, doubled over and leaning against the wall for support. Yes, all things considered, perhaps it was unreasonable to expect much from him tonight. And since she was beginning to feel chilly now, she would leave him to catch his breath.

  ‘Truth is,’ she heard her father-in-law saying as she went in through the door and the music drew to a close, ‘to my way of looking at it, we’d all be better off for it.’

  ‘Well, ’cept for them big landowners,’ one of his companions was pointing out.

  ‘And them clergy folk, living off the back of our toil,’ another was saying.

  ‘Maybe, maybe not,’ she heard Thomas agree. ‘See, the way I reckon it, if them damned tithes were lowered, I could pay some hands.’ To this statement, Mary saw his cohorts nodding and her father-in-law looking about at their faces. ‘Bill, you’ll most likely remember when Grandpa Strong ran this place?’

  ‘I remember it well. As fair a man as any about these parts, I always said.’

  ‘Aye, an’ a tidy business he made of it, too,’ Thomas agreed. ‘But more to the point, he always had two farm servants and two, even three, day hands. And that’s without reckoning on the family labour. And there was still enough for everyone. So it stands to reason that if they stopped robbing me blind and left me sufficient to pay a couple of labourers, then more men could provide for their families instead of falling on the mercy of the parish.’

  ‘’Tis true that, aye, very true.’

  ‘But as it is now, year upon year they pay no heed, no heed whatsoever to the vagaries of the Lord’s weather… or the precariousness of the harvest, so while they’re sitting pretty, I’m left without even the wherewithal to pay my own sons, my own boys, who’ve worked Summerleas’ land since they were first old enough to walk it.’

  Suddenly, it made sense. Completely unexpectedly, sitting there in the straw amid the rumpus of the festivities, she felt as though she understood something incredibly important; something that had previously been entirely beyond her grasp. Courtesy of her father-in-law’s impassioned account, she could see now how matters of tithes and wages and poor relief – things that as a carpenter’s daughter she had never even heard of – affected even the lives of ordinary people. And in that brief moment, she also saw in stunning simplicity why her husband – who had lately been forced beyond his closeted existence at Summerleas to witness first-hand the excesses at the estate – felt compelled to join other like-minded souls to discuss ways of doing something about such an unjust situation. Momentarily oblivious to the gaiety all around her, she sat marvelling at the clarity of this revelation; a revelation so profound that she would have struggled to put it into words. She looked about for George, wanting to tell him that she understood. But as she scoured the barn for him, her eyes fell instead on the corner by the door where the infants had been put down to sleep and realised with a jolt that it was a very long time since she had checked on Jacob. Flushing with guilt, she hurried over.

  ‘I don’t know about you but I’m finished,’ Ellen remarked, appearing beside her.

  ‘Me too. You were right about the harvest being exhausting,’ she replied, lifting her wide-awake son from his makeshift bed.

  ‘Aye but there’s summat about it that’s fun, too,’ she heard Ellen pointing out, raising her voice to be heard above the music. ‘Summat about seein’ everyone so carefree afterwards, I suppose.’

  ‘I know what you mean, although I won’t lie; I’ll be glad to have things back to normal. This one here’s tiring enough without all the extra work.’

  ‘May I?’ Ellen asked, nodding towards Jacob.

  ‘Gladly,’ she replied, handing Ellen her son.

  ‘So much like George, ain’t he?’

  ‘Aye, he’s the spit all right. Ma Strong says as much every time she sets eyes on him.’

  ‘An’ so handsome, too. You’re so fortunate, Mary. I mean, ’tis one thing to have a good husband but children – sons in particular – that’s what it’s all about, ain’t it?’

  Now what was she supposed to say? Precariously close by lay thorny ground – she knew enough to recognise that much – and tonight, at a randy of all things, surely now wasn’t the time to lead Ellen across it.

  ‘Um, well…’

  ‘I mean, you only got to look around here to see the store that’s set by sons over daughters.’

  ‘Aye?’ How to steer Ellen’s thoughts away, though?

  ‘What I’d give to be like you.’

  ‘Like me?’

  ‘Well, you got the perfect life; good husband, a home on your own, a son…’

  ‘But Will’s a good husband,’ she answered, looking about and feeling even more convinced that this was entirely the wrong place to be conducting such a conversation. ‘Surely… I mean, everyone can see how much he loves you, how much you’re in love…’

  ‘But how much longer will he love me when I constantly fail to give him a child, eh? I mean, Mary, look at it from his point of view; both his married brothers have sons now so it’s only natural that he should look around and see what he’s missing. Oh, don’t get me wrong; he never complains, never. But I know he’s disappointed. I see it in his face month after month.’ Looking back at Ellen’s bowed head as she stood swaying with Jacob in her arms, she began to understand her distress. ‘I can feel them looking, you know, wondering what’s wrong with me.’

  She glanced quickly about.

  �
��Who?’

  ‘The family, all of them; Ma and Pa Strong, Annie and Tom, Tabitha even, all wondering what Will’s done to deserve it. You can see it in their faces.’

  ‘Oh, no, Ellen, I don’t think you’re right there at all. I’m sure they don’t.’

  But as a round of applause from across the barn appeared to break into her thoughts, Ellen looked up sharply and made to hand Jacob back to her.

  ‘Any rate,’ she said, seeming to pull herself together, ‘I fancy I’m done for the night.’

  ‘Oh. That’s a shame.’ Inside, though, her sense of relief that the conversation had come to an end was accompanied by a tinge of guilt.

  ‘Aye but no need for you to miss out on the dancing though,’ Ellen said, her face fixed with an attempt at a smile.

  ‘Oh, well, George don’t seem that keen,’ she answered, forcing a laugh and then glancing about for him. ‘I don’t even know where he is.’

  ‘No? Well he can’t be far,’ Ellen assured her as the dancers disbanded and they saw Will coming towards them. ‘Tell you what, why don’t I take Jacob indoors for you? I can listen out for him and you can bide here and enjoy yourself a while longer.’

  ‘Would you? That’d be real kind,’ she agreed, handing Jacob back to Ellen, unable to avoid noticing that at the sight of the infant in his wife’s arms, Will’s smile faded to an expression that she wasn’t quite able to identify.

  ‘Sorry, Will but I’m dead on my feet,’ Ellen was saying to him, barely looking up for his response.

  ‘All right,’ he replied, leaning over to kiss her good night. ‘God bless, then.’

  ‘Oh and Will,’ she said, turning briefly back to him, ‘see if you can get Lottie to dance, will you? She barely knows anyone here and it occurs to me that she looks awful lonely.’

  Following the line of Ellen’s eyes, Mary saw Lottie sitting alone on a pile of straw, fiddling with her plait and apparently trying to look inconspicuous. Then she watched as Will went across and held out his hand to her.