A Country Marriage

by Sandra Jane Goddard

  ‘Oh, no, truly,’ Mary read the protest on Lottie’s lips before she allowed herself to be led into the next dance, much to the apparent mortification of Robert, who, Mary noticed then, seemed to have been watching events unfold.

  Quickly mastering the simple pattern of repeating steps, Lottie soon seemed to be enjoying whirling around under Will’s guidance and when the dance came to an end, Mary saw him bend to say something that made her look uncertainly across the barn. It was plain that he was trying to encourage her to ask Robert to dance and, with a smile, she watched as Lottie made her way to where he had been, only to find that he was no longer there. With a look back at Will, she saw Lottie shrug her shoulders and accept instead an invitation from one of Thomas Strong’s drinking partners, who, it turned out, had surprisingly nimble feet for someone well into his three-score years and ten.

  *

  Striding through the farm gate, his hands thrust deep into the pockets of his jacket, George’s eyes fell on the indistinct form of what looked to be Annie, leaning in the kitchen doorway. As he drew near enough to be certain that it was indeed her, he saw her pull her shawl tightly about her and look quickly towards the door to the barn.

  ‘Can’t believe we’re in for a frost this early in the season,’ he remarked, and drawing level noticed that her face was set in a grimace, presumably against the chill. ‘Bit cold to be standing out here, ain’t it?’

  ‘I went for a walk. I didn’t feel so good. It’s too close in there,’ she answered with a nod of her head towards the barn. ‘What about you? Where did you get to?’

  ‘Just out for a bit of a breather,’ he replied, the clarity of the night air feeling at stark odds with his fudge.

  ‘Aye? Only not more than a few minutes back, when I was walking up the track, I heard the sound of hooves out in the lane.’

  ‘Aye?’

  ‘Aye. Someone in a real lather galloping headlong towards the ford, going so fast I heard the splashing from here.’

  ‘Oh? See who it was, did you?’ he asked, unable to hold her eyes.

  ‘If pressed, I’d have to say I wasn’t certain,’ she answered, looking straight at him. ‘Anyways,’ she changed tone, ‘I was hoping to come across you.’

  ‘Aye? How about we go back in then?’ he suggested, starting to turn back towards the barn.

  ‘No, not yet. Keep me company out here a while, will you? I been waiting to talk to you.’

  What could she possibly want to talk to him about that had to be done out here, in the freezing night air, he wondered? And blowing on his hands, he rubbed them together and tried to gauge her expression. Truthfully, it seemed much of nothing; just pinched from the cold, mainly.

  ‘Can’t we talk inside?’

  ‘No, George. For what I would think are obvious reasons, we can’t.’

  Obvious reasons?

  ‘As you wish then,’ he said, the shrug of his shoulders intended to convey indifference.

  ‘Walk down the track a moment.’

  ‘Fine,’ he replied and in a seemingly shared but unacknowledged discomfort, they turned to walk towards the gate, where she indicated with her hand for him to turn to the right.

  Conscious of the need to keep an appropriate distance between them, he walked a half-pace behind her until she came to an abrupt stop, forcing him to do likewise. Saying nothing, he watched as she checked in both directions, apparently for signs of anyone else being around and then, evidently satisfied that they were alone, heard her say, ‘George, I’m with child.’

  Later, on the many occasions when he would come to think back on that precise moment, he realised that it must have been shock that made him look wildly about the narrow track as though having no idea where he was; all around him seeming uniformly black and lacking in discernible shape. The only thing anchoring his consciousness was the stabbing of the night air high up in his nostrils – a thousand times colder than seconds before – as he inhaled an excess of it and felt it numb the inside of his skull.

  ‘How… far along are you?’ he asked slowly, the shapes of the towering hedges to either side of them taking on liquid and malevolent form.

  ‘By my own reckonin’, near on three months.’

  ‘So, Tom’s finally getting a second child,’ he said, barely trusting his voice to hold steady against a pang of – what was it – jealousy? How could that be?

  ‘It ain’t Tom’s,’ she replied, the conviction in her tone so absolute that, momentarily at least, he found himself believing her. But despite accepting what in any event seemed somehow inevitable, he heard himself asking, ‘And how do you know that, Annie?’

  ‘Because as I’ve told you more than once, George, your brother’s particular fondness in that regard won’t ever get me pregnant. As far as he’s concerned, he’s got the son that secures his inheritance and he ain’t about to satisfy any longing on my part for another. So cast your mind back to what you an’ me did that Sunday back in July and work it out for yourself.’

  Her answer was delivered so precisely that he suspected her of having been preparing it for some time. But for how long, he wondered? How long had she known? How long had she been rehearsing those words in her head? And how long, exactly, had she been planning this ambush? Against the first buds of anger, he nonetheless recognised that what she was saying about the timing was most probably true, so that when he spoke again, it was more with incredulity at his misfortune than disbelief of her claim.

  ‘So I’m supposed to believe that we did it once… and you fell? Just like that?’

  ‘It wasn’t just the once, as I recall,’ she pointed out and he noticed how she pulled her shawl tighter against the chill.

  ‘All right, maybe not but it was all on the one occasion.’

  ‘Aye. And the one thing I can rely on in this miserable life is my own body. It’s as regular as the church clock. And thinking back, it was right in the middle of my twenty-eight days and I remember back when I was expecting James, how Martha Troke once told me that the best time to fall is right around then. It’s how she works out a baby’s time.’

  ‘And you’re sure?’ Given the gravity of what she had just announced, she seemed unnaturally calm.

  Wordlessly, she unwrapped her shawl and began to unbutton her blouse, while rooted to the spot watching her actions, he did his best to ignore the stirring of his body.

  ‘I’d say that you were familiar with these,’ she said, uncovering her breasts and looking back at him. ‘So I’m sure you can see how much bigger and more swollen they are.’

  In the pallor of the moonlight he could pick out the pattern of blue veins on her milky white skin. Enthralled, he traced one with his finger, there being little doubting what she said. With all hope of her being mistaken ebbing down through his body and seemingly out through the toes of his boots, he gently pulled her blouse back around her and carefully did up the tiny buttons. Then, slowly shaking his head, he folded her woollen shawl back across her chest.

  ‘Then don’t go gettin’ cold,’ he said and after a moment more asked, ‘What does Tom say?’

  ‘He don’t know yet,’ she answered levelly. ‘I ain’t found the right moment to tell him and anyways I wanted to tell you first. He’ll be too drunk tonight; hopefully drunk enough to leave me alone for a change but I got to tell him soon since I been feeling so unwell these last few days.’

  ‘Ain’t he going to think it strange you’ve fallen if he goes to such lengths to avoid it?’

  She gave a snort.

  ‘I don’t really care, George. If he’s bright enough to ask I’ll tell him that I tricked him one dark night.’ It was evidently a notion that she found amusing. ‘He knows how desperate I’ve been for another child so he probably wouldn’t put it past me.’

  He sighed, still unable to marshal sensible thought.

  ‘I don’t know what to say.’

  ‘Well, if it’s of any comfort, it’s another secret that’ll be going with me to the grave, so you’ve nothi
ng to fear.’

  ‘Eh?’ Nothing to fear? Nothing to fear? How cruel was this? He was only thinking the other day that maybe he’d finally overcome his weakness. He’d barely thought about her in these past few months, at least, not in the way that he used to. He truly believed that he’d cured his urge in that direction and as recently as last week, had even congratulated himself on getting his life on an even keel; on his relationship with Mary – oh, Lord, Mary – and his son. He turned away from her and stared in dismay up the lane into the darkness, a wisp of his breath hanging briefly in the crisp air. From somewhere across the valley he could hear the triple bark of a dog fox and with his mind on what she had once told him about her desperation for another child, he began to wonder whether he had been used. It was certainly starting to feel that way so that briefly he was led to considering whether, in betraying Mary, he had himself been betrayed. Was such a thing even possible? But before he was able to come to any conclusion, she was speaking again.

  ‘Look, I’d better go now. ’Tis best I’m not missed. Most likely I’ll tell Tom on the morrow and then no doubt we’ll tell everyone else at dinner.’ And with a brief pat on his arm, she turned to walk back up the lane.

  That was it? She was just going to walk away? After what she had just told him, she was going to return to the randy – and to Tom – as though everything was just the same? How on earth could she possibly do that? And then, in the same instant, it struck him: how on earth could she possibly not?

  ‘Annie—’

  She turned back.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Maybe try not to provoke him so much then, eh? Don’t give him reason to hit you no more. After all, you got the baby to think of now.’

  ‘Aye,’ she answered, apparently thoughtfully before going on to add, ‘oh, and by way of nothing in particular, you might want to take off your jacket afore you go back in.’ Now what was she talking about? ‘It smells of smoke; the sort that comes from burning straw.’

  Raising his sleeve to his nose, he realised what she meant and slipped his jacket off his shoulders. In one way, though, it seemed the least of his worries, because if he chose to believe her, then next year she would have two children – and supposedly, neither of them were Tom’s; supposedly, they were both his. It was a realisation that left him too stunned even to panic. Instead, he simply stood there, numbly, her words ringing in his ears; another secret going with her to the grave. Why had she done this to him? She seemed to have got what she wanted, so had there been there been any real need for her to tell him? There was no need for him to have been any the wiser. So was it some convoluted game that she had decided to play, or was it punishment of some sort? Punishment for what, though: for not beating Tom to it, that first night? She knew that there was no future for them together now, so what was she doing; using him like the bull, to breed from and make up for his brother’s shortcomings? Suddenly the very possibility sent a wave of perverse pleasure through him. His own brother, so much the man in charge, was entirely oblivious to what was going on right under his own nose: he hadn’t even fathered his own children.

  On his own now in the pitch-dark lane, he laughed and then stopped to listen as his ghoulish merriment hurtled unfettered into the empty night air. In a way, it served Tom right; for all his belief that he was in control – the big man about the farm – it turned out that he was nothing of the sort. Not only was he unable to function as a decent husband but his own wife showed total contempt for him by becoming pregnant by his brother. Twice. Throwing back his head, he laughed out loud again. How gloriously satisfying was that? Not that Tom could ever find out, of course…

  *

  ‘All right?’ George’s voice in Mary’s ear made her hands spring to her chest in surprise.

  ‘Oh! Aye, fine, ’though I been looking for you for ages.’

  ‘Aye? Well, here I am.’

  The brightness of his answer made her regard him carefully. It didn’t look as though he’d drunk much and his face was flushed and fresh rather than hot and clammy like everyone else’s.

  ‘Although don’t look to me for no more dancing.’

  ‘No, I know. You said earlier.’

  ‘Plenty of other willin’ partners about. Two of my brothers amongst them; Will’s always keen.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Might get meself an ale, then,’ he said and glanced about the barn. ‘I’m parched.’

  ‘You sure you’re all right?’ she enquired, it striking her then that he looked to be avoiding someone.

  ‘Course. More than I can say for the look of Tom, though,’ he remarked, gesturing in his brother’s direction before squeezing her shoulder and then wandering away.

  Watching him go, she frowned. He seemed to have been in something of an odd mood all evening. Perhaps it was the ale, after all, as she had reminded herself earlier, it had been a long day and he must be tired beyond belief.

  For a while, musicians and dancers alike took a break to slake their thirsts and when a little while later they appeared ready to resume, having nothing better to do, she decided to take her chance in the line-up; after all, just because George was done with the dancing, didn’t mean she had to be. Smiling at the plump and highly flushed woman next to her, she gripped at her skirt and looked about for a partner but as the fiddler readied himself with a preparatory draw of his bow, she was left blushing at the realisation that no one had stepped forward to accompany her. Hurriedly she looked over her shoulder for either Will or Robert and then, about to duck out before the musicians played the opening chord, she was startled to turn back and see Francis Troke bowing deeply in front of her. Oh no. This wasn’t right. But, not wanting to draw attention and with the music already starting, she had little choice but to curtsey back and begin the dance.

  Grateful for the fact that she must already look hot and dishevelled, she prayed that her discomfort wasn’t obvious, but every time she looked up, it was to find his warm, grey-green eyes fixed firmly on hers and sense from the nature of his smile that he knew precisely how flustered she was. Even with her pulse already racing out of control, each time that he took her hand or arm as the dance required, she felt a disconcerting jolt from somewhere deep inside her body. Just to be dancing with him would have been unnerving enough but it was being made so many times worse by the fact that the recent vision of his half-naked body was still faithfully fresh in her mind, and that seen this close, he appeared even more handsome than he looked from a distance, with his hair a true shade of gold, his skin an even summer-russet and the stubble on his chin bronze in the light of the lanterns.

  In unsettling fashion, the notes of the music and the dancers around them became a demented blur, with faces in the crowd coming randomly into focus and then disappearing again as she spun around on his arm. Briefly, she thought she caught sight of Tabitha with her face set in an unflattering scowl. But with the music almost drowned by her terrifyingly loud pulse and Francis in charge of the speed with which she whirled around, she sensed rather than consciously recognised that the dance was building to a crescendo, until with a final spin on his arm, it came to an end; and when she eventually dared to look back up from her curtsey, he was already gone.

  Drawing great gulps of air, she slipped into the shadows and collapsed onto the straw. Had that really just happened? Had she really just danced with a complete stranger? Well, perhaps that would teach her not to be so forward. After all, what did she expect if she went to stand in the line-up? Well, in her case, she had been expecting a family member, which would have been both harmless and entirely acceptable. Flopping backwards into the straw, she groaned. Having never experienced anything so unsettling she lay as still as her thudding heart and trembling limbs would allow, praying that no one would discover her in such a state of disarray.

  *

  Having downed a couple of ales to aid recovery of his own composure after his meeting with Annie, George glanced distractedly about. On the far side of the barn he could s
ee Tom and Will discussing something, but was in no frame of mind to face Tom just yet. Then his eyes alighted on Robert, sitting in the corner, somehow managing to look both glum and secretive at the same time. Following the line of his brother’s repeated glance, he saw Lottie sitting alone in the other corner and quickly guessed at the nature of his brother’s apparent misery.

  ‘What’s the matter Robert?’ he asked, arriving undetected alongside him.

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘That’s not what your face says. My guess would be that you’re gettin’ up the courage to ask young Lottie to dance.’

  ‘Well I’m not.’

  ‘Robert, it’s written all over your face.’

  He watched his brother shifting uneasily.

  ‘What is?’

  Not far away, the musicians were bringing the current dance to a hearty close, and George waited for the din to subside before continuing, ‘That you like Lottie.’

  ‘I don’t.’

  ‘Oh, come on, Robert. This is me you’re talking to now.’ With that, a group of dancers came to settle in the straw close by, and turning his back to them, George leant closer to his brother and lowered his voice. ‘Look, I can well remember what it’s like to be… struck by a young maid.’ Hearing Robert’s dismissive grunt, he continued, ‘No, truly Robert, I’m not sayin’ that to make you feel better. You’re most probably too young to remember but when I was about your age I had a tremendous fascination for Martha’s Ruth. She was so pretty with her long, red plaits looped around her head.’

  ‘What happened?’ Robert wanted to know, his curiosity apparently piqued.

  ‘Well, it pains me to admit to this now but I was too shy to do anything about it, so she never knew. And then eventually she took up with another lad and I spent weeks in a black gloom about it. Course, when Tom and Will found out, they never let me forget it. And between you an’ me, that ain’t the only time I missed out by being too… wary, either.’

  ‘No?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘But in the end you got Mary.’