A Country Marriage

by Sandra Jane Goddard

  ‘Aye, in the end I got Mary,’ he replied, momentarily letting his mind slip from Robert’s problem.

  ‘See, what you said about Tom and Will, though, that’s why I ain’t asked her to dance,’ he became aware of his brother admitting. ‘If I do ask her, she’ll most likely say no and then everyone will see me make a fool of meself and I’ll never be allowed to forget it.’

  ‘Well, I don’t think she’ll say no. I fancy she likes you.’ Recognising the anguish on his brother’s young face, he racked his brains. ‘Tell me, you ever spoken to her?’

  ‘Aye, course.’

  ‘I mean properly; more than two words.’ Noticing that his brother didn’t answer, he scratched his head. ‘More than one word?’

  ‘I’ve tried, George but every time I go to say summat, my mouth dries up. She’s so pretty that when I’m near her I can’t think straight. I get all horrible an’ sweaty and I get these feelings I ain’t particular proud of either.’

  ‘That’s normal, Robert.’

  ‘Is it?’

  ‘Perfectly. It’s how you know you like her.’

  ‘Truthfully?’

  ‘Truthfully, Robert. But sometime soon, you got to get up courage to start talking to her.’

  ‘I’ve tried, George, truly. Some days I spend so much time wandering back an’ forth through the kitchen that Ma must be suspicious and Lottie must think I’m mazed. I try to watch what she does so that I can help; you know, bring water for her or take the kitchen scraps away.’

  Above their hushed exchanges, the fiddler was calling the next dance and a number of people around them stirred.

  ‘And when you do that, what does she say?’

  ‘Nothin’. She just smiles an’ her cheeks go all pink and then she looks away.’

  ‘Well that’s a good sign.’

  ‘Is it? How?’

  ‘You know them strange feelings you were telling me you get?’ He watched Robert nod. ‘Well, when she goes pink, it’s the same for her.’

  ‘How do you know that? How do you know she isn’t just wishing I’d go away?’

  ‘Robert, trust me. I’m a good deal older than you and so I know rather more about… girls. What you got to do now, though, is go and ask her to dance. After that it’ll be easy.’

  He watched Robert’s head fall forward.

  ‘I can’t.’

  ‘Well, ’tis your loss, Robert but just bear in mind what happened to me; someone else got there first. And being such a pretty little thing, some other lad is bound to notice her.’

  ‘Aye. I know that.’

  Deciding that he couldn’t do any more to build his brother’s confidence, George patted his shoulder and made his way across to where he had earlier noticed Tom leaning against the wall with a glazed expression and his fist firmly around a mug of ale. He didn’t particularly relish the prospect of talking to him but had greater concerns now than his own discomfort.

  ‘Maybe you’ve had enough there, Tom,’ he said, removing the mug from his brother’s clammy grip, beleaguered afresh by Annie’s revelation and unable to meet his eyes.

  ‘Maybe I have,’ Tom replied, sounding less drunk than he had expected. ‘Or maybe I’ve not had enough.’

  He shook his head.

  ‘No, I don’t think there’s much chance of that.’

  ‘Terrible, ain’t it, George?’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘So many young fruit, all ripening nicely; all in danger of withering on the tree for the want of a bit of nurturing by an experienced hand… all simply in need of—’

  ‘Now I know you’ve had enough!’

  ‘Tell me George, you ever want your life to be different?’ Tom asked, his sigh deep and his tone melancholy. ‘You know, ever wished that you’d taken a different turn, not done something, done something else instead, followed your heart?’

  Staring back at his brother, he scratched his head. Given the lateness of the hour and Tom’s apparent inebriation, the question struck him a rather a profound one. And coupled with his feelings of duplicitousness, he hesitated.

  ‘Once or twice, some years back maybe but not of late, no.’ In an attempt at openness, he made himself look at his brother. ‘Why, do you?’ Tom, though, shrugged his shoulders and gazed across the barn. Following his eyes, he turned to see who his brother was looking at, half expecting to see Annie but unable to make out anyone who would be attracting his brother’s stare; there was really only Lottie sitting on a pile of straw and behind her, several fair-haired, young lads larking about. ‘What would you have done different, then?’ he ventured to ask.

  ‘Oh, I don’t know,’ his brother replied, sounding then as though he wished he hadn’t said anything to start with and leaving George more than a little disturbed as he tried to banish the picture of Annie and the news she was about to impart. ‘So terrible to want summat you can’t have, though, ain’t it, George?’ he added morosely and ambled in the direction of the door.

  *

  For what seemed like ages, Mary sat alone in the near darkness hoping for her racing pulse to subside. But each time she thought she was close to recovering, a picture of Francis dancing opposite her would come to mind and she would flush all over again. Flustered and uncomfortable, she got up and squeezed her way outside, the sound of carousing gradually diminishing as she wandered further away from the doors. Grateful for the cool night air, she stood completely still and drew deliberately slow breaths in and out, in and out. Gradually, she started to feel less agitated, and after a minute or two more, decided that she might just be ready to find her husband and see whether he was set to go home. It seemed stupid now, anyway, to have ended up in such a ridiculous state over a dance with a good-looking man, and as her turmoil began to subside she felt cross at her own immaturity; it showed what a sheltered life she must have led if a single dance could reduce her to a quivering heap, especially since that was probably exactly what he had intended. Yes, like Tom, he was probably another one who enjoyed games at other people’s expense.

  Weary beyond belief, she leant back against the wall of the hay barn. Earlier, she had seen the harvest moon rise full and burnished in a clear sky, the Queen of the Night resplendent in her amber robes, but now the silver-edged clouds had thrown a cloak across her gown and the yard was in obscurity. Drawing another deep breath, she straightened the front of her blouse and was about to turn in search of her husband when, apparently from nowhere, a warm hand grabbed her wrist and she felt herself being pulled around the corner and along between the two barns. Able to guess only that George was trying to scare her, she refrained from shrieking, allowing herself instead to be led a short distance further into the pitch blackness, where she was gently but very firmly placed up against the wall. Before she had the chance to challenge him, though, a warm mouth made contact with her own and with a start, she realised that this definitely wasn’t George. All she knew was that she was being kissed with skill and warmth, with neither hesitancy nor hint of apology, and that her spine felt as though it might at any moment dissolve. The exhilaration was astonishing; beyond anything she had imagined possible, and almost certainly made more intense by the identity of the man pressing hard against her.

  Completely captivated, she felt one of his hands moving to loosen the ribbon of her blouse and fold aside her chemise. And with no move from her to stop him, he quickly lowered his mouth to her breast and, with the first touch of his lips to her skin, she was shocked to feel how her body arched towards him. As intense a response as it was unexpected, she shuddered, and when he brought his attention back to her lips, she returned his kisses, lost in a heady rush of sensations. For a split second, he seemed surprised by the warmth with which she was responding and then, apparently encouraged, slipped his hand inside the waistband of her skirt. Obligingly, she held in her stomach for him to slide his hand over her belly and down the inside of her thigh. Entirely consumed by his touch, she groaned, such arousal far beyond anything she had ever contempl
ated, and as every inch of her skin and every hair on her body came alive with anticipation, a deep longing was urging her on. Scarcely able to breathe, she realised that this was how being with a man was supposed to be. This was desire; both compelling and unbearable at the same time. And now that she had discovered it, she didn’t want it to stop.

  Above them the clouds slipped silently onwards across the sky, until, through the finest of fissures, as if by way of silent warning, a single alabaster shaft of moonlight picked out his halo of golden curls. Although it passed in barely more than a blink, the image seemed to snatch her breath and with a gasp, she realised that this wasn’t some harmless daydream; she really was here, behind the barn with Francis Troke, on the very brink of betraying her husband. Instantly, she realised that no matter what her body was urging her to do and no matter that she had never been touched in such a way, it was both wholly wrong and absolutely unforgiveable. That recognition, though needing but a fraction of a second to register, seemed in her mind to take an eternity to surface, and in the brief moment while he was distracted by the buttons of his breeches, she slid out from between him and the wall and, frantically grabbing her blouse to her body, ran quickly back towards the safety of the yard.

  Chapter 11

  Aftermath

  Listening to the depressing pit-pat of falling rain, Mary lay staring up through the rafters to the wavy rows of roof tiles, mindful of the empty feeling that seemed to have settled in her stomach. For most of the night she had dozed uneasily, her long, wakeful periods spent grappling with feelings that veered between absolute amazement and profound regret; but now, with the coming of daylight, what felt more troubling was the realisation that the hollow ache nagging at her insides had very little to do with guilt and rather more to do with disappointment.

  Wary of disturbing George, she remained perfectly still and let her mind wander back yet again to yesterday evening and the most astonishing moment of her life. The encounter had been so utterly unexpected and left her so astounded that she wasn’t even sure there was a word for the way it had made her feel, although she did have a very clear recollection of being completely overcome by what must surely have been desire. And now, this morning, she longed to fill these few rare moments of peace with that exhilarating feeling of being so gloriously alive. She wanted to relive the exact moment when his mouth had met her own and the feeling of how startled she had been; startled that someone was kissing her, startled that he was kissing her so beautifully, and startled at how she had wanted to respond. And then there were his hands; warm and soft but purposeful and even now, the memory was enough to make something inside her give an excited lurch. Tensing with shame, she glanced hastily over her shoulder, but as her eyes fell on the form of her sleeping husband, she quickly pressed them tightly shut.

  What on earth was she thinking? Of course she felt guilty; it was just that until now, she hadn’t been sufficiently awake to appreciate it. In the hazy idyll between slumber and waking, a leisurely recollection of last night’s events felt harmless – like lingering in a pleasant but unfinished dream – but in the damp grey light of dawn, the unpalatable fact remained that last night she had been mere seconds away from betraying her husband. If it were possible to consider infidelity as a series of steps in the wrong direction, then she would have to admit to trespassing over the first few, even though she had stopped short of full and irredeemable betrayal. But in that respect, she also recognised with some certainty that if the moon hadn’t broken through the clouds when it had, then she might not have come to her senses. It was a realisation that made her shudder, since it meant that this morning life was only going to go on as it always had purely because the clouds had broken just in time. Shaking her head at the notion, she managed an ironic smile. No doubt her mother would have called it a sign from God; a sign that she was to save her soul from sin. And perhaps it was. In any event, at least this morning she might still be able – just – to look her husband in the eye.

  From the corner of the room, the sound of Jacob’s wriggling was growing louder, and relieved for a reason to put some distance between herself and her husband, she eased back the blanket, swung her feet slowly down to the floor and padded silently across to the cradle. Staring down, she could see that her son’s tiny fists were just beginning to stir, and although his eyes were still tightly closed she could see that his pink mouth was working up to sending out his first exploratory cry of the day. Swiftly she scooped him up, and with her finger resting gently against his lips, carried him quickly down the ladder.

  In front of the empty fireplace, with her son held close against the chill of the room, she sat watching him feeding, her thoughts broken only when she heard the sound of George moving about overhead.

  ‘Oh dear Lord,’ she heard him groaning, and was unable to restrain a smile at the sight of him apparently trying to hold his head steady while descending the ladder.

  ‘That bad, is it?’ she asked from behind the fall of her hair as he slumped onto a stool at the table and rested his head in his hands.

  ‘Ale alone don’t normally get me this bad.’

  ‘Maybe it ain’t the ale so much as the amount of it,’ she felt the need to point out.

  ‘Aye. Fair said.’

  ‘Oh, don’t be so hard on yourself. ’Tis a rare occasion an’ you did work hard,’ she told him, anxious that his attention should remain on his own plight and well away from hers.

  ‘If you say so.’

  ‘Look, I’m near done here,’ she said, motioning to Jacob, ‘so why don’t you go an’ get washed and I’ll fetch you summat to eat? Then you’ll most likely start to feel better.’

  ‘Aye, maybe,’ he replied and got up to walk stiffly towards the back door, ‘but better or not, I told Ma we’d go down to help with the clearing up before church.’

  ‘Before church?’

  ‘Aye, I know. I regret that now too, although it seemed sensible enough at the time since I thought it’d spare us the rest of the day.’

  ‘Hm.’ But her displeasure was quickly overtaken by the mention of church, where, she realised then, it would be difficult to avoid seeing Francis Troke. Indeed, even if their paths never crossed for any other reason, she would still have to risk coming face to face with him every Sunday morning. Mindful of the fact, she gave a long sigh and came to the reluctant conclusion that all she could do was to remember the discomfort she felt now and use it as a reminder of what happened if you were ever tempted away from the straight and narrow.

  *

  ‘Only you two up, then?’ Mary heard George enquiring as she followed him through the back door of the farmhouse to see Will and Ellen standing side by side in front of the kitchen fireplace.

  ‘Aye, just us,’ Ellen was replying with a yawn. ‘Those who least deserve it somehow sleep the longest.’

  ‘Good do, though,’ she heard George remarking and saw the grin that he raised in his brother’s direction.

  ‘Aye, it was that. Although wait till you see the barn; ’tis in a fearful state.’

  ‘Ah, the unfortunate aftermath of a good randying.’

  As she watched her husband sink, in apparently resigned fashion, into his father’s chair, she sighed. This truly was the final straw; it was bad enough having to give up half the morning to clear up the barn but what she wasn’t about to do was waste even more of it reliving last night.

  ‘Look, George, forgive my plainness but I can’t be dallying about here all morning.’

  ‘No, all right,’ he replied, in apparent agreement.

  That he still seemed in no hurry to get up from the chair, though, made her shake her head and when her action caught Ellen’s eye, she heard her say, ‘Tell you what, Mary, as you’re going over there anyway, wake Lottie for me, would you?’

  ‘Very well. Come on then, George. Rouse yourself. Let’s go and see what we’re up against.’

  Leaving the warmth of the kitchen for the dampness of the yard made her grimace, and as she a
rrived at the door to Lottie’s room, she found herself calling to her with the sort of forced brightness she’d often heard her mother use. And with her head angled to listen for a reply, she stared back across the idle yard. After last night’s gaiety the house looked dreary and forlorn, while overhead the sky this morning seemed to be imbued with the same reluctant mood as most of the family.

  ‘Lord,’ she heard George exclaim from further along. ‘It’s a mess all right.’

  With her spirits sinking further at the prospect of the work that lay ahead, she rubbed her arms against the soggy chill and called again, but when she was still unable to hear movement she pressed her ear to the door. No doubt the poor girl was as worn out as the rest of them but she couldn’t let her sleep any longer; Ellen would be needing her help, on top of which, Ma Strong would soon be expecting to see plenty of work under way. And so, after tapping more loudly, she clicked down the latch and edged back the door, screwing up her face as the bottom of it grated across the tiles. Faced with the near-darkness inside, she stood for several moments until, accustomed to the lack of light, her eyes made out the shape under the blanket.

  ‘Lottie, love, you awake? Only, you really must get up now.’ Something about the rawness of the room sent a prickly sensation across the skin on her arms, and bothered by Lottie’s continued silence, she extended a hand towards what she imagined to be the girl’s shoulder. When she brought it to rest, though, the shape under the blanket jerked unexpectedly. ‘Sorry, Lottie,’ she stammered, gulping air in her surprise. Well at least the girl wasn’t… well at least she was alive. ‘Forgive me but are you all right?’

  ‘No-o.’

  ‘No?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘What’s the matter then?’

  ‘I can’t…’

  Why was it that everything seemed sent to test her this morning; to force her to dally over things of such little import?

  ‘Can’t what?’ she asked, bringing her hands to rest upon her hips.