A Country Marriage

by Sandra Jane Goddard

  It was a split second before Mary could get her hands to work again; trouble for the farm? She turned her back in the pretence of affording the men some privacy, but it was a good while before George answered, and only then after he saw that she was heading for the door.

  ‘Well, my opinion and only my opinion, mind, is that trouble will spread everywhere sooner or later. Maybe not for a while, since we’re near the end of the doling now and when the New Year brings work again, folk might not be as desperate as they are when the harvest ends. But as for Summerleas, well, that’s different; ignoring Francis for a moment, Pa don’t pay no one’s wages, so there could be no complaint on that score. And with so little grain, he don’t hire day labour for the threshing nor does he own a threshing machine.’

  From the hall, she pulled the door gently to and then hovered uncertainly.

  ‘Tom was always on at him about gettin’ one, though; he thought we should have taken the chance to reduce the workload,’ she heard Robert say.

  ‘And what would Tom have known about workload? Aye, if it had been down to him, you can be sure there’d have been one here ages ago,’ George’s observation was delivered in a scathing tone. ‘But as far as I see it, Robert, if tithes were fairer, Summerleas could only gain and that being the case so would the rest of us.’

  At this, there sounded to be a lull in the conversation, and in the notion that the gathering might be about to break up, she stole on tiptoes back over the freezing flagstones to join the women in their gossip and the comparative warmth of the kitchen.

  *

  In the days after Christmas, the gloomy weather provided Mary with plenty of opportunity to reflect on what she had discovered both about her husband’s views and about recent events across the county. Had she been asked, though, she would have found it difficult to express her feelings on either. On the one hand, she was terrified by the notion that unrest was seemingly threatening the peaceful lives of very ordinary families. Having people rampage about the countryside smashing things that they saw as the cause of their desperation was unsettling. And along with that, she was similarly terrified that George should get swept up with such a thing. And yet, on the other hand, people should be able to feed and clothe their families; something that she knew even in these favoured parts was not always the case. And knowing that George felt so strongly about such a God-given right made her feel surprisingly warm towards him.

  With the arrival of January, though, Mary’s mind dwelt less on the part George might play in any coming unrest, and instead became fully occupied with the need to finish preparing the vegetable plot in readiness for her first sowings. Briefly, the weather was even dry enough to permit the start of ploughing in Alder Field, and with the success of the first furrows being considered auspicious for the crop ahead, Will climbed into the rafters of the barn to cut down the corn doll from the previous harvest so that it could be carried to the site of the first ploughing. This year, with Lottie being the youngest maiden on the farm, the honour fell to her and, walking sedately down the lane with the other women, Mary watched her clutching it protectively to her chest. Then, when Thomas had ploughed a couple of yards of the first furrow, she dropped it into the shallow cleft in the moist ground. After that, they all stood watching until, eventually, Thomas made his way back up the incline, and as the soil from the second furrow turned over the first, the spirit of the harvest that had been residing in the corn doll was deemed safely returned to the earth. With the first two furrows complete, Thomas handed the plough to Will, and the assembled family members started to drift away.

  ‘This is when he’ll miss Tom the most,’ Hannah remarked quietly to Ellen, who turned to look back at her father-in-law staring down the furrow after Will and the plough.

  ‘Aye,’ she replied, non-committally.

  ‘The first time Tom took over the plough he was just twelve years old an’ Thomas said then that no boy of his age could strike a truer furrow. Don’t get me wrong; Will’s a good ploughman, one of the best hereabouts, but you know how farming is and with Will not being the eldest son, it ain’t quite the same.’ At her side, Ellen heaved a vexed sigh but bit her tongue. ‘With Tom gone, it’ll fall now to Thomas to teach young James, but I know he feels deeply that the unbroken line of father-to-son is gone now forever.’

  ‘But he didn’t break it,’ Ellen pointed out.

  ‘Maybe not, but the farm was in his custody when it happened and so as far as he’s concerned, he might as well have.’ In silence, the women watched Will guiding the plough a moment longer before Hannah said, ‘Well, come on then, that’s their work. Let’s go an’ get on with ours; there’s enough of it.’

  ‘And I’ve work to be getting back to as well,’ Mary agreed, and rather pointlessly lifting the bottom of her already damp-ringed skirt above the tussocks of wet grass, looked back up to find Francis Troke holding the gate open for her.

  Chapter 14

  Repercussions

  ‘Well that was quick,’ Ellen remarked as she brought cups of tea to the table. ‘Want some, George? Or something stronger, if you like?’

  From the corner of the kitchen George shook his head, wishing that she hadn’t drawn attention to his presence. He felt conspicuous enough as it was, without all of them looking at him.

  ‘Aye, it was so quick I missed it!’ he heard Mary saying with one of her light laughs. ‘I’ve been that busy up home lately I’d quite lost sight of the fact that her baby was due, and then when Robert came running in to tell us that it was coming, I thought there’d still be plenty of time. So I was shocked twice over to get here and find it all done with.’

  He turned away from the women’s incessant chatter to look through the window into the darkening yard. How on earth had his presence – the only male among their number – not aroused suspicion? When Robert had run up to tell them that Annie was in labour, it had taken a while for him to make sense of what it meant; that his child was about to be born. But then when Mary had been in no hurry to leave, it had been as much as he could do not to race down to the farmhouse without her.

  ‘Aye, I recall her James coming out without a fuss, but this one was even easier,’ he heard Martha commenting. At least she’d had an easy time of it, then, he thought, picking at the few, remaining flakes of paint in the corner of the window frame.

  ‘I’d given up all hope of her having another,’ he heard his mother saying matter-of-factly, an idle enough remark that brought to mind an uncomfortable muddle of Annie’s comments about Tom and his behaviour. ‘You could have knocked me down with a feather that day she told us she was expecting again. Course, maybe if Tom had known…’

  He pressed his eyes closed and drove his thumbnail as far as it would go into a fissure in the sun-bleached timber.

  ‘Aye, five years is quite a gap at her age,’ Martha was chipping in and he sensed it was an attempt to distract his mother from another endless and ultimately pointless round of ifs and buts.

  ‘I think I’ll go back up home then,’ he suddenly blurted, his announcement instantly halting their conversation and turning them all in his direction.

  ‘No, hang on a mo’,’ he was startled to hear Mary respond. ‘I almost forgot; Annie asked if you’d do summat for her.’ He knew that he should affect surprise and ask what she wanted but his pulse was racing so rapidly that he wasn’t even sure he could breathe, let alone phrase a sensible question. Instead, he raised his eyes just enough to meet those of his wife. ‘She wondered if you’d go an’ see if James is awake and tell him he’s got a brother.’

  He was fairly certain that, at the periphery of his vision, his mother’s head had jerked in his direction.

  ‘Um…?’

  ‘She says James likes you.’

  ‘Well, I suppose if that’s what she wants…’

  ‘It’s what she asked. So would you? Only I’m sure she’ll understand if you don’t want to. One of us can always go and—’

  ‘No, no. I’ll go and talk to
him for her.’

  ‘Bring him down to see them, son,’ he heard Martha adding and with a jolt, realised that she had just presented him with the most unlikely of opportunities. ‘No doubt she’d like that.’

  ‘If you’re sure,’ he replied as casually as he could.

  ‘Aye; make yourself useful for a bit while I drink my tea,’ Mary suggested with a grin, at which point he knew better than to continue to appear reluctant. Too much of a fuss and the chance might be gone.

  ‘The mite’s a fair old size again,’ he heard Martha reflecting, as in his relief he almost scuttled away from their scrutiny.

  ‘Aye, and from the little I saw of him, so like the Strongs, too,’ was the reply he heard his wife offer as he took the stairs two at a time.

  *

  When George closed the door behind him, he found Annie sitting up in bed cradling the baby. In an attempt to find his voice, he swallowed, but when she looked up her smile was so full of warmth that, even had his mouth been working, he would still have been stuck for something to say.

  ‘There’s your new brother,’ he finally bent to whisper in James’ ear.

  ‘Ugh! He’s all pink!’

  With his hands on James’ shoulders, he guided him forward.

  ‘You were the same,’ his mother told him.

  ‘I never were!’

  Pressing his lips together, George tried to suppress a smile.

  ‘Yes you were; you were just like this.’

  ‘What’s ʼis name, then?’ James wanted to know.

  ‘His name is George Luke,’ she announced, ‘but we’re going to call him Luke since there’s already a George in the family.’

  George? Did the woman want them to be found out? Beneath his hands, he felt James give a shrug, his fascination with the inert bundle apparently already waning and then letting him pull away, watched him turn his attention to the fireplace instead, where he squatted down to stab at the logs with the poker.

  Gently, George lowered himself onto the side of the bed and reached for her free hand, feeling her turn it palm upwards and grasp his fingers.

  ‘George?’ he asked in a disbelieving whisper. ‘Are you serious in your intent to call him George? You’ll get me killed, Annie.’

  ‘Don’t fret; ’tis after my father, apparently.’

  ‘I thought you told me once that your father was called—’

  ‘Lucas. I know.’ She smiled. ‘Must have been a bit overcome. You know; didn’t realise what I was saying.’

  Why did she always have to court danger? Surely after all this time she had to know that his mother was by nature suspicious. Not that it would do the least good to try to get her to change her mind; clearly, her heart was set on it.

  With a shake of his head, he looked back at her. She looked astonishing. Somehow, despite what she had just been through, she had never looked more fresh, more vital; more alive.

  ‘Annie—’

  ‘Don’t werret. It’s not as though anyone would ever guess,’ she whispered. ‘How could they?’

  ‘Mighty dangerous, though. Playing with fire if you ask me—’

  ‘Here, hold him a while,’ she was suggesting, and suddenly, to his astonishment, he found himself with the infant in his hands.

  How could this feel both so horribly wrong and yet at the same time, so completely and utterly right? How? How could that be? He glanced back at her and then down again at the baby. Was it his imagination, or did he look exactly like James? He’d never taken any notice of James as a baby, but then he’d had no reason to, and in all honesty, up until now he had always thought that all babies looked much alike. One thing was certain though; this baby bore no resemblance whatsoever to Tom, well, not that he would, he reminded himself, suddenly grateful that he had shared his brother’s dark colouring and hadn’t inherited the mousier shade of Will and Robert. But then into his thoughts came a sharp recollection of sitting here with Mary, a lot less than a year ago, holding Jacob and thinking then that his feelings at the birth of his first child would never be matched. It appeared now, though, that he had been wrong; looking down at Annie’s son, he was consumed by precisely the same feelings; something for which he had been entirely unprepared. In truth, he had never stopped to think about what would happen once her baby arrived, or let himself think about how he would feel. In fact, apart from his terror when she had first told him that she was carrying his child, he couldn’t recall ever having thought ahead to the matter of the baby’s arrival at all. Admittedly, as she had grown ever larger, he’d become drawn to her in a way that frightened him all over again and had aroused in him feelings he’d been unable to satisfy in the way he would have liked. But now, well, here they were; his sister-in-law and his son. His sons. And, so far, his world hadn’t descended into a fiery hell.

  Quickly, he glanced over his shoulder to where James was still crouched by the hearth.

  ‘Be careful there,’ he said, and looked back to see Annie wiping at the corner of her eye.

  ‘Thank you so much for him.’

  ‘As I recall it, I wasn’t given much say in the matter.’

  ‘No, I remember that, too.’ She laughed and then with an unexpected sob, added, ‘But thank you anyway. He’s the best thing that could have happened to me right now an’ I love him. I love them both so much. And thank you for comin’ to see me so much these last weeks. I know I put on a brave face but, well, it means a lot. You know that, don’t you?’

  Yes, he did know, although in his heart, he also knew that most of the time he had spent with her had been as much for his own benefit as for hers. With the merest nod, though, he carefully handed the baby back to her, aware that James had begun watching them.

  ‘Look, I’d best go,’ he said to her. ‘Come here, James. Say goodnight to your ma. ’Tis late.’

  Getting up from the floor, James looked briefly in his mother’s direction.

  ‘Night, Ma.’

  ‘Goodnight son. Goodnight, George.’

  ‘Goodnight Annie. Make sure you let them make a fuss of you for a few days, eh?’

  ‘No need to fret on that score.’

  *

  To Mary, it seemed hardly any time since the first, brighter days of March had brought the sight of hares loping effortlessly across the meadows but already April was here and with it, sudden showers from azure skies and the first of the cuckoos in Bluebell Wood. But the warmer weather also meant a spurt of soft growth for her young plants and she knew from experience how for every slug and snail in Verneybrook there could be no clearer signal to attack. So, with the onset of dusk each day – and crouching low between the drills with a lantern and a handful of salt – she mounted an attack of her own. It was a tedious task hunting down the enemy in this way – but one that she found curiously rewarding.

  ‘Three and twenty, tonight,’ she announced, as she walked back up the garden to where she could hear George ferreting about in the woodshed. ‘Not going down the farm, this evening then?’ she asked when he offered no response.

  ‘You said we need some firewood chopping.’ His answer sounded almost accusatory.

  ‘Aye, we do,’ she replied warily, ‘but only if you’re not needed elsewhere.’

  ‘Well either it needs doing or it don’t,’ he said, coming out through the door and bringing down the axe to cleave a stump of ash through the middle. She stood for a moment and watched as he placed another log on the block and then, turning it cut-side up, swung the axe above his head and brought it swiftly down again, one of the two new halves skittling towards her feet. ‘Is there summat else?’ he asked, letting the axe hang limply at his side and looking at her expectantly.

  ‘No. Nothing,’ she replied and turned away from him, feeling in her stomach the familiar gripping sensation that she knew stemmed from the curtness of their exchange. Whenever he was distant or cross her first thought was to worry that she was at fault. Had she forgotten to do something? Had she done something wrong? Was there anything at which h
is family could have taken offence? But, as usual, she arrived at the same conclusion: nothing that she could think of. By and large she did exactly what she was supposed to when she was supposed to, and tried to remain cheerful while she was at it. Briefly, she wondered whether his gloominess had anything to do with his meetings at The Stag – although in truth there seemed to have been far fewer lately – but there was no way that she could ask him without looking as though she was prying.

  Stepping inside, she absently picked up his work boots, placed them next to the door and then, with a glance back to the grim set of his expression, decided that she could only do what she always did; keep quiet and wait for his irritation with her to pass.

  *

  ‘How’s Annie, then?’ Mary ventured a couple of evenings later, as she and George sat eating their supper. ‘She been churched yet? Only, I know how your ma’s summat of a stickler on that point.’

  ‘How should I know?’

  There it was: that terseness again. Surely, though, he couldn’t take umbrage at her showing interest in his sister-in-law?

  ‘Well, I thought that seeing as you went to the farm last evening—’

  ‘As well you know,’ he started to reply without looking up, ‘she’s lying-in, which means no visitors, so I didn’t see her.’

  ‘Well, that don’t normally include family, do it?’ It was an observation that she offered cautiously, hoping only to make conversation.

  ‘In which case, if you’re that bothered, go an’ see her for yourself.’

  Good grief, she thought to herself, checking a sigh; he was even more tetchy than usual this evening. And, although recognising that it would be wise not to press the matter, she couldn’t shed the feeling of depression that came from seeing him so apparently weighed down by something.