A Country Marriage

by Sandra Jane Goddard

  ‘George, are you certain everything’s all right?’

  ‘Certain,’ he replied, and laying down his fork, pushed aside his largely untouched meal to add, ‘and now, assuming you haven’t a problem with it, I’m goin’ out.’

  ‘Will you be gone long?’ she asked, more in the name of showing interest than anything else.

  ‘As long as it takes.’

  Left on her own once again, she cleared their supper things, and feeling it too early to retire to bed – and knowing anyway that her mind was too agitated for sleep – she stepped out into the soft evening air and wandered down to the apple tree. Exhaling a long groan, she sat down underneath it and then flopped backwards onto the grass to stare upwards through the boughs and see the first-quarter moon suspended in a thin trail of ragged cloud. It was clear that George was deeply distracted by something, and it was also clear that he wasn’t going to tell her what it was. These last few weeks, he had rarely spent an evening at home, and for him to hold a proper conversation with her was rarer still – but as he seemingly only divided his time between The Stag and the farmhouse, his movements gave her no clue to the cause of his preoccupation.

  Above her, the gentlest breath of air moved through the leaves, while on the grass below, she lay wishing that she could either fathom the reason for his preoccupation or simply learn to live with it. But knowing the latter to be beyond her, she was struck by an idea; if George wouldn’t tell her what was troubling him, then she would use her own means to find out. All she had to do was go to the farm and delve about. Maybe by going there and getting into conversation with the family, she would glean something to explain his mood. And while she hadn’t the least notion of what she was expecting to find when she got there, she did have a very good idea of where to start.

  *

  Strolling down to the farmhouse, Mary noticed that the morning sunshine seemed to be lending every colour a new intensity. Against the vibrant turquoise of the sky, the carpet of young wheat in the distant fields appeared bright emerald, while closer by in the meadow, the purple-blue vetches and splashes of white day’s-eyes were being picked out with an exaggerated sharpness. And, alongside her in the hedgerow, the warming rays were intensifying the sweet fragrance from the shell-pink dog rose and amplifying the incessant ‘tsee-tsee hu-hu-hu’ of the tomtits flitting about in their search for caterpillars. If only every day was like this, she reflected turning into the yard.

  ‘How are you then?’ she asked, stepping into the softer light of the kitchen to find Ellen podding the first of the peas.

  ‘I’m very well, bless you for asking. In point of fact, I’d go so far as to say that at the moment, everyone down here seems well.’

  ‘So it’s quiet then?’ she asked, picking up a tiny pale pea and popping it into her mouth. Ellen, she noticed, glanced about before answering.

  ‘Surprisingly so. For once, no one is at anyone else’s throat and all of the work is getting done. Long may it continue.’

  ‘Good. I’m pleased to hear it,’ she replied. It was a long time since she had seen Ellen smiling so readily.

  ‘Course, it’s a help all round that Annie’s happier. Sometimes, you know, it’s like she’s a different person; so much more even-tempered, laughing and smiling with baby Luke all the time. And he’s such a bonny little soul, too. Course, beyond a doubt her biggest help has been having George at her side so much.’

  Feeling as though she had been struck across the chest by something heavy, she reached for the edge of the table. Annie had George at her side? What on earth did that mean? But since it occurred to her that this was precisely the sort of thing she had come down here to find out, she resisted the urge to ask outright and, instead, simply willed Ellen to continue.

  ‘Course.’

  ‘It’s so kind of you to spare him to come down here so often. She says it’s such a comfort having someone to sit with and talk to about… well, you know, about everything that happened – but then I’m sure you don’t need me to tell you about how considerate your own husband is! He has such patience with her. Goodness only knows what they find to talk about every evening but she always comes back from their walks together looking so refreshed and so calm.’

  ‘Well I’m glad he can help.’ So George was coming down here to comfort his sister-in-law; that’s what this was all about? What a relief! She could stop worrying, then that she had done something wrong; something to annoy him. The odd thing, though, was that he should behave so guardedly about it. After all, if he was doing such a fine thing, then why keep it a secret? Still, the relief at having got to the bottom of the whole thing was beyond words. With just that single revelation from Ellen, an entire shoulder-load of worry had been shed. How silly to have worried so; to have imagined even for a moment that George would have got himself into some sort of trouble with those Radicals.

  Using the excuse of leaving Ellen to get on with her work, she stepped out into the yard, and with Jacob beginning to grow fractious in her arms, decided to head for Top Pasture, where she could set him down to exhaust himself crawling about in the grass. And once she was satisfied that he would come to no harm, she joined him, sitting among the tussocks. Somewhere high above, invisible against the heavens, she could hear a skylark hovering in song-flight, while down among the golden-yellow corn marigolds and the blowsy scarlet poppies, the air around her was abuzz with insects and fragrant with the scent of newly cut grass. Enveloped in tranquillity, she flopped backwards and closed her eyes. How foolish it seemed to have become so frustrated – so panicked – when all George had been trying to do was help his widowed sister-in-law in her time of need. And how soothing did it feel to finally emerge from behind her great shadow of fear and doubt to luxuriate in the sunshine? Yes. She had needlessly spent who-knew-how-many of these last weeks worrying herself ragged for nothing.

  ‘Well, well, if it isn’t Mary Strong.’

  Snapping her eyes wide open, she shot upright, dazzled and disoriented by the brightness but recognising his voice long before his silhouette. Francis Troke. How on earth had he managed to creep up on her? And just how disarrayed were her garments?

  ‘You.’

  And why was he laying down his scythe in the grass? Oh: because apparently he was going to sit down beside her. Now what should she do, then? For the sake of propriety he was far too close, but moving further away would only alert him to her discomfort. Not that he was likely to be in any doubt; he could probably hear the thudding of her heart, anyway.

  ‘Beautiful, ain’t it?’ Without even looking, she could somehow tell that he was grinning. ‘And what a sight to behold as I toil away; a heavenly hay maiden.’ Hoping for her colour to subside was pointless, as was trying to slow her breathing. So the only thing left for her to do was ignore him. Snatching at the stem of a cornflower, she held it in front of her, studying the cobalt creation as though it was the first one she had ever seen. ‘Don’t see you down here much lately,’ she could hear him continuing, ‘and that’s a real shame.’

  ‘That’s because I’m busy.’ As she said it, it occurred to her that Nature seemed to be conspiring to make her feel faint: the warmth, the buzzing, the perfumes.

  ‘I’m hoping you’ll be down here Saturday coming, though; for my sister’s wedding.’

  She sighed. She had forgotten about the stupid wedding. And now she had even more reasons for not wanting to be there.

  ‘I’ve no say in the matter,’ she replied, hoping to make her part in it sound just as it was – involuntary.

  Away to her right, a blackbird flew down from the hawthorn hedge, but on apparently spotting them nearby, plumped its feathers and with a sharp pook-pook-pook of alarm, flew on across the field. Still twirling the cornflower, she watched it go.

  ‘Then since you’ll be there, I hope you’ll keep me in mind for a dance.’

  ‘And why would I do that?’ So much for trying to ignore him, then.

  ‘Because you’d enjoy it. And so would I.’r />
  Buzzing about her arm was a stout and glossy bluebottle, and grateful for a reason to disguise her discomfort with the way this was turning out – especially given the accuracy of his last observation – she took several swipes at it, her exasperation only heightened further by the fact that she missed.

  ‘I wouldn’t.’

  ‘No? Good thing I already know different then.’

  What she wanted more than anything was to find the words – and the conviction – to let him know that he was mistaken. The problem was that she was no good at lying; never really had been. She dropped the flower – already drooping in the heat – and pressed her hands into the grass by her sides.

  ‘I have to go.’ Still unable to look up, she shook her head. She hadn’t even been able to say that with any purpose. And if she looked up now, she knew that he would be looking at her.

  ‘Remember the harvest home?’ he was asking. Of course she remembered it; for so many reasons, as it happened, although none of them would she ever be drawn into sharing with him. ‘Remember how we chanced to meet?’ And now she didn’t even have the benefit of being able to look down because his finger was under her chin, tilting it upwards. Engulfed by panic, she closed her eyes, unable, though, to block out the fact that his hand smelled like sweet meadow-grass. ‘Remember how it felt?’ he was persisting, his voice intimate and conspiratorial. ‘Me, I’ve oftentimes relived those moments; thought about all that passion in your nature, Mary Strong.’

  Put a stop to this now. Don’t let him lure you in like this.

  ‘I’m wed, lest you hadn’t noticed.’ It was the sharpest tone she could muster and made her aware that he at least had the grace to drop his finger from her chin.

  ‘Oh I noticed, believe me. But just for a moment, think about how nice it would be to pick up where we left off—’

  ‘What? Didn’t you hear what I just said?’

  ‘Oh, I heard, all right. You’re wed. But see, your husband don’t kiss you like I kissed you, does he? Nor does he touch you like I did. No, nobody ain’t ever touched you like that.’

  Get up. Walk away. Don’t listen to any more of this.

  ‘You’re wrong.’

  ‘No I’m not, Mary. Don’t lie. It ain’t nice for a young woman to lie.’ Trying desperately to close her mind to the images he was conjuring, she nevertheless found herself compelled to give in, to meet his eyes. Since he seemed perfectly able to see straight into her thoughts, what did it matter anyway? ‘See, I’ve the notion that you wanted to give yourself to me that night because you were curious about what it would be like, and so to my simple way of looking upon it, you really ought to let me to show you. Just the one time of course, just so as you can find out, that’s all. Nothing more.’

  ‘Don’t be absurd.’ Finally, she got to her feet. A game was a game but this had long since gone from simple banter – something from which she could easily walk away – to something from which she might not. Realising just how frighteningly true that was she glanced towards the gate. Thank heavens no one had come upon them. Whatever had she been thinking to linger there alone with him for so long? Whatever was it about this man that made her court danger so? Catching sight of the sheen of golden pollen on her skirt, she gave it a vigorous shake, and then, walking across to Jacob, scooped him up from the grass. ‘That night – those few moments – were a mistake,’ she said, cross now with herself more than with him, ‘and I want nothing more to do with you.’

  ‘If you say so, Mary. But when you change your mind, as you surely will, come and find me.’

  *

  For Mary, the evenings of the next week passed in much the same vein as previously; George came home tired from work, ate his supper, made only the barest of conversation with her and then went out again. As she sat regarding him one evening, it crossed her mind to tell him that she knew what he was doing, indeed, why he was doing it; after all, if people at the farm knew, then why did she have to pretend that she didn’t? But as she opened her mouth to say as much, having first rehearsed in her head what she might say, she changed her mind; if he wanted her to know, then surely by now he would have told her. And letting him know that she had found out by other means might make it look as though she had been prying, which given his apparent desire for secrecy, might not be wise. So instead, she affixed a patient smile and hoped that in the fullness of time, as Annie’s life gradually began to settle down, her need for George would fade, and along with it so would his burden.

  But the next evening, although he went out as usual, he was quickly back, saying without preamble, ‘I been talking to Ma and she told me how all this weddin’ food is proving to be a real struggle, so I told her that tomorrow and Saturday you’ll go down there and help her.’

  ‘What?’ Whatever had possessed him to volunteer her services without even talking to her first? ‘Well, that’s a nuisance and I don’t mind saying. I was in Wembridge all morning and then with that rain this afternoon I got scarce to nothing done.’

  ‘Well I can’t help the weather. Some of us were working in it anyway. I’ve said you’ll go and help, so for once, do as I say.’

  ‘George—’

  ‘For heaven’s sake Mary, why must you constantly question me? I’m sorry if it ain’t to your liking but sometimes that’s the way things are, plain and simple. So just go and help.’ And then, without giving her time to answer, he went back out again.

  Puzzled by his outburst and more than a little frightened, she sank into the chair and hugged her knees to her chest. She hadn’t been going to refuse to go and help; she had merely wanted to comment on the inconvenience of being landed with more work when she was barely coping with her own. Bewildered both by his unrelenting mood and what felt like his increasing hostility towards her, she started to cry; her tears as much in sadness for the continued tension between them, as with her irritation for what she had just been volunteered to do.

  Chapter 15

  A Young Man’s Fancy

  With the weather on Saturday turning out to be perfect for a wedding, and with the morning’s work already complete, Annie and Lottie sat down together in the narrow band of shade afforded by the house to fashion garlands for the bridal table, their activity releasing a cloud of soft fragrance from the blooms of the sweet briar and a mist of apple-like scent from its leaves. In the kitchen, though, where the heat from the fire was slowly exhausting them, Hannah and Ellen, together with Martha and Mary, were struggling to prepare the last of the numerous trays of food.

  ‘Remind me again why the weddin’ of Martha’s daughter’s is being held here?’ Mary hissed to Ellen.

  ‘All I can tell you is that Ma Strong said summat about it being the best place for it.’

  ‘Well, I suppose she has a point but to be honest, with the way I feel at this very moment, I could well do without having to go to church for the wedding of two people I scarcely know,’ she confessed, pulling another batch of loaves from the bread oven and wiping her face with the corner of her blouse.

  ‘Oh no, that’s the bettermost part.’

  She turned about. The other thing she didn’t need at the moment, but seemed now to have unwittingly invited, was a sermon from Ellen.

  ‘If you say so.’

  ‘Marriage is a gift of God in creation through which husband and wife may know the grace of God. Aye, I’m real fond of the marriage service. ’Tis full of joy and hope and love. And do you know, given the chance, I’d marry Will all over again, right this very moment, just to hear all them uplifting words.’

  Wedging the loaves onto the single remaining space on the table, she sighed. Joy and hope. Huh. Stark terror and agonising nerves would be a better description of her own wedding day. And, as she could never help but recall, the night that followed had been even worse.

  ‘Well, if you’re going to foist another wedding upon us, perhaps I could prevail upon you to at least wait a week or two until we’re done and dusted with this one.’

  ‘Here
, let me finish that. You go and get washed. We’re nigh on done here now anyway.’

  Grateful for Ellen’s thoughtfulness, but with little enthusiasm, she did as she was told. Having spent the last day and a half helping her mother-in-law, the simple truth of the matter was that she was just plain exhausted. And while she knew that they were all feeling the same, it didn’t negate the displeasure she still felt with her husband for having volunteered her in the first place. And it was so unbearably hot. And even though her duty was now done, she still had a wedding service to sit through. And then, after that, there would still be the randy, which, as was the way with these things, would no doubt simply amount to a good deal of drunkenness and cavorting. And even when that was done, she would most likely still be expected back at first light to help clear up. Was it any wonder, then, that she was in such bad humour?

  Peering into the tiny looking glass propped up on top of the chest, it was impossible not to notice that she looked furious – but even when she tried softening her expression, the furrows between her brows seemed to remain just as deeply engraved. Turning in frustration from her scowling reflection, she reached instead for her hairbrush, only to have the instrument of torture become tangled in a knot at the back of her head. Cursing the agony to her scalp she dragged it out. And anyway, where was George? She was certain that she had heard him in the yard, talking to Lottie and Annie a while back; not that he had seen fit to put his head around the door and say hello. No. No doubt he knew all too well how annoyed she would still be. Well, that was fine: he could avoid her if he liked, but if that was his aim, then he needn’t think that he would find her in the least obliging later on.

  *

  ‘You all right, there?’ Ellen wanted to know, as she sat down next to Mary and gave a weary sigh. With the celebrations well under way, the atmosphere in the barn had already become stifling, the effects evident in the flush on Ellen’s normally pale face and the dewy beads of perspiration on her forehead.