Grace smiled through her tears, never taking her eyes off this precious child. ‘I think that would be lovely,’ she muttered. ‘It suits her and she has a look of Myfanwy about her, don’t you think? I reckon she’ll have her dark hair and blue eyes.’
He nodded in agreement but then Aiden exploded into the room and the close moment they had just shared was gone.
‘Babba!’ he said excitedly, struggling to clamber onto the bed next to his mother and sister. Grace saw the closed look come down in Dylan’s eyes but he gave the little boy a leg-up just the same. They made a pretty picture, the three of them, and Dylan smiled.
‘We’ll be a proper family now,’ he whispered and Grace prayed that he was right.
Over the next two days, as Grace grew steadily stronger, the child weakened. She refused to take any milk even from her concerned mother and eventually Dylan, who had still not gone back to work, sent for the doctor.
‘I’m afraid there’s nothing I can do,’ the doctor told him sadly after examining her. ‘You must understand she was born very prematurely, which put her at a terrible disadvantage. We can only pray that she will start to rally.’
But she didn’t rally. Dylan took to sleeping downstairs in the chair with her in his arms. Bronwen stayed on to help, for Grace was still too weak to get out of bed, and then one morning Grace was startled awake by a piteous scream from the room beneath her.
‘Mam, Mam, come quick. I don’t think Myfanwy is breathing!’
It was Dylan’s voice, and full of dread, Grace dragged herself from the bed. For a moment, her legs turned to jelly and the floor spun up to meet her, but somehow she managed to drag herself down to the kitchen.
Bronwen was just rushing out to fetch Mrs Gower and Dylan was frantically rocking the baby to and fro, his eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep. ‘She’s barely breathing and I don’t know what to do!’ his voice caught on a sob as Grace wobbled over to him, but as she reached for her daughter he clutched her possessively to him.
‘Leave her alone,’ he spat. ‘Haven’t you done enough? If it weren’t for you haring off after the bastard this wouldn’t be happening!’
Grace dropped onto a chair as tears spilled down her cheeks, for she knew deep down that what he said was right. It was her fault that Myfanwy had been born too soon and somehow, whatever happened, she was going to have to live with that. Seconds later a breathless Mrs Gower panted into the kitchen with Bronwen close behind her, only to skid to a halt as she stared towards the corner of the room.
‘It’s too late,’ she said woodenly. ‘She’s already gone to be an angel.’ She watched then as the ebony-haired girl standing in the corner of the room, who was clutching the baby to her with a beautiful smile on her face, melted away like mist in the morning.
‘No, no she can’t be.’ Dylan was sobbing broken-heartedly as he stared down at the lifeless infant in his arms.
‘Give her to me,’ Mrs Gower said gently, and as Dylan handed her over he looked like a broken man.
Little Myfanwy was laid to rest in the tiny churchyard two days later in the same grave as her namesake, and as Grace watched the tiny coffin being lowered into the hole she felt as if her heart was breaking. But the worst was yet to come.
When they got back to the cottage Dylan began to drink and by teatime he was so drunk he could no longer stand.
‘This is all your fault, you whore!’ he spat. ‘You sacrificed my child for yours. Why should your bastard live while mine died?’
Grace bowed her head. ‘I’m so sorry this has happened,’ she muttered. ‘I loved her too, you know!’
Dylan glared at her, hatred shining from his eyes. ‘You will be sorry for what you’ve done. By God you will afore I’ve finished with you!’
‘Now then, son. We know you’re upset, we all are, but you mustn’t say such things,’ Bronwen scolded, hoping to keep the peace.
Gertie and the Llewelyns had come back to the cottage for a small tea following the funeral and now all Grace wanted was for everyone to leave so that she could grieve in peace.
‘What did you mean anyway?’ Bronwen questioned. ‘About Aiden being her child?’
Grace held her breath, all too aware that any moment now her shame would be public knowledge.
‘Didn’t I tell you?’ he laughed as he took another swig of whisky. ‘She was already pregnant when I married her an’ the bastard’s not mine! I married her to give it a name an’ look how she’s repaid me!’
Suddenly Bronwen remembered back to the night when Grace had been delirious and everything fell into place. She had been calling for someone called Luke. More than ever now she was convinced that this must have been the name of Aiden’s father. A hush fell on the room as Bronwen rose and gathered her things together without another word, then turning to her husband she said, ‘Come along, we’re going and I’ll not darken this door again, so help me.’
Grace shuddered as she bowed her head in shame.
Chapter Forty-Three
August 1914
As Grace made her way from stall to stall in the marketplace she began to feel uneasy. Little clusters of women were huddled together discussing the assassination of the Archduke Franz Ferdinand and his wife in the streets of Sarajevo by a teenage Serbian nationalist back in June, and they were all saying that this could well lead to the outbreak of war. Grace had heard Dylan saying the same thing to Aled Llewelyn but found it hard to believe that something that had happened so far away could affect them. It frightened her just to think of it and she was glad when her shopping was done and she could hurry home.
‘Aiden, come away in now, pet,’ Grace called later as she stood at the open kitchen door. She smiled as she saw her son playing with the small goat she had purchased some time ago to supply them with milk. But the sun was fading and she knew Dylan might be home soon so she hoped to get Aiden into bed before he arrived. Dylan had never forgiven her for the death of their daughter, or Aiden for that matter. Many a time she’d had to step between Dylan and the boy when Dylan went to take a swipe at him, so now she found it easier to try and keep them apart.
Mrs Gower was in her own garden picking a lettuce from her vegetable patch and she raised her eyebrow, although she didn’t comment.
Since Grace’s baby had died, she had been round to Grace’s many a time with ointments and potions for Grace following one of Dylan’s drunken tempers, but never once had either of them spoken of how Grace’s bruises had appeared. In the beginning, Grace had found it humiliating. She was all too aware that Mrs Gower must know that Dylan beat her; how could she not? Their cottages were joined so she no doubt heard everything through the wall.
There had never been another child and sometimes Grace wondered if this was a good or a bad thing. Either way, she tried not to think of it. Dylan had changed almost beyond recognition over the last years. He often had days off work following a drinking binge and some time ago Grace had been forced to do whatever work she could to make ends meet. Even when he did go out fishing now, Dylan spent most of the money he earned in the inn and if it wasn’t for Grace growing their own fruit and vegetables and being as frugal as she possibly could she knew that there would have been times when they might have gone hungry.
Each Monday morning now, hail or shine, she would walk to the larger houses on the outskirts of the town and collect dirty washing in an old trolley that Aled Llewelyn had made for her. She would then wash, dry and iron it before returning it to the owners. The small amount she earned made all the difference. It meant that at least twice a week she could afford to buy meat, not the best cuts admittedly, but Grace had become adept at producing a meal from almost nothing, and thankfully there was always an abundance of fish. It was just as well, for ever since the day of her baby’s funeral her mother-in-law had refused to have anything more to do with her and she certainly had no time for Aiden.
‘She tricked my son into marrying her while she was carrying someone else’s bastard!’ she would tell anyone wh
o would listen to her, and despite Grace doing her best to explain that this hadn’t been the case, Bronwen merely turned a deaf ear.
Now, seeing that Aiden was still playing with the goat, she scolded, ‘Come away in I said, young man! Your dad will be home anytime.’
Aiden immediately scooted towards her. He didn’t like his dad at all and young as he was he knew that his dad didn’t like him, though as yet he had no idea why.
‘Will I get washed?’ he asked as he took his mother’s hand and entered the kitchen and Grace’s heart filled with love for him. He was such a lovely little boy, a bit on the skinny side, admittedly, but his glorious mop of blonde hair and his startling blue eyes made people give him a second glance. He was so like his father that sometimes it hurt Grace to look at him and she was fiercely protective of him.
‘The water’s in the bowl waiting for you,’ she told him, pointing towards the sink. ‘And your pyjamas are laid out for you as well.’
The child instantly stripped out of his dirty clothes and Grace thought how lucky she was to have him. He was such an undemanding little chap and good as gold into the bargain, although sometimes she felt as if he were two different children. When they were alone together he was playful and smiling but when he was in Dylan’s presence, he was quiet and had developed a nervous tick in his eye. It broke Grace’s heart but there was nothing she could do to change it apart from strive to protect him as much as she could.
Once Aiden was washed and changed she sat him at the kitchen table and sliced a large wedge from the fresh-baked loaf before smothering it in blackberry jam.
‘Aunt Gertie brought this over for you,’ she told him as he hungrily licked his lips. ‘She said to tell you the next time we go to Beehive Cottage you and Aunt Cerys can go blackberry picking and she’ll make us some more.’
He nodded as he greedily bit into his treat. He loved Aunt Gertie and Uncle Aled and Aunt Cerys too. They were always kind to him and one or another of them often turned up with little treats. Never while his father was there, though, he’d noticed. Not since the night he had laid in bed listening to his dad shouting at his mum when he came back from the inn.
‘Tell them to stay away!’ Dylan had warned. ‘We’re not bloody charity cases just yet. I’ll see to me own family!’
‘But, Dylan, you’ve brought no money in for almost two weeks now,’ his mother had answered and then Aiden had heard the sound of something crashing over and his mother cry out. He’d burrowed down in the bed then and tried not to hear any more. He always did that when he heard his dad shout. Once, he’d ventured down the stairs only to find his mum’s nose pouring with blood and when he’d gone to run to her his dad had hit him.
‘It’s all right, pet. I knocked the chair over when I tripped and hurt my nose,’ she’d told him as she’d glared at Dylan. She always seemed to be hurting herself, Aiden thought, so now Aunt Gertie or the Llewelyns only visited when they knew that he was out.
Soon his belly was full of bread and jam and milk from the goat and he yawned.
Grace smiled. ‘Come on, young feller me lad, let’s get you tucked in,’ she said and Aiden willingly followed her upstairs. She was kind, was his mam, and she never shouted at him, not like his dad.
Within minutes of his head touching the pillow he was fast asleep, so Grace went back downstairs to tackle the huge pile of ironing that never seemed to get any smaller.
She was still ironing by the light of the oil lamp when Dylan got home and she glanced at him warily, trying to gauge what mood he was in before rushing away to fetch his meal. She had been keeping it hot over a saucepan of boiling water on the range for over an hour and prayed it wouldn’t be dried up so that he had something to complain about.
‘Did you have a good day?’ she asked cheerily, hoping to put him in a good mood. He’d clearly been drinking, she could smell the ale on him, but he seemed to be calm enough.
‘Aye, I did till I got to the inn this evenin’.’ He stared at her for a moment before asking, ‘So have you heard the news?’
When she stared at him blankly he lifted his knife and fork and shook his head. ‘As of today, we are officially at war; the men in the inn were on about it. Didn’t I tell you it was coming?’
Grace rubbed her throat as a cold hand closed about her heart. She hadn’t seen a newspaper for some days now, Dylan didn’t always bring one home anymore. He was always too intent on getting to the inn when he finished his day’s fishing nowadays, but she knew that war had been on the cards for some time. And now it had finally happened. It was a frightening thought.
‘So how will it affect us?’
He shrugged as he took a mouthful of the cod and sliced fried potatoes on his plate. ‘Time will tell, I dare say. They’re saying that there’ll be recruitment centres springing up all over the place and most of the young men will be gone in no time.’
‘And will you have to go?’ she enquired.
Another shrug. ‘Who knows? It’s bound to affect the fishing industry even if I don’t have to,’ he answered. ‘If the enemy boats start to come into our waters the men reckon we’ll be restricted as to how far we’ll be allowed to go out to sea.’
‘I see.’ Grace chewed on her lip. She’d been dreading this. Still, she told herself, whatever happens we’ll just have to make the best of it.
Over the next two weeks, the world seemed to go mad. Young men queued at the recruitment centres and went off to the training camps like conquering heroes, as if they were embarking on some wonderful adventure.
‘They’ll rue the day, the silly buggers, you just mark my words,’ Mrs Gower said gloomily over the garden fence one day. ‘I don’t mind betting half of ’em won’t come home!’ She pottered away, leaving Grace to peg the rest of the washing to the line with a heavy heart.
Things had been quiet in the cottage for the last couple of weeks. Dylan still went to the inn but came home reasonably sober, but that night everything suddenly changed.
He was so late coming in that Grace eventually turned off the heat beneath the saucepan that was keeping his meal warm and wearily made her way to bed. She had been washing and ironing all day and was so tired that she fell asleep almost instantly. It was the sound of the kitchen door slamming against the wall as it was flung open that made her start awake and she groaned. It could only mean one thing – Dylan was drunk. She lay for a moment listening to him crashing about the kitchen, muttering and cursing. She hoped that he would drop into the chair and fall asleep but her hopes were dashed when he came to the bottom of the stairs and screeched, ‘Where are you, woman! I wantsh me dinner!’
Grace sighed as she slung her legs over the edge of the feather mattress. Much as she didn’t want to face him if he was in a state, she would have to or he would wake Aiden up and the child was nervy enough as it was.
She found him sprawled in the chair when she reached the bottom of the stairs and he instantly began to rant at her. ‘Whass the idea o’ clearin’ off to bed! Ain’t a man entitled to a meal when he’sh done a hard day’s graft?’
‘I can warm your dinner up again in no time,’ she said, hoping to placate him. ‘Though I can’t promise what it will be like. I’ve been keeping it warm for hours.’
He narrowed his eyes as he glared at her. ‘Oh, sho I have to ask your permishion to go for a drink now, do I?’
‘Of course not,’ she assured him as she placed the saucepan back on the heat. ‘I was just sayin—’
‘Well, don’t bloody say, you whore,’ he rasped. ‘Just get that food on the table now!’
‘But it won’t be hot again ye—’
‘Now!’ he roared and Grace began to tremble as she carried the meal to the table. Hopefully he was so drunk that he’d just eat it.
But he didn’t. After one mouthful he spat the food all over the table then threw the plate at the wall where it smashed, depositing pottery and food all over the place.
‘You’re bloody useless!’ he ground out. As he appro
ached her with his fist clenched she could do nothing but raise her hands to try and protect her face. The thump when it came was full on into her stomach and she groaned as the air left her lungs and she doubled over.
‘P-please, Dylan, I haven’t done anything,’ she pleaded but he was incensed now and the blows began to rain down on her thick and fast until she tumbled to the floor and rolled herself into a ball. ‘Y-you’ll wake Aiden,’ she sobbed and he laughed – a cruel laugh that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end.
‘I’ve a good mind to fetch that little bastard down an’ give him a thrashin’ too,’ he grunted and from that moment on Grace said not another word. Far better she took the beating than risk her son. At some time during the frenzied attack, he began to kick her and one of the kicks connected with her mouth. She felt the blood spurt and a tooth loosen at the back of her mouth but still she managed not to cry out. And then as quickly as it had erupted, his temper was done and he slouched away to drop into the chair again. Waves of pain were washing through her, but Grace lay as still as a statue in case he came back to start on her again, but within seconds he was snoring loudly. Slowly she tried to drag herself to her feet but a shooting pain in her chest made her drop to the floor like a stone and she knew no more.
‘Mammy, Mammy, wake up.’ A small hand shaking her arm made her open her eyes groggily to find Aiden standing over her. Tears were running down his face as he stared at the bloody state of her but she managed to smile weakly at him. Daylight was streaming through the kitchen window and she wondered what time it was.
‘It’s all right,’ she soothed, although it hurt to talk and she dreaded to think what she must look like. ‘Mammy had a nasty fall but I’ll be fine if you help me up.’
Aiden did his best and she had managed to get to her knees when Dylan suddenly snorted in the chair and opened his eyes. He stared towards them and she saw a look of horror dawn in his eyes as he saw her.
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