Please come to see us soon, as promised!
Your loving daughter,
Megan.
Mattie was nursing an unexpected bout of hayfever when the airmail arrived. Griff brought it up to her on her breakfast tray, which he balanced carefully on her knees.
Wiping her streaming eyes and blowing her sore nose, she said huskily: ‘You open it, and read it to me, there’s a dear. I really shouldn’t be so lazy, lying in bed expecting you to wait on me, you know.’
‘A retired husband’s privilege,’ he returned. ‘It’s coming up to our thirty-ninth wedding anniversary. Next year it’ll be our Ruby wedding!’ He felt for his reading glasses in a pocket, sat on the edge of the bed, while she cracked the top of the soft-boiled egg. When Megan and then Gracie were small girls, she’d cut thin strips of bread and butter for dipping in the yolk. Griff had done the same for her. There was a pink rosebud in a second egg-cup.
She looked at him lovingly as he bent his head to decipher Megan’s large, looped handwriting. The bald patch on the crown of his head was visible, which it wasn’t when he stood up, because he was taller than she was. She was suddenly aware that he was faltering in his speech – the flimsy blue paper was wavering in his hands. As if in slow motion, he slumped forward, across her lower legs.
Mattie endeavoured to shift up in the bed, to free her trapped limbs, while the tray went crashing to the floor. She stepped over the debris and attempted to lift him to a sitting position, but was unable to do so. Trembling, she picked up the bedside phone, dialled the emergency code.
Then she knelt beside him and cradled his inert body in her arms. She heard a voice say loudly, not recognizing it was her own: ‘Wake up, darling, I’m here . . .’
There was the sound of splintering wood downstairs in the entrance hall, as the front door was forced open, and then footsteps pounded up the stairs.
They tried everything they could to resuscitate Griff, but it was too late, he was pronounced dead at the scene.
‘He is sixty years old,’ she said simply, when they asked his age.
‘A massive coronary – a long-standing heart condition,’ was the medical verdict.
Mattie just couldn’t take that in. Griff had never complained: he’d cared for her and boosted her spirits during her own spells of poor health. How could she carry on without him? She could only take it day by day.
So it was that Mattie’s family came to North Dakota, instead of the way it should have been, Mattie and Griff flying home to England to be with them.
Mattie, of whom Griff once said, ‘You always seem to feel better when you’ve had a good cry,’ had been resolutely dry-eyed since the family arrived. She comforted Megan and Gracie and tried to reassure them by telling them that Griff couldn’t have suffered, because the end had mercifully been so quick. Max was kind and thoughtful in his quiet way, and took over the funeral arrangements. They could only stay a few days.
‘Mom, leave everything, and come back with us,’ Megan entreated.
Mattie shook her head. ‘I can’t just walk away from here after thirty years.’
‘You’ve nothing to keep you here now.’ Megan instantly regretted saying that.
‘I imagine I will come home for good at some time in the future, but I’m not ready to let all this go, all that your father worked so hard for. I need to come to terms with what has happened. I’m not yet over the shock.’ Mattie thought: maybe I never will be. I’ve lost the love of my life. I can’t . . . abandon him . . .
Easter had been at the beginning of April this year. The last excursion, as they called it, which they had enjoyed together, was the hundred-mile drive to the Peace Garden, on the border between North Dakota and Manitoba. This beautiful sanctuary symbolised the long friendship between the United States and Canada. It was also symbolic to Mattie and Griff of the link they themselves had with both countries and where they had embarked on their great adventure.
In the Peace Garden the wild prairie rose, the State flower, designated as such in 1907, bloomed alongside more exotic varieties. It was soft pink in colour with a golden centre, and reminded Mattie of the briar roses in the hedgerows she’d loved, in her childhood in Suffolk. Griff had instantly recalled the pink costume she wore on their wedding day. ‘Your colour, Mattie.’ He sketched her sitting in the garden, with roses in the background.
Now, she said, ‘No hothouse flowers for Griff, please: just the prairie rose.’
Griff hadn’t been a regular churchgoer, nor had she, since the days when she’d gone on most Sundays to the Lutheran church, while they lived at the farm. His mother, she knew, had been a chapel-goer in Wales, where she had met and married Griff’s father.
‘We’ll take him back to the prairie, to be laid to rest in the cemetery there,’ she decided. ‘It was the first place he thought of as “home” – after an unsettled childhood.’
‘I’ll drive you over,’ Max offered. ‘See if it can be arranged . . .’
‘We’ll all go, if Mom doesn’t mind,’ Megan suggested. ‘I’ve not been back there since we got caught in the dust storm. Gracie should see where I was born.’
‘We never went again either. I felt sad, you see, after that last visit, because I was reminded how much I loved – and still missed – the old place,’ Mattie told them. She paused. ‘I need to go there now, for Griff’s sake.’
The little township had expanded even further, people looked prosperous, there were more shops, but the garage was still in place, even though it had been modernised by a new owner. The provision store was now a regular drugstore, but there was still a sign: MATTIE’S ICE CREAM SOLD HERE.
‘Same recipe, I hope,’ Megan said, as she and Gracie went to buy a cornet each. They were able to tell Mattie that the ice cream was still made in the same way from the same dairy products, by ‘Your friend Gretchen.’
They stopped off at Gary’s café, and there he was, grey-haired now, but smiling to see old friends, then concerned when he learned why they had returned.
‘Please don’t think it’s an intrusion,’ he said, reaching for his camera, under the counter. ‘I must have a picture to prove I saw you again . . .’
Gretchen, still blonde and braided but more buxom, was at the church to greet them, and to introduce them to the new pastor, still considered by his flock to be a relative newcomer after ten years.
‘Later,’ she said, ‘you must come back to the old place and eat with us before you journey home. My uncle and aunt have both passed away since we last met, and now we farm with the help of our three big sons. Wenche was married a year ago.’
Gracie took her grandmother’s arm as they went together to look at the dairy, and the cows lined up for the afternoon milking.
‘Let them go on their own,’ Max told Megan gently, as she made to follow.
Gracie said, as they walked slowly back to the farmhouse: ‘Oh, Mommy Mattie – how could you bear to leave all this?’
The tears rained down Mattie’s pale cheeks then. She stood stockstill, and Gracie clutched her in a fierce embrace. They cried together, united in their sadness.
Mattie said at last: ‘This was a dream fulfilled, when we came here. It was a great deal harder to survive than we ever imagined it would be, but Griff and I were proud of what we achieved. Those days are past. We made a good life for ourselves in the city, too, and we had Megan, and then, you. Grandad Griff and I were looking forward to a happy retirement, starting with a visit to England. We never intended to leave it so long – I regret I never saw my parents again, although we always kept in touch . . .’
‘Aunty Evie wants you to come, very much.’
‘Tell dear Evie, I will – but not just yet.’
‘I still miss you a lot. Mom and I – well, we clash sometimes. She doesn’t understand me, like you do.’
‘She does, but she was headstrong when she was your age, and she’s afraid—’
‘I’ll make a big mistake, like
she did?’ Gracie challenged.
‘I never think of it like that! Nor must you, Gracie. Look, if you’d rather talk to the older generation, like me, go to Evie – she’ll soon put you right!’
It was a simple service, following the long, slow journey by the cortège. A lovely day, though with the need to hold on to hats and to smooth down skirts in the strong breeze. Family were joined in the church pews by those who had known the Parrys years ago, and came to pay their respects. The harmonium swelled, there was heartfelt singing, prayers, and then they followed Griff to his final resting place.
Mattie, Megan, Max and Gracie went back to the farm for refreshments before driving home.
As she had said, twenty odd years ago about Bert, Gretchen observed quietly to Mattie, ‘I don’t ever forget you, you see . . .’ She paused. ‘I will take care of him.’
‘I know you will . . . Gretchen, can’t you call me Mattie after all this time?’
Gretchen smiled. ‘To me, you’ll always be “the Missus”. Did Bert ever marry?’
‘No – but he’s done well: chief engineer on the railway. Anna, his grandmother, is still alive. Bert takes care of her nowadays. I’m sure he has his memories too.’
She said goodbye to her family at the front gate. ‘Don’t come to the airport,’ Megan insisted. ‘We love you Mom!’ The taxi was waiting.
‘I know you do.’ Mattie said. She actually wanted to be alone now, to cope in her own way with her loss. She hugged Megan, then Max, and last of all, Gracie. ‘Try hard in your exams; follow your dreams,’ she whispered. She thought: Griff never achieved what he might have with his gift for drawing. I let my writing lapse, but we did follow our dream.
She looked at the weeds in the garden. It needed digging over. There were seed potatoes to plant. Griff had done all the heavy work for years now, but if she took it at a steady pace, she thought, she could do it herself. She wouldn’t be able to sort through things indoors yet, that could wait. She needed to be physically tired to be able to sleep at night. Maybe she could grow enough vegetables to sell at the gate – the thought actually made her smile – and she could experiment with her ice-cream making. She’d have to buy a book on it, for nowadays there were all sorts of rules and regulations, but this was yet another beginning, and this time she had to go it alone.
THIRTY-ONE
1971
The house echoed in its emptiness as it had the day Mattie, Griff and Megan had arrived to live there – was it really getting on for forty years ago? It was ten years since Griff had died. Mattie hadn’t intended to stay there so long. When Evie retired from the Amy Able in 1968 and returned to Plough Cottage, she’d written to her sister: ‘Now you have no excuse not to come – oh, the two of us together again – how wonderful!’
Mattie had seen Megan and Max several times during these years, including last fall, when Megan said bluntly, ‘Don’t you want to sell up after all?’
Gracie, of course, was long since grown up. There had been more adolescent angst, and she hadn’t lived at home since she was eighteen, when she had her first walk-on part in a touring play. Megan hadn’t confirmed it, but reading between the lines in the occasional postcard Gracie sent her grandmother, Mattie suspected that Gracie was living with her boyfriend, an actor named Lachlan. Megan sent Mattie a snap of the two of them at a party: Mattie hardly recognised the sultry, pouting young woman with long, straight hair, in a skimpy dress, with a brimming glass in one hand and a cigarette in the other. Lachlan, on whose lap she perched, had long locks, too, an earring, and a shirt open to the waist. How was it, she thought dismayed, that she could discern a similarity to the young Griff? Perhaps because Lachlan too had a dark Celtic air.
The world was changing at an accelerating rate. There had been the terrible assassinations in America which stunned the population. On the other side of the Atlantic there were the dark troubles in Northern Ireland. Decimalisation of Britain’s coinage had taken place, the Common Market was in sight. The trade unions were in an uproar, strikes were frequent, unemployment rising.
Mattie realised that she would have to prepare herself for a few shocks when she returned to England. But surely, she thought, Plough Cottage will be as it was?
Her luggage was piled ready for collection in the hall. The little trunk was there, with all the treasures she’d collected together over the years. She’d looked in there once more, then closed the lid and fastened the straps to keep it secure. The furniture had gone to auction. Her good neighbours would let her know how that went, in due course. She glanced at her watch. There came a knock on the door. The new owners were on time. She was glad the house was going to friends: Megan’s schoolfriend Kay’s son and his wife.
She opened the door, welcomed them in. They were going to measure up for curtains and decide where their furniture could go. They were in their twenties, with no family as yet, the girl was in blue jeans and a sweatshirt which matched her husband’s.
‘I can’t wait to plant all my favourite flowers in the front garden.’ Katy smiled.
Mattie smiled back, thinking, she’ll be surprised when she digs up the odd potato!
‘I left the kitchen curtains up, I thought you might like those,’ she said.
She saw the girl bite her lip. ‘Thank you.’
Mattie added quickly, ‘Of course, you may want a different colour. You can always start a rag-bag with mine!’ She sensed they were waiting for her to go, so that they could explore the house on their own, and make plans. ‘Well, your grandfather will be waiting to take me to the hotel. Then he has kindly offered to take me to the airport tomorrow morning. Good luck! I hope you’ll be as happy as we were here.’
I don’t suppose they’ll stay forty years, as I have, she said to herself. And I wonder if Mattie’s Ice-Cream Kiosk will open up again this summer in the park by the pool? Will they find someone to run it who enjoys watching the kids at play, as much as I did? That kept me going on the days I missed Griff most.
The flight was all that Megan and Max had assured her it would be. It was amazing to think that this time the journey in reverse would take hours, not days. She sat back in her comfortable seat and actually dozed, for she had been too excited to sleep much last night.
Her daughter and son-in-law were waiting to greet her when she came towards them, trundling her baggage. The necessary formalities completed, they drove home.
‘Will Evie be there?’ Mattie wondered hopefully.
Megan was in the back with her mother, holding tight on to her hand as she had as a child. ‘Mom, she said she’d see you in a couple of days, when we take you to the cottage. She said it ought to be just family today. You’ll have all the time in the world to catch up, after all.’
‘Gracie?’
‘Gracie and Lachy are appearing in a show in Drury Lane! They don’t rise very early, but they’ll make an exception for you, and join us for lunch.’
‘No wedding bells yet?’
‘Not even a tinkle! She’s only twenty-six. I guess you’re hoping for a great-grandchild, eh? There’s nothing maternal about our Gracie, I’m afraid!’
‘I knew someone else like that! And here you are, enjoying supply teaching nowadays, eh?’
‘Gracie may do the same one day – if the starring parts continue to elude her.’
Later, as she changed out of the smart pants suit into a shirtwaist frock, and tidied her hair, she looked round the guest room, wondering who had chosen the geometrically patterned bright wallpaper and the jazzy curtains. She glanced through the window, saw that it overlooked the courtyard, and smiled to see a tiny, splashing fountain and pots both large and small, with unusual plants. Not a potato in sight!
Gracie had long ago discarded her glasses. ‘Contact lenses,’ she confided. ‘At least I can see where I’m going now, and am in no danger of falling off the stage!’
Mattie thought immediately that Gracie was far too thin, but she knew better than to comment on that. Actually, Gracie had
a good appetite, and obviously enjoyed the smoked salmon, tiny buttered potatoes and green salad, with crusty bread. She declined the lemon meringue tart, saying she preferred a cigarette with her coffee.
Lachy said very little, allowing Gracie to do all the talking. Mattie was relieved to see that his shirt, with its tapering collar, was buttoned to the neck and that he even sported a bootlace tie. He’d grown a lot of facial hair since that photo was taken.
Some time later, in the comfortable sitting room, Mattie rested her head back in her armchair, and before she knew it, she was asleep. The journey had taken its toll.
‘We must go, Mom.’ Gracie dropped a light kiss on her grandmother’s forehead. ‘Tell Mommy Mattie we’ll see her again soon. If she feels up to it, before she goes to Aunty Evie’s, why don’t you bring her to the theatre? I could wangle some seats.’
They were driving through the countryside, and Mattie kept exclaiming, ‘Oh, it’s just as I remembered it!’ She’d only passed through London on a bus on her way to catch the train to Plymouth when she was eighteen years old, but it had changed in many ways since the wartime bombing and later rebuilding.
The door to Plough Cottage stood open. Megan and Max let Mattie go forward on her own, to greet her sister. The two women embraced, and then there was laughter and tears, and the welcoming words from Evie, ‘Here you are at last, then!’
After the others had left for London, and Robbie and Vi, who had joined them for a while, retired to their side of the old house, Mattie went from room to room with her sister, exclaiming with pleasure as she recognised the old and familiar things.
‘I had the kitchen made more up to date,’ Evie said apologetically.
‘You haven’t got a washing-machine,’ Mattie noted.
‘No, just a Baby Burco boiler. Gets the sheets as white as Mother did!’
The Meadow Girls Page 25
