by Kate Ryder
I wish you every chance of happiness and fulfilment in this life and enclose something that may assist you in your search. Don’t give up.
God Bless.
Joyce McKendrick
I sat for several minutes rereading the letter. What did it mean? I knew her daughter would dismiss it as the ramblings of an old woman with increasing dementia, but I recognised these were true and honest sentiments, however obscure.
I turned the book over and read the back cover. It appeared to be an account of the role Dorset played during the English Civil War. I opened the book and started reading, not noticing the passage of time until I became aware of a deep stillness. A log in the wood burner caught my eye. Almost burnt through, it shifted and threw up sparks and yet I heard not a sound. And then I noticed the dense, fog-like mist around the opening to the bread oven shifting shape, but never taking form. I was not frightened. I simply accepted it. Rising from the chair, I moved towards it and, as I did, the mist withdrew and compacted, as if viewing me as I viewed it.
‘Show me your secrets,’ I whispered.
The fog swiftly surrounded me, seemingly investigating me before dispersing and suddenly disappearing. Once more, the sounds of my world returned.
‘Please show me your secrets,’ I whispered again.
I read late into the night, believing that Mrs McKendrick had presented me with a key to a mysterious, closed door, which had opened a fraction. If I could prise it open further, maybe I would see more clearly the way ahead. I went to bed around midnight, the stack of wood beside the wood burner having reduced to a single log by the time I turned in.
That night I dreamt of dark, claustrophobic tunnels. Once again, I was desperate to discover something important, only this time, when I came close to its discovery, it did not instantly turn to sand. It was as if I was getting closer to the heart of the riddle and I awoke the next morning with the feeling I’d undertaken a long journey, but with a strangely calm acceptance of all that was happening to me.
That afternoon, shortly after four, Nick arrived. I was sitting at the computer when I heard his van pull up. Peering out of the window, I saw him on his mobile. He appeared exasperated and I watched as he distractedly dragged a hand through his hair. I turned away, not wanting to pry, but a minute later I couldn’t help but steal a glance. I could tell it was a heated discussion taking place. Suddenly he threw the mobile onto the seat beside him, thumped the steering wheel and stared straight ahead. I turned away and concentrated on my article, which I’d entitled, Eco Magic in the Black Down Hills.
Some minutes later there was a knock at the front door. As I walked out into the hall the driftwood mirror caught my eye. No longer was it reflecting the colours of the stained-glass room divide but, instead, a mass of swirling grey smoke and shadows. How strange… It must have something to do with changing light at different times of the day. I didn’t dwell on it further because any thoughts were immediately put out of my mind as I opened the front door and saw the strain on Nick’s face.
‘It’s really good of you to come round,’ I said.
He acknowledged this with a brief nod and walked into the hallway, setting his tool bag down on the floor.
‘I’ve almost finished the article on your barn,’ I continued lightly. ‘Have a look and tell me what you think.’
He hung his jacket on the coat rack by the door and followed me through to the dining room. Sitting at the computer again, I motioned him to pull up a chair. As he sat down, he was so close that our legs almost touched and I could feel the heat emanating from his body. I tried hard to concentrate.
Scrolling down the page, I started to read from the screen. ‘If you are prepared to invest in great ideas, look at what can be achieved. I recently visited a unique property featuring the latest in contemporary design with extensive use of natural and locally sourced materials.’ I continued reading the article aloud, acutely aware that Nick had casually put his arm along the back of my chair and was now leaning in to look at the screen.
We were very close and the voice inside my head mocked, ‘So near, and yet so far!’
I read to the end of the article. ‘Well, what do you think?’ I asked, suddenly overcome with shyness.
‘I’m blown away, Maddie,’ he answered generously. ‘If it wasn’t already my place I’d be inspired to create it right away.’
I smiled and relaxed… a little. ‘I’ve started choosing photos to accompany the piece. Take a look and see if you agree with my selection.’ I opened the photos folder on the screen and rose from the chair. ‘Would you like tea or something stronger?’
‘Something stronger sounds good.’ He shifted into my seat.
‘I have Tom Browns. Is that OK?’
‘Great.’
I poured the ale and a glass of wine for myself and returned to the table. Nick was engrossed in choosing photos. We decided on ten, including one of the magnificent views from the terrace, plus a photo of the dogs around the lake with the hissing wooden goose in the foreground.
Pointing to the sculpture, I said, ‘You never know, you may get commissions from this.’
He smiled at me, a gentle look now replacing the earlier strain in his eyes. ‘We seem to be good at helping each other out.’
I held my breath, aware that this was the first time he’d made any reference to the two of us.
‘Talking of which, let me sort your door.’ He rose from the chair, practical once more, and after fetching his tool bag from the hallway, he set it down in the inglenook.
As he straightened up my inner voice mocked, ‘He looks so right, as if he belongs.’
I ignored it. From the kitchen, I fetched the bolts and hinges I’d purchased to fix the bread oven door.
‘I’d say this is the original opening,’ Nick said, as I re-entered the room. He ran his fingers around the entrance to the bread oven. ‘Hopefully the stonework’s solid enough to get a purchase.’
He felt inside and then leant in further. ‘There seems to be a ledge.’ Balancing one hand against the outer wall, he inserted his arm up to the armpit. ‘There’s something here.’ He strained to get a better angle. Suddenly, he withdrew and in his hand was a wooden box.
‘What is it?’ I asked, aware of intense, mounting excitement. I recalled the anticipation I’d experienced when Dan first discovered the opening.
Nick placed the box on the coffee table and carefully prised open the lid, which was stiff with age. Within, lay a pendant and a ring. Carefully he picked up the pendant; an exquisitely crafted, 3D heart made of badly discoloured, interlocking metal strands. As he placed it in the palm of my hand, I was suddenly overcome with a rush of such happiness and pure joy that it took my breath away. I heard Nick tell me to turn round and hold my hair aloft and, as if in a trance, I did as asked. Gently, he fastened a silk ribbon around my neck. Glancing down, I was astounded to find that I wore a blue dress with a deep neckline trimmed in white lace and a shiny silver heart pendant nestled just above my breasts. The next minute, I felt a tender kiss on my neck and heard the whispered words, ‘I made this for you… a token of my love.’
In astonishment, I made to turn back to him but then I saw two children watching and giggling from the open archway between the two rooms. A little boy with a mop of curly blond hair stood next to an older girl and they peeped through the opening where the stained-glass divide should have been. The cottage, though familiar, was altered. A rustic wooden table and bench seats dominated the other room and there was a crude staircase rising to an upper floor. Propped against the front wall was a large stained-glass window, its lead crisp and gleaming and the small glass panes glistening in the firelight, filling the rooms with a kaleidoscope of colours.
I watched as I held out my hands to the children. The boy was no more than three years old and I recognised him as the child in the cot. Immediately, they ran to me. Holding hands, we danced around in a circle and my skirts swirled as we spun ever faster. I had never felt so happy an
d we laughed with sheer joy and abandonment.
Glancing over at Nick standing in the inglenook in front of an open log fire, I was taken aback by a look of such wonderment, his blue-grey eyes soft and tender, and I felt my heart shift into meltdown. And then I noticed his appearance had altered and though the eyes that gazed at me were Nick’s, his features were those of that other, more feral man I’d seen in the cottage.
Suddenly, dizziness and nausea kicked in. I let go of the children’s hands and closed my eyes, willing the room to stop spinning. When I opened them again, in a glance I took in the familiar pictures hanging on the walls and the IKEA sofa I’d bought from the Croydon store two years before. I looked down at the dirty pendant still cupped in the palm of my hand and quickly glanced up at Nick.
‘Did you see that? Did you?’ I demanded in an urgent, breathless whisper.
The look of wonderment was still on his face. ‘I don’t know what I saw, Maddie. I saw something.’
I sat on the sofa and cupped the pendant tenderly in my hand. What had just happened? I leant forward, reverently placed it back in the box and picked up the ring. Turning it lovingly between my fingers, I resisted an overwhelming urge to slip it onto my wedding finger. It was exquisite, like an Irish Claddagh ring. Decorated with swirling motifs, the shank was designed as fancy sleeves out of which came a pair of hands encompassing a piece of red glass, shaped like a heart.
‘Oh this is lovely,’ I said. ‘But why are they here?’
Kneeling in front of me, Nick cupped my hand and carefully took the ring from my fingers. I was acutely aware this was the first time he’d made such intimate contact with me from choice. Nevertheless, somewhere deep within, there was recognition – the muffled sound of a bell of distant memory. I sighed. It was as if a great many years of angst had just lifted from my soul.
‘These are love tokens,’ he said, looking very directly at me, ‘but how they came to be inside your bread oven, I don’t know.’
‘But whose are they?’
He shook his head. ‘They’re very old. You should get someone to take a look at them. Perhaps the museum?’
I agreed. He handed the ring back to me and, rising to his feet, took the pendant out of the box again. Slowly, he turned it over in his hand.
‘This is very well made; the work of a true craftsman. I wonder who?’ he murmured, as if to himself. A frown furrowed his brow as he glanced at me.
Suddenly business-like, he said, ‘This isn’t getting anything accomplished. You sit there, Maddie, and I’ll get the door fixed.’
He worked quickly and competently, making surprisingly little mess, and within half an hour the door was in place.
‘Looks like it’s been there hundreds of years,’ he said, standing back to admire it.
I agreed.
‘Now, what about that window?’
‘Well, it’s been fine over Christmas,’ I said.
‘Let’s have a look at it anyway.’ Offering me his hand, he pulled me to my feet with such strength that I bowled straight into him. I laughed out of nervousness as he steadied me, but when our eyes met it seemed I had known this man forever and there was no need for embarrassment. He smiled and letting my hand drop, followed me upstairs.
It was as though I walked on air.
‘He’s only going to look at your window,’ my inner voice taunted. Firmly, I shut it out.
‘It’s up to you, Maddie,’ Nick said, checking his repairs, ‘but this window will last a while longer as it is.’
I thought of all the costs I’d incurred since moving in, plus the fact I currently earned very little and my sensible, fiscal voice told me to make do.
‘Well, I have had a lot of expenditure recently…’
‘Then, see how it holds up through the year and when you’re ready we can discuss it again.’ He looked at me across the yawning expanse of bed.
With dismay, I realised there was no longer any practical reason for us to see each other again.
‘How are you for time, Nick?’ I chose the same phrase he’d used when I’d visited his barn. ‘Would you like to stay for supper?’
He looked at his watch and frowned. ‘Better not. It’s getting late and I shall be missed.’
My heart sank. ‘Your loss,’ I said, as casually as I could. ‘Not only do I pull a mean pint but I also rustle up a terrific shepherd’s pie.’
He laughed softly. ‘Some other time, Maddie. Thanks.’
‘Some other time – never!’ mocked my inner voice.
And so, once again, I said farewell to Nick. I stood at the door, feeling sad and lonely, and watched him walk across the village green to his van.
As Nick drove away he glanced back at the cottage and acknowledged that I was still standing there. This time, however, he didn’t smile and I noticed the troubled look on his face.
*
The next morning, I emailed the article to Colin and received a reply later that afternoon. He was happy with the copy and confirmed the article would appear in the May issue of EcoWorld. My spirits lifted when he suggested I retake the external shots, should the landscape take on a more spring-like appearance between now and publication date. Here was another valid reason for contact. Colin also asked me to source other eco projects and to submit further articles as soon as possible. He signed off with: Seen anything of Dan recently? He seems to have gone to ground.
It still smarted that Dan hadn’t bothered to contact me since staying in early December with Lucy in tow. Surely eight years of a very close friendship should count for something? He could at least maintain some contact, however fantastic Lucy might be. My inner voice spoke up: ‘Why can’t you make that move?’ But my pride wouldn’t allow it.
I decided to find out about the jewellery. The previous night I’d placed the wooden box on my bedside table, curiously reluctant to be apart from it, and it was the first thing I looked for when I awoke. I carried the box downstairs and carefully placed it on the dining table. Why was it on a ledge inside the bread oven, and who had put it there? And why had the oven been sealed up? What dramas had The Olde Smithy been privy to?
I fetched the book Mrs McKendrick had bequeathed me and reread her letter, but its meaning was no clearer. Then, taking the contents out of the box, I placed them reverently on the table as if they were my most precious possessions. Again, I had the strongest urge to slip the ring onto my wedding finger, and I marvelled at the fine craftsmanship and delicacy of the heart pendant. Even in its sorry, blackened state it was obvious it had been crafted with dedication. ‘A love token,’ Nick had said, and I recalled the look in his eyes as he’d spoken the words. A thrill of excitement coursed through my body.
‘What story do you have to tell?’ I asked out loud.
Silence…
I logged onto the internet. Dorchester County Museum’s telephone number was easy to find and I quickly made the call. On the third ring a woman answered. I explained my find and asked if she could recommend anyone to look at the jewellery and possibly date it.
‘Just a moment.’ I heard her rifling through a folder. Eventually she returned to the phone. ‘Professor Stephens, Head of Archaeology at the University of Southampton. He may be able to help.’
As soon as we’d finished the call, I dialled the number she’d given me. There was no reply, so I left a brief message outlining my request and my telephone number.
By now, it was early evening and I needed to get a move on if I was to be at work on time. Even Brian, however amenable a disposition, would not accept a ‘got held up in traffic’ excuse from the other side of the village green! I opened the back door and called for Storm. There was no sign, but when I rushed upstairs to change my clothes I found him curled up on the bed.
‘You,’ I affectionately scolded, as I pulled on a pair of black trousers, ‘sneaking up here when I’m not looking…’
He yawned, stretched, opened one eye and lazily surveyed me. I rubbed the underside of his belly. ‘Yes, you. I’
m talking to you!’
Rummaging through one of the boxes stacked at the side of the room, I found a clean sweatshirt. Suddenly, from behind me, I heard an urgent whisper. ‘Mary!’
I spun round. There was nobody there.
‘What?’ I called out, alarmed by the fear in my heart. It was more than just the sound of the disembodied voice. ‘What is it? Tell me.’
Detecting a faint breeze on my face, I glanced over at the window but it was fastened tight and the weather outside was still. I slumped down on the bed in frustration. Storm got to his feet and rubbed against my arm.
‘How are we going to find out more, Storm?’ I stroked his head. And then I heard it again. A loud, urgent whisper.
‘Mary, come.’
By the door was a suggestion of the fog-like mist I’d seen in the living room. But, as I reached out my hand, it quickly dispersed and evaporated. The moment had passed. Glancing at the digital clock, I swore under my breath. I was now definitely late for work.
11
The following Wednesday was Valentine’s Day. Brian had already asked me to work the evening shift and I’d enthusiastically agreed, knowing I didn’t want to be on my own that night. Not that I was a great advocate of the event, but I was currently feeling vulnerable and a little sorry for myself. The Blacksmith’s Arms had advertised a Valentine’s Special and the restaurant was fully booked. With a straight face and a serious voice, Brian informed me he was willing to risk his reputation once again and have me waiting on tables as well as covering the bar. The pub had a red and silver theme for the evening and he and Vera asked that we all dressed in these colours. I wore comfortable black work trousers with a silver blouse, which I’d bought from a charity shop in Bridport, and I tied back my long, curly auburn hair with a silver ribbon. The requirement for red needed some thought but, after searching through my jewellery, I found a surfer’s bead choker and matching bracelet purchased by Dan on a weekend trip to Newquay early on in our ‘relationship’. I finished off the outfit with my favourite native North American silver feather earrings.