Moorland Mist

by Gwen Kirkwood

  ‘Polly told me what she said.’ Emma’s eyes filled with tears.

  ‘Emmie, lassie, dinna cry. He’s thriving. I’m not blaming you.’ He drew a gentle finger down her cheek, wiping away a tear.

  ‘It upsets and tires me when he keeps crying. He was so good before we came here. I think he’s missing my mother nursing him. I want to be a good wife, William, and make you a clean home like you had at Bonnybrae. I don’t want you to regret having to marry me.’

  ‘You are doing fine, Emmie. I’m proud of you. We must get off to the field now, though.’ He hesitated. ‘I’ll tell you what would help me: send Polly out with food for Cliff and me. We wouldn’t need to come back in with the horses until evening.’

  ‘I can easily do that.’

  ‘Things will get better, Emmie. That letter which arrived this morning was from Drew. He wants me to go with him to see some in-calf Ayrshire heifers. They don’t calve until October and November. I shall be free to help with the milking by then. When we have milk to sell, it will bring in some money. I don’t think Cliff will ever learn to milk, though, so it would depend on you and me, and young Polly, if you can teach her. We’ll hire another man later on.’

  ‘Mrs Sinclair, can you come?’ Polly called. Her voice trembled and she sounded near to tears. She was rocking Jamie in her arms. ‘I can’t stop him crying and he’s getting all hot and bothered.’

  Emma looked at William helplessly then her humour surfaced. ‘He has a temper when he doesn’t get what he wants – like his daddy,’ she whispered with a glint in her eye. It was good to see a spark of the old Emmie and he grinned, his spirits lightening.

  Fifteen

  William and Cliff finished eating their dinner in the field. The mowing was going well and Cliff was turning yesterday’s swathes to the sun to dry. William led the horses to the burn at the far side of the field so they could drink. He was waiting patiently when he saw a young man coming towards him from the direction of the Common. He remembered the gypsies were camped there. Since Lord Hanley had renewed the boundary fences, the gypsies could no longer leave their animals to graze on Moorend land. William braced himself, expecting the man to complain and utter abuse. He was surprised when he asked if he could help Cliff to shake out the hay.

  ‘You want work?’ William asked.

  ‘Want hay to feed my horses and three goats,’ he said. ‘I work for you and help make good hay. You give me enough hay to keep my animals in winter. Bargain? Yes?’

  William eyed the young man warily. Mr Rowbottom and Joe Wright had said the gypsies would do no harm if he treated them fairly. Even Ed Dixon had said much the same to Emma.

  ‘You would work to help with all the hay first?’

  ‘Yes, but I need – I want promise you will leave enough hay in last field for me?’

  ‘All right. We’ll see how you work this afternoon,’ William said.

  ‘We have wooden rakes. You will buy two? To rake the rows into heaps. Is that right?‘

  ‘Why yes, that is how we do it once it is nearly dry. Have you made hay in this country before? Did you help Mr Dixon?’

  ‘My father helped Mr Dixon. I was boy then. Mr Dixon did not make hay in fields near Common since my father die. I did not help. Good horses.’ He grinned when the two mares lifted their heads from the burn after taking long drinks.

  ‘Yes, they’re working well together,’ William said. ‘Now I must get back to mowing.’ He watched the man sprint away towards the gypsy camp and vault effortlessly over the boundary fence. In a short time he returned, carrying the usual two-pronged fork for turning the hay, as well as two long-handled wooden rakes with firmly fixed wooden teeth. He brought them for William’s inspection.

  ‘You will buy these?’

  ‘How much?’ William grinned, expecting to barter. ‘I don’t have much money yet.’

  ‘One day you have lots of money.’ The young man grinned in response, showing a fine set of strong white teeth in his deeply tanned face. He was a good-looking fellow with his sparkling dark eyes and mop of black hair. ‘My grandmother says you work hard and earn good fortune.’

  ‘I hope she’s right, but I need to get on with mowing right now.’

  ‘You buy rakes for a dozen chicken eggs for two weeks? And fresh milk for our bambinos to drink.’

  ‘Don’t they drink goat’s milk?’

  ‘Goats have no milk. Expecting kids.’

  ‘How much fresh milk?’

  ‘What you can spare until next new moon.’

  ‘That’s a month then. All right, it’s a bargain. I will tell Em … tell my wife. She deals with the milk and eggs. What’s your name?’

  ‘I am Garridan. You call me Dan.’

  ‘All right, Dan. Will you take one of these rakes to Cliff over there? Tell him when he gets to the end of the row, he must go back to the far side of the field again and start raking into heaps from that end. Haycocks we call them. You understand?’ The man nodded. ‘You can show Cliff?

  Although he concentrated on his horses and the mower and keeping a straight swathe, William kept an eye on the two men until he was satisfied that the young gypsy knew what he was doing. If the weather held and he got half the fields mown, made into hay and gathered into the lofts, he would be pleased. Even if the weather broke, he intended to cut and gather up the rest of the long grass in the distant fields so that fresh grass would grow in the spring. Things were going better than he had dared to hope except for one thing – he and Emma were still no more than friends although they slept in the same bed. When he first came to Yorkshire, he had longed for company. When she had agreed to marry him he had looked forward to holding her in his arms again, seeing her smile, teaching her about making love, rousing her as he had the night they had spent together on the moors.

  Annie had warned him to be patient. He knew Emma had been reluctant to marry him so he knew she didn’t love him – whatever love is, he thought bitterly. His mother had never shown much love as far as he was concerned and now she had cast him aside like a leper. He was not the first man to get a girl pregnant out of wedlock. The trouble was his mother was a snob and she couldn’t forgive him for consorting with her maid. His thoughts went round in circles as he went up and down the field and back again.

  He wondered whether the gypsies were reliable. Would Dan turn up the following day? He need not have worried. In the morning, the young man was there waiting for them when he and Cliff got to the field. He had brought his cousin too.

  ‘This is Manfred. We call him Fred.’ He was much younger but he said he wanted to work in return for hay to feed his goat and two kids.

  ‘Our uncle will sharpen knives. He is lame but he says he do them if we take them to the fence.’ He grinned. ‘Wife shout at him when he do nothing.’

  ‘And how much does he expect me to pay him?’ William asked wryly.

  He had been half-asleep last night by the time he had finished sharpening all three knives ready for a fresh start today. He had been too tired to do anything but fall into bed. Emma was already sleeping anyway and she was up before he wakened again this morning. He sighed. It was not much of a start to married life.

  ‘Uncle is happy to do the knives because you give us hay.’

  ‘All right,’ William agreed. ‘You can take it in turns to take a knife to him, leave it, and bring back the sharpened one each time.’

  He had told Emma about the gypsy helping them so she sent out a generous basket of food at dinner time but when they stopped to eat, a young gypsy girl was already halfway across the field with food for the two boys. William had thought they would expect free food. They worked well and seemed happy. Sometimes they sang as they worked. It pleased him that they talked to Cliff. They seemed to understand he was slow-witted and needed help to do things but they were patient and didn’t make fun. In the distance, their uncle looked bent and old as he leaned on the fence, but he made an excellent job of sharpening the pointed teeth of the knives and William was gr
ateful for that. He was anxious to keep going for as long as the weather held. Back home in Scotland he was used to having only a week at a time, or two at most, to snatch in the hay crop.

  ‘We’ve been lucky to get a dry spell of weather,’ he remarked, scanning the skies as he settled on a heap of hay to eat his dinner.

  ‘Not a spell. Mother Yakira knows about weather,’ Dan said. ‘She looks at the moon and watches clouds. She says it was wet and upset for first half of month. Now we can have real summer but thunderstorms at end of August. We finish hay by then?’

  ‘If she’s right we shall be fortunate indeed. We could even mow all the fields and cart the hay into the lofts. Where do you store your hay to keep it dry?’

  ‘We have a shelter to cover top. Not so good. We take hay on small cart when we move. But we leave hay here for return in spring. Grass grows late on common. Sometimes hay is wet and black when we come again.’

  ‘When do you move on?’

  ‘End September.’ Dan shrugged and pulled a face. ‘October maybe. Elders decide. We follow.’

  ‘Do you know how to build a stack to protect the hay from rain?’

  ‘Protect without shelter? How you do that?’

  ‘If we have time, and we get all the grass cut and made into hay, I will give you enough to build a small round hay rick or stack. Then you must thatch it. Make a round, pointed peak so that the rain runs off. It will be as good as the day we made it when you return in spring.’

  Dan frowned. ‘You swear? I have seen pointed stacks in Ireland with no shelter to keep out rain. I thought it would be …’ He shrugged. ‘… rotten.’

  ‘Not if you thatch it properly. Ask your friends to collect some strong canes and sharpen one end. They could collect some dry bracken as well perhaps. Straw would be better but I don’t have any. Maybe next year I shall plough a field and sow oats to feed my animals. And turnips too.’

  ‘I know turnips,’ the younger man said with a wide grin. ‘Lots of turnips in Ireland. I cut with knife and eat.’

  ‘Aye, they’re very tasty for man and beast,’ William agreed. He was beginning to enjoy the company of the young gypsies. He had always been used to working with Jim and the rest of the men at home. He pushed away a wave of homesickness.

  The old gypsy was right in her forecast. William worked hard, never quite believing there would be another fine day. The more time he and Cliff spent in the fields, the more work Emma and Polly did, milking and cleaning up after the two cows and calf, feeding hens and collecting eggs, searching for hidden nests, as well as trying to get the house clean and keep up with cooking for the four of them. Emma found herself baking bread four times a week as well as girdle scones in between. It was a great help having a weekly delivery from the grocer and the butcher with their horse-drawn covered carts, but there were several items they didn’t stock.

  Jamie seemed to be constantly hungry and unsettled, and he tired her out. There were days when he barely seemed to sleep at all and it made both her and Polly weary. She knew it was no use complaining, especially when William was working so hard in the fields. She resolved she would try Mrs Wright’s advice and give him extra milk.

  It was a Sunday evening and for the first time since their arrival at Moorend, William went to bed at the same time as Emma. Her cheeks flushed when she became aware of William lying on his side watching Jamie suckling, his tiny fists kneading her breasts. When he had finished she laid him down to sleep. William curled one arm around her, drawing her closer.

  ‘Life will get easier and better, Emmie, I promise you,’ he said softly. His other hand moved to her stomach. It was strong and warm and his fingers spread over her. She drew in her breath. There were days when she had longed to go back home, but most of all she had longed for him to take her in his arms and love her as he had out on the mountain.

  ‘Emmie?’ he said her name softly, questioning, then more sharply, he asked, ‘What’s this?’ as his hand moved lower and discovered her extra layer of clothing. She groaned silently and sighed.

  ‘It – it’s almost finished b-but I’ve started b-bleeding again,’ she said. It wasn’t a subject she had discussed with anyone so she hoped William understood about such things. She longed for him to love her, but not when she was like this.

  ‘I see,’ he said flatly and withdrew his hand.

  He lay staring at the ceiling for a few moments then withdrew his arm and turned away, ready to sleep. Emma turned over too, unwilling to let him see the tears trickling down her cheeks onto her pillow. If he had married her for love he would have kissed her, sympathized, comforted her. Had Aunt Vera’s bitter words been true when she said men were like animals and only wanted one thing?

  William had sisters and in spite of their efforts to be discreet, he had occasionally seen bloodied cloths soaking in the washhouse at Bonnybrae, but he understood little about that side of a woman’s bodily functions, the rhythms and moods and timing. Once he had heard men discussing the subject at the thrashing mill. One had been convinced his wife used it as an excuse when she didn’t want him. Would Emma do that? Maybe she didn’t want him in that way now she knew what it was like to be a woman. She had matured in so many ways since she left Bonnybrae. The stay with her aunt and uncle, and the birth of her baby had changed her. He had been surprised and grateful at the calm and competent way she had tackled the cleaning and organizing of her work in the house and dairy, and the way their young maid worked so willingly for her. Mrs Wright had told him he was a lucky man to get a wife like Emma who was both pretty and hardworking. He enjoyed good food and a clean home, but he wanted more than a housekeeper – he yearned for the responsive, passionate girl he had discovered by chance on top of a mist-covered moorland.

  Neither William nor Emma slept well that night and Jamie wakened even earlier than usual so Emma was downstairs when William opened his eyes.

  ‘Will you want food brought out to the field again today?’ Emma asked at breakfast time.

  ‘Yes, but this should be the last day if we can finish carting in the hay, then we shall be glad to have a hot dinner again,’ William said with feeling. ‘Mother Yakira, the old gypsy, is prophesying there will be rain before tonight.’

  ‘It doesn’t look like rain,’ Emma said, glancing out of the window at the blue sky.

  ‘Dan swears Yakira knows about such things. He insisted I should show him and Fred how to thatch their stack of hay on Saturday evening. They had a lot of eager helpers and they don’t bother about the Sabbath so I think they will have finished it.’

  Emma set aside a can of fresh milk for the gypsies to collect according to William’s agreement.

  ‘I’ll set the rest in the creaming pans in the pantry,’ she said, ‘and tomorrow I should have enough cream to churn into butter.’

  She washed and scalded the milking buckets while Polly hung the first load of washing on the line in the orchard.

  ‘I miss not having a rubbing board for these dirty collars and the soiled nappies,’ she muttered, struggling to remove the stains. ‘I don’t think I can wait until Mr Milne comes round with his hardware. I need a flat iron.’

  ‘I tried hard to scrub off the rust from the one you found in the cellar, Mrs Sinclair,’ Polly said unhappily.

  ‘I know you did, Polly,’ Emma said, her lips tightening, remembering the rusty streak the old iron had left on her white pinafore. She couldn’t blame the young maid. ‘I think it has been used as a hammer. The sole is so rough and pitted.‘

  ‘I could ask Aunt Ivy if we could borrow hers. She has two big ones and a small one.’

  ‘Thank you, Polly. I don’t like to borrow things. I think I must go to Wakefield today and buy the things I need. This is the last day when Mr Sinclair and Cliff will be in the fields all day. You and I can eat early. If I feed Jamie a bit early too, I could catch the train from Silverbeck station. I shall be back in plenty of time to milk the cows and give Jamie his next feed. I shall take your aunt’s advice and buy a t
eat so that I can try giving Jamie some boiled cow’s milk from a bottle. We can’t go on with him waking and crying most of the day.’

  ‘Oh yes,’ Polly said fervently. ‘Auntie Ivy is sure he’ll sleep better.’

  ‘All right. You collect the eggs and see if you can find where that hen is laying in the orchard. Bring in the washing and put it on the clothes horse in front of the fire if there is any sign of rain.’

  Emma washed herself, pleased to be able to dispense with the monthly cloths. She donned her best brown skirt and the high-necked cream blouse she had made before her wedding. The day was warm and sultry but, bearing in mind the gypsy’s warning, she folded her shawl and put it in her basket then hurried the two and a half miles to Silverbeck station, remembering she had to turn off at the fork in the road because the station was a good half mile from the village.

  Her stomach was churning with nerves but she didn’t want Polly to know she had never ventured beyond Locheagle on her own before. Her father had accompanied her to Aunt Vera’s and home again and William had been with her on the journey to Yorkshire. She had caught an unnerving sight of people bustling everywhere when they had arrived at the station in Wakefield, but Drew Kerr had been waiting for them and he had taken her bag, held her elbow and ushered her and Jamie to the pony and trap. She’d had a glimpse of tall buildings and more people than she had ever before seen in her life. She had never imagined buildings so high they could have three storeys and there was at least one church spire reaching to the sky. Drew had told them Wakefield was a city now.

  She clutched the handle of her basket until her knuckles shone white. She had brought one of the precious guineas her parents had sent since William had not mentioned how they should pay for their household bills. Apart from their train journey together, there had barely been opportunity for serious conversation on their own since they arrived at Moorend Farm. She understood how important it was to make all the grass into hay while the fine weather lasted but she would be heartily glad when they could get into a normal routine. She bought her ticket and put the change carefully in her purse, and hid the purse beneath her shawl in her basket. She had heard there were pickpockets and thieves in all big towns.