‘Thank you, Bert, I will. I have to believe no news is good news.’
*
Marion only had a hazy recollection later of the ride to the hospital in the bustling town of Bromley, some five miles away, and then of being wheeled down a long corridor to a small side ward, where a doctor waited to examine her. She didn’t realise that the local doctor and Nurse Buss had relinquished her care to these white-clad strangers, and she was unaware that Danny was slumped on a hard chair in the outpatient reception area, with his head in his hands, trying to stem the tears.
He felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up. ‘Sam!’
‘I came to keep you company. Mother and Kathleen said I should, or else how were you going to get home tonight? This is a splendid hospital, Danny; it was originally the Phillips Homeopathic Hospital, and they raised money during the Jubilee in 1897 to enlarge it—’
‘I don’t want one of your history lessons just now, Sam. I know it’s a good place – the Matron spoke to me to reassure me. She said they have a modern operating theatre and specialise in difficult cases. I won’t leave until I know everything is all right. They won’t let me see Marion, though.’
A nurse had spotted them and said briskly, ‘Let me take you to the waiting room; there are some comfortable chairs there. Would you like a cup of tea and a biscuit?’
‘Please,’ Sam answered for them both.
‘Your hair is dripping on your collar, Sam,’ Danny said as they followed the nurse.
‘Mother said I had to wash and brush up before I came here,’ Sam said. He hoped Kathleen wasn’t still crying; it upset the little girls when they saw her like that. It had been made worse because Jessie had whispered that poor old Bob had passed away that morning, and unfortunately it was Kathleen who had discovered him lying on the fireside mat. He added, ‘Mother is carrying on as usual. She said Mrs Amos telephoned but told her she’d heard nothing from the hospital yet.’
*
Marion was wheeled to the delivery room. The first baby was struggling to be born and it was hoped it could be delivered with the help of forceps. The problem was that after a prolonged labour and one delivery, contractions would cease, but it was vital that the second child be delivered as soon as possible, even though it had not survived. If a normal birth was not possible or the mother’s health was endangered, she might need an emergency Caesarean section, and that would involve chloroform.
Time was of the essence and the decision was taken: a frame was attached to Marion’s face, holding a pad in place onto which chloroform was dripped. Mercifully, the patient was unaware of what was happening. Within a few minutes the first baby was lifted clear and handed to a waiting theatre nurse, and then the second baby was removed. The surgeon told his assistants that this foetus had not been viable for some time, and had impeded the progress of the stronger child. This was what had caused Marion to feel so bloated and in pain for the last couple of months.
The surviving baby boy was small, though he weighed more than most premature babies, and was taken straight away to the nursery for intensive care. Marion was stitched up while she was still sedated, and returned to a side room off the ward, for she would need vigilance too.
It was some time before a nurse came to find Danny and Sam. Danny clutched at his brother’s arm. ‘Is she . . .?’
‘Your wife has undergone an emergency operation and is now recovering, so you can see her for a few minutes only. Another nurse will fetch you. We suggest you then go home. She is in good hands.’
‘The baby?’ Sam asked, for Danny was obviously in shock.
‘A little boy. He has every chance of surviving. However, he will be here for some weeks before he can go home. Hopefully Mrs Mason will make a speedier recovery. Have you a name? It’s important we have one, as he is premature . . .’
‘We were talking about Wilfred – that was my father’s name,’ Danny managed.
Sam followed the nurse out of the room and asked in a low voice, ‘Was there another baby?’
The nurse shook her head. ‘It would never have survived . . . it hadn’t developed properly. They have the joy of one baby, though, who stands a good chance of survival. We will inform your brother, and he can judge the best time to tell his wife.’
Danny bent over the narrow hospital bed and kissed Marion. She was still sleepy. He told her, ‘You will see the baby tomorrow. I told them he was to be called Wilfred. I will visit you soon. I’ll tell Mrs Amos all is well. I love you so much, you must believe me . . .’
Her voice was husky. ‘I do, Danny, I do . . .’
*
Jessie had been watching out for them. She opened the front door and greeted Danny with a hug. ‘How are things at the hospital? Did you telephone Mrs Amos?’
‘I made the call for him,’ Sam said. He looked up. Kathleen was coming down the steps, clasping her wrapper around her. Her feet were bare; she hadn’t bothered with slippers.
‘Is everything all right?’ she asked breathlessly. ‘Oh Danny, you must have been so worried.’ She had her arms outstretched as if to hug him, and the chemise she was wearing under her wrapper was revealed.
Danny didn’t answer. Jessie looked at Sam. ‘Go upstairs with Kathleen, then you can give her the news. Danny will be staying the night here; he can be in my room, and Daisy will go in with the girls. We can talk together tomorrow.’
‘Get back into bed, Kathleen,’ Sam said once they were in their bedroom. He sounded weary rather than angry. ‘Danny is in a state of shock. You are my wife, remember that.’
‘Oh Sam, I didn’t mean . . .’
‘I know, you couldn’t help yourself. How do you think that makes me feel? Was I your second choice? Poor Marion almost didn’t make it today – don’t step into her shoes.’
‘Sam, come to bed and I’ll show you how much I love you,’ she cried.
‘That’s not the answer I want. If I lost you, I don’t know what I’d do . . . Oh Kathleen, I need to be hugged now.’
‘I felt so sorry for him, that’s all . . .’
‘Well you needn’t. There are other ways of showing your support. Pray for that tiny baby, and for Marion and Danny too.’
He climbed into bed and held her tight. ‘There, is that better? I’m too tired for any more talking, but . . .’ He gave her a long, lingering kiss, then snuffed the candle out.
PART TWO
1912–1918
The summer’s gone, and all the roses falling,
’Tis you, ’tis you must go, and I must bide.
But come you back, when summer’s in the meadow,
Or when the valley’s hushed and white with snow,
’Tis I’ll be here in sunshine or in shadow,
Oh Danny boy, oh Danny boy, I love you so.
‘Danny Boy’, Frederic Weatherly, 1913
TWENTY
During the ensuing five years from 1907 to 1912, Sam had at last laid the final bricks of the Brickyard House and crowned it with shiny new roof slates. He had had the time to finish the house because, like many businesses in these troubled times, his industry was in decline.
Kathleen remembered the promise she had made to him, that they, along with eight-year-old Heather and six-year-old Kitty, would move into the Brickyard House once it was ready, and she knew she would be expected to do so shortly. Heather appeared to have outgrown the asthma attacks that had once plagued her, and which had precipitated their return to Home Farm in the first place, and due to the halt in firing bricks, the pungent smell that came from this process was no longer a problem.
The house might look splendid from the outside, but the inside did not live up to Kathleen’s dreams. The Home Farm attic had yielded up stored furniture dating back to late Victorian times, and though the new bathroom, which Kathleen had so looked forward to, had plumbing in place, there was not yet a bath, basin or WC. Jessie was more fortunate in that respect, as Sam had built an extension to her scullery, and she now
had a proper bathroom and a laundry room. The family kitchen remained much the same, though, and was the hub of Home Farm. The kitchen in the Brickyard House had a second-hand range installed; there was no gas supply, so Kathleen couldn’t have the latest gas stove and boiler she would have liked.
She had put the past behind her at last, and had saved the money she had inherited for a rainy day. She didn’t know if Sam would agree, for he always said firmly that it was his duty to provide for his family, but she’d suggest when the time was right that they should use the interest accrued on her capital to fit out the bathroom. For now, they still shared the outside privy with the family in the Barn House. Herbie, the foreman, was still working at the brickyard; though his future employment was not guaranteed, he planned to stay on in the house, and Sam and Kathleen were glad of the rent. His assistant had departed some time ago and enlisted in the army. Rumours of a war in Europe were becoming all too familiar.
With Danny and Doc having recently invested in a Humber motor car – mainly driven by the younger man – the old pony and buggy were now kept in the brickyard stable along with the carthorse, which was put between the shafts of a wagon when deliveries were made. Kathleen used the buggy to take the children to school each day. She still had her bicycle, but Sam said the girls would have to wait until their tenth birthdays before they had wheels of their own.
Kathleen was aware that Sam had always wanted a son, but now that women were free from unplanned pregnancies – if they had a co-operative husband – this had become a man’s responsibility. If she broached the subject, he would say, ‘This is not a good time. We can’t afford another child, Kathleen.’
As Jessie remarked to Kathleen one day when she confided these longings to her mother-in- law, ‘It’s a topsy-turvy old world.’ She hugged Kathleen to her and whispered, ‘Be happy with your lot, Kathleen. Your marriage is a solid one. I am not so sure about Danny and Marion. Money isn’t every-thing, you know.’
*
Jessie asked Danny if he was willing to take over the reins at Home Farm now rather than later, as Sam and Kathleen were moving out. Now that the poultry farm was jointly owned by Mrs Amos and Bert – who’d revealed that he’d accumulated money to invest, as he’d never spent his army pension – Danny and Marion agreed. Bert, having bided his time, had indeed got more than his feet under the table. Mrs Amos suspected that he had enjoyed a full life, as she put it, in the army, but surprisingly, she was as keen as he was to rekindle youthful passion. After all, she thought, no need for restraint at our age!
Marion was the disapproving one now. ‘Aren’t you going to marry him, Mother?’ she demanded.
‘One husband was more than enough for me,’ Mrs Amos replied. ‘I’m a lady of leisure now. We struck a bargain: he sees to the poultry and I look after the accounts.’ She added, ‘He checks those too!’
When Marion asked her mother’s advice about moving over to Home Farm, Mrs Amos said drily, ‘You will get your wish, Marion. You and Danny will be set up, you can return to your job in the stables with the horses, and my only grandson will be handed over to his other grandmother. He will no doubt soon be running wild with his cousins.’ She looked hard at Danny.
‘They are just high-spirited,’ Danny said in their defence, ‘like Sam and I were as boys.’
‘Ah, but they are girls, Danny. Still, my Marion was high-spirited too, as you put it. Wilf’s a good little boy. I will miss him,’ she sighed. Wilf was due to join the village school with the girls come September, and Mrs Amos was worried how he would cope in the energetic rough-and-tumbles with other boys in the playground, being small for his age and not keen on sports. He was reading already, and writing stories.
‘A scholar like his uncle Sam,’ Danny said somewhat ruefully. It was unlikely they would add to their family after Marion’s experience delivering Wilf. He accepted that his honeymoon days were long over. Despite his own success in business, he envied his brother’s obvious married bliss. Whenever Danny saw Kathleen, he had to suppress his feelings, but he couldn’t help thinking: if only . . .
‘Mother has made up her mind at last,’ he said to Sam. ‘Not only about the farm, but to marry Doc.’
‘They took their time! Kathleen thinks it’s really romantic.’
‘Nothing will really change; Mother will still be in charge of the kitchen, which we don’t mind because Marion is not the best cook in the world, and Doc will move down from the attic – that will make a good playroom for the youngsters, eh?’
‘What about Daisy? Does Mother need her now?’
‘Oh, Daisy will look after Wilf while we are working. Mother says we can have the parlour opened up for our private use, and the sitting room upstairs will become Wilf’s bedroom. Daisy will move in with him; she doesn’t like being on her own at night. Mary’s room will remain the spare room.’
Home Farm was now all about the horse stud. There was a big modern stable block for the newcomers, while the aged donkey, the shire horse and the goats shared the old quarters. Only one strawberry field remained, together with the orchard and the vegetable garden.
Jessie was actually relieved to be semi-retired. The horse breeding was much more profitable than the strawberry fields, and she wouldn’t need to hire labour now. She could take the fruit from the single field to the local market to sell. ‘The girls can help me,’ she said to Sam. She included Kathleen in that description, for she still seemed so young, although she was now twenty-six years old. Marion was much more mature and capable, although she wasn’t really maternal. Jessie suspected that the faithful Daisy would have more to do with Wilf’s upbringing than his mother. Still, she thought, Marion and I get on well, and she will be an asset to the new business, which is flourishing thanks to Doc and Danny.
She had realised that it was time to put a seal on her relationship with Doc. Don’t I deserve some happiness after all my hard toil over the years? she thought. Doc too was looking forward to not working so hard; he would become more of an adviser to Danny and Marion, but still available to all when needed.
*
It was a simple wedding, held in the local church in April. The bride wore a new dove-grey jacket and skirt, with a ruffled pink blouse. She was fifty-one years old, and her bridegroom some fifteen years older. Jessie ruefully recalled the time when she had contemplated a more romantic coming-together. Were such moments possible now? she wondered. She walked down the aisle on Sam’s arm, while Abraham waited with his best man, Danny, at the altar steps.
Kathleen had wanted her daughters to be bridesmaids, but Jessie had demurred. ‘I am too old for that, but they could be flower girls, and Wilf could walk between them, though I expect Marion will want him to be dressed as a page boy – he has the long hair for that,’ she added fondly. Marion was loath to cut the golden curls that hung over his collar. I expect she was hoping for a little girl, Jessie mused. Poor Marion, she is afraid to give birth again. That must affect her relationship with Danny.
The parlour was opened up for the modest reception. Danny had whitewashed the walls, and Jessie and Daisy had polished the furniture and dusted off the piano keys, which Marion was coaxed to play. Two tables were placed together, covered with a snowy white cloth, with the wedding cake in the centre. It was an informal meal, and the guests filled their plates with sausage rolls, sandwiches and chicken drumsticks. They toasted the bride and groom with Mrs Amos’s elderflower wine, the recipe for which she guarded zealously. Bert had not accompanied her, though invited, declining with, ‘The chores don’t do themselves,’ though the real reason was that he didn’t want to follow suit, and nor did Mrs Amos.
Sam cast off his worries for the occasion and led the tributes and good wishes for the bride and groom. Kathleen and her daughters enjoyed the singing and dancing and persuaded shy Wilf to join in; he held Daisy’s hand as they whirled round to the music.
The party broke up around 10 p.m. Sam and Kathleen were the first to leave with their family and offered to take
Mrs Amos home. Daisy accompanied Wilf upstairs while Danny and Marion insisted they would clear up downstairs.
Jessie relaxed at last, and after all the hugging and congratulations, she and Abraham went up to their room. Daisy had turned back the covers on the bed invitingly, and pulled the curtains. Her bed had already been moved away and replaced with Doc’s beloved desk and chair. He sat there with his back to Jessie while she undressed and brushed her hair. When he judged she was in bed, he turned around and saw that she was writing in her diary. He disrobed slowly and then climbed into bed beside her.
Jessie closed her book and asked, ‘Shall I put out the light?’
He reached out a hand and touched her long hair. ‘You are not grey like me, Jessie; such beautiful hair . . . Yes, see to the lamp, please.’
‘Do you realise,’ she whispered, ‘that the only time we’ve kissed was in church?’
His arms went round her and he said softly, ‘We are married and now it is permitted, Jessie. We will be more than good companions.’
‘I’m glad,’ she said with a happy sigh.
*
Back in their new house, Sam and Kathleen lay apart in bed. They had quarrelled at the end of what had been a very happy day. She was crying silently, knuckling the tears from her eyes. She had thought he would be pleased when she told him she’d spent some of her legacy at last and ordered a bathroom suite. Why did he fly off the handle like that and shout at me? she wondered.
‘You make me feel less of a man, Kathleen. I should provide for you,’ he had said earlier.
Now he turned and pulled her roughly into his arms. He was angry still, but with himself. ‘I hurt you, Kathleen, I made you cry . . . Please forgive me,’ he pleaded.
She would not give in just like that. ‘I’m not sure I can. I saw another side to you, Sam. I thought we were equal partners in marriage, but you have belittled me – I don’t understand . . .’
The Winter Baby Page 16