The Journey

by Josephine Cox

  “Old Casey needs this oil leak plugged before he can use the tractor,” Arthur explained. “And being as he’s got mountains o’ stuff to shift before the weather turns, he needs it right now.”

  “In that case, first we’ll get it jacked up proper, afore somebody gets hurt. If we get a move on, it shouldn’t take above an hour. Besides, I’ve an appointment this morning and I don’t want to be late.”

  They completed the task within the hour and now, all that was left was for Arthur to tidy away the tools and such. “Leave it to me now, Barney. I’ll finish up later, after you’ve gone off to your appointment,” Arthur told him. “The old fella’s left the kitchen open for us to get a drink and a wash, so we’ll away in, eh?” He led the way. “I appreciate you helping me out on this one,” he said as they went along. “I’d never have done it on my own.”

  “It’s no trouble.” These two were always there for each other, and it had been that way for many years. “That’s what friends are for.”

  Washed and thirsty, Barney sat himself at the table while Arthur mashed the tea.

  “You look tired, matey.” Arthur put the teapot on the table, together with a plate of sandwiches. “Mrs. Casey made these afore she went to the shops,” he explained. “The Caseys are not a bad old couple, but if you ask me, it’s time he called it a day. He doesn’t walk so good these days, and his sight isn’t what it was, but he still refuses to retire gracefully.” Seating himself in the chair, he passed the bowl of sugar to Barney. “He’s much like you—work is his life. I dare say he’ll not stop till he drops!”

  When Barney seemed to be deep in thought, his friend delivered a torrent of questions. “What’s wrong? Didn’t you sleep well? Are you worrying about the move—is that it?”

  Curious, he studied Barney’s face and thought he had never seen him so worried, “You’ve changed your mind about going and you don’t know how to tell them. I’m right, aren’t I? You don’t want to go after all?”

  Barney smiled. “You’re so wrong, Arthur.” Unbeknownst to anyone, Barney had a drastic plan, and though it would shatter his life, Barney believed in his heart that it was the best option for his family. “Think about it,” he urged. “I have the most wonderful wife a man could ever hope for, a daughter who already has ambitions, and two fine sons with farming in their blood, but what is there here for them?”

  “The same as what there’s allus been.” Arthur was a simple man with simple means. It didn’t take much to make him happy; a good friend, a day’s honest work, his own little place to come home to, and a warm smile from Lucy … though there wasn’t a waking minute, when he didn’t wish it could be more.

  Unlike Barney, he had no family to rely on him, and so he did not have the same responsibilities, whereas Barney’s family was his entire world. There was no doubt in anyone’s mind but that he would lay down his life for them.

  “It’s a hard cruel world out there,” Barney replied. “England is beautiful. It’s our home and we love it, we always will. But everybody knows the bigger opportunities are out there in America.” Barney’s instincts told him that his children would make it big in America.

  He smiled, a painful, wistful smile that betrayed his own regret at not being able to share in his beloved family’s once-in-a-lifetime adventure. “I can see it all now,” he murmured. “My two boys, riding across their own land … with my Joanne watching from the house …” He looked up, the pride alive in his face. “Oh, Arthur! I know they can do it. Given the opportunity, I just know they’ll grasp it with both hands.” His excitement heightened. “I can see it! I can feel it in my bones!”

  “I know you want the best for them, Barney, and so you should …” Arthur had a gut feeling there was something going on in Barney’s mind, something other than what he was telling. “But, don’t you think it’s a big step to take? Uprooting yourselves to sail away to a strange land when there’s always a chance they might make it good here?”

  Barney slowly shook his head. “I’ve worked hard all my life,” he answered somberly. “I’ve brought scrubland back to life, I’ve toiled every godsent hour until my hands bled and my knuckles were raw. I’ve sown the seeds and reaped the harvest, but nothing was mine. I did everything a man could be asked, but I never made enough money to buy even a square foot of land to call my own … to look out across the fields and say this is mine, this is what I’ve given my life for.”

  He paused, his mind going back over the years. “It’s allus been the man in the big house who’s been able to do that.”

  He gave a long heartfelt sigh. “Nothing’s changed. There’s no magic formula that says my boys will do any better than me, even though they’ll work the same hours and give the same blood and sweat.”

  “But, Barney, don’t you think they’ll be content just to work the land alongside their dad?”

  Even though he could see Barney’s reasoning for going away to make a new life, he so much wanted him to stay. But that was selfish, and he felt ashamed.

  Barney tried to explain. “You might well be right, old friend,” he conceded. “They are content to be working alongside me, but for how long, eh? There’ll come a day when they’ll need to strike out on their own. That’s when they’ll realize like me, that nothing is for nothing. All they have is the wages I pay them, and Lord knows that’s poor enough. What chance have they got of owning their own farm? The way things are, they’ll be old and gray and still working somebody else’s land. What kind of a future is that for two strapping lads who have it in them to do better?”

  In the face of Barney’s explanation, Arthur was convinced but saddened. “All I can see is the way the three of you work … a well-balanced team, strong together, all pulling the same way, and all the while seeming to know what the other is thinking.” He nodded his head. “Happen I don’t see the true picture after all.”

  Barney corrected him. “NO! You do see the true picture, and it’s a wonderful way of life. But can’t you hear what I’m telling you? None of it belongs to us and it never will … not the land nor the cattle, not even the roof over our heads. There have been many times when I’ve dreamed of going to America … who hasn’t? And now, we’ve been given an opportunity that may never come again.”

  He went on quietly, “I have little money … certainly not enough to buy my own land. So if we stayed, I’d be forever a tenant farmer, with no chance of ever owning my own farm, and that being the case there will be nothing for my sons to build on. Oh, yes, I accept that they might move on and somehow, sometime in the far distant future they just might get as far as owning something or another. But I can never be certain of that, and neither can they. As for Susie, if she’s ever to fulfill her ambitions, she’ll need all the help she can get because sometimes talent and skill isn’t enough. She needs opportunities to show what she can do; money to put her through the right kind of college, and then the means to ease her into her own little business.”

  He paused, thinking of Joanne and their children, and his heart swelled with pride. “I want them to have every chance,” he murmured. “I want them to see something of this beautiful world we live in. I want them to have every opportunity to make a wonderful life, and because of the generosity of one man, they’ve been offered the best chance they’ll ever have … a new life, a bigger sky, new horizons and the way forward to make something of themselves.” His eyes shone with love. “They’re so excited. They want the challenge.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “Who am I to deny them that?”

  Arthur’s tone changed to one of admiration, “You’re right, old friend, but it’s a big step for anybody to be taking, and I’ll tell you this … I’ll miss you all like the very devil, but I do envy you. You’re a brave man, Barney, I’ll say that. There’s many of us who would love the same challenge, but some of us are forever dreamers while others, like yourself, have the courage to give it a go.” He saw the sadness in Barney’s eyes, “All the same, it’s worrying you, isn’t it?”

&nbs
p; Barney shook his head, “No, Arthur.” He took a sip of his tea, “It’s not that that’s been worrying me, well, not for the reasons you might think anyway.”

  “Hmh! If’s not that, what is it then?”

  Barney paused, his expression serious as he caught Arthur’s curious glance, “What I’m about to tell you now, Arthur … you’re not to repeat it to a living soul, d’you understand?”

  Concerned, Arthur replaced his biscuit onto the plate, “I’ve never been one to spread folks’ business,” he chided, “especially when it’s an old friend confiding in me. You should know that by now, Barney.”

  Barney was mortified, “I’m sorry, Arthur. It’s just that, I’ve not told anybody else, and I won’t. When I leave here, I’m seeing the doctor. I’ve not told Joanne, and I don’t want her to know … whatever the outcome.”

  Now, as Arthur began to grasp the seriousness of the situation, he gulped so hard, his Adam’s apple felt like a brick in his throat. “I think you’d best explain what you mean by that,” he said.

  Barney felt such relief that he had been able to confide in someone, and as it was Arthur, he knew his secret would go no further. “I’m sorry to put you in this situation,” he said, “only I had to talk to somebody.”

  Deeply worried, the other man brushed aside his apology. “What is it, Barney old mate? What’s wrong?”

  Barney didn’t want to frighten Arthur unnecessarily, but on the other hand, should anything untoward come of his visit to the doctor, he needed someone outside the family to be in full possession of the facts. “I reckon as how there’s summat wrong wi’ me,” he began quietly. “Summat the doctors can’t put right.”

  Arthur was visibly shocked. “God Almighty, Barney, whatever makes you say a thing like that?”

  Barney explained. “For some months now, I’ve been getting these crippling pains in my chest. Sometimes I can hardly breathe, and other times I’m as sick as a dog at the slightest thing. I’m allus tired, but I can’t ever get a good night’s sleep. It’s summat serious, Arthur, I know it is.”

  “And why are you so sure about that?” His pal would have none of it. “You’re no doctor, to say it’s summat serious that they can’t put right. Good God, Barney, it could be any number o’ things.”

  A glimmer of hope fluttered through Barney. “What could it be then?”

  “Well, I don’t know, do I?” Arthur replied irritably. “Like yourself, I’m no doctor. All I know is, you shouldn’t go jumping to conclusions. It could be a simple little thing that can easily be dealt with.”

  “Such as what?”

  “Well, such as a bad bout of indigestion. I get it all the time—it nigh doubles me up, but it’s nothing to worry about. Then there’s the nature of your work; you’re out all hours in all weathers, and how many times have I seen you lying on the damp ground, under a machine, or hanging on the edge of a ladder reaching for this or that, then another time you’ll be stacking hay up to the ceiling in the barn. Jesus! You’re allus up to summat, stretching your body to its limit and not giving a thought to the consequences.”

  He wagged a finger. “You know as well as I do, there’s many a farmer gone crippled because of his work and the changing weather.”

  “I know that, but it’s not the same thing at all.”

  “Like as not you’ve overstretched a chest-muscle, or you might even have fractured a rib. That’s been known to happen afore now and not been discovered for many a week—by which time it’s got worse.”

  Barney’s hopes rose. “You’re right. I didn’t think of all that.”

  “No, you didn’t,” Arthur confirmed. “You were too busy thinking the worst instead.”

  “So, do you reckon I should still see the doctor?”

  “It wouldn’t hurt, not now that you’ve made the appointment.”

  Barney nodded. “I’m glad I told you, Arthur.”

  “So am I.” The other man, though, was secretly worried. “You’d best mek tracks, lad. Soonest done is soonest mended.”

  A few minutes later, Barney was ready to set off. “I’ll call in and see you at home on my way back,” he told Arthur. “Let you know what Dr. Lucas says.”

  His old friend waved him off. “You do that,” he advised. “And stop your worriting!”

  Long after Barney was out of sight, Arthur stood at the door, mulling over what Barney had told him: pains in his chest, being sick, sleeping badly and at times hardly able to breathe. He had assured Barney it could be any number of minor things, but deep down he had to consider that it could be really serious—far more serious than he had led the other man to believe. He was frightened for his pal.

  So frightened for him that he downed tools there and then and made his way home, intending to wait for Barney to let him know what Dr. Lucas had to say.

  Expecting his appointment to last some fifteen minutes or less, Barney was in Dr. Lucas’s surgery for a whole hour and a half.

  Having been pummeled about and then quizzed for what seemed an age, Barney dressed behind the screens and came out to stand before the man’s desk. “What’s the verdict then, Doctor?” he asked. He needed to know, but was dreading the answer. Not for nothing had Raymond Lucas called in his colleague from the other consulting room, and each in turn had examined Barney yet again; in quiet tones discussing his condition while he quickly dressed.

  The doctor smiled. “Sit down, Mr. Davidson.” His quick smile was not a reassuring one; instead, to Barney it seemed more of a consoling smile, and sure enough with his next words he confirmed Barney’s suspicions. “I’m afraid it’s not good news.”

  Suppressing the fear inside him, Barney asked tremulously, “It’s my heart, isn’t it?”

  Dr. Lucas slowly nodded. “I’m sorry.” Quickly adding, “But it’s not all bad news. With proper medication and rest, you could go on for years yet.”

  Shocked to the soul, Barney interrupted him. “What you’re saying is, if I stop work and spend the rest of my life doing nothing, then I might live a few years more?”

  “Well, I’m not suggesting you should do nothing. I’m saying you will have to take things a lot easier. No more building haystacks, or driving in the sheep on a frosty winter’s morning. You have a damaged heart. It isn’t functioning as it should and that’s a dangerous thing, especially for an active man such as yourself, whose very livelihood depends on him using his strength to carry out his work.”

  A note of impatience marbled his advice. “From now on, you must be sensible in everything you do, and I cannot emphasize that strongly enough.”

  Barney wasn’t listening. By now he was seeing the future in his own mind, and what he saw was more crippling than anything he had so far endured. “Tell me, Dr. Lucas …” he paused, hoping against hope that he might receive the answer he needed. “Is there anything you can do to repair the damage?”

  The doctor shook his head. “I’m afraid the damage seems to be quite considerable. The breathlessness, the pain and sickness … it all has to do with the heart not doing its work. As far as we can tell, there is little that can be done, except to give you the advice I’ve just given, and for you to follow it to the letter.” He bent his head to his desk and taking out a notepad, began scribbling furiously. “I can carry out any number of tests and no doubt get a fuller picture. But the heart is a complex organ and often it can be more dangerous to interfere with it, than to leave it alone.”

  Looking up, he added in a serious voice, “My opinion and that of my colleague is for us to treat the symptoms, and for you to do your part … follow my advice, and take the medicine prescribed. That way, it’s certainly possible that you may enjoy a few more good years.”

  Handing Barney the folded paper, he told him, “I’ve made an appointment for you to be admitted into the Infirmary first thing in the morning.” His smile was sympathetic. “I’m sorry the news was not what you might have expected, Mr. Davidson, but we’ll do the best we can—as indeed you must.”

  Ba
rney was devastated.

  In a kind of half-drunken stupor he left the surgery and made his way to the horse and cart, which he had tethered outside. Without his usual greeting to the old horse, he climbed aboard, took up the reins and clicking the horse away, sat back on his slatted wooden bench and turned his thoughts to Joanne and the family.

  As he left the village behind and came into the open countryside, he stopped the horse in its tacks, and climbing down off the bench, stood at the top of the valley, from where he could see the whole world.

  He stood for a long time, his mind numbed and his heart sore, and when the doctor’s words flooded back … It’s possible you may enjoy a few good years … he lifted his face to the skies and with the tears streaming down his face, he accused that Great Master somewhere in the heavens: “Every step of my life I’ve always trusted You, and now when my life seems to be taking a turn for the better, You snatch it away.” Anger roared through him. “WHAT TERRIBLE THING DID I DO TO DESERVE THIS?” Sobbing, he fell to the ground.

  In his mind’s eye he could see Joanne, and his children. He saw the joy in their eyes and the excitement in their voices as they spoke of their imminent new life in Boston, and it was as though a knife was twisting his soul.

  Sobered by the prospect of telling them, he climbed back onto the cart, but he did not take up the reins. Instead he sat hunched and lost, without hope; without a future.

  Arthur was sitting on the doorstep smoking his pipe when he saw Barney coming up the lane. “At last!” He had almost given him up. Knocking out his pipe on the porch column, he laid it beside his empty beer mug and ran out to meet his old friend. “Where’ve you been? You’ve been gone an age,” he told him as Barney wearily climbed down. “I thought you were never coming back.”

  Half an hour later, the dreadful news imparted and shared, tears shed and dried, and a pint pot of beer swallowed, Barney turned to Arthur and confided his chief worry.

  “How on earth can I go off to farm in Boston when I’m in this state, fit for nowt. I can’t see myself sitting about like an old-timer, gazing across the land, watching while the others work their fingers to the bone.”