Lucy was about to reply, when Barney himself appeared. “Lucy has nothing to do with it,” he told Joanne. “I’m staying here with a woman friend.”
Joanne looked at him, at this stranger, unshaven and thinner than she remembered, and in his eyes there was a look she did not recognize. “It’s not too late,” she told him. “You can still make amends.”
Now, as Barney gazed down on her tired face, he realized the pain she had suffered, and all because of him. His head swelled with love and he wanted so much to take her in his arms and tell her that he adored her still, and that his family meant more to him than anything else in the world.
Instead, his expression stiffened. “Why would I want to make amends,” he asked cruelly. “These days I have no worries or responsibility. I’m free to do what I want, go where I want, and I don’t have to break my back working to keep a family.” His smile was wicked. “I’m shot of all that rubbish. Yes!” He even managed to swagger a bit. “I consider myself to be a fortunate man!”
For a moment, Joanne was at a loss as to what she could say. In the end she said nothing.
Instead she walked away and Barney fell back into the hallway, his hands covering his face. “God help me!” he cried. “How can I do it to her? How can I be so cruel?”
Lucy took him back into the sitting room. “It’s a terrible thing you’re doing,” she said shakily, “but you’ve gone so far down the road and now that you’ve told me the truth about how ill you are, I can see how it might be the only way to protect and secure your family, even if it means sending them away, hating you.”
She held him in her arms while he sobbed. “But you’re right, Barney. Even though what you’re doing is terrible, not only for them, but for you as well, I do understand.”
He turned to her then, his eyes scarred with pain. “So am I right, Lucy?” he asked. “Am I right to do what I’m doing?”
It was some small compassion when she smiled on him, a smile that was filled with love and sorrow, and hope. “Yes, Barney,” she said honestly. “You’re putting yourself through the worst nightmare, and at the end of it, you’ll be left without family or peace. But yes, I do believe you’re doing the right thing … for them.”
Not for himself, she thought. Not for this darling man, who was making a sacrifice, the enormity of which she could not even begin to imagine.
“Thank you, Lucy, you’re a good friend,” he murmured. “So, you do think I’m doing the right thing.” His smile was content. “That’s all I needed to know.”
Early the following morning, Lucy walked with him to the quayside. From their vantage point they watched as Barney’s beloved family clambered aboard that great ship. To see them go without him was more crippling than anything he had ever endured. What he felt now, in that terrible moment, was the most desolate feeling in the world.
Aware that Barney must be watching them from some secret, lonely place, Leonard Maitland looked repeatedly over his shoulder for a glimpse of him. He did not spot him because, reluctant to let his family see him there, Barney was well hidden from view.
It was only when the ship began to move out, that Barney shifted his position, the better to watch as the big liner took his family farther away from him. He gave a futile wave, but they didn’t wave back. How could they?
From the deck, Joanne stretched her neck to see if he was there. When she could see no sign of him, she returned to her cabin and there she sobbed until she thought her heart would break.
A moment later, Susie came running into the cabin, excited about everything and, for the moment at least, seeming to forget about the man they were leaving behind.
“Come quick, come and see!” she cried. “Mr. Maitland’s taking us all to the bridge!” Taking Joanne by the hand, she rushed her away.
As they ran, Joanne discreetly wiped her eyes. She was all they had now. And unlike Barney, she would not let them down.
Later that day, when Barney was sleeping, Lucy asked Bridget to keep an eye on him, “I’m going up to the cottage,” she said. “I think Barney would be more comfortable there. It’s been shut up since … Frank Trent came back.” She still could not bring herself to say what had actually happened, even though most days she visited the churchyard, it still seemed like some kind of a nightmare to her—not real, not possible.
Bridget agreed with her, not least because she could see for herself how desperately ill Barney was and she imagined the kind of care he might need before he was back to strength. Yet she did not know the truth, that Barney had little more than a year to live.
“I expect the cottage will want airing,” she told Lucy now. “You’ll need to light a fire, and there must be an inch of dust all over. Take what you want from the cleaning cupboard, and if there’s anything else you need, let me know and I’ll send one of the girls up with it.”
Lucy thanked her and as an afterthought she added, “If it’s all right with you, I’d like to keep the cleaning work; I will still need the wages.”
Bridget groaned. “Ah, sure, who else would do it if you didn’t? Tillie’s gone above herself with the bookkeeping, and the girls think they’re God’s gift, so they wouldn’t dream of spoiling their delicate hands. No, the work is yours, Lucy girl, for as long as you need it. Who else would I want in me house, tell me that?”
On leaving 23 Viaduct Street, every step Lucy took reminded her of Jamie, and Frank Trent. “I won’t let that monster ruin my life any more,” she muttered, nearing the cottage. “I’ll make a new life here, with Barney, and I’ll care for him as long as he needs me.”
Opening the door to the cottage, she stood looking into the tiny sitting room. Her very first and only home of her own, it had been a bright, happy place, with its chintz curtains and pretty rugs, and the little seascapes hanging on the walls.
Swallowing a sob, she flung open the curtains and let the afternoon light flood in, Bridget was right, the whole place was covered in dust. It was covered in memories too. Memories of Joanne and her family; memories of Barney when he was fit and strong and life was wonderful, and Jamie was everywhere … toddling around the house, holding her hand, so full of love and trust.
She wallowed in nostalgia and then she cried, and then she got on with the work. Within two hours there was a cheery fire in the grate, the furniture was shining and the place felt like home again. It was not the same as before—it could never be the same—but it was alive with memories she did not want ever to lose.
“We’ll be happy here, Barney and me.” A sense of belonging came over her as she thought of that wonderful man.
“I’ll look after you,” she murmured. “We’ll make use of every moment we have left. We’ll walk and talk; we’ll sit by the river and watch the birds come to drink, and in the evening we’ll laze in the garden and watch the sunset. Such plans. Such love.”
A great sense of peace entered her soul. “We’ll be good for each other,” she told the walls. “And maybe, even after all that’s happened, life won’t be so bad after all.”
Later that evening, however, Barney was not so easily persuaded. With his heart and soul dented by the savage hand Fate had dealt him, he wanted only to curl up in a corner and die, for he could see little future without his loved ones.
“No, Lucy.” The two of them had been given the privacy of Bridget’s parlor. “I can’t move into the cottage with you. What would people say? Your reputation would be in tatters.”
“I don’t care about my ‘reputation’!” Lucy argued. “I only care about you.”
“Lucy, sweetheart, don’t think I’m not grateful because I am, but the answer has to be no. I won’t do that to you.”
Lucy was persistent. “Please Barney.”
Barney shook his head and said not another word. Lucy knew he would not be persuaded.
When she departed some half an hour later, he went to his bed to rest, while Lucy made her sorry way home. “I want you to need me,” she murmured as she walked away. “I need to care f
or you, Barney.”
But Barney was already sleeping. He was heart-wary, and for the moment there was only one thing on his fevered mind, and that was his family. “God help me!” he cried. “I’ll never see them again … oh, dear God! Dear God!” When he slept he dreamed, and his dreams were soul-destroying.
Over the following weeks, Lucy visited every day. She and Barney sat in Bridget’s parlor and talked. Occasionally she made him laugh and when he did, she knew it was the thinnest veneer over his hurting, but it was good to hear it all the same, and her heart soared with hope.
Maybe the doctors were wrong and Barney would get better. Maybe there was a future for the two of them—oh, not in the same way it had been with his Joanne, but in a warm, dependent way, with each filling a need for the other, because now they each knew what loneliness was.
All too soon, though, her hopes were shattered.
More and more Barney took to his bed, and though Bridget was a wonderful friend, she found it all too much. “Much as I would like to, I can’t run a business and take care of him,” she told Lucy. “And there is no room for you here, you know that.” In a soft, caring voice she urged Lucy, “He really needs to be where he’ll get proper medical help.”
Lucy was at her wit’s end. “I won’t let them take him away!” she protested. “I couldn’t bear it.”
With a plan forming in her mind, she went to Barney. “Let me take you home with me?” she pleaded. “Bridget has been wonderful, but now it’s my turn.”
Weak though he was, Barney was still adamant. “I know she’s been wonderful, and I know she’s finding things difficult just now. But I’m not totally bedridden,” he smiled, that old cheeky, mischievous smile. “So don’t write me off yet, my girl!”
“Come home with me, Barney. Let me take care of you … please.”
“So that’s your plan is it?” he asked. “To ‘take care of me’?”
“Yes.”
“And you think I can’t take care of myself?”
“I know you can, but for how long, Barney?”
Barney thought about that, because of late he had been growing weaker. “And are you prepared to risk your reputation just to keep me from ending my days in a hospital bed?”
“You know I am!”
Barney gave that same wonderful smile. “Then how can I refuse?”
“Oh, Barney!” Thrilled that they would be together at last, even though she did not fool herself it would be for long, Lucy threw her arms round his neck. “You won’t regret it, I promise.”
Barney laughed. “If you don’t stop suffocating me, I won’t be around long enough to regret it,” he said.
Lucy let go with a look of horror. “You mustn’t say things like that,” she chided.
In serious voice he told her, “And you mustn’t pretend I’ll be around forever, because I won’t.”
Subdued, she nodded, the joy gone from her eyes. “I know,” she whispered. “But it will be so good to have you near for now.”
And so it was arranged, and surprisingly no one saw the move as anything other than Lucy looking after an old friend. Indeed, they admired her for it.
Over the coming months, Barney and Lucy spent almost every minute in each other’s company. “I’m so glad you persuaded me to come here,” he told her one night when they were seated by the fire. “Being here with you has been a joy. I watch you sometimes when you’re hanging out the washing, and I think of Joanne. I’m deeply humbled by the way you’ve become part of my life …” he smiled wryly, “What’s left of it. The doctor told me a year at the outset, maybe less, but lately I’ve found a new strength and it’s all thanks to you, Lucy.”
“I’m glad.” Lucy had seen the way he had rallied since coming out to the countryside. “But it’s not me,” she said. “It’s the country air that suits you.”
Barney corrected her. “It’s not only that, Lucy,” he said softly. “It’s the peace and comfort I feel, just being here, with you.”
“I wish I could be Joanne,” Lucy answered. “I wish I could get your family back for you.” If only she could restore his happiness and the family he adored, she would have given up every minute spent with him.
“You can’t bring them back,” he murmured, “and even if you could, I would not want you to. I hope they never know the way things are with me. That’s why I sent them away … so they would find the new life they so looked forward to, and not be made to watch me suffer, or feel the anguish I feel.”
He reached out to take hold of her hand. “You can’t know how grateful I am to you,” he said. “You’ve been the best friend anyone could ever have.”
“I wish I was …” Lucy’s voice broke. “I wish …”
She was about to say she wished he could love her as she loved him, but instead the tears began to fall, and before she realized, he was holding her in his arms, and when he kissed her, she could hardly believe it. “I know what you wish for,” he soothed. “I’ve seen it in your eyes and somehow I just know …” He cradled her face, “You are the sweetest person, Lucy …”
The kiss was gentle. The lovemaking that followed was fumbled and tender, and Lucy gave herself to him with all her heart.
Afterward, they held each other, and Lucy cried, and he comforted her. “We belong together, you and me,” he whispered. “We could never be as Joanne and I were, but we’re together, and that must mean something.” He smiled into her eyes, “Do you understand what I’m saying?”
Lucy nodded. “I think I’ve always loved you,” she said.
“And I’ve come to love you, but it’s a very different love from what I feel for Joanne. Ours is a quiet, warm and contented love. But is it enough for you? Is it, Lucy?”
“Yes.” Lucy’s heart was at peace. “It’s enough,” she whispered, nestling contentedly in his arms.
Over the coming weeks, Barney confounded the doctors by finding a new strength. Life was good; they took gentle strolls through the countryside; they sat long in the garden, and once a week they would go to the churchyard and lay a posy on little Jamie’s resting-place. But in the back of their minds there was always the fear of Barney’s relapse, and the growing weakness in his limbs.
When Lucy found to her immense joy that she was carrying Barney’s child, their happiness knew no bounds. But Barney was adamant. “We can’t let it be known that you’re with child,” he said. “That would only set tongues wagging. God knows they’ve already been busy enough what with me being here and the two of us living under the same roof.”
It was true, Lucy thought. At first everyone had accepted that she was merely caring for Barney. But now, after months passing and the two of them being seen out together, the gossip knew no end, and it was not pleasant.
“Look, Lucy, I have a small amount of money put by. Let’s move away … rent a place somewhere far off, where folks won’t point the finger at you or the child.”
It was just an idea, but Lucy was reluctant to leave the area. “You need to be near the doctors, you know,” she told him. “You don’t want to be starting over with someone new who doesn’t know you like Doctor Lucas. You’re doing all right for now. Please, Barney, don’t take any risks.”
“But you will think about it, won’t you, Lucy?” he urged.
And the more Lucy thought about it, the less she liked the idea of moving Barney out of the area. He had Doctor Lucas, who knew him like an old friend, and the hospital close enough to have him in quickly should it be needed. He had his old friend Arthur, who came to visit regularly, and others who were concerned for his health.
But none of this concerned Barney. All he wanted was that the child should not grow up where people pointed the finger.
Lucy’s immediate concern however, was for Barney, and so, for the moment she tactfully let the matter slide.
When she told Bridget about the coming baby, and Barney’s wish to move away, Bridget was thrilled and horrified at the same time. “Oh, Lucy! I think it’s wonderful tha
t you and Barney have found each other. Even though he’ll always pine for Joanne, at least he’s found a measure of peace and happiness with you, and as for you, well, you’re positively blooming!”
She observed Lucy’s bright eyes and the spring in her step when she walked and her heart went out to her. “I’ve always known you loved him,” she confided. “Anyone with half an eye could see it.”
Some months later, the child, a girl, was born to Lucy and Barney. They called her Mary, after Barney’s late mother. “She’s beautiful,” he said, the joy written on his face. “I know I will never see her grow to a woman but, God willing, I might be here long enough to see her as a real little person.”
And he did, for though his illness was a terrible threat hanging over all of them, he saw little Mary when she began toddling, and when she gurgled her first word it was for him alone. “LUCY! …” One fine morning, Barney greeted Lucy from the garden with tears in his eyes. “She called me … ‘Daddy.’” It was one of the most beautiful moments in his life, and Lucy thanked the good Lord for his mercy in letting Barney live long enough to experience the joy of it all.
But on Mary’s second birthday, Barney took a turn for the worse. Confined to his bed for a week, he had time to consider his future, and that of his daughter and Lucy. “It’s time to leave here,” he told Lucy one evening when they sat by the fire. “I don’t want Mary to know what happened to Joanne and the family. I don’t want her to think me some kind of monster to have sent them away without me. I made them hate me, Lucy, I made them think I was a drunk and a womanizer. What kind of thing is that for our daughter to hear? And hear it she will, because now everyone round here knows the truth. As soon as she can understand, Mary will hear it, and I don’t want that. D’you hear me, sweetheart? I don’t want her to know until she’s old enough to understand and to be able to forgive me for it!”
The Journey Page 29