The Collier’s Wife

by Chrissie Walsh

  ‘You mean like you’ve been to me, Maggie?’ Kezia said solemnly.

  ‘Better than that,’ Maggie said, hugging Kezia and then swinging her off her feet.

  Amy and Jude exchanged heartfelt glances.

  *

  Kezia adored her new home, and most of all she loved the Book Cellar. Each day after school and all day Saturday she helped out, arranging books on shelves or concocting interesting displays on tables. In between serving in the shop, Amy spent her time cleaning her new home and arranging her own furniture around the pieces Isaac had left in place. As the year progressed, the neglected house became a haven of comfort and happiness.

  On a sunny morning in July, as Amy washed the breakfast dishes in the bright, airy kitchen – so much pleasanter than the dank little scullery in Wentworth Street – she contemplated on her good fortune. Now in the final days of what had been an easy pregnancy she thought how different this baby’s birth would be compared to Kezia’s. This time she had no need to buy and refurbish secondhand furniture to make a comfortable home for a new baby and furthermore, this baby was fulfilling hopes and dreams rather than denying them.

  Through the window she could see Kezia carefully snipping roses from the bushes in the garden to put in a vase on the dining table. Something else we didn’t have in Wentworth Street, she mused, and stretched up high to place a pan on the rack above the sink. The baby jiggled, and Amy was suffused in a rush of glorious contentment.

  *

  That same afternoon, Jude and Noah went to an auction in Wakefield in search of rare books leaving Amy in the shop with Kezia who, off school for the summer holidays, was a much-needed help. Trade was brisk, and by closing time Amy felt utterly drained. The thud of feet overhead, in Noah sitting room, let her know that the men had returned and a few minutes later Jude ran into the shop.

  ‘Come and see what we’ve bought,’ he cried, his excitement indicating that the trip had been successful. Intrigued, Amy followed him up the steps to Noah’s front door although the pain in her lower back screamed for her to sit down and put her feet up. Jude strode ahead, Kezia scampering behind and Amy gasping, ‘Slow down, this baby doesn’t like moving at high speed.’

  Jude slowed his pace, stepping back to offer her his arm. ‘Sorry, love. I wasn’t thinking.’ But Amy could tell by his expression he was being anything but thoughtless. His chiselled features were tight and his eyes glittering with pent-up zeal.

  Pulling her arm through his Jude matched his step to hers and Amy, perspiring heavily plodded forward, reluctant to deny Jude his pleasure but inwardly crying to get this over with and go home.

  Noah gave her a beaming welcome, and through glazed eyes Amy half-looked and half-listened as he and Jude reported on their finds: a first edition of this, a rare copy of that, the titles barely penetrating the fog inside her head. ‘A fine collection,’ Noah said, ‘and most of it due to your husband’s sharp eyes and increasing knowledge.’

  Jude flushed at the compliment, and then crowed, ‘What with these and the trade we’re doing in the shop, our money worries are over.’ He ran his hand over a leather-bound tome on the table, his mood suddenly changing. With a faraway look in his eyes he softly added, ‘When me an’ Bert were in France we promised one another we’d do something to make sense of it all, if we lived long enough. Bert wanted to do summat wi’ lorries but the poor bugger never got chance.’ The hot sweat coating Amy’s body turned clammy and she shivered involuntarily. Jude turned and gazed lovingly at her. ‘That was his dream… this was mine, and because of you it’s now a reality.’

  By now the pain in her back had moved deep into her womb and a trickling wetness tickled her inner thighs. Sensing her distraction and seeing her distraught expression, Jude anxiously asked, ‘What is it? What’s the—?’

  ‘Take me straight home,’ Amy gasped. ‘Me waters have broken.’

  *

  Seven hours later Jude sat beside Amy on the bed, his eyes absorbing the sight of his son feeding lustily and his thighs warmed by his precious daughter’s bony little bottom. Amy lay propped-up with the baby at her breast, her lustrous yellow hair fanning the pillows and her cheeks glowing rosily. Jude gazed over the top of Kezia’s head, her hair as dark as his own, at the woman who had made all this possible: a home, a family and a sense of worth. He felt as though his heart might burst with love and gratitude. Kezia wriggled in his lap, and breaking the hypnotic spell of slurp and suck that seemed to have seduced both her parents she asked, ‘Was I as ugly as that when I was a baby?’

  Maggie, perched at the foot of the bed, giggled. But Amy, quick to ensure that Kezia shouldn’t feel excluded or displaced by her brother cried, ‘No, love, you were the most beautiful baby I ever saw.’

  ‘And if he’s half as clever as you, he’ll be just grand.’ Jude flicked the end of her nose with his fingertip.

  Appeased, Kezia leaned over and smiled at her brother. He gazed back with eyes as blue as his mother’s. A soft covering of wispy, blond hair clung to his scalp.

  ‘You’re right,’ Kezia said, ‘he doesn’t look one bit like me.’

  ‘That’s because he takes after your mam,’ said Jude. ‘You take after me. You’re my special girl. I knew that the minute you were born. You were beautiful.’

  ‘All our young’uns looked like skinned rabbits when they were born,’ Maggie reflected, her expression sad as she remembered a time she’d rather forget. Amy gave her a sympathetic smile as she too recalled her niece’s miserable childhood. Maggie acknowledged it with a brave grin and then cried, ‘But look at ’em now. Our Albert and Fred strapping young farmers as happy as pigs in muck, an’ our Henry and Mary proper little toffs.’

  ‘And you’ve done all right for yourself, Maggie. Dr Hargreaves is always singing your praises,’ Amy told her, proud of the beautiful, diligent young woman Maggie had become. She smiled from one member of her family to the other. ‘Now, me and this little boy are ready to go to sleep, so off you all go to your beds.’

  ‘We can’t keep calling him little boy,’ said Kezia, as she slid from Jude’s knee.

  Amy looked at Jude. ‘What do you think?’

  ‘John Hadley Raphael Leas.’

  ‘Then that’s who he is,’ said Amy.

  ‘That’s an awful lot of names! I’ve only got one,’ cried Kezia.

  ‘So have I,’ said Maggie, taking her young cousin by the hand and leading her from the room.

  Amy and Jude fondly watched them go and then turned their attentions back to their son.

  *

  Maggie had now lived with the Leas family for five years and looked on Jude and Amy as second parents. She loved Kezia like a sister and had willingly helped Amy through difficult times when Jude was still suffering from shell shock, her own tough childhood lending her a maturity beyond her years. She had worked diligently at school and learned from Amy and Jude, and when she was appointed Dr Hargreaves’ receptionist she knew it was their careful nurturing that had enabled her to win the enviable position. A bright bubbly girl with a penchant for saying exactly what was on her mind, Maggie was a delightful addition to the family.

  In return, Amy and Jude loved her like a daughter and were grateful for the fun she brought to their lives, her outspokenness causing them no end of amusement. ‘Are we posh now?’ she had asked when they moved to the house in Bankside Street. ‘Cos if we are I’d better stop swearing an’ start talking proper.’

  Amy had laughed. ‘That ’ud be an improvement, but don’t start giving yourself airs and graces. We’re just decent people getting on with life.’

  For the first ten years of her life, Maggie had shared a bed with her siblings, and later a bedroom with Kezia. Now, she was thrilled to have her own bedroom and like most teenage girls she filled it with pretty clutter bought with her wages from Dr Hargreaves. She regularly, but silently acknowledged that none of this would have been possible if her parents had lived, and in her own way she tried to repay Amy and Jude. Although she wo
rked every weekday for Dr Hargreaves, she loved helping out in the Book Cellar on Saturdays or keeping Kezia and John entertained whilst Amy dealt with the customers. Even though her Uncle Jude appeared to have made a full recovery, Maggie had feared he might relapse into the strange, angry man he was on his release from hospital. But now, with proof that Amy and Jude were ‘at it’ – her words for making love – she felt that her fears were groundless. John’s birth had instilled in her a new hope for the future.

  ‘I think our Maggie has an admirer,’ Amy whispered to Jude one Saturday afternoon in November. She nodded her head at her niece and a tall, fair young man, deep in conversation by the window. ‘He’s been here for the last four Saturdays and he’s yet to buy a book. He seems more interested in Maggie.’

  ‘I can’t say I blame him,’ said Jude, ‘she’s a looker, and pleasant with it.’

  Amy smiled her agreement. With her mane of red curls, sparkling green eyes and a pert figure, Maggie Stitt was indeed lovely.

  ‘I think I’ll be nosy and find out who he is.’ Amy stepped from behind the counter and strolled over to Maggie. Maggie greeted her fulsomely.

  ‘This is my Auntie Amy,’ she said to the young man, and then, ‘Auntie Amy, this is Stephen Netherwood. He’s a student at the Technical College. He can’t afford to buy books but he comes here because he likes looking at them.’

  The lad’s homely face reddened. ‘I hope you don’t object,’ he mumbled, ‘but the reading I do here helps with my studies.’

  ‘And what might they be?’ Amy enquired.

  ‘History and Politics.’

  ‘Let’s go and talk to the man behind the counter. I’m sure he’ll find you a book or two that might be useful,’ said Amy, leading the way.

  Introductions and explanations made, Jude took Stephen into the storeroom. He emerged half an hour later with three books under his arm and a smile on his face, the few shillings he had in his pocket still intact. Throwing Jude and Amy grateful looks, Maggie accompanied her beau out of the shop.

  ‘He put me in mind of myself,’ Jude said, when they had gone, ‘and nobody else was likely to buy the books he chose.’

  ‘I knew you’d help him out. You’re a big softy,’ said Amy. She put on her coat. ‘I’m off now. Don’t be late for tea.’

  *

  Later that day, as they sat down to tea in their cosy house in Bankside Street, Amy said, ‘I can’t believe we’ve lived here for almost a year. I keep pinching myself to make sure it’s not all a dream and I’ll wake up back in Wentworth Street.’

  Jude nodded. ‘I know how you feel. It’s like being inside a brightly lit bubble waiting for it to burst.’ He looked troubled. In the past year, they had built up a small, regular clientele but there were still days when they hardly made a sale, and this worried him. ‘The rare books me and Noah occasionally find make things look more promising,’ he continued, trying to be more upbeat, ‘but we can’t always rely on them. I just wish the shop could do better.’

  Seeing Amy’s downcast expression he thumped the table with his fist, making the cups rattle in their saucers. ‘But hey,’ he cried, ‘it’s coming up to Christmas and books make good Christmas presents.’

  For the next few days Amy thought of little else other than how to boost trade. Jude had his success with the rare books, now it was up to her to make the shop a success. She finally put her plan into action after a visit to Hepworth’s tobacconists and newsagents. The Book Cellar had to reach out to people, let them know what it had to offer, and with that in mind she went out the following morning with John, returning later with a loaded pram and a fervent gleam in her eyes.

  ‘What all this?’ Jude gaped when she arrived at the top of the basement’s steps with six stout cardboard placards balanced on the hood of John’s pram, and a bag full of fat tubes of red, green and gold paint hanging from the handle. Jude helped her carry them into the storeroom. ‘What are you going to do with them? What are they for?’ he asked, his curiosity tinged with annoyance.

  ‘Advertisements,’ Amy said. ‘Let the people know where we are and what we have to sell. I got the idea whilst I was waiting to buy your cigarettes and newspaper. The walls of Hepworth’s shop are plastered with adverts for cigarettes and newspapers, and outside he has a board with newspaper headlines on it. They entice people to go in and spend money.’

  ‘I don’t need enticing to buy cigarettes, I can’t do without them,’ Jude said lugubriously, ‘and everybody buys papers. I can’t see it working with books.’

  ‘That’s ’cos you don’t have the vision that I’ve got in my head,’ Amy replied confidently, unpacking her shopping bag. ‘I’ve brought you a pie as well. It’s still hot so get it down you whilst there’s no customers.’

  ‘There’s not much fear of that,’ he groused, before biting into the pie.

  Jude ate his lunch and went back to the shop. After eating her own pie and feeding John, Amy cleared the table in the storeroom and began to paint.

  Books! Books! Books!

  The Perfect Christmas Gift

  Free wrapping in festive paper

  Come and see our fine selection at the Book Cellar, 37, Bankside Street.

  Unable to hide his curiosity, Jude popped his head round the storeroom door.

  ‘What do you think?’ Amy said, as she began to artfully encircle the red and gold lettering with holly and ivy leaves. Would it catch your eye?’

  Jude stared, amazed. ‘That’s fantastic!’ He rewarded her with a kiss.

  Thanking God for a placid son who only demanded feeding and changing, Amy painted for the rest of the day. At closing time Amy and Jude and a loaded pram went down into the town, and using stout twine, they tied the placards to lampposts and fences in various locations. ‘Now they’ll know where we are and once they find us I’m sure they’ll buy something,’ said Amy, as they plodded homeward.

  *

  ‘We didn’t know there was a bookshop here until we saw your hoarding,’ said an elderly woman who had just purchased four books. Amy was delighted. She’d lost count of how many customers had said the same thing, and there had been many more customers in the past three days. Thrilled by the success of her idea, she wondered what else she could do to boost sales.

  ‘Christmas is a time for celebration, lights, holly, baubles and festive spirit,’ she told Jude, during a lull at midday, and with this in mind she hurried into the town. Again, she returned with the pram laden with her purchases. Outside the Book Cellar she tied bunches of holly trimmed with scarlet bows to the railings round the basement steps. Through the shop window Jude saw the flitting figure and ran out of the shop to see what was going on.

  ‘What are you doing now?’ he asked, amazed.

  ‘I’m making the shop look Christmassy. That way it’ll give people the idea that books make good Christmas presents. Wait till you see what I’ve got for inside.’ She tied the last bunch of holly in place. ‘Bring the pram down for me,’ she cried, skipping down the steps.

  By closing time the Book Cellar glittered and gleamed. Gold baubles hung from the rafters, the tops of bookcases sported holly and the counter a pile of pretty papers and green and gold ribbon, waiting to be wrapped round books.

  Caught up in the spirit of Christmas, Jude created a window display of children’s books and another of cookery books. ‘Folk think of children and food at Christmas,’ he said, ‘bairns and eating, that’s what it’s all about.’

  *

  ‘Thank you, madam,’ Jude said, handing over the six books that Amy had wrapped in festive paper tied with green or gold bows.

  ‘Thank you,’ the well-dressed woman replied, ‘I wouldn’t have chosen so wisely had you not assisted me. My appreciation is all yours.’ She picked up her parcels. ‘I didn’t know you were here until I spotted your sign at the end of the street. I’ll call again in the New Year.’

  ‘And we’ll be more than happy to serve you. The best of season’s greetings to you and your family, madam
.’ Giving a polite half-bow, Jude ushered her to the door.

  Amy glowed with pleasure although her fingers ached from wrapping and her tummy rumbled with hunger. Today they had had no time for dinner, keeping the shop open whilst ever there were customers to be served.

  Glancing over at John in his pram in the back corner, she thanked God for such a good-natured, healthy boy, and then went on to thank Him for Christmas, a husband sound in mind and body, a kindly benefactor, Noah, an inquisitive minx of a daughter and a lovely niece before she turned back to serve yet another customer.

  That Christmas and the two following it, and the months in between sealed the success of the Book Cellar and the Leas family’s happiness.

  33

  Jude waited impatiently for the lone customer to leave to leave the shop. It was already past closing time. Outside, the street was empty and the balmy evening air tempting; he’d take Amy and the children for a walk in the park after they had had tea. Pleased with the idea, he emptied the cash drawer. The scruffy young man with a straggly red beard and hair continued to flit from shelf to shelf pulling out books but not really looking at them before shoving them back in the wrong place. Jude’s spirits drooped. The last person he wanted to deal with at this time of day was Hubert Crank.

  ‘Sorry, we’re closing,’ said Jude.

  Hubert pulled a book from a shelf, riffling the pages carelessly.

  Jude stiffened. It wasn’t Hubert’s first visit to the shop, he’d been in twice before and his attitude irritated Jude. On his second visit, Stephen, Maggie’s beau had been in the shop. He’d briefly acknowledged Hubert, and Jude had asked who he was. When Stephen told him, Jude had replied, ‘Crank by name and crank by nature.’

  Stephen had laughed and said, ‘You’re dead right there.’

  Now, Hubert looked smugly at Jude. ‘Which one are you, Leas or Wiseman?’ he asked sneeringly.