The Tulip Girl

by Margaret Dickinson

  ‘That’s very kind of you,’ Harriet said as she picked it up. ‘A lot more use than sweets.’

  Frank shook his head as if despairing of Harriet ever giving gracious and heartfelt thanks. From his chair he held out his hand, inviting Jenny towards him. He seemed to do little nowadays except sit by the fire.

  ‘Will you be getting some more cows soon, Mr Frank?’ the girl asked as she sat on the hearthrug at his feet and held her cold hands out towards the glowing coals in the range.

  ‘I don’t know, lass. We haven’t had clearance from the authorities yet. Three months, they reckon, before we can restock.’ He sighed heavily. ‘But I don’t know even then.’

  ‘What we need is a good hot spell,’ Michael remarked. ‘But by the look of it,’ he nodded towards the window and the heavy grey clouds beyond, laden with the threat of more snow, ‘we won’t get that for a long time yet.’

  At the beginning of February, the blizzards began in earnest. It began like fine white dust, floating through the air, outlining the trees and coating the ground in a fluffy white blanket. Then the flakes became bigger and came thick and fast until it was impossible to see more than a few feet ahead. Soon, hedges, lanes and roadways were lost and only the tallest trees stuck up out of the snow.

  ‘We’ve no water,’ Harriet announced. ‘The pipes must be frozen.’

  ‘Maybe it’s frozen in the tank in the roof. And I doubt we’ll be able to pump any more up out of the well,’ Michael said whose job it was to keep the household supplied with water.

  ‘And the snow’s banked to the top of the back door,’ Harriet complained. ‘I can’t even get out this morning.’

  ‘We’ll come dig you out, Mrs T, if you get stuck in a drift.’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re so cheerful about, Master Michael. You’d do better to get a shovel and start clearing some of it.’

  ‘Aye, aye, Cap’n.’ Michael saluted her smartly and then seeing that the housekeeper was really frightened by the atrocious weather, he put his arm about her shoulders. ‘Come on, Mrs T, we’ll sort it out. Nick and I will clear the snow in the yard and . . .’

  ‘Have you seen it out there?’ her voice rose shrilly. ‘We’re going to be cut off. Trapped out here. With no water and no heat and soon, no food.’

  ‘We’ll have plenty of heat. There’s still some coal in the shed and plenty of wood in the barn. And I’ll start the generator up today. We’ll be all right.’

  It seemed strange to Maddie that it should be the young man comforting the older woman, but her heart warmed to Michael for his gentle understanding.

  ‘We’ve no milk or butter. No bread.’ Harriet was determined to be pessimistic.

  ‘We’ve potatoes in the barn and eggs.’

  ‘I found three of the hens dead yesterday morning. From the cold, I expect.’

  ‘I’ll check the boiler.’ Again it was Michael taking the lead. ‘But,’ he was saying, a cheeky smile twitching at the corners of his mouth, ‘we could always rig up a pen in the wash-house and bring them where it’s warmer.’

  ‘Bring them into the house?’

  ‘Better that than they all die of the cold, Mrs T.’

  ‘Oh Michael,’ Frank sank down wearily into his chair in front of the fire, ‘it’s a good job you’re here. I don’t know what we’d do without you.’

  Michael turned and winked at Maddie. ‘Come on, young’un. You can help too, but don’t fall into a snowdrift or we’ll never find you.’

  The hardest part was digging their way out of the back door, but once they had cleared the snow that had drifted and piled up against the door and they could close it behind them, they stood a moment to rest, their breath like steam in the cold air.

  ‘We’ll make a pathway to the barn and then the generator shed and the hen-house,’ Michael decided.

  ‘It’s like pictures you see of the North Pole,’ Maddie murmured, her glance scanning the countryside.

  Nick leaned on his shovel. ‘It looks completely different, doesn’t it? It’s changed the landscape. I mean, if you didn’t know where the road was and the fields and dykes, you couldn’t find them.’

  ‘That’s the dangerous bit,’ Michael said. ‘Going through the ice into a dyke or a drain. But at least I reckon we could dig our way as far as the village, if need be, without too much trouble.’

  ‘I wonder,’ Maddie murmured as she picked up her own shovel once more, ‘how Jenny is?’

  ‘She’ll be all right,’ Nick said. ‘She’s about the only one who is, surrounded by all that food in the shop.’

  But Michael thought otherwise. ‘Not for long, she won’t be. It’s the only place the villagers will be able to get to for a while. The roads to Wellandon will be blocked. Mrs Grange’s shop will soon be sold out.’

  ‘Do you think so?’

  ‘I know so, so if we want to get stocked up with a few supplies, we’d better get digging!’

  ‘Dad, if you don’t come out and see to the batteries, we’re going to be without electricity an’ all. You ought to check the voltage and the specific gravity.’

  Frank waved him away. ‘You see to it, Michael. You know what to do now.’

  ‘No, I don’t. Not really. Come on, Dad. Please. And we could use a little help with the digging. Maddie’s about dead on her feet.’

  It was the third day since they had started trying to dig their way to the village shop and already it was looking like a hopeless task. Fresh falls of snow filled in the pathway they had made and the lane resembled a glacial ravine.

  Frank raised his head and looked towards her.

  ‘I’m all right,’ Maddie tried to smile, but the weariness was swamping her in waves.

  Frank levered himself out of his chair. ‘What am I thinking of? Sitting here, feeling sorry for myself when this lass is almost passing out. Why did you let me sit here, Michael?’ He went towards the kitchen, still muttering to himself.

  Maddie almost laughed out loud at the comical look on Michael’s face. He said nothing but grinned at her and pointed to the chair his father had just vacated. ‘Now it’s your turn, young’un, to have a rest.’ As she opened her mouth to protest, he added, ‘Go on. Do as you’re told, for once. And I’ll ask Mrs T to bring you a hot drink with a drop of whisky in it. You’re not to do another thing all day. You hear?’

  Maddie nodded. She had not even the strength left to argue.

  ‘Oh, it’s so cold. I don’t think I’ll ever feel warm again,’ Harriet was still grumbling. These days she wore a thick cardigan over her blouse, skirt and the ever-present paisley apron. She continually pushed her hands up the opposite sleeve, not caring if she stretched the garment out of shape in her efforts to beat the cold.

  Even Maddie, hardened throughout her childhood to the Spartan conditions at the Home, huddled near the fire in the range and stayed up as late as she could, putting off for as long as possible going to her ice-cold bedroom.

  ‘That’s the last of the coal, Mrs T,’ Michael said, setting the brass coal scuttle at the side of the range. ‘We’re down to whatever wood we can find now. There’s not as much in the barn as I thought.’

  ‘There’s always the wood pile behind the barn,’ Nick suggested.

  ‘Oh aye,’ Michael countered. ‘Under six foot of snow. You volunteering to dig it out? No, I thought not. Besides, it’ll be too wet to burn decently. It’d smoke us out.’

  ‘Maybe we could bring some in and dry it out a bit,’ Nick said, but his suggestion lacked enthusiasm. It was as if the cold had seeped into their bones and sapped them of all strength and vigour. With long faces they all gazed at the fire, wondering just how much longer they would be able to enjoy its heat.

  ‘I’d have a good bake-up tomorrow, if I could,’ Harriet murmured, ‘but I’ve already run out of flour.’

  ‘At least we’ve still got electricity. I bet a lot of folks have got power cuts,’ Michael said.

  Frank cleared his throat. ‘Er, I’ve been meaning to tel
l you. We’re running very low on diesel. I won’t be able to run the engine many more times.’

  Now there was silence in the room as they all faced the prospect of being marooned amidst the frozen, windswept white landscape, totally isolated from the rest of civilization.

  The following morning Michael said, ‘I’m going to try to get to the village today. At least I’ll get some news, even if there’s no supplies to be had.’

  ‘You’ll never get there,’ Nick said scathingly. ‘It’s impossible.’

  Calmly, Michael said, ‘I’m not going to try to dig my way there. I’m going to make myself a pair of skis.’

  ‘Skis?’

  Michael grinned. ‘That’s what I said. I know it’s no good trying to wade through it, either. It’s too deep, but if I get some long, narrow boards, the lightest I can find and strap them to my feet . . .’

  ‘That won’t work,’ Nick said.

  ‘Why not?’ At once Maddie defended Michael’s idea.

  ‘Skis have to curve up a bit at the front, don’t they? Otherwise they’ll just dig into the snow. You’d be better with some flat boards on your feet, like snowshoes.’

  Michael shook his head. ‘Take too long. I’d have to plod along so slowly with those. I want something where I can glide over the surface of the snow.’ He gestured with the flat of his hand.

  ‘A strip of metal would be better,’ Nick suggested, ‘because you could bend the end up then.’

  ‘You’re right, Nick.’

  There was silence whilst the three of them thought hard.

  ‘Isn’t there a sheet of metal in the hay shed?’ Despite the gravity of their present situation, Maddie smiled at Michael. ‘I’ve heard it rattling in the wind.’

  ‘You can’t use that,’ Nick began, ‘it’s blocking up a hole . . .’

  ‘Oh yes, I can. One more hole in that shed won’t matter.’

  For the rest of the day there was a lot of banging and not a little swearing whilst Michael cut and shaped a rough pair of skis.

  ‘You’ll need some poles,’ Maddie joined in excitedly, now seeing Michael’s idea really taking shape. ‘I don’t know what they call them, but you know . . .’ She clenched her hands and held out her arms as if holding a skier’s pole in each hand. ‘And you need a round circle near the bottom, but leaving a spike at the end to drive into the snow. I’ve seen pictures.’

  Michael was nodding. ‘See what you can find for me, young’un.’

  By the time they’d finished, it was too late for Michael to go but the following morning Maddie was standing near the gate, the snow piled up on either side of her, watching as Michael set off on his homemade skis towards the village.

  ‘You will be careful?’ she called after him anxiously. ‘Mind the dykes.’

  ‘Don’t worry, young’un. I’ll be back.’

  But when dusk fell in the late afternoon and Michael had not returned, the whole household became anxious.

  Twenty-One

  ‘You two go to bed. Mr Frank and I will wait up for him.’

  ‘I’m not going until Michael’s safely home,’ Maddie said, her steady gaze never leaving Harriet’s face. She had to admit that even the housekeeper was agitated and her order to Maddie and Nick had lacked its usual vigour. Whatever Harriet felt about her, Maddie, there could be no doubt in anyone’s mind that she was fond of Michael. Very fond. It showed in the way she kept glancing at the clock above the mantelpiece and going to the kitchen window every few minutes to press her face close to the cold glass and stare out into the black night, the only light from the moon shining on the snow.

  ‘Maybe he’s stopped in the village. With Mrs Grange and Jenny at the shop,’ Frank put in, with a sound faith in Michael’s common sense. ‘Surely, wherever he is, he wouldn’t be trying to get home again at this time of night?’

  ‘Maybe he’s stayed at Susan’s.’ Nick’s remark sounded casual and Maddie might have accepted it as such if she hadn’t noticed his quick, sly glance at her as he spoke.

  But it was Harriet who voiced the sharp question. ‘Susan? Who’s Susan?’

  ‘Oh . . .’ Nick shrugged and said airily, ‘Just one of his girlfriends in the village. Maybe that’s why he went in the first place. All that talk about going for supplies was just that. Talk. I reckon he was missing his girlfriend.’ He paused a moment and then added, with even more pointed emphasis on the plural, ‘Or girlfriends.’

  Maddie could not stop the words from bursting out. ‘Michael wouldn’t do that.’ As three pairs of eyes turned to stare at her, she felt herself blushing but muttered again defiantly, ‘Well, he wouldn’t.’

  ‘Of course he wouldn’t, love,’ Frank said. ‘You’re right. He wouldn’t worry us this way. Not deliberately.’

  Maddie saw Nick open his mouth to speak, but then he closed it again thinking better of whatever he had been going to say.

  ‘I still think you young ones would be better in bed,’ Harriet murmured again, as she moved once more to look out of the window.

  ‘Let them stay if they want to.’ Frank sighed heavily. ‘Besides, there’s nothing they have to get up early for in the morning, is there? Not now.’

  ‘We should go out and look for him,’ Maddie said.

  Frank shook his head firmly. ‘No. Not in the dark. It would be too dangerous. There’s no point in all of us getting . . .’ He stopped suddenly, biting back the words and looked at Maddie. Each saw the dread in the other’s eyes.

  Maddie took a deep breath. ‘Mrs Trowbridge,’ she called. ‘Come and sit down by the fire. I’ll make us all some cocoa . . .’

  The woman came back into the room, her hands pushed up the sleeves of her cardigan, her shoulders hunched against the cold.

  ‘We’ve no milk.’

  ‘Then I’ll heat some water and make us some Horlicks. At least Michael managed to get the tap running again yesterday.’

  A few minutes later, as she was handing round the hot drinks, Maddie thought she heard a noise. She froze, her hand holding the mug outstretched towards Harriet suspended in mid-air. ‘Listen. Did you hear anything? I thought I heard a noise . . .’

  Then they all heard Ben barking. She thrust the mug at Harriet and now ran herself to peer out of the window. With a joyous shout, she cried, ‘He’s here. He’s back,’ and pulled open the kitchen door. Ben, allowed to sleep in the wash-house since the blizzards had begun, was scratching at the back door. As Maddie opened it, a flurry of snow swirled into the wash-house and Michael, looking more like a snowman come to life, was standing on the threshold stamping his feet and trying to shake off the snow.

  ‘Oh come in, come in, do!’ Maddie tried to grasp hold of him and pull him inside. ‘We’ve been worried sick. Where have you been? Are you all right?’

  The others were crowding behind her now, all firing questions at him.

  ‘We thought you’d got lost.’

  ‘How could you worry us so?’

  ‘Wait a minute, wait a minute . . .’ Michael was still not stepping inside but tugging at something behind him.

  ‘Get down, you silly dog,’ he said, but it was said with affection as Ben leapt up at him, barking excitedly. ‘Nick, give us a hand, will you? I’m dead beat.’

  Then they saw that Michael was pulling a sledge behind him loaded with sacks covered with a tarpaulin.

  They pulled it into the wash-house and finally closed the door against the cold night. Michael leant against it, panting heavily. ‘I’m – sorry,’ he gasped. ‘I didn’t think it would take me so long . . .’

  Suddenly his legs buckled beneath him and he slid down into an ungainly sitting position, still with all his outdoor clothes on and covered with snow.

  ‘Here, son, let us help you. You must be exhausted.’ Frank, Harriet and Maddie were all reaching towards him now, pulling him up, helping him out of his heavy coat and boots and half-carrying, half-pushing him towards the fire in the living room.

  Harriet, her own discomfort forgotten, bustled
about her kitchen, heating soup and setting the kettle to boil.

  Only Nick stood aloof, just watching.

  Michael sat in his father’s chair, leant back and closed his eyes. ‘I’m sorry, Dad. I didn’t mean to worry you. I got to the village and there’s hardly anything left in the way of provisions. You should see poor Mrs Grange’s shop. I’ve never seen it looking so bare. So, I pressed on to the town.’

  ‘To Wellandon? You went all the way to Wellandon? In this lot?’

  Michael nodded. ‘I know. It was stupid of me, I suppose. But at least . . .’ He raised his head now and grinned, even though there were dark shadows of exhaustion beneath his eyes. ‘I got us a bag of coal, some flour, milk and butter for Mrs T and even – a gallon tin of diesel for the engine.’

  Frank put his hand on his son’s shoulder. ‘Oh Michael . . .’ But he could say no more, for his throat was choked with emotion.

  ‘Here, out of the way, Mr Frank, let the boy have this soup . . .’ Harriet was her old self once more. ‘And you two . . .’ She turned towards Maddie and Nick. ‘Bed.’

  For once Maddie said meekly, ‘Yes, Mrs Trowbridge,’ and turned away to do as she was told, so thankful to have Michael safely home again that at this moment she would have done anything at all that the housekeeper asked her.

  As they went upstairs to their rooms, Nick muttered, ‘I still reckon he’s been with that Susan in Eastmere. It wouldn’t take him the whole day and half the night to get to Wellandon and back.’

  As she opened her bedroom door, Maddie turned and glared at him before she slammed the door in his face.

  The following morning over breakfast – later than usual now there was no milking to be done – Michael told them about his treacherous journey.

  ‘I was fine going from here to Eastmere because I know the road so well, but it wasn’t quite so easy from there to Wellandon.’

  ‘Haven’t they cleared the road at all?’ Frank asked.

  ‘They’ve tried, but as fast as they’ve cleared it another snowfall has blocked it again.’ He grinned at Nick and Maddie. ‘Just like when we tried to dig a way along our lane.’