The Tulip Girl

by Margaret Dickinson

  ‘Were you really?’ Mrs Grange said. ‘Now, I’d call that more than a coincidence, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘Wh-what do you mean?’ Jenny stammered.

  The woman opened her mouth, but at that moment the shop door bell clanged loudly and Mrs Grange held out the child towards Maddie and levered herself up from her chair. ‘No rest for the wicked,’ she laughed as she waddled through into the shop.

  They heard voices and were surprised when only seconds later Mrs Grange poked her head back around the curtain. ‘It’s Nick Trowbridge looking for you, lass. He ses can you go home. There’s been an accident.’

  Maddie’s eyes widened. ‘An accident? Who?’

  Clasping the baby to her, Maddie hurried into the shop and around the counter. ‘What’s happened?’ she demanded.

  Nick was white-faced. ‘It’s Mr Frank. A fork’s gone through his foot. He needs to go to the hospital.’

  ‘Have you called a doctor or an ambulance?’

  Nick ran his hand through his hair ruffling it and making it stand up on end so that he looked wild. ‘No, no. I came to find you. I didn’t know what to do.’

  ‘Where is he?’

  ‘In the field – where it happened.’

  ‘What? You’ve just left him there? Alone?’

  ‘I didn’t know what to do.’

  ‘Leave the bairn with us, lass, and you go,’ Mrs Grange offered. ‘He’ll be all right.’

  Maddie did not hesitate, but passed the child back into the woman’s arms.

  ‘There, there, my pretty,’ Maddie heard her crooning to the gurgling child as she hurried out of the shop. ‘You’ll be all right with me and young Jenny here . . .’

  ‘Come on,’ Maddie urged Nick. ‘We’d better run.’

  By the time they reached the field, Maddie’s legs were trembling and her breathing laboured. She hadn’t realized, until put to the test, just how much the birth of her child had sapped her strength.

  ‘Down here.’ Nick led the way along the side of the field and then Maddie could see Frank lying on the ground.

  Maddie took one look at the blood oozing out of the man’s boot and seeping into the earth. ‘Go back to the village phone box and phone the doctor,’ she said swiftly to Nick. ‘On second thoughts, you’d be quicker going to his house. It’s only across the road from the phone box.’

  Nick was off again at a run but Maddie called after him. ‘Get Michael’s bike from the barn. You’ll be quicker.’

  Then she knelt on the wet earth and gently touched the man’s arm. ‘Frank?’

  He opened his eyes and groaned. ‘Oh Maddie. Thank goodness you’ve come.’ He reached up and gripped her hand. ‘Can you – get me boot off, lass?’

  ‘Do you think I should?’

  Frank, biting his lower lip, nodded.

  Carefully, Maddie loosened the laces and eased the boot from his foot. As she did so the blood flow seemed to increase until to Maddie’s horror it was pumping from the wound.

  ‘I don’t think I should have done that. It’s – it’s made it worse. It’s bleeding more.’

  ‘No, no, it’ll be all right. It’ll wash the dirt out. Take the sock off an’ all.’

  The blood was vivid against his white skin and now she could see that there were two wounds where the fork had pierced his foot.

  ‘I’ve been meaning to throw those old boots away. It serves me right for being such a penny-pincher. The fork wouldn’t have gone through a decent pair of boots.’

  Frank now levered himself up on to his elbow and looked down at his foot. ‘I’ve a clean handkerchief in my pocket, lass. Get it out and bind it tightly round the foot now.’

  Maddie did as he asked, but the thin cotton was soon soaked with blood.

  ‘Press your fingers on top of the hanky over the worst wound, lass. That’ll stem the flow a bit.’ Again she did as he bid.

  Frank tried to smile. ‘You’d make a good nurse, lass.’

  It seemed an age before Maddie lifted her head and saw Nick hurrying down the field, with the doctor, complete with medical bag, close behind him. But Maddie had the sense to keep the pressure on the wound until the doctor knelt beside her and took charge.

  Only then, did Maddie stand up and stumble a little way down the field to retch into the hedge bottom.

  ‘It’s all your fault.’ Harriet’s tirade was scathing. ‘I ’spect he was worrying over you and all the trouble you’ve brought. I wish I’d never brought you here. I shouldn’t have let my own . . .’ The woman stopped abruptly and contented herself with a malicious glare at Maddie.

  ‘It was my fault,’ Nick said agitatedly pacing the kitchen. ‘I didn’t look what I was doing. I was digging away along the row and then I stuck me fork to one side to bend down to pull some weeds out by the roots and I – I didn’t realize . . . I mean I hadn’t heard him come up beside me. I stuck the fork straight through his boot.’

  Maddie stared at him. ‘You stuck the fork through his foot?’

  Nick nodded miserably.

  ‘I didn’t see him, Maddie.’

  ‘But – but . . .’ She began and then fell silent. She couldn’t understand how anyone could be that close and yet Nick had not seen, heard or even felt his presence.

  ‘I didn’t look round and it was windy and I’d got me scarf tied tight round me ears. I didn’t hear him.’

  Maddie sighed. ‘Oh well, it can’t be helped. Accidents happen.’

  ‘And what if Mr Frank’s wound goes septic? What if he gets lockjaw and dies? What then?’ Harriet rounded on her son.

  Maddie felt the colour drain from her face whilst Nick looked stricken with guilt.

  ‘He – he won’t,’ she tried to declare stoutly, but even to her own ears, her tone lacked conviction. ‘He won’t,’ she said again and then added uncertainly, ‘will he?’

  But Harriet only smiled nastily as if to say, ‘We’ll see. We’ll see.’

  Maddie turned away. Frank was safely in the local hospital and receiving the very best attention, but she must go back to fetch Adam from the shop. She could imagine that Mrs Grange and Jenny would be hard pressed to pacify a very hungry child by this time.

  As she passed by the coat pegs in the wash-house, from the nearest one she caught sight of Nick’s yellow scarf dangling there. She stopped and for a moment stood very still, thinking hard.

  There was something wrong. Something about that scarf but, in her agitation, for the life of her she could not think what it was.

  Thirty-Seven

  Frank did not stay in hospital, although the doctor called regularly at Few Farm to check on the wound.

  ‘We ought to tell Michael,’ Maddie, though reluctant now ever to let his name pass her lips, felt obliged to make the suggestion.

  ‘I’ll go.’ Nick’s offer was swift.

  Three pairs of eyes looked at him.

  ‘There’s no need for that,’ Frank said quietly. ‘I’m hardly at death’s door.’ He turned his head away and stared into the fire. Maddie felt the familiar pang of guilt for she could hear the regret in Frank’s voice. He was missing his son.

  ‘We could write to him,’ she suggested.

  Sharply, Nick said, ‘We haven’t an address.’

  ‘So how do you propose to go to see him, if you don’t know where he is?’

  ‘I’ll just go back to the camp he was at and they’ll tell me where he is now.’

  There was silence before Maddie, frowning, said, ‘Well, can’t we write to the Commanding Officer of the camp and ask him to forward a letter on? Surely they do that sort of thing?’

  ‘It’d be easier if I went in person,’ Nick insisted stubbornly. ‘Then we’d know he’d got the message.’

  ‘It really doesn’t matter,’ Frank murmured, but his tone denied his words. In his voice, Maddie could hear the longing to see his son. She bit down hard upon her lower lip. It was a longing that was echoed deep within her own heart, if only she allowed herself to admit it.

 
This time when Nick left to visit Michael, Maddie sent no letter, or messages. She could not even bring herself to wish Nick a ‘safe journey’ and for the next two days she threw herself into work, caring for her baby and planting in the fields.

  She was not unhappy, she told herself over and over. How could she be? She had a beautiful baby boy, who was a delight and a joy to her. Through the kindness of Frank Brackenbury, she had his name, a home and she knew he was very fond of her. It was far more than she might have expected with her background. And yet, though she strove not to let her thoughts dwell on him, she could never forget Michael and what might have been, what could have been, she thought sadly.

  But Maddie was not a girl to allow bitterness to fester and warp her nature, like Harriet had done. She had never held any resentment against her parents for abandoning her even though she had often been curious to know why. During her time in the Home, she had never been unduly worried about knowing what her roots were – not like it seemed to bother Jenny. Yet now that she had a child of her own, Maddie found that the urge to find out about her blood family was growing stronger. Out in the fields where the work, even though she loved it, was repetitive and monotonous, she had time to think. To keep her mind from wandering to what Nick might be doing and what Michael was saying to him, she focused her thoughts on all the clues – few though they were – about her birth. And Jenny. She could not disregard Jenny. Although, at first, their game of being sisters had been a pretence, merely a way of believing that they each belonged to someone, Maddie now had the strange and insistent feeling that they were, somehow, connected to each other.

  Maddie went over all that she knew. She had been left at the Home in March 1932 and had been some weeks old, though no one had been prepared to state a definite number. Then in the September of the same year, a newborn baby had been abandoned outside the Home in a very similar way. Jenny had been very tiny, Maddie remembered one of the nurses at the Home once saying so. Perhaps she had even been born prematurely. That thought had not occurred to Maddie before now. Then, she had not known so much about giving birth.

  They certainly looked alike. Their hair colour was the same, although Jenny’s was curly. They both had blue eyes.

  Then there had been the gypsy. Maddie wasn’t quite sure whether she believed in anyone being able to foretell the future, but the dark-eyed Romany had been uncannily near the truth in some of the things she had said. And she had refused to read Jenny’s hand. Was it really possible that she had seen something she knew she could not reveal?

  Maddie shook her head. Mentally she was going round in circles. She was no nearer finding out the truth of her parentage, or Jenny’s, than she ever had been.

  She sighed, stood up and eased her back. Time to go and feed her son. At least he’ll always know who his mother is, she vowed. If only . . .

  Maddie clenched her jaw and marched along the furrow to the end of the field, firmly dismissing any thoughts of Michael from her mind.

  ‘He says he won’t ever come home again.’

  Despite her determination to put him out of her mind, at Nick’s words Maddie’s legs threatened to give way beneath her. ‘Not – not ever?’

  Nick shook his head.

  ‘But why? I mean – surely he wants to see his father, if – if not me and his son?’

  Nick shrugged. ‘What’s the point? Now Mr Frank’s married you and taken on Adam as his own son, what’s the point in him coming back at all? Only cause more trouble. That’s what he said.’

  ‘I – see.’ Maddie said slowly. But she didn’t see at all. Not really. She could scarcely believe all that Nick was telling her. Surely Michael, the Michael she knew and loved, could not be so heartless towards his own father, even if his feelings towards her had changed.

  ‘Did . . .’ she licked her lips, ‘did he mention me or – or Adam?’

  Nick shook his head.

  ‘But you told him he had a son? You told him his name?’ Despite her resolve, she could not stop herself asking the questions.

  ‘Of course I did,’ Nick was defensive. ‘That’s partly what I went for, isn’t it?’

  ‘And he said – nothing?’

  Again Nick shook his head and avoided her direct gaze.

  ‘He didn’t want to come home to see his father?’ When Nick still did not reply, Maddie said again flatly, her last vestige of hope gone, ‘I see.’ And now she did. Michael wanted to sever all ties with her, his son and even with his father. The huge lump that rose in her throat threatened to choke her, but Maddie lifted her chin and said, ‘Well then, if that’s the way he wants it, we all know where we stand now, don’t we?’

  She turned away from Nick before he should see the tears in her eyes. She would never again allow anyone to see her shedding tears over Michael. Not ever, she vowed.

  But Harriet would not let the matter rest. ‘I would never have believed it of him,’ she declared at the dinner table. ‘I’d never have thought that he could be so callous and towards you of all people, Mr Frank. You did tell him about the accident, Nicholas, didn’t you?’

  ‘Yes, Mam.’

  Maddie watched as Frank pushed the food around his plate, totally uninterested in eating. She sighed, but said nothing, feeling once more the heavy weight of guilt pressing upon her.

  Thirty-Eight

  ‘Why don’t you ask Mrs Grange, Jen?’

  The next time she and Jenny were alone together, Maddie brought up the subject of their births.

  ‘I didn’t know you were so interested. When I used to say I wished I knew who my mam and dad were, you always used to shut me up.’

  Maddie looked down at the sleeping infant in her arms and stroked his blond hair gently. ‘Did I? I’m sorry, Jen.’

  The girl shrugged. ‘’S all right. I’d got you.’

  They glanced at each other and smiled. They’d certainly shared all their lives together, just like real sisters.

  Jenny nodded towards Adam and said shrewdly, ‘I suppose having him has made you wonder more about your real family, has it?’

  Maddie nodded.

  ‘Well, I’ll ask her.’ She laughed. ‘There’s one thing certain.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Mrs Grange will tell me everything she does know.’

  The two girls laughed together.

  ‘There’s someone else you could ask, an’ all. Stinky. Do you remember that day in the woods when we were kids? The day he took us to see the tree?’

  ‘Will you please stop calling him Stinky?’ Jenny said, with a firmness Maddie had never before heard in her tone. ‘His name’s Steven.’

  ‘Oh-ho,’ Maddie teased. ‘This is getting serious. Jenny Wren, you’re blushing.’

  Accused of it, Jenny’s face grew pinker.

  ‘Are you going out together, then?’

  ‘Well . . .’ Jenny glanced at her coyly. ‘We went to the pictures again last week.’

  ‘So, is Nick out of favour now, then?’

  Jenny shrugged. ‘I like him. In fact, just between the two of us, I like him best, but he doesn’t seem interested in me. I – I think it’s you he likes.’

  ‘Me? Don’t be daft, Jen. His mother detests me.’

  ‘Maybe so. But Nick doesn’t.’

  ‘Oh, I think you’re wrong there,’ but even as she spoke, her denial lacked conviction. ‘Anyway,’ she went on, ‘why don’t you bring Steven, to the farm? Maybe that way you could make Nick jealous.’

  ‘I couldn’t do that,’ Jenny said primly. ‘It wouldn’t be fair on Steven.’

  ‘Well, bring him anyway. I quite like old Stinky. He’s certainly turned out a lot better than I thought he would.’

  ‘Only if you promise to call him Steven.’

  ‘All right, all right. I’ll try. Really I will.’

  ‘I won’t have strangers coming here. Especially not from the village. Poking and prying into everybody else’s business.’

  ‘They’re my friends, Mrs Trowbridge,’ Maddi
e said quietly, but firmly. ‘And they’re coming for tea on Sunday.’

  ‘Well, don’t expect me to get it ready.’

  ‘I won’t.’

  ‘I shall stay in my room. You can bring me my tea on a tray.’

  ‘Yes, I’ll do that. It’d be a pleasure.’

  Harriet eyed Maddie suspiciously, not sure whether she had imagined the sarcasm.

  ‘Have you asked your husband?’

  ‘Yes, I have, and he’s quite happy about it.’

  Harriet sniffed but could say no more.

  It was a merry little party that sat around the tea table the following Sunday. Steven, as Maddie kept reminding herself to call him, was excellent company. He laughed and joked with Nick, who, obviously relieved that Jenny had transferred her affections elsewhere, was kinder to the girl herself. Once or twice, Maddie saw Jenny glancing between the two young men, a slight frown creasing her smooth forehead, almost as if she were comparing the two.

  I wonder who will win? Maddie thought to herself.

  ‘Where do you work, Steven?’ Frank asked. ‘With your father?’

  ‘No. Me elder brother’s going to take on the smith.’

  Frank smiled. ‘Another Smith as our smith, then?’

  It had always been a village joke that the blacksmith should be called Smith. Steven smiled. ‘That’s right, but there isn’t enough business now for more than me Dad and our Ron. So I got mesen a stall on the market.’

  ‘I thought you’d got a posh job in an office?’ Maddie said.

  Steven pulled a face. ‘I had. But I left. I couldn’t stand being cooped up inside all day and shuffling bits of paper about. It didn’t seem like real work to me.’

  ‘What do you sell?’ Maddie asked.

  ‘Anything and everything that’ll make me a bob or two.’

  Maddie laughed. ‘Bunches of tulips for Christmas?’ It was the thing that was uppermost in her mind at the moment. The work in the greenhouses was progressing well and they were promised a bumper crop. She had already brought in the first trays to be ready in time for Christmas. But Maddie’s worry was selling them at the right time and at a good price.