The Tulip Girl

by Margaret Dickinson

  ‘Oh Maddie, that’s lovely,’ Jenny said, closing the door and coming to stand beside the table. ‘You know, I really can’t believe that Adam is ten years old already. Don’t the years fly by.’

  Maddie stood back to admire her handiwork. ‘There, what do you think to that?’

  ‘He’ll love it. However have you managed to make it in the shape of a train, even with wheels and a funnel? And then the carriages behind with three candles on each.’

  ‘Oho, I can’t take the credit for making it. That was Mrs Trowbridge.’

  ‘I’d have thought she’d have wanted to put the finishing touches to it herself then. Where is she? Out?’

  ‘Out? You’ve got to be joking. She never goes out. You know that.’

  ‘Where is she, then?’

  ‘Lying down.’

  ‘Lying down? Mrs Trowbridge. Now you’ve got to be joking, Maddie.’

  Maddie shook her head, a worried frown creasing her forehead. ‘No, I wish I were. She’s not been feeling too good lately. You know . . .’ She looked up at Jenny and kept her voice low. ‘It worries me a bit. It’s just like poor Frank when he started to be ill.’

  ‘Do you think you should have the water in the well checked?’

  Maddie nodded. ‘I’d thought about that, too. Yes, I will if it goes on.’

  ‘What does Nick say?’

  ‘Tells me not to fuss. Says she’s getting on and she’s bound to get ill now and again.’

  ‘Getting on? How old is she?’

  ‘Don’t know exactly, but she must be getting on for fifty.’

  ‘Fifty! That’s not old, Maddie. Mrs Grange is sixty-five and won’t even think of giving up the shop.’ She giggled mischievously. ‘I reckon she’ll still be trying to serve her customers when they carry her out feet first.’

  ‘Jenny!’ Maddie laughed, pretending to be shocked, but secretly she was happy to see that ‘poor, little Jenny Wren’ had blossomed into a pretty young woman with a saucy sense of humour. No doubt Stinky Smith’s influence had a lot to do with that.

  ‘Talking of Nick,’ Jenny was saying, carefully now. ‘How does he treat Adam? I mean, would he make a good father to him?’

  Maddie glared at her. ‘Now, don’t you start, Jen. I’ve no intention of marrying Nick, or anyone else for that matter.’

  Jenny sighed. ‘I don’t want to see you spending the rest of your life alone.’

  Jenny was the one person to whom she could say anything, confide the innermost secrets of her heart. Maddie sat down and faced her. ‘Look, Jen,’ she said quietly now and with more than a trace of sadness in her tone. ‘I’ve only ever really loved one person in my life, apart from you and that’s very different. I was fond of Frank, very fond. He was a lovely man and I miss him, but if I hadn’t been so young and alone with no family of my own, then – then I probably wouldn’t have married him. But I’m not going to marry again unless I fall in love – really in love – with someone. And I don’t feel that way about Nick. And I don’t think I ever will.’

  Jenny nodded and had a confidence of her own to share. ‘Poor Nick. And do you know something, Maddie? That’s how I do think of him now. As “poor Nick”. I think when I first thought I loved him, it was because I felt so sorry for him. He seemed like me. So shy and lost. No friends. But now, with Steven, it’s so different. He’s always so cheerful and happy-go-lucky. Always full of ideas and plans.’ She shook her head. ‘Now, Nick just seems so moody and – to be honest, Maddie – a right misery.’

  ‘Yes,’ Maddie agreed quietly. ‘But who can wonder at it?’ She pointed to the ceiling and Jenny knew she was referring to Harriet, resting in her room above them. She echoed Jenny’s words. ‘Poor Nick.’

  There was silence between them until Jenny said, ‘And we’re still no nearer finding out who we are, are we, Maddie? Maybe we have got family somewhere. Does it bother you?’

  ‘Not really.’ Maddie laughed wryly. ‘I’m too busy to think about it much. But maybe . . .’ Her tone sobered. ‘I’d like to know if only for Adam’s sake.’

  ‘I know. I’ve been thinking more about it too, just lately. And the reason I have is all tied up with my news.’

  ‘Oh Jen, I’m sorry. What is it you want to tell me?’

  ‘Steven’s asked me to marry him now he’s “on his feet” as he puts it. And now I’ve realized who it is I really love,’ her cheeks grew faintly pink, ‘I’ve said “yes”.’

  ‘Oh darling,’ Maddie jumped up and flung herself around the table to hug Jen. ‘That’s wonderful. When?’

  ‘We’re going to get engaged at Christmas and married next summer.’

  ‘This is marvellous news. Do tell Steven how glad I am, won’t you?’

  ‘You can tell him yourself tonight. He’s coming to Adam’s birthday party this afternoon.’

  ‘Double celebration then.’

  Over the years Steven’s gift as a salesman had made him one of the most popular market traders in the district. He now employed others to run his stalls on the various local markets whilst he delved into other areas where he could ‘make a bob or two’.

  That evening when at last an over-excited ten-year-old had finally been persuaded to go to bed, Maddie, Nick, Jenny and Steven toasted the news of their engagement. Even though she had made the effort to join in the party for her ‘little man’ who was now growing so fast that he would soon no longer fit the endearment, Harriet was still feeling unwell and had gone to bed too.

  ‘There’s something else to celebrate an’ all,’ Steven said, his grin wide. ‘It’s all settled. Next year there’s to be a proper Tulip Parade with decorated floats and everything. We tried it this year, you know, with one lorry from a local firm to carry Miss Tulipland 1958 and a couple of decorated cars to follow, but next May we’re hoping that more locals will take part and make a proper do of it. There’s a chap coming over from Holland to help design the floats and show everyone how to build them. You’ll have to send one in from Few Farm, you know, Maddie.’

  ‘We wouldn’t have time to be taking part in such nonsense,’ Nick said sourly, before Maddie could speak. ‘We’ve enough to do.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know, Nick. It would be good publicity for us and fun too.’ She turned to Steven. ‘Do you know how to build a float?’

  ‘Roughly. Ideally it ought to be designed around a vehicle of some kind, so that it can be self-propelled and take part in a parade through the town centre. You make a metal frame – my brother can do that for you if you like – in the shape you want and then cover it with straw that’s been stitched together to make a sort of straw matting. Then that’s cut to shape too and last of all – and that can only be done at the very last minute – you pin on the tulip heads.’

  ‘What, each one? Individually?’ Jenny asked.

  Steven nodded. ‘Yes. With wire shaped like a huge hairpin. It’s a lot of work but the result is worth all the effort.’ He beamed with satisfaction as he added, ‘And all those lovely flower heads being used instead of thrown away.’

  They laughed together – all, Maddie noticed, except Nick.

  Forty-Five

  ‘Jen, do you think you could give us a hand with the flowers?’

  April was upon them again and the workload facing Maddie was daunting. For once, even she felt unable to cope. ‘Of all the times for it to happen, Mrs Trowbridge has to go and be ill again. I’ve the house to see to now and looking after her.’ As the words came out of her mouth, they sounded unfeeling even to Maddie’s own ears. ‘Adam can help after school and at weekends and in the holidays, but Nick’ll never manage everything on his own.’

  Jenny raised her eyebrows, but seeing how harassed Maddie was, she made no comment and merely said, ‘Of course I can. Do you want me to ask Steven too?’

  ‘Would you? Oh thanks.’

  ‘I’ll have a word with Mrs Grange. I’ve some holiday due.’

  ‘Some holiday that’ll be,’ Maddie said, apologetically.

  Je
nny smiled and murmured, ‘Oh I don’t mind.’

  Smiling for the first time in days, Maddie hugged her. ‘Oh, it’s good to have a sister, even if we have only adopted each other.’

  ‘I’m getting the doctor to your mother, Nick. She’s getting worse instead of better. And what worries me is that she has all the same symptoms that Frank had. I’m going to talk to the doctor and ask him if he thinks it could be the water in the well. Maybe we ought to get it tested.’

  Nick wrinkled his forehead. ‘If it was the water, then we’d all be ill, wouldn’t we?’

  Maddie spread her hands helplessly. ‘I don’t know. I just don’t know. Oh, I feel so ignorant about things like this.’

  ‘You can’t know everything, Maddie.’

  ‘But I can find out. I’ll ask the doctor how to go about it.’

  Dr Battison gave her all the help she needed, but when the report on the well water came back, there was no problem.

  ‘Crystal clear and a lot healthier than some of the water our townsfolk have to drink,’ Dr Battison told her.

  ‘So that’s not it.’

  ‘No,’ Dr Battison agreed, but the way he said the word implied that he thought there was more they could do.

  Maddie looked at him. ‘What? What is it?’

  The doctor was frowning and shaking his head. ‘Her symptoms puzzle me. Of course they’re similar to gastroenteritis, but . . .’ He sighed. ‘There’s something niggling me. Something’s not quite right and I’m damned if I know . . .’ He cut his own sentence short and appeared to be lost deep in thought.

  ‘That’s what Dr Hanson said about Frank,’ Maddie murmured.

  ‘What?’ His tone was suddenly sharp with interest.

  Dr Battison was new to the area. He had arrived the previous year to take over the country practice when Dr Hanson had retired. He was young, dynamic and go-ahead and whilst many in the village had yet to trust him completely – such had been their faith in the old doctor – Maddie had liked him at once. This was only the second time she had had cause to meet him, the first being when she had taken Adam to the surgery to be told the boy had chicken pox.

  ‘I said, that was what the doctor said about my husband when he was ill just before he died.’

  The young man was frowning. ‘But I understood that your husband was killed by an accidental fall in the barn where you have your electrical equipment?’

  ‘He was. But he was very ill just before it happened. He’d been in hospital and they’d got him a lot better and sent him home. He had no more of the sickness but he was still very weak and – and . . .’ She faltered a little, remembering once more her nightmarish discovery. ‘He shouldn’t really have gone out there. He should have left it all to Nick. But Nick was away for the night and the lights went out . . .’ Her voice trailed away. It sounded, even to her own ears, such a pathetic reason for a man to lose his life.

  But Dr Battison was not sitting in judgement. ‘Tell me more about the illness he had before that happened.’

  Without invitation, he sat down at the table and, following his lead, Maddie sat down opposite him.

  ‘Well,’ she began, wrinkling her brow, trying to remember exactly how it had been. ‘His illness started just like Mrs Trowbridge’s has done. Very slowly so that at first no one, not even the one who’s ill, takes a lot of notice. She’s been getting stomach trouble on and off for almost a year now and I remember the first time she had a bad attack because it was on Adam’s tenth birthday last August. I remember thinking then that it was like Frank had been. I even said so to Jenny.’

  ‘Jenny?’

  ‘Jenny Wren at the corner shop. She lives with Mrs Grange.’

  ‘Oh yes, I know. Go on.’

  ‘Well, I can’t tell you any more really.’

  ‘Was the well water tested then?’

  Maddie shook her head. ‘No. Dr Hanson admitted Frank to hospital and they did some tests, but before the results were through, Frank came home. He’d been much better in the hospital, you see. The accident happened the next day and I suppose . . .’ Again her voice faded away, but the doctor nodded understandingly and finished the sentence for her. ‘It was no longer necessary to know the results, especially if none of the rest of the household were affected.’ He looked at her sharply. ‘You weren’t, were you?’

  Maddie shook her head. ‘Not until now.’

  Dr Battison was thoughtful, idly tracing a figure eight on the tablecloth with the tip of his forefinger. ‘And now there’s still only one member of the household ill?’

  ‘You say the symptoms are like gastroenteritis?’

  ‘Mm.’

  She stared across the table at him. ‘But you’re not completely satisfied that it is that, are you?’

  ‘No,’ he said shortly and was silent for a moment, still thinking, before he said, ‘I’m going to take her into hospital for observation and run some tests.’

  ‘What sort of tests?’

  Suddenly, he seemed evasive. ‘Oh, the usual.’ He stood up but now he was avoiding looking at her directly. ‘Pack a few things for her and I’ll arrange the ambulance for this afternoon.’

  Maddie held the back door open for him. ‘Goodbye, Doctor. Thank you for coming.’

  He nodded briefly and she watched him as he crossed the yard. She had begun to close the door when she saw him stop and glance towards the huge barn. She saw him look back towards the house, but because the back door was now almost closed and she was watching him through a tiny slit, she knew he could not see her. To him, it would seem as if she had shut the door and gone back into the house.

  Dr Battison walked towards the door to the barn and disappeared inside it.

  ‘Now, just what are you up to?’ Maddie said aloud and then she realized. He was probably looking for Nick to talk to him about his mother. After all, Nick was her relative, not Maddie. She was about to pull the door open again and step out into the yard to tell him that his searching the barn was fruitless, that Nick was in the fields, when she heard Harriet’s cries from upstairs. ‘Maddie, oh Maddie. Come quickly.’

  Clicking her tongue against her teeth in exasperation, Maddie closed the door and ran lightly up the stairs, ‘I’m coming, Mrs Trowbridge, I’m coming.’

  Harriet was hanging over the edge of the bed, retching into the chamber pot. Maddie put the palm of her hand against the woman’s forehead, smoothing the grey hair out of the way. The skin felt clammy to her touch and when the exhausted woman lay back against the pillows once more, Maddie could see the perspiration glistening on her face, now drained of all its natural colour that had been replaced by a strange tinge of yellow.

  ‘What – what did he say?’ Harriet asked weakly.

  Touching her hand, Maddie said gently, ‘You’re to go into hospital. I’m to pack a few things for you . . .’

  ‘No, no, I don’t want to go. I want to stay here. Nick can look after me, if I’m too much trouble to you.’

  ‘Oh Mrs T,’ Maddie said. Feeling guilty now because she had, at first, been irritated by the woman’s illness, she used the pet name that Michael had always used. ‘You’re no trouble to me. But it’s for the best. They’ll find out what’s wrong with you and . . .’

  ‘I don’t want to go.’ Her voice was rising hysterically. ‘I won’t go. You just want to get rid of me so you can have this place to yourself.’

  ‘That’s not true. You know we can’t manage without you. Any of us.’

  Harriet was sobbing now. ‘Oh little Adam. I shan’t see him again.’

  ‘Don’t upset yourself, Mrs Trowbridge. We’ll come to visit you and I’ll bring Adam.’

  She was reaching out, clasping Maddie’s hand. ‘You will? You promise?’

  ‘Of course I do.’

  She seemed to relax a little and later, as she and Nick watched the ambulance drive away down the lane carrying Harriet to the cottage hospital in the town, Maddie thought how sad it was that her thoughts in that moment of crisis had been not f
or her own son, but for Adam.

  Not for the first time, did Maddie feel a stab of pity for Nick Trowbridge.

  Forty-Six

  ‘How is she?’

  They were standing in the hospital corridor, the three of them, Maddie, Nick and Adam, too, looking, for once, solemn faced.

  The sister shook her head. ‘No change, I’m afraid,’ then added with an encouraging smile, ‘but it’s early days yet.’

  ‘Can we see her?’ Nick asked.

  ‘Of course. But only two at a time and I would ask you to stay no longer than half an hour. She is very weak.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Maddie began to move towards the ward at the end of the corridor.

  ‘Excuse me asking . . .’ Maddie turned back to look at her as the sister nodded towards the brown bag Maddie was carrying. ‘Is that a change of clothing for her?’

  ‘Well, yes, partly. A clean nightdress and hankies, but I’ve brought a few eggs and some pasties . . .’

  The sister’s mouth pursed and she shook her head again. ‘I’ll take the clothes, but I must ask you to take any food back home. Mrs Trowbridge is to have only the diet the doctor has prescribed for her. He gave strict instructions that she was to be allowed no food at all to be brought in to her.’

  Nick tried a weak smile. ‘Not even grapes?’

  But the sister was unsmiling. ‘Nothing. The doctor was most specific about it.’

  ‘Well, I can understand that,’ Maddie said at once. ‘Obviously, it’s all part of trying to find out what’s causing her sickness.’ She smiled. ‘But you’re welcome to the eggs, Sister, and the pasties, if you can make good use of them.’

  She saw the woman hesitate and smooth the palms of her hands down her white apron. She ran her tongue around her lips before she said, almost reluctantly, ‘Thank you, Mrs – er . . .’

  ‘Brackenbury,’ Maddie supplied.

  ‘Mrs Brackenbury, but I’d better not.’

  Adam was moving away down the corridor, anxious to find the woman who had always looked after him whilst Maddie was working. She was like a grandmother to him.