Honey's Farm

by Iris Gower

  ‘Get away from me!’ Eline said. ‘Take your hands off me.’ But her voice held little conviction. Suddenly, without realizing it, she was in his arms, held against him, and she could feel his heart-beat, loud and fierce, as though it was her own heart.

  ‘Oh, my God, Will, I love you so much,’ she said in anguish.

  He kissed her mouth and her eyes and her throat. They clung together then, in silent misery, just holding each other, without passion, like bereft children.

  Finally, Will released her. ‘Go on home to your husband,’ he said softly. He sank into a chair and covered his eyes with his hand.

  ‘My God, talk about history repeating itself!’ He spoke harshly. ‘I’ve said those words to you so many times before, and all that’s changed is that you now have a different husband to go home to, a rich husband.’

  He gestured around the room. ‘I’ll never be rich – you are well out of it.’

  ‘Did I ever ask for riches, Will?’ she said quietly. ‘I only wanted you. Together we would have made a good life for ourselves, only you were too proud. You had nothing to offer, so you said, but we had love, Will, we had the most precious thing in all the world.’ She paused. ‘If only you’d made love to me, held me in your arms, made me forget everything but that we cared about each other; it would have been a memory to cherish.’

  ‘It’s too late to talk about it now, isn’t it? Go home, Eline – forget me.’

  She moved to the door. ‘I’ll never forget you, Will,’ she said. ‘I think I’ll love you till the day I die.’

  Out in the street, she stared around her with a feeling of confusion; her optimism had faded and given way to a sense of dull determination. She could not have Will, but she could have a goal in life; whatever anyone thought, she would open her shoe shop, she would help people, especially the children.

  She needed to walk, to clear her mind; she could not go home to Calvin, not yet, not with her flesh still tingling from Will’s touch, even though he had touched her in anger. She made her way through the winding streets of the town and towards the sweet open hills where she had once lived. She would walk around the perimeter of Honey’s Farm, think about her childhood and try, somehow, to find peace.

  ‘I will not go to Auntie Maisie’s house!’ Arian stood facing her father, ignoring the packed bag at her feet and trying not to be frightened by the look on his face.

  ‘I want you out of my sight,’ he said, ‘before I lose control and kill you with my bare hands.

  ‘Anyway,’ he added dully, ‘you need looking after – a woman’s touch – and Maisie will give you that.’

  ‘I am a woman, Father,’ Arian protested. ‘I have feelings just as you have, and I can look after myself.’

  ‘You might have to; if you give Maisie any trouble, you’ll be out on your backside!’ he said through his teeth, and Arian knew that his control was beginning to break. ‘I want you out of the way, and I will see to it that the rutting pig of a man you were with gets his just reward.’

  Arian was suddenly chilled; while she was not frightened for herself, she feared what her father might do to Eddie.

  Behind her the door opened and her Uncle Mike came into the room, his big arms folded across his chest.

  ‘I got the cart ready, Bob,’ he said. ‘I’ll have the girl over to our Maisie’s before you can snap your fingers.’

  ‘I’m not going,’ Arian said, her chin lifted, ‘especially with a man like you who spies on people and then tittle-tattles to others about what he’s seen.’

  Mike grunted, lifted her in his big arms and threw her, like a sack of potatoes, over his shoulder. He picked up her bag and left the house, kicking the door shut behind him.

  ‘Now we can do this hard, or we can do it easy,’ he said, dumping her into the cart. ‘You can be tidy and behave yourself, or I can tie you up like a crazy animal; which is it to be?’

  ‘I’ll be quiet.’ Arian had no intention of being quiet, but neither had she any intention of being hog-tied to the cart.

  She folded her skirts beneath her legs and stared around her at the open land she loved. She was supposed to submit peaceably to living with her auntie in the suburbs of Swansea. Well, wild horses wouldn’t make her do what she didn’t want to.

  Mike climbed up to the front of the cart and clicked his tongue at the horse, urging the creature into movement. The jolt threw Arian off balance and she fell back, her head catching the edge of the wooden rail.

  ‘Damn and blast!’ Her voice rang out. ‘What do you think you’re doing, Uncle Mike?’

  He grunted. ‘Nice language for a lady, I must say.’

  He didn’t turn to look at her, and as Arian righted herself, she poked her tongue out at his unresponsive back.

  ‘You know I’ll run away from Auntie Maisie’s the first opportunity I get, don’t you?’ Arian said defiantly, and Mike shrugged is big shoulder.

  ‘There’ll be nowhere to run to, my girl,’ he said, laconically.

  ‘I’ll go home,’ Arian said reasonably, wondering what on earth Mike was talking about.

  ‘Won’t be no home to go to,’ Mike said quietly. ‘Your father has lost everything; the bank has called in the loan he took out to buy that useless piece of land. Your father’s flat broke.’

  ‘No!’ Arian pushed herself up on to her knees and looked over at the uneven ground beneath the wheels of the cart. She had to get back to her father; he would be in despair. No wonder his control was so thin; whatever he did now, he had nothing to lose.

  ‘Whatever he did . . .’ She uttered the words out loud, and a great fear filled her. Lightly, she poised herself on the edge of the cart, and when Mike slowed for a slight rise in the land, she leaped downwards and outward to avoid the small hunched patches of rock.

  She hit the ground and rolled over, grazing her legs, but she looked after the retreating cart with a sense of triumph, knowing that Mike, always slow-witted, would not realize she’d gone – not yet at least.

  She ran back towards the farm, but as she neared the outbuildings, she saw her father mounted on the grey, a gun under his arm; and he was heading towards Honey’s Farm.

  ‘Oh, my God – Eddie!’ Arian cried out loud, a sudden fear paralysing her limbs. She stood uncertainly for a moment, trying to sort out her confusion of thoughts. Then she began to run.

  Eddie was working in the barn, pulling down a bale of hay from the diminishing store of winter fodder. He glanced up through the open door, just in time to see Bob Smale cross the yard and enter the cottage, where Fon was busy working in the kitchen. His gut tightened; he had caught sight of the barrel of a rifle protruding from under Smale’s arm.

  Slowly Eddie moved towards the door and glanced about him. He had to make sure that Smale was alone; usually he took the precaution of having company when he went out looking for trouble.

  The yard was empty. Jamie, Eddie knew, was gone to the market in Swansea, and Tommy with him; in all probability they would not be back till sundown. Whatever was to be done, Eddie must be the one to do it.

  He made his way cautiously across the yard; every snapping twig, every loose stone, sounded like a crack of thunder. His heart was beating swiftly. What he would do when he reached the cottage he wasn’t quite sure; but one thing was clear, he could not leave Fon to the devices of the crazed Bob Smale.

  The kitchen was empty except for young Patrick, who was lying flat out on the floor. There was a small bruise on the boy’s temple, and Eddie felt fury burn within him; the man must be a maniac to attack a child.

  Quickly, Eddie knelt beside the boy. He seemed to be all right; in any case, there was nothing Eddie could do but wait for him to recover consciousness. In the meantime, where was Bob Smale? And where was Fon?

  He picked up the huge poker from the fireplace and moved slowly and cautiously towards the stairs. From the room above he could hear Fon’s voice.

  ‘I will not strip!’ Her voice was like ice. ‘You’d have to kill me first.’


  There was the sound of tearing cloth, and Eddie bit his lip, resisting the urge to fly up the stairs. His only advantage was the element of surprise, and he would do little good by throwing it away.

  At the door of the bedroom, his first fears were confirmed. Fon was standing before Bob Smale, her bodice hanging in tatters. Her face was white but defiant. Her eye was beginning to turn black, and, even as he watched, Eddie saw Bob raise his hand to Fon again.

  ‘Are you going to do what I say?’ His voice was almost unrecognizable, and Eddie felt fear tear at his gut; this man had no feelings, he would plunder and destroy with no compunction.

  ‘No, I am not.’ Fon sounded calm by comparison, though Eddie could see that she was trembling. Admiration filled him; Fon was a fine woman, a brave woman – but Bob Smale would not be denied.

  His hand came down with such force that Fon staggered backwards, crashing against the china washbasin, which fell to the floor and shattered into pieces.

  Bob Smale was, for a moment, distracted, and it was then that Eddie lunged forward, the poker held high. He brought it down hard, aiming for the base of the man’s skull; but some sixth sense warned Bob Smale and he half-turned, the blow landing on his shoulder.

  The gun was knocked from his hand and skidded across the floor.

  ‘Get out!’ Eddie shouted to Fon, and she rushed past him, her skirts flowing behind her as she ran.

  Eddie raised his arm to strike again, but Bob Smale hurled himself forward, his weight and strength bearing Eddie to the ground.

  ‘I’ll kill you, you bastard!’ Smale ground out the words. ‘Fool with my daughter, would you? Well, I’ll show you who has the last word on that little matter.’

  The man’s illogical words told Eddie just how crazed Smale was; he, who had been on the point of raping Fon, was prepared to beat a man to death for making love to his daughter.

  Eddie scrambled to his feet and launched himself down the stairs. He dimly saw Fon bending over Patrick, and then Bob Smale was upon him, bearing him to the floor, the rifle pointing at Eddie’s head.

  Smale squeezed Eddie’s throat with one hand, but while he had breath, Eddie called to Fon in anguish. ‘Run!’ he gasped, as he twisted and turned, trying to suck air into his lungs. ‘Take Patrick with you and get help!’

  He lashed out and the rifle clattered to the floor.

  Fon, as though galvanized into action, picked up the rifle and tried to steady it. Smale released his grip on Eddie and lashed out, felling Fon easily with the back of his hand.

  Eddie drew rasping breaths and tried to rise to his feet, but then Bob Smale had picked up the gun and was pointing it again at Eddie’s head.

  ‘Don’t!’ Fon cried, and Bob Smale looked at her, his face twisted.

  ‘Save your pity for yourself! You’ll be going the same way – after I’ve finished pleasuring myself with you.’ He laughed.

  ‘All your husband will find when he gets back is two people who have died violently. It will all look like a lovers’ tiff! He’ll feel betrayed – but only for a moment, before I kill him too.’

  His finger was closing round the trigger of the rifle. Eddie held his breath, frozen in a moment of horror when he knew he was about to die.

  ‘Put it down, Daddy.’ The voice was low, cajoling, and Eddie turned in disbelief to see Arian standing in the doorway.

  ‘I’m going to kill the bastard!’ Smale ignored his daughter, and realigned his sights menacingly.

  ‘No, Dad, don’t, please don’t shoot!’ Arian’s voice was low but composed. Bob Smale took no notice; the rifle spat fire, and Eddie felt as if someone had hammered his shoulder.

  He heard a woman scream, and then Arian had thrown herself forward on to her father. There was another crack of rifle-fire, and Eddie winced, waiting for the pain.

  Slowly, Bob Smale toppled forward, sinking to his knees. ‘Arian . . .’ he said in a thick voice. ‘Arian!’

  His eyes glazed over and he slumped to the floor. Bob Smale was dead.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Eline had decided to call in at Honey’s Farm, just for old times’ sake. As she was so near, it would be silly simply to turn around and walk back to town. In any case, she was thirsty; she would beg a drink of water drawn from the sweetness of the well, the well that once, when she was a child, she used to believe was a magic one that would grant her every wish.

  The only wish she had now was to make herself useful in some way, use her skill for the benefit of children who would think it a miracle to walk straight. She bit her lip. Perhaps, if she was honest, there was another wish, an impossible wish that involved Will Davies. She thought of him holding her in his arms so tenderly; they would have been so right together, and yet, foolishly, she had allowed herself to quarrel with him. Why couldn’t she have left well alone?

  Eline was almost at the door of the farmhouse when she heard the sharp retort of a gun. It echoed on the still air, sending the ravens flying from the trees in a dark ragged cloud.

  Eline began to run. No-one on the land used a gun anywhere near the house – not unless something was radically wrong.

  She drew nearer to the doorway of the kitchen, once so familiar to her. The sound of a woman weeping softly brought chills to her spine.

  Eline stopped short, hands resting on the wooden door jamb. A child sat on the kitchen floor, his eyes wide as he stared at her.

  Eline hurried into the kitchen, her heart beating swiftly. What tragedy had been played out in the sleepy peace of Honey’s Farm?

  Clear of the door, she stopped short, her gaze drawn at once to the man lying on the floor, blood flowing from a wound in his chest.

  Eline, on a sharp intake of breath, recognized the dead man as Bob Smale, and, as though in a nightmare, she saw Smale’s daughter kneeling over him, her slim hands covering her face, her shoulders shaking.

  On the floor, close to the distraught girl, lay a rifle, menacing and gleaming evilly in the light from the window. Beside the bowed figure of Arian Smale, a young man was standing, his face puffy, as though he had been hit many times, his hands hanging uselessly by his sides. He was clearly at a loss what to do. Behind him was Fon O’Conner, her face white with shock.

  It was as if the appearance of Eline galvanized the small tableau into movement. The young man helped Arian Smale to rise to her feet, and gently he took her in his arms.

  ‘I killed him, my father,’ Arian said brokenly. ‘How could I do such a thing to my own flesh and blood, Eddie?’

  ‘It was an accident,’ he said softly. ‘You snatched at the rifle to protect me, and it went off; you couldn’t help it. He would have killed me, and after that it would have been Fon’s turn to die – Jamie’s too, when he came home. Your father was out of his mind, Arian, he didn’t know any more what he was doing.’

  ‘I know you’re right.’ Arian’s voice was a little stronger now. ‘He had gone quite wild with the pain and grief of losing everything; as you say, he no longer knew what he was doing.’

  It was Eline who took control of the situation. She spoke gently to Fon, whose bodice was hanging around her slim body in tatters. ‘I’ll fetch the doctor. You go outside, get some fresh air; you’ve had a terrible shock.’

  With touching dignity, Fon held her bodice around her and spoke firmly, though her voice trembled a little. ‘There’s nothing a doctor can do; Bob Smale is dead.’ She paused. ‘I wish Jamie would come back from market; he’d know how to deal with all this.’ She waved her hands, encompassing the dead man and the others in the room.

  It was strange, Eline thought, that Fon didn’t question the appearance of Eline so unexpectedly or the fact that she seemed to be organizing everyone. She simply crossed the room to where Patrick was sitting and clasped him tightly in her arms.

  Eline took it upon herself to fetch a blanket from the cupboard on the stairs and cover the still form of the dead man with it.

  Fon took a shawl from the back of the door and draped it ar
ound her shoulders to cover her breasts, and then, in a gesture of determination, she pushed the kettle on to the flames.

  ‘Do you think we should call in the constable?’ she asked of no-one in particular. Then she turned to Arian. ‘There will be an awful scandal.’ She shook her head, as if attempting to clear it. ‘You must prepare yourself for it; all sorts of stories will go around the town.’

  ‘Oh, God! I don’t care about gossip for myself!’ Arian Smale said. Her beautiful eyes, filled with the horror of what had happened, turned to Eline in supplication. ‘But I don’t want everyone to know that my father had turned into a rapist and was intent on murder.’

  ‘Let me go for my husband,’ Eline said softly. ‘Calvin has a great deal of influence in the town; he’ll know just how to handle this.’

  Fon put some cups on the table. ‘We’d be grateful for any advice,’ she said. ‘None of us know what we should do next.’

  ‘My father will be branded a madman and a killer,’ Arian said softly. ‘I know what he was doing was wrong, but I don’t want his memory besmirched with malicious gossip.’

  It was Eddie who rose to his feet, wincing a little as he moved. ‘I’ll go into town,’ he said. ‘If you’ll tell me where I might find your husband?’

  Eline frowned. ‘But your shoulder, it must be . . .’

  ‘It’s all right – just a graze,’ Eddie said quickly.

  After a moment’s hesitation, Eline gave him directions in soft tones. ‘Tell Calvin what’s happened, he’ll know what to do.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Eddie said reassuringly. ‘I won’t be long, and then we’ll have all this nightmare taken out of our hands.’

  There was silence for a moment after he’d gone, and Eline watched as Fon reached out and covered Arian’s hand with hers.

  ‘Thank you for saving my life,’ she said simply. ‘I realize what courage it must have cost you to tackle your own father, especially the . . . the way he was.’

  She paused and took a deep breath. ‘You know you have a home here with us for as long as you want it.’