Honey's Farm

by Iris Gower

  Arian’s face crumpled. ‘You’re kind and generous, but I couldn’t stay here now, not where I . . .’ Her voice faltered. She put her head down on her arms as they rested on the scrubbed boards of the table and she wept.

  Eline was proud of the way Calvin sorted out the problem of the death on Honey’s Farm; the killing was, he said, clearly a sad accident. With the help of one or two of his magistrate friends, the entire affair was hushed up. All that the townsfolk knew was that Bob Smale had died suddenly in an unfortunate shooting accident.

  Eline sat in her newly acquired workshop and looked across the table to where Arian was gamely trying to cut a piece of leather into the shape of a boot sole.

  Arian glanced up and shrugged ruefully. ‘It’s good of you to give me work,’ she said, ‘but I don’t seem to be very good at this.’ Her hands dropped dejectedly into her lap.

  ‘You show great promise,’ Eline replied. ‘No-one can learn a trade in five minutes. Give yourself time. You are already good at selecting the best leather; you seem to have an aptitude for it.’

  ‘Well, that’s something,’ Arian said, smiling. ‘At least I’m not entirely useless.’

  Eline studied Arian as she returned doggedly to her task. The girl had spirit and courage; how much courage it must have taken to pull the shattered threads of her life together after the dreadful experience she’d gone through up on the farm, only she would know.

  The girl was very lovely. Her hair was looped up now in silver coils about her face, which was, perhaps, a little too thin and, in repose, quite melancholy – a fact that added to Arian’s ethereal quality. But she was tough, Eline knew that already; the girl would never do anything she didn’t want to. She needed to be led, not driven: something any man in her life would need to learn.

  ‘Know me next time, will you?’ Arian said, her eyebrow raised.

  Eline laughed. ‘Sorry, was I staring?’ She put down the drawing she had been making. ‘Let’s break for a cup of tea, shall we?’

  ‘I still can’t believe that I did it,’ Arian said as, a few minutes later, she sipped tea from the cup Eline had handed her. ‘Killed my father, I mean.’

  She shook her head as if to free her mind from the terrible memories that filled it. ‘A daughter raising her hand to her own flesh and blood, it’s unheard of.’

  ‘No, it isn’t,’ Eline said. ‘It’s often within the family that the greatest violence takes place. In any case,’ she continued, ‘you had no choice. It was an accident; you snatched for the gun and it went off.’ Eline paused. ‘Look,’ she said, ‘it was quite obvious that your father meant to leave no-one alive, not even the little boy.’

  She leant across the table. ‘He wasn’t himself; he was disturbed, that’s the only way you can think of him with any peace of mind.’

  ‘I know.’ Arian looked down into her cup. ‘But unfortunately I know my father; I think he was quite clear about what he was going to do.’

  Eline watched the girl, sensing her anguish, knowing she must speak out, clear her mind of her nightmare thoughts, however much the words hurt her.

  ‘I know you are right. I believe Dad would have raped Fon and then killed everyone, including Fon’s husband. Then, only then, when he felt he’d had his revenge, he would have turned the gun on himself.’

  Eline saw that Arian’s mind was crystal-clear. The girl faced life head on; she would not be content fooling herself with comforting half-truths.

  ‘Well, in that case, you did the only thing possible to avoid an even greater tragedy; you must see that.’

  ‘Oh, I do,’ Arian said. ‘My head accepts it, but my heart, my soul, whatever it is that lies deep within me, still says I killed my father, and somehow, some time, I will be punished for it.’

  Eline sat back in her chair. She knew it was useless to protest further; Arian’s views were unmovable. She would always regret what she had been forced to do, but she would survive, because she was strong.

  ‘Please, Arian.’ Eddie was lying beside her on a sweet bed of hay. She was naked as a baby, her slim body lying close to his, so close that he could reach out and touch her. He could even take her again, make her moan with desire and fulfil that desire; but what he couldn’t do was make her love him.

  ‘No, Eddie,’ she said flatly, with the ease of practice. ‘I have no intention of marrying you or anyone else.’

  She turned laughing eyes towards him. ‘You men are useful, very useful, I won’t deny that; but I don’t want to live with one. Less do I want to be married to one. Forget it, Eddie’ – she turned to him, pressing herself against him – ‘let’s just make the most of the moment, shall we?’

  Later, Eddie went back to Honey’s Farm and made his way to the room above the stables. Tommy was there, sprawled out on his bed, his hair tousled as though he had been rubbing his hands through it.

  ‘Been out tom-catting again, have you?’ He sat up on one elbow and stared at Eddie enviously.

  Tommy was still a pimply youth, with a strong but too thin body. However often Eddie assured him that the pimples would go if he only left them alone, Tommy despaired of ever being attractive enough to get himself a woman.

  ‘You needn’t answer that,’ Tommy said. ‘I can see by the look on your face that you’ve had enough oats to keep you happy for a week, lucky bastard.’

  He spoke without rancour and fell back against his bunk. ‘Well, I suppose at least my sister’ll be safe with you; she’s still a kid yet.’

  ‘Your sister?’ Eddie undressed and sank on to his bed, kicking off his boots.

  ‘Aye,’ Tommy said laconically. ‘Mam’s feeling bad, so April is coming to stay up by here with Fon for a few weeks.’

  ‘Oh?’ Eddie’s thoughts were still full of Arian, her lovely body, her passion, her total refusal to be his wife. But he didn’t wish to hurt Tommy’s feelings by showing a lack of interest in his affairs.

  ‘What’s wrong with your mother, then?’ he asked, stretching his arms behind his head and staring up at the dark beams of the ceiling.

  ‘Some women’s trouble,’ Tommy said vaguely. ‘Don’t really know. Anyway, it seems April’s getting in the way down at my auntie’s place; causing a bit of bother, she is, and Mam can’t cope.’

  ‘I see,’ Eddie said, but his eyes were closing; sleep was claiming him. He turned over on his side and pulled the covers up over his naked shoulder.

  ‘Lucky bastard!’ Tommy said again, and Eddie smiled to himself. He was lucky, even if Arian did refuse to regularize their affair; at least there was an affair, and for that he should be heartily thankful.

  ‘Night, Tommy,’ he said slowly, as sleep closed his eyes and dulled his senses, drawing him into a net of sweet darkness.

  In the morning he met Tommy’s sister at breakfast and saw at once why she had been sent away for causing trouble at home. She was about eight years old, skinny, but with a startlingly white skin against an unruly mop of dark hair. There was a sullen expression on her face.

  ‘Morning,’ Eddie said pleasantly, sitting opposite the child and smiling.

  In reply, she kicked him fiercely beneath the table.

  ‘Little horror,’ Eddie said calmly and turned his back on her. She made a soft raspberry sound with her lips, but Eddie took no notice.

  ‘What’s for breakfast?’ he asked and Fon looked up at him, laughter in her eyes; she’d not missed the little scene between him and April.

  ‘The usual,’ she said, ‘bacon and eggs and fried bread. I see you’ve met our new guest.’

  ‘You could say that.’ Eddie didn’t look at April. ‘Perhaps I’m wishing I hadn’t.’

  ‘I don’t like you,’ April said, leaning forward.

  Eddie barely glanced at her. ‘I don’t think I like you very much either.’ He moved from the table to take the large dish of bacon from Fon’s hands.

  The door opened and Jamie entered the kitchen on a rush of soft spring air. ‘God, something smells good!’ he said, and moved t
owards Fon, kissing the back of her neck.

  ‘Cupboard love,’ Fon said laughing. ‘Sit down and eat, there’s a good man.’

  She glanced at Eddie. ‘Where’s Tommy? He should be back from the milking by now.’ She smiled down at April. ‘You can go with him tomorrow, learn how to handle the beasts. You’ll enjoy it.’

  ‘Shan’t,’ the girl said, looking down at the plate Fon had set before her as though it contained poison.

  ‘Nevertheless, you’ll do it,’ Fon said calmly, but with such authority that the child remained silent, even though her eyes gleamed angrily.

  ‘He got up a little late,’ Eddie said. ‘But, knowing Tommy, he’ll be here as soon as he smells food.’

  Looking round at the peaceful breakfast scene, it was hard, Eddie mused, to imagine the violence and the horror of the moment, almost a month ago, when Bob Smale had come charging into the place brandishing a gun and bent on murder. Now the man was buried in Dan-y-Graig Cemetery, his passing scarcely causing a ripple on the surface of the town’s awareness.

  If nightmares still haunted any of them, it was never spoken of. These days even Arian scarcely made any reference to her father.

  The room where the killing had taken place had been scrubbed within an inch of its life. New mats had been placed on the boards, even new drapes had been hung in the windows. The kitchen seemed a bright place, Eddie thought, if he could forget his nightmares.

  He glanced at April and smiled ruefully; it would be a brave spirit that would manifest itself to such a wilful child. Not that Eddie believed in such things as hauntings, and yet he rubbed his sore shoulder and shivered.

  It was as if Fon read his thoughts. She looked up at him, and her eyes were clouded.

  ‘How is Arian getting along these days?’ she asked softly. ‘I do hope she’s managing to get over . . . things.’

  ‘I think she is,’ Eddie said. ‘She seems quite happy working for Eline Temple – Lady Temple, I should say.’

  ‘Good woman that,’ Jamie broke in. ‘Thank God she came on the scene when she did.’

  ‘I agree,’ Eddie said, ‘but it was Arian who stopped Bob Smale; otherwise I think the madman would have killed us all.’

  Jamie met his gaze; his knuckles were white. ‘It still frights me to think about it,’ he confessed. ‘It would happen when I wasn’t here, wouldn’t it?’

  Fon reached out and covered his hand. ‘It’s over now, love, over – we must forget it.’

  ‘Sure, I know you’re right,’ Jamie replied, taking her hand and kissing the palm. ‘But I shudder when I think of the danger you were in, all of you.’

  Eddie pushed away his plate; he was no longer hungry. ‘I’ll get out to the fields,’ he said. ‘My shoulder’s healing nicely; I can do a little bit of preparation work at least.’

  Jamie nodded. ‘If you’re sure, lad,’ he said. ‘There’s a lot to do, I must say, but are you ready for it?’

  ‘I’m the doctor, remember?’ Eddie smiled. Outside, he breathed in the soft scents of spring, the first flowers, the clear air, the smell of earth waiting to receive its early seeds. It was as if all the world knew that this was a time of regeneration and was receptive to it.

  His heart lightened as he strode across the fields. Tonight, he would be with Arian, he would hold her in his arms, taste her sweetness; he could not get enough of her. And yet would he or any man ever possess the inner core of her? He doubted it.

  But Eddie was whistling as he climbed the stile and made for the stretch of land where the potatoes would be planted. All in all, it was a good world, and he was glad to be part of it.

  ‘Eddie is a good man, but I’ve no intention of marrying him.’ Arian shaped the leather with deft movements of her fingers and took up the dog to crimp the upper to the sole.

  ‘Why?’ Eline smiled at her and put down the large boot she had been measuring.

  ‘I don’t want to be tied to any man,’ Arian said. ‘I had enough of that with my father.’

  ‘But Eddie is a very clever man,’ Eline said. ‘I’m surprised he’s just a farm labourer.’

  ‘He was going to be a doctor,’ Arian said. ‘He’d begun his training but, when his father died, apparently there was no money left for Eddie to go on.’

  ‘That’s a shame,’ Eline said at once. ‘I think he would make a very good doctor; he certainly has the mind for it.’

  Arian looked up at her as Eline stood and stretched her arms above her head. ‘You haven’t really seen much of him; how can you say that?’ she asked curiously.

  Eline smiled. ‘I pride myself on being a good judge of people,’ she explained, ‘and you only have to talk to Eddie for a few minutes before you realize how intelligent he is.’

  ‘I know you’re right,’ Arian said, and indeed, she entirely agreed with Eline; but what could Eddie do? He had only his small wages to keep himself, he could never afford to train. But there, she thought wryly, people like Eline who had money could never understand those who did not.

  One day, Arian promised herself, she would have money in abundance; she would be free then, really free. In any case, one thing was certain, she was never going to rely on any man, nor be obligated to any man. Her father had taught her a sharp lesson and one she was never likely to forget.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  The sun was streaming in through the grimy windows and Will realized, quite suddenly, how dirty the glass was – so dirty he could hardly see the streets outside. Later, he would get a bucket of water and wash the windows down; otherwise his handwritten advertisement for boot-and-shoe repairs would not be decipherable to anyone on the outside, he thought ruefully.

  But for now, there was an urgent job he must be getting on with; he needed to finish mending the boots that Glen the baker needed so desperately.

  Will rubbed at the leather. The boot was still coated in the white dust from the bakery; the flour had encrusted the eyelets of the laces and clung to the stitching around the worn sole.

  Will scratched his chin, and his fingers met rasping stubble. His beard badly needed trimming and so did his moustache, but Will was too busy to care much about his appearance – which, perhaps, was a mistake. Customers wanted a clean shop and a neatly dressed proprietor to greet them when they entered it. He smiled to himself a little wryly; perhaps his present customers wanted only cheap and good service, and to hell with appearances.

  He looked along the shelves lined with good heavy working boots, some of them tapped, some still awaiting attention. He was managing at least to make some sort of living, keeping a roof over his head; that, and having a little food in the pantry, was all he really needed.

  He thought of Eline, and there was a sudden ache in his loins – no, not all: there was the love of a good woman, something he would never have now.

  It took him almost an hour to complete the repairs on the baker’s boots, and then he took up a cloth and began to polish them so that they shone like new.

  Glen would be eager to have them back; perhaps it would be just as well to take the boots over to the bakery straightaway. It would at least get him out of the workshop for a while.

  It was sunny and fresh, with the promise of spring in the air, as Will stepped out of his workshop. The street was busy with traffic, and all around him people seemed to be in a hurry, eager to get somewhere. Not like him; he had nowhere to go, no-one to go to.

  He smiled wryly; feeling sorry for himself was futile and weak and he seemed to be doing quite a lot of it this spring morning. Introspection was a luxury he could not afford. Will squared his shoulders, glancing back at the tall building where his shop was housed; it was not much but soon, if he wished, he would have enough money to put down a deposit on it and own rather than rent it. He had plans for leasing out the rest of the building to other aspiring shopkeepers, make a sort of hodge-podge of goods available to the poorer population of Swansea. He had already been approached by Amos Fisher, who wanted to start up his own pawnbroker’s shop �
� a service that would be used frequently enough, if Will was any judge.

  Glen was standing at the long table that filled the bakery, his apron hanging round his thin frame, a great mound of dough before him, which he was kneading with an expertise born of long practice.

  He glanced up as Will entered and smiled a welcome. ‘Thank God you’ve brought my boots back! My feet been killing me. Been wearing my brother’s old cast-off boots, I have, and they pinch like hell.’

  The atmosphere in the bakery was overpowering; the great ovens seemed to shimmer with heat, and the scent of newly baked bread teased Will’s empty stomach.

  ‘Duw, you look like you could do with a good feed, man,’ Glen said cheerfully. ‘Come home with me and have some dinner.’

  Will shook his head, his first instinct to refuse; and then he thought better of it. ‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘I’ll take you up on that.’

  Glen looked at him with some sympathy. ‘It’s a hard thing for a man to lose his wife and child,’ he said, ‘but now’s the time for you to look for a new woman to fill your life. You can’t mourn for ever, mind.’

  He grinned then, and deftly cut the dough into pieces before shaping it into loaves. ‘And I think I know just the girl for you.’ His grin widened, showing a great gap in his teeth. ‘My Rita, pretty as a picture, but that shy with the boys, can hardly speak to them without blushing. Sixteen, she is, and her afraid to move from her mam’s skirts.’

  Will smiled wryly. ‘Thanks for the honour, but your daughter will think me an old man. In any case, I’m not ready for marriage, not yet awhile.’

  ‘Duw, you’re only a boy, yet,’ Glen said easily. He opened one of the ovens and manhandled a huge tray into the gaping mouth, heedless of the blast of hot air that issued round him.

  Glen closed the oven and then squeezed the dough from between his fingers. ‘We’ll go back into the house, and our Rita can check on the loaves for me.’

  He led the way out of the bakery and round to the front of the building, grinning at Will as he went.

  ‘I’ll be glad to get these lousy boots off my feet and get into a pair that fits me.’