Honey's Farm

by Iris Gower

  ‘Come inside, Mrs Jones,’ she said warmly. ‘Sit down and have some cordial; you look a bit tired.’ It was an understatement, but Fon smiled as though she’d noticed nothing amiss.

  ‘Where’s our Tommy?’ Mrs Jones sank gratefully into a chair. ‘Working in the fields like a good boy, is he?’

  ‘Aye.’ Fon poured a long drink of dandelion and burdock and handed it to her visitor. ‘I don’t know what we’d do without him,’ she said, smiling. ‘He’s such a good worker.’

  ‘He loves the land, all right,’ Mrs Jones said softly. ‘I hope you will keep him here with you, Fon.’

  ‘We will,’ Fon said emphatically. ‘We couldn’t manage without him.’

  ‘That’s good.’ Mrs Jones picked up her glass with a hand that shook, and Fon could not help noticing how thin was the woman’s skin, so thin that the blue of her veins stood out in sharp relief.

  ‘And our April, is she giving you any problems?’ Mrs Jones sounded anxious, and Fon shook her head.

  ‘Indeed, she’s a great help.’ She smiled at the girl who was still standing at her mother’s side, leaning against the thin shoulder. ‘You look after Patrick for me, don’t you, April?’

  ‘When can I come home with you, Mam?’ April ignored Fon’s remark and turned to her mother, her rosy lips pouting.

  ‘You like it here, don’t you, love?’ Mrs Jones asked quickly, and April nodded.

  ‘I like it fine, but I miss you, Mam.’ She spoke softly, and Fon was taken aback by the change in April’s attitude. Usually she was brisk, almost impudent; but now it was as if all her defences were down.

  Mrs Jones put her arm around her daughter, but Fon couldn’t help noticing that she winced as the girl leant against her breast.

  ‘And I miss you too, my lovely.’ Mrs Jones’s eyes filled with tears, even as she forced herself to smile. ‘But we are all in the hands of the good Lord, mind, we can’t always have what we want.’

  Fon caught the woman’s eye, and, with a sinking of her heart, she felt that history was repeating itself. Mrs Jones was very sick, just as Katherine O’Conner had been when Fon first came to Honey’s Farm. And Fon felt instinctively that, like before, she would be asked to become a substitute mother, both to April and to Tommy who, although he was almost a man, needed a family behind him, a guiding hand, Jamie’s hand.

  April, at last giving in to Patrick’s insistent demands to go outside, left her mother’s side, and Mrs Jones leaned towards Fon, the expression on her face grave.

  ‘I’m not going to beat about the bush, Fon,’ she said firmly. ‘I’m a dying woman, and I’ve come to ask a great favour of you.’

  ‘I know,’ Fon said quickly. ‘I think I knew the moment I set eyes on you.’ She forced a smile. ‘And of course Tommy and April will always have a home on Honey’s Farm.’

  Mrs Jones nodded and then reached into her bag. ‘Here,’ she said, putting a brown parcel tied with string on the table before her. ‘This is all the money I have in the world, the money I’ve saved since my husband’s death, the money your good man paid me for the land.’ She sighed. ‘It’s everything I own, and I have no need of money where I’m going. I want you to take it and use it wisely to pay for my children’s keep.’

  ‘But, Mrs Jones,’ Fon protested, ‘Tommy pays his own way. We don’t need money, I promise you we don’t.’

  Mrs Jones smiled wryly. ‘Well, what use will I have for it, Fon?’ She shrugged her thin shoulders. ‘My funeral expenses are taken care of; there’s nothing I need, not now.’ She pushed the packet towards Fon. ‘Take it for the sake of my children, please.’

  Fon rose without another word and took the packet, placing it in the drawer of the dresser. ‘I’ll look after the money until Tommy and April need it,’ she said quietly. She smiled down at Mrs Jones, who was leaning back in her chair, her mission accomplished.

  ‘You are very brave,’ Fon said. ‘These hill farms must give birth to a very special breed of woman; I can’t say how much I admire your courage.’

  ‘It’s not courage, lovely,’ Mrs Jones said softly. ‘It’s acceptance, acceptance of what is inevitable.’

  She rose to her feet. ‘I’ll be getting back to my sister’s house now.’ She paused at the door, as though to gather her strength. ‘I doubt I’ll see you again.’

  Fon rested a hand on the older woman’s shoulder. ‘Don’t you want to see Tommy, to say goodbye?’

  Mrs Jones shook her head. ‘I want my boy to remember me the way I was.’ She made a gesture of helplessness. ‘I don’t want him to see me like this. Perhaps you’ll tell him that I came here, after . . . after it’s all over?’

  Outside, the sun was shining and the birds were singing. There was no sign of April or Patrick, though their voices could be heard clearly on the quiet air. Mrs Jones climbed up into the cart with a pitiful slowness; she seemed weak and tired, and Fon felt instinctively that she would find death a welcome release.

  She watched as the woman drove the horse and carriage away from the farmhouse. Mrs Jones did not look back, and the last glimpse of her Fon would ever have revealed a sick but determined woman, whose back was straight and whose head was held high.

  There was a constriction in Fon’s throat as she returned indoors. She sank down into a chair, her head resting on her hands; life was full of joy one minute and full of sadness the next. She sighed heavily, pushing herself to her feet. There was work to be done; nothing would be achieved by sitting here moping. And yet even as Fon returned to her chores, the tears spilled over, running down her cheeks and tasting salt on her lips.

  Eline stared down at the small girl sitting before her, thin legs hanging like threads over the edge of the chair.

  ‘Well, Jessie, we’ll have to see what we can do for you, won’t we?’ She spoke softly, her mind racing, trying to sort out the complex problem with which she was being presented.

  Jessie Kennedy had a condition that had wasted the muscles of one of her legs. No ordinary pair of boots was going to help her walk straight and strong.

  ‘Can you do anything?’ Jane Kennedy’s hands were twisted together almost pleadingly, and Eline hadn’t the heart to confess that she had very little idea of exactly what could be achieved.

  ‘I’m certainly going to try,’ she said, smiling. ‘Give me a few days to come up with some drawings, and then we’ll talk again.’

  ‘Thank you, and God bless you,’ Mrs Kennedy said.

  Eline bit her lip. ‘I can’t promise results,’ she cautioned, ‘but I will try my level best to help. That I can promise.’

  She watched as Mrs Kennedy took her daughter’s hand and helped the girl down from the chair. She handed Jessie a carved stick, and the child leant against it heavily, her weak leg twisting as she put her weight on it.

  Her progress from the workshop was slow and painful, and Eline felt determination rise within her. She must think of something, some design that would support the little girl’s leg as well as her ankles and feet. She picked up a pen.

  Eline lost track of time as she covered the paper with drawings, scratching some out, circling others with a ring and the words ‘might work’.

  It was only when the door sprang open and Calvin stood framed against the dying light that Eline realized the time. She shuffled her papers together almost guiltily.

  ‘Come on home,’ Calvin said, smiling. ‘No-one should work these hours.’

  Eline returned his smile. ‘You’re right. I’m a slave driver – but only to myself, mind.’

  She was suddenly tired and climbed readily into the carriage waiting outside. The leather seats creaked and the coach groaned as Calvin climbed in beside her.

  ‘I’m taking you out to dinner,’ he said. ‘We’ve been invited to the home of Hari Grenfell, and I thought it one invitation you would be pleased to accept.’

  Eline smiled. ‘Of course. Hari is always interesting to talk to; she loves the shoe business even more than I do.’ And, Eline thought, pushing away
her tiredness, perhaps Hari would come up with some ideas for helping little Jessie Kennedy.

  As Eline bathed at leisure, luxuriating in the hot scented water, her mind was worrying at the problem of a boot that would support Jessie’s thin leg without restricting it too much. The structure must be light; the girl had little strength in her limbs, and so the design would need to be strong too.

  As she stood before the mirror, towelling herself dry, eyeing her still slim body, Eline’s thoughts turned to the one thing she had been trying to avoid thinking about – the child she was carrying.

  She had not dared tell Calvin that she was uncertain about the baby’s father; was it her husband’s child or that of her lover, Will, with whom she had shared one afternoon of happiness?

  Should she tell Calvin? Could she tell him? It was a dilemma that seemed to have no solution. She sighed, staring at her still slim waist, and yet her breasts were fuller now, the veins showing through the thin, creamy skin. She supposed that, to the eye of an expert, she was obviously in the first stages of motherhood.

  She still could not believe it. Perhaps she simply did not wish to believe it; she pushed the thought away impatiently.

  She dressed quickly in the clothes the maid had set out for her but discarding the tight, laced corset. She was not used to her body being restricted, and in any case she had no time for a fashion which dictated that a woman should be tied up like a sack just to look shapely.

  The maid came into the room and made no comment as her glance slid over the corset lying brazenly open on the bed. She took up a brush and began to attend to Eline’s hair in an authoritative manner that somehow irritated Eline.

  ‘It’s all right, Maggie,’ she said, trying to be pleasant. ‘I’d prefer to do it myself.’

  ‘But, madam,’ the girl protested, ‘it’s not seemly for a lady to attend her own toilette.’

  Eline waved her hand. ‘I’m used to caring for myself,’ she said firmly. ‘Please, Maggie, go and find something else to do.’

  Eline could have sworn that the girl sniffed disdainfully as she left the room, but she didn’t care. She hated being fussed; it was not the sort of thing she was used to, and she was not going to be treated like an imbecile or a child at this stage of her life.

  Eline smiled ruefully. What would the ladies of Oystermouth make of it all? Nina Parks, Carys Morgan and the others – how they would be impressed by all the show of pomp that Calvin’s servants were so fond of. And yet, like Eline, they would all have balked at being treated as a useless ornament.

  At last, she was ready, and she didn’t look too bad, she decided. The blue gown suited her and the rouge she had rubbed into her cheeks took away the pallor of tiredness that had made her look worn and a little unwell.

  Calvin came through from his dressing-room, and Eline was struck afresh by his immaculate taste in clothes and the handsomeness of his bearing. He was a fine man, a man any woman would be happy to have for a husband. So why wasn’t she the happiest woman in all of Swansea?

  He held her in his arms and then stood back to admire her. ‘Lovely,’ he said, ‘so lovely. I’m a lucky devil, Eline, have I ever told you that?’

  She smiled and hugged him. She was fond of Calvin; but ‘fond’ was a watered-down sort of love, and he deserved better than that.

  Later, as the carriage drew to a halt outside Summer Lodge, Eline saw that all the lights were ablaze; this was apparently going to be a large supper party.

  Eline stepped into the spacious hallway and looked around at the rich wall hangings and the well-polished woodwork with a critical eye. At one time, all this grandeur would have overawed her, but now, used as she was to Stormhill Manor, the house seemed small in comparison. Though, she conceded, everything in it reflected Hari’s impeccable taste.

  Hari and her husband Craig were waiting to welcome their guests, and once the formalities were over, Eline spoke quietly to her hostess.

  ‘Could I talk to you, some time soon? I want to ask your advice about a little girl with foot problems.’

  ‘Of course,’ Hari said at once. ‘I’ll come to your workshop tomorrow; would the afternoon suit you?’

  ‘That would be lovely.’ Eline smiled, and, as she moved away to make room for more newcomers, she wondered at the warmth of an important woman like Hari Grenfell, who was never too busy to give a helping hand to anyone.

  Calvin left her side to get a drink and Eline turned, glancing round the room with covert curiosity. Most of the women were dressed in rich silks, with gems blazing at wrist and throat. There must have been a fortune there in emeralds, diamonds, pearls and sapphires, Eline thought ruefully; enough money to set up clinics all over town for children like little Jessie Kennedy.

  Suddenly, Eline froze as she caught sight of a tall figure coming through the crowd towards her. The sight of him brought the blood pumping through her veins; her head pounded as her heart-beats quickened and her mouth was suddenly dry.

  ‘Will!’ She breathed the name and then he was standing beside her, and it was as if they were the only two people in the room.

  ‘Eline,’ he said, ‘I can’t get you out of my mind, not since that day . . . it seems so long ago.’ His voice trailed away and he glanced around him anxiously, careful not to be overheard.

  ‘Eline, I can’t stand being parted from you like this! God, I want you so much, it’s like a constant pain that just will not go away.’

  ‘Hush, Will,’ she said quickly. ‘We can’t talk, not here.’ She put her hand on his arm just as Calvin returned to her side.

  ‘What’s this?’ he asked. ‘Making overtures to my wife, are you?’ He was teasing, but there was an edge of anger in his voice that Eline was not slow to notice.

  ‘It’s me,’ she said, forcing a laugh. ‘I was begging some advice from Will. I have this little customer, Jessie, she has a wasted leg, I want so much to help her.’

  ‘This is not the time or the place for talking about work,’ Calvin admonished. ‘Come along, Eline, we have to find time for my friends too, you know.’

  He drew her away and moved easily into another group, joining the conversation about politics and the state of the government with ease born of long practice.

  Eline was afraid to glance back at Will. Calvin did not hesitate to speak his mind, and she was lucky that he had accepted her explanation so readily.

  The gong sounded for supper, and groups of people began to drift into the long dining-room. Eline found herself seated between Emily Miller and Craig Grenfell, and she breathed a sigh of relief. At least with her two supper companions she had something in common; they were as involved in the shoemaking business as she was.

  But still it proved to be a long and trying evening. Eline studiously kept her eyes turned away from Will, while all the time she knew he was silently begging her to look at him. There was a respite when the women withdrew to the drawing-room, but Eline found the general gossip trivial to the point of boredom.

  When the men joined the ladies, Eline found Will beside her once again, his eyes drawing hers irresistibly.

  ‘I love you.’ He mouthed the words, his head turned so that only she could see, and the tell-tale colour rose to her cheeks.

  She became aware of a hand gripping her arm firmly. ‘I would appreciate it’ – Calvin’s voice was low but had an edge of hardness to it that chilled Eline – ‘if you would keep away from my wife. I won’t tell you again.’

  He drew her away and Eline, fearing a scene, kept her eyes firmly on the carpeted floor.

  It was a relief when Calvin announced that it was time to take his wife home. ‘I must look after her, you know,’ he said softly to Hari, but clearly enough for his words to carry to where Will was standing nearby. ‘She doesn’t realize quite what a delicate condition she is in.’

  As if on cue to his words, Eline felt herself awaying as a whirling darkness pressed down upon her. She was aware of Calvin leading her to a chair and of Hari brushing the hair back from
her forehead.

  ‘You see, my darling, you need me to look after you.’ Calvin’s voice seemed to come from afar, and Eline made an effort to pull her thoughts together.

  ‘I’m all right, really I am.’ She was aware of faces staring in her direction and a hot colour suffused her face; now everyone knew that she was with child. She looked across the room to where Will stood alone, suddenly still, like a graven image, his face pale with shock.

  She longed to run to him, to throw herself into his arms, to ease the pain that etched his mouth with deep lines. But it was too late for that; Calvin was helping her to rise and was leading her towards the door. They were outside then, and in the splash of light thrown across the driveway he was taking her in his arms, kissing her mouth.

  ‘This, my dear Eline,’ he said softly, ‘is the proudest moment of my life.’ She knew then that she couldn’t speak out, couldn’t tell Calvin of her awful doubts.

  She sank into the carriage that was taking her towards home, towards all the silk and luxury that suddenly seemed little more than a golden cage. And somewhere there, back in the house that was rapidly fading into the distance, was the man she loved with all her heart, the man whose dreams had just been shattered.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  They were having their first real row. Fon faced Jamie, her hands gripped to her sides, her mind reeling with the anger that washed through her.

  ‘Didn’t you want me to take care of April, then?’ she demanded. ‘Was I supposed to tell Mrs Jones to take the girl away, and damn the consequences?’

  ‘There is no need to swear.’ Jamie’s eyes rested on her as though she was a stranger who had suddenly come into his home. He ran his hands through the dark curls and stared down at Fon, a strange expression on his face.

  ‘Can’t you see,’ he said, ‘I don’t want you and me to be simply substitute parents. We should have children of our own. I at least want children of my own, a healthy family of boys and girls filling the house with their noise.’