Honey's Farm

by Iris Gower

  He paused and moved to look through the window. ‘I need children who will take over the place after me; a farm needs a big family living on it.’

  Fon felt a pain within her. ‘You have Patrick, remember,’ she said, her voice low now. ‘He will take over after you. Only one son can inherit the farm, so why do you want more?’

  She couldn’t tell him that she didn’t want children. The feeling had crystallized in her of late, in spite of the brave words she had used when talking to Jamie about having sons. The truth was, she was afraid of childbirth, afraid of becoming like her mother.

  Fon had stood on the sidelines and watched as Nina had conceived children by two different men. Nina had gone through enough pain and suffering to try the strength of a lesser woman. Fon had suffered with her, borne the shame of seeing her mother walk about the streets of Oystermouth with her swollen stomach and no husband to call her own. But worst of all was Gwyneth’s death; her sister, who was still young and beautiful, she had spent agonizing hours in labour only to lose her child after all her pain. Gwyneth had survived her baby by hours, slipping away from life, at last beaten and defeated.

  ‘Look, Jamie,’ she said, ‘I’m young yet. There’s plenty of time for children of our own.’ She put her hand on his shoulder, but he did not respond; he might have been made of stone for all the notice he took.

  ‘All right, then!’ She was angry again. ‘Behave like a big child yourself, but remember, I can’t help it if I can’t conceive, can I?’

  ‘No, but you needn’t be so happy about it.’ He left her then, without another word, and she sank down at the kitchen table, biting back her tears. She felt a hard anger towards Jamie; he was selfish, he wasn’t thinking of anyone but himself and what he wanted. Well, he would just have to put up with it; she couldn’t help it if babies didn’t come along, could she? Anyway, she was still young, there was time enough for her and Jamie to have a family. But in her heart she felt sick and afraid. All her protests were excuses, and she knew it.

  It was quiet in the kitchen, and Fon was thankful that the children were playing in the fields. April had buttered some fresh bread and cut a piece of cheese and wrapped them, along with a bottle of water, in a cloth which she slung over her shoulder like a traveller. Clutching Patrick’s hand, she had gone off across the fields, her bare brown legs deliberately adopting a slow pace so that the boy could keep up with her.

  Fon rose from the chair. It was time she began her chores; there was a great deal to do before she went out to the fields and did an honest day’s work on the land.

  She looked round at the neat kitchen, the well-stoked fire, the big pan of scrubbed potatoes ready for boiling. Why wasn’t Jamie content with what they had?

  Abruptly, she drew her thoughts into order. She must get on. She had to stuff the fresh-killed chicken and put it in to roast; the beds must be made; the sheets washed; then and only then could she go out into the fields.

  Fon sighed heavily. Life was hard enough, goodness knows, without a brood of children round her skirts. ‘Forget it!’ she told herself harshly, and yet a tinge of guilt continued to tug at the corners of her mind.

  She supposed, in all fairness, she was not being a good wife to Jamie; a good wife would want her husband’s child. Was she, by deliberately setting her mind against the idea, preventing the very thing that her husband most desired?

  ‘To hell with Jamie’s desires!’ she said, and then she laughed suddenly at the sound of her own voice filling the empty kitchen.

  In bed that night, Fon lay awake waiting for Jamie to come upstairs. For the first time since she’d been at Honey’s Farm, she had not stayed to help him with the books. She was tired; her back ached from bending over the grass that had doggedly refused to be cut. And yet the men, even Eddie, with his damaged shoulder, had wielded the scythe with ease leaving a swath of neat grass behind them as they moved steadily forward.

  She tensed as she heard Jamie’s footsteps on the stairs. He came into the bedroom and closed the door quietly behind him. She watched him remove his clothes and stand for a moment naked, the pale light from the moon revealing his readiness to make love to her.

  He slid into bed beside her, his hand, as always, cupping her breast as he drew her back towards him. Fon, instead of turning to him with her usual eagerness, remained still, not drawing away but unresponsive to his caressing fingers.

  ‘Fon, my lovely,’ he said, ‘sure and there’s daft we were to quarrel.’

  She didn’t reply. Jamie kissed the back of her neck, pushing aside the heavy plait of her hair, his mouth warm. Undeterred, his hands slid down her back and round to her thigh.

  She held herself rigid, anger pouring through her like wine; he wanted her, and so he was being kind just to achieve his desire. Well, she could not get over their differences that quickly; she was not to be humoured by his overtures that were driven by need rather than by any wish to make up their quarrel.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ He leant on his elbow and looked down at her.

  Fon hunched her shoulders against him. ‘I don’t want to . . .’ Her voice trailed away, and she heard Jamie’s sharp breath with a feeling of triumph.

  ‘You mean you are refusing me?’ He could scarcely believe it; she who was always so ready to please him was turning away from him. Well, she was not in the mood to please him right now; he must learn that he could not always have his own way.

  He was shaking. He fell back on to the pillow, and, startled, Fon looked over her shoulder to where her husband lay against the pillows. His face was contorted, his shoulders shaking. With a shock of amazement and anger, Fon realized he was laughing.

  She sat up abruptly. ‘What’s so funny?’ she demanded.

  Jamie turned his face into the pillow to stifle the gales of laughter, but his shoulders continued to shake.

  Angrily, Fon climbed out of bed. ‘How dare you laugh at me?’ she said, and, grasping the quilt, pulled it from over his shoulders. She threw it down on the floor and wrapped herself up in it, trying not to hear his laughter.

  She forced her eyes shut, knowing her face was red with humiliation; she had refused her husband, and he found it all highly amusing.

  Fon heard the creak of his feet against the bare boards of the floor and then he was kneeling beside her, tugging at the quilt, drawing it away from her.

  ‘Fon!’ He cradled her in his arms. ‘You funny little thing, if you don’t want me to make love to you, then I won’t; there’s no need to give up your soft bed for a place on the floor.’

  She felt foolish, as though it was she who had been acting as a spoiled child, not him. He lifted her in his arms and held her close to his bare chest, and her face was in the warmth of his neck.

  Suddenly, against all reason, she desired him, with a fierce need that shook her.

  But when she was in bed once more, Jamie turned his back and, tucking his arm beneath the pillow, was quickly asleep. Beside him, Fon listened to his even breathing and felt the silk of his back against her body and knew that she had been a fool. She had, as her mother would have put it, cut off her nose to spite her face.

  She wound her arms around Jamie’s waist, her hands smoothing the flat of his stomach, feeling beneath her fingertips the strength of his thighs and the hardness of him that even in his sleep showed his arousal.

  He turned to her quite suddenly and then, without warning, he was within her, his arms encircling her, his lips fierce against hers.

  ‘Jamie!’ She fought her mouth free of his and stared up at him, trying to see his expression in the darkness. ‘You weren’t asleep at all, were you?’

  He didn’t answer. He moved slowly at first, and she gasped, wanting him to take and plunder and make her lose her senses in a welter of sensation as he always did.

  ‘You are my slave, aren’t you, Fon?’ His body teased hers; he withdrew from her, and she clasped him, drawing him close once more. ‘Say it, my colleen’ – his voice was thick with emotion – ‘say
you are my slave.’

  ‘I am,’ she gasped, joining in the game of love that Jamie played so skilfully. ‘I am your slave, Jamie, now and for always!’

  He filled her and encompassed her; he owned her, he dominated her, and Fon cried out in the passion of the moment, knowing that the sweetness he gave her stemmed from love as well as desire.

  She touched his face with her hands. ‘Jamie, my love, if you want sons, then I am ready.’ She closed her eyes and flung back her head and knew that, when she was loved the way Jamie loved her, she was ready, ready to do anything he wanted of her.

  Eddie eased his shoulder, rubbing it with the tips of his fingers. He was still a little sore from the gunshot wound inflicted by Arian’s father. Still, he mused, he was lucky to be alive; if Bob Smale hadn’t been distracted by the arrival of his daughter, Eddie might not be here right now.

  He drew his clean shirt around him and did up the buttons with a feeling of anticipation. He was meeting Arian; it was her day off from work, and Jamie had obligingly given Eddie the day off as well – about time too, Eddie thought good-naturedly.

  He went to the mirror to adjust his tie and saw, with a start of surprise, how much his body had filled out since he’d worked on the farm.

  And yet the hankering to be a doctor was always there. The love of books was inherent; he took to studying as other people took to breathing. He grimaced at his reflection. ‘Be glad of what you’ve got, lad,’ he admonished himself. ‘You could be starving in the mean streets of Swansea somewhere.’

  The walk down the hill towards town was a pleasant one; a soft breeze was coming in off the sea and Eddie felt it ruffle his hair. He felt alive, full of vigour; he was happy with the anticipation of meeting Arian.

  She was waiting for him in the gardens of Victoria Park. Her moonlight hair, caught back in a ribbon, was hanging down her back in soft waves; Arian had never cared for fashion or convention.

  She looked up and smiled as he sat beside her on the bench. She put her hand in his and his fingers curled warm around her slender wrists.

  ‘Watch my callouses,’ she said, laughing. ‘Making shoes isn’t easy work, believe me.’

  ‘I do,’ Eddie said solemnly, ‘but you obviously enjoy it.’ He lifted her hand and kissed it.

  Arian drew away, embarrassed at his gesture. ‘We’ve got a new customer,’ she said quickly, ‘a sweet little girl named Jessie. She has a withered leg, and Eline is trying to sort out some kind of boot that will support it so that she can walk more easily.’

  Eddie was interested. ‘I wonder if I could help,’ he said. ‘I admit to knowing nothing about shoemaking, but I do know a little about anatomy.’

  Arian looked at him thoughtfully. ‘That’s true. Perhaps you’ll walk with me to the workshop, talk to Eline – though I must admit she seems a little distracted right now. I do hope she’s not sickening for something.’

  ‘Come on, then,’ Eddie said, good-humouredly. ‘I might as well see this Eline of yours and find out what sort of work she does.’

  He glanced at her sideways. ‘Nothing better to do if you are not going to let me make love to you.’

  Arian’s pale eyebrows rose. ‘And who told you those lies?’ Her smile widened, and Eddie felt love rise within him like a tide. Arian was lovely and desirable, but she had a fine mind, too, and an ambitious streak that he found irresistible.

  ‘Am I mistaken, then?’ He pretended to leer at her. ‘Am I going to get my wicked way with you, after all?’

  ‘Perhaps,’ Arian said softly, ‘when it’s not quite so sunny and bright.’

  ‘We could always go into the dunes,’ Eddie said. ‘We’d be hidden from view there on the beach.’

  ‘No thanks!’ Arian spoke emphatically. ‘I don’t want the skin sanded off my backside.’

  ‘My backside wouldn’t mind a bit of sand,’ Eddie said, the corners of his mouth twitching into a smile.

  ‘Forget it,’ Arian said, ‘we’re going to the workshop, remember?’

  They walked along the edge of the shore, not touching but very close, and Eddie, glancing up at the blue skies of late summer, felt at peace. It was a lovely day, Arian was beside him; what more could he ask?

  Eddie’s first impression, when he saw Eline sitting on a stool near the bench which was littered with tools and off-cuts of leather, was that she was far too pale. She looked up and smiled as Arian entered the workshop.

  ‘What are you doing here? I thought it was your day off.’ She put down the boot she had been working on and straightened her back.

  Eddie could see at once that she was not well; there were lines of strain at the corners of her eyes and mouth.

  ‘I wanted Eddie’s opinion on the boots we’re making for Jessie Kennedy,’ Arian said. ‘Eddie was training to be a doctor – I think I told you about it – and,’ she rambled on, ‘he knows all about anatomy.’

  ‘Not all,’ Eddie protested wryly, ‘just a little, perhaps enough to help with the construction of the boot.’

  ‘I’d be glad of any help I can get,’ Eline said. ‘I know shoemaking but I can’t quite make out how to support the little girl’s leg without making the whole thing too constricting.’

  Eddie looked down at the drawing at Eline’s side and frowned. ‘I don’t think a boot made entirely of leather will work,’ he offered diffidently. ‘Perhaps some struts of iron along the side and then a double layer of leather around the calf would do it.’

  ‘I thought of that,’ Eline said, ‘but I decided it wouldn’t look very elegant.’

  ‘It wouldn’t,’ Eddie agreed, with more confidence. ‘But it would support the weak leg.’

  ‘How about struts of iron covered with leather to make it look part of the design?’ Eline asked, looking up at Eddie as though expecting him to have all the answers.

  ‘That would work,’ Eddie said. ‘But how about getting the boot on and off?’

  ‘I’d make a front opening,’ Eline said, ‘with buttons, just like any other boot.’

  Eddie felt admiration growing for the dedication of the woman who had everything money could buy. She was a lady of title, living in the grandest manor house in the area, and yet she was concerning herself with the problems of a child whose parents would probably never clear their debt to her.

  ‘The cost of the boots in materials and time might be prohibitive,’ Eddie said.

  Arian dug him rudely in the ribs. ‘There’s long words, then.’ She lapsed into the Welsh accent that she used when teasing him and Eddie tugged at her long hair.

  ‘Shut up, ignoramus,’ he replied. Her eyes met his, and he knew that she had been impressed with his suggestions. It took a great deal to impress someone like Arian, and the sensation Eddie had was of swallowing too much wine, heady and confusing.

  Eline looked up at them. ‘Why don’t you go and enjoy what’s left of your day off?’ She smiled. ‘I think I’ve picked your brains enough for now, Eddie. Thanks so much for your interest.’

  Suddenly, Eline swayed and would have fallen from the stool if Eddie had not stepped forward and caught her in his arms. He held her tilted forward, talking softly, in the professional manner of a doctor.

  ‘Take it quietly, now, you’re going to be all right, just a little dizzy, it’s quite normal in your condition.’

  ‘Condition?’ Arian whispered, looking down at Eline in surprise. ‘What are you talking about, Eddie?’

  Eddie ignored her and rubbed Eline’s wrists. ‘It will pass. Just give it a moment, and then you’ll begin to feel much better.’

  After a moment, Eline looked up and, though she was still very pale, she was smiling. ‘Thank you, again, Eddie.’ Her voice was low. ‘You’ve missed your vocation, haven’t you? If anyone was meant to be a doctor, you were.’

  ‘Come on,’ Eddie said, ‘we’ll take you home. I think you’ve done enough work for today.’

  ‘Yes, doctor,’ Eline answered meekly. She looked at Arian. ‘I should have told you before
this; I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m fine really, it’s just that I’m going to have a baby.’

  ‘Congratulations, I suppose,’ Arian said softly, ‘if it’s what you want?’ Arian was looking shrewdly at Eline.

  Eddie saw Eline shrug. ‘I wasn’t prepared – it was a bit of a shock, but I’m sure I’ll warm to the idea, given time.’ She smiled, as though to soften her words, and yet Eddie felt she had serious reservations about her condition. In any case, that was her own business. His business was to get her home safely.

  Stormhill Manor reminded Eddie of his old home on the outskirts of Cardiff. It was large and airy, with well-proportioned rooms and high ceilings, and the house had the advantage of spectacular views over the bay.

  ‘It reminds me of my old home,’ he said, and he felt Arian looking up at him in surprise. Eddie smiled. ‘You don’t know everything about me, madam,’ he said to her.

  Eline led the way through the broad entrance hall towards the sitting-room and Eddie opened the door for her. He was amused to see Arian still standing in the hallway, gazing in awe at the curved staircase and the huge landing above, with the brilliant stained-glass window casting a rainbow of colour over the carpets.

  Calvin Temple was reading the paper, his feet stretched out before him. He rose hurriedly when he saw Eline. ‘What is it?’ he asked. ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘Nothing’s wrong,’ Eline said quickly. ‘I just felt a little faint, what with the heat in the workshop and . . .’

  Calvin led her to a chair. ‘Come and sit down. I told you not to work in your condition.’ His handsome face was anxious, and Eddie realized that Calvin Temple loved his wife very much. He warmed to the man as Calvin offered him his hand. ‘I see, you brought my wife home. Thank you very much, both of you.’

  ‘It was nothing,’ Eddie said quickly. ‘My pleasure.’

  ‘No,’ Calvin insisted, ‘it was very kind of you.’ He paused. ‘Perhaps I could give you . . .’

  ‘Eddie was going to be a doctor,’ Eline interrupted swiftly, and Eddie hid a smile; Calvin had been about to offer him some money, a gesture that Eline felt would cause offence.