The Oyster Catchers

by Iris Gower

  After dinner, John retired to the drawing room with young Mr Frogmore and Sarah leaned forward excitedly.

  ‘He’s asking Dad for my hand in marriage,’ she said brightly. ‘What do you think of him, Emily?’

  ‘He seems very nice,’ Emily spoke guardedly, ‘but what of his prospects? That’s the sort of question your father will be asking.’ Privately Emily thought Mr Frogmore couldn’t be of great means if he was lodging at Mrs Marsh’s house in Oystermouth. But it seemed she was wrong.

  ‘He’s very rich,’ she said, ‘he and his father have been looking for property in the area, they want to buy a fine house, especially now that Geoffrey wishes to be married.’

  Sarah spoke quite well, Emily realized suddenly, her travels around various parts of the country before she had settled in Port Eynon had mellowed her accent, softened it so that she sounded quite genteel.

  ‘Do you love him?’ Emily regretted the question almost as soon as it was spoken; it was the question of a concerned mama not of a step-mother who wanted nothing more than to be rid of the girl.

  ‘Love! That’s got nothing to do with it.’ The scorn in Sarah’s voice made Emily aware that Sarah had not changed one iota from the heartless little whore she had always been. She smothered the bitter thoughts. Sarah was John’s daughter, surely she could not be all bad?

  In the past Sarah had had a difficult time, had been used by Sam Payton, a man who was older and more ruthless than she was. She’d thrown away the love of William Davies for the privilege of being with a villain of the first order and where was he now? Would Payton ever return to Swansea and pose a threat to Emily’s peace of mind?

  When the ladies went into the drawing room, John was smiling and it was clear he approved of Geoffrey Frogmore and his intention to marry Sarah.

  Later, he took Emily aside. ‘This is a fine chance for my girl,’ he said, ‘she can make an honest wife to a good man, wipe out the past and perhaps in time be accepted in Swansea.’

  Emily doubted that but she kept her own counsel and joined in the celebratory drink that John pressed on her.

  ‘To my dear daughter and her new fiancé,’ he said raising his glass and smiling happily around him.

  Men were so simple sometimes, Emily thought indulgently, John believed that now everything would be all right, Sarah would reform and behave herself as a daughter should. Well, time would tell. In the mean time, Emily was content that Sarah no longer wanted to accept Pammy as her own, she had other concerns now, the most important one was to convince her husband that she was a model of virtue.

  Feeling almost happy for the first time since Sarah had returned to Swansea, Emily accepted another drink from John and sipped it slowly, her eyes resting with hope on the happy couple.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Eline was prepared, at least in practical terms, for Joe’s homecoming. With help from Carys and Sam, she had brought the bed down into the little-used parlour and set it up against the far wall so that Joe could look out into the garden and the sea beyond.

  Was it cruel, she wondered, to allow him to look at that which he couldn’t have? Let him watch the sea in all her moods never to sail on her again? Eline could not be sure of anything with Joe, not in the long days since the accident.

  He blamed himself for Tom’s death, a reaction, thought Eline, that was to be expected but the bitterness and anger with which he treated Nina’s failure to come to the hospital and her apparent rejection of him was something Eline had not bargained for.

  She made her way purposefully upstairs to the large bedroom at the front of the house. The floorboards were bare except for a few rag mats and the only furniture was a table and chair placed before the window to capture the light. Eline intended to work here in the little spare time she had from serving in Will’s shop.

  The shop. The taut lines of her young face softened as she thought of her days spent with William. She could almost be happy when she was serving customers or, better still, changing the window display. Will’s nearness, too, was a comfort, though honourably, he never gave so much as a hint that he wanted their relationship to be anything more intimate than employer and employee.

  The presence of Gwyneth Parks was the one flaw in an otherwise happy working arrangement. She had resented Eline from the first moment and made her hate of Joe Harries painfully obvious.

  Eline sighed in apprehension; she had taken the day off because today, Joe was coming home. Eline glanced down from her window and saw that the van bearing the name of William Davies Boot and Shoe Store stood outside the house. The moment had come: from now on her life would be harder than it had ever been before.

  She hurried downstairs and saw Sam Morgan standing beside the van, smiling at her encouragingly. Sam had volunteered to drive the van loaned by Will and rigged out with a comfortable couch to the hospital.

  ‘Ready for the great day then, missis?’ Sam was bluff and short of small talk but he was kindly and Eline knew she was going to be glad of his presence before the morning was out.

  Carys came to stand in the doorway, her baby in her arms. ‘Good luck,’ she mouthed the words, knowing more than her husband about Joe’s moods, having shared Eline’s confidences. Eline rushed over and hugged Carys in an uncharacteristic gesture of affection. If it wasn’t for Carys who had agreed to keep an eye on Joe during the daytime, Eline would have been unable to work. She and Joe would have been penniless.

  There was the Emmeline of course; the boat, though old, was seaworthy and would fetch quite a bit of money if Joe would only agree to part with her. Up until now he had been obdurate on the matter, the Emmeline was his, he would not give her up.

  Eline climbed into the van and, as Sam flicked the reins and set the horse jerking forward between the shafts, she took a deep breath. Joe was coming home and her life would be dedicated to caring for him, and, she vowed, there would be no looking back now.

  * * *

  Nina Parks stared out of the window watching the van that was going to bring Joe home and her body seemed to ache with the pain of it all. She should be sitting up in front with the driver bringing her man home to care for him. What must the neighbours be thinking of her?

  Nina looked round the spotless kitchen; it seemed alien to her now, a strange place that was no longer her home. There was no Tom to come in making a mess on the clean floor with his dirty boots, no sound of happy laughter round the table. Sal was a rare visitor these days and Fon had enough to contend with up on Honey’s Farm. And as for Gwyneth, she had her job in the shop to keep her occupied.

  Nina dragged herself away from the window and went over to the fire, stoking it up, moving the coals about with the poker. She felt cold, the weather had turned chilly, September was nearly out and the days were drawing in, the evenings dark and dismal now.

  Nina wondered for the hundredth time if she’d made the right decision giving up her place in Joe’s home. There she would have been useful, needed, there she would have a purpose in life. What purpose did she serve sitting looking at these four walls?

  Damn Gwyneth for acting so hastily, dragging Nina away home without giving her time to think things out. ‘Joe, my lovely boy what have I done?’ Nina covered her face with her hands and pressed back the hot tears.

  Gwyneth, she knew, blamed Joe for Tom’s death but Nina understood her man well enough to realize Joe would have fought tooth and nail to save their son.

  Nina made herself a cup of tea and then let it cool untouched on the table. She had nothing, a woman alone and scorned, a woman who couldn’t even do her duty by her man but run out on him the minute the going got tough. How she hated herself.

  She hurried upstairs and quickly made the beds, smoothing down the patchwork quilts with unnecessary care for no one else would see them but Gwyneth. No man would ever lie beneath the quilts again, holding her close whispering words of love.

  At last, Nina heard the rumble of the van outside the house and she rushed to the door, pulling on h
er shawl with hasty careless fingers.

  It seemed the whole of the village had turned out to see Joe come home. Nina remained on the fringe of the crowd, a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach.

  A cheer went up as Joe was lifted on a stretcher and carried from the van into the house. Nina knew she had no right to be there, she was an intruder, a nobody. Joe must despise her now, deserting him when he most needed her.

  Nina thought of the comfort they could have shared, each buoying up the other with memories of Tom – memories that would, in time, have been all good with the bitterness wiped away. She became aware that heads were turning to look at her and she felt a flash of her old spirit, so, placing her hands on her hips, she confronted the curious stares.

  ‘What are you all gawping at?’ she demanded and slowly, the crowd began to disperse. The door to Joe’s house closed suddenly and Nina felt as though she had been slapped in the face. No one closed their doors, not in Oystermouth Village.

  ‘Go home, Nina, girl.’ Skipper George stood beside her, the only kindly face in a sea of hostility. Nina put out her hand remembering that he, too, had suffered a loss.

  Nina was suddenly gripped by an overwhelming urge to be near her son. ‘Come with me to the grave, for pity’s sake.’ The words were whispered but Skipper George heard them. He took her arm and guided her away from Joe’s house and along the street to the gentle hill leading to the graveyard.

  The graves were planted with a few late roses, the fresh earth like a scar on the land. There were no headstones yet for stones cost time and money.

  Nina sank to her knees; she was not a religious woman, never went to the services, never listened to the bells calling the faithful to prayer, and yet how many times had she prayed for her menfolk when storms pounded the coast or when ice threatened to weigh down a boat so that nothing would work on board?

  She saw the skipper doff his hat and his thick white hair lifted in the cold wind that blew in from the sea. He was a good man and there were lines of suffering on his face as he stood, head bowed, before the graves of his sons.

  Nina felt in that moment that somehow she must make amends for all the wrong she had done in her life. She had sinned so much, could she ever find salvation?

  She felt she needed forgiveness initially from the living; she would go to see Joe and beg to be allowed to help in whatever way she could. She rose from her knees feeling a new resolve; she would shake off the past and try in future to be worthy of respect. She glanced up at the skipper and met his far-seeing blue eyes.

  ‘Can someone like me, who has taken another woman’s husband, ever find forgiveness, George?’ she asked humbly.

  George smiled. ‘Duw, you’re asking a bright spark about forgiveness, my love. But the worst of sinners can repent, if the good book means what it says.’

  Nina sighed. ‘All I can do is try,’ she said softly. ‘That’s all anyone can do.’

  Eline watched anxiously as Joe was carried into the parlour and carefully lowered on to the bed. He groaned a little and Eline bit her lip seeing the pain etched on his face.

  She carefully drew the blankets up over his broken body and smoothed back a lock of hair that had fallen over his forehead. His hair felt dry, full of salt and Eline wondered just how she would set about washing it.

  There were so many little tasks that she would have to master, she realized with a sickening lurch of uncertainty. Could she cope with Joe’s needs and with a job? In that moment of almost blind panic, she doubted it.

  There was a sudden sound of voices as some of the neighbours came to welcome Joe home. Eline let them in and they crowded around Joe, wishing him well. He smiled and nodded though he spoke little and all the time Eline could see that the strain was telling on him.

  ‘I think it’s time Joe had a little rest now,’ she said at last and Carys was the first to nod her head approvingly.

  ‘Aye, Eline is right,’ she raised her voice, ‘come on friends, give the man a chance, is it?’

  The well-meaning visitors began to disperse and Sam Morgan was the last to leave.

  ‘I’ll take the van back, shall I?’ he asked and Eline nodded in gratitude.

  ‘If you can spare the time, Sam, it would be a great help,’ she said, ‘and give our thanks to Will – Mr Davies, won’t you?’

  ‘I’ll do that.’ He left the house and led the horse towards the roadway and Eline watched until the clip-clop of the animal’s hoofs faded into silence.

  Glancing across the street, Eline caught a glimpse of Nina Parks, hugging her shawl around her shoulders. There was something in the woman’s eyes that Eline didn’t understand and in a sudden spurt of anger, Eline slammed the door shut.

  ‘Well, Joe,’ she said brightly, ‘glad to be home, are you, love?’

  ‘Don’t talk daft, woman,’ Joe said sourly. ‘Why should I be glad about anything when I’m lying here on my back unable to move? Unfeeling as the planks on a deck you are.’

  Eline took a deep breath, she had not expected gratitude, neither had she expected this blast of criticism. She was doing all she could for Joe and that was a fat lot more than Nina Parks was doing.

  ‘Are you hungry?’ She forced herself to speak pleasantly. ‘I’ve got some soup ready, nice and thin it is with carrots and parsnips and …’

  ‘For God’s sake shut up, woman!’ Joe said irritably, ‘I don’t want you blathering on, treating me like a child or an idiot. If I’m hungry I’ve got a tongue in my head, I’ll ask, right?’

  ‘Right, Joe.’ Eline felt her patience slipping but she tried again. ‘I hope the journey home wasn’t too awful for you.’

  ‘You had to go and get his van, didn’t you?’ Joe said sharply. ‘Rubbing it in that you got Will Davies breathing all over you just waiting to get his hands on you. Well, you needn’t think you are going to carry on working for him because you’re not, understand?’

  Eline drew a chair up beside the bed and took one of Joe’s calloused hands in hers. ‘Listen to me, love,’ she said and her tone was gentle but firm. ‘Let there be no lies between us, we’ll start as we mean to go on.’

  ‘Oh aye, going to tell me how lucky I am now that you are standing by me, is that it?’ Joe turned his face away from her.

  ‘I’m going to tell you the facts of our life together as I see them,’ Eline said. ‘You can like it or lump it but I’ve got to work, otherwise we’ll starve. No one but Will Davies has offered me a job and in any case it wouldn’t be convenient for me to work anywhere else.’

  ‘Well, you would say that,’ Joe growled. ‘Could clean and cook in one of the big houses, couldn’t you?’

  ‘And live in?’ Eline asked. ‘Who would look after you then? As it is, I am only a few hundred yards away down the road, I can come home and give you food at dinner time and when the shop closes, I’ll be home in just a few minutes.’

  ‘So, I’m to stay alone all day?’ Joe’s voice faltered and Eline felt pity for her husband sweep over her. It occurred to her suddenly that Joe was afraid of being alone.

  ‘No love, not alone, not entirely anyway. Carys is going to pop in from time to time make sure you’re all right.’ She rose and moved away from the bed wondering if she had the strength to carry on with what seemed such a grinding, difficult routine. Every day would be the same; she would spend her days in the shop and her evenings cleaning the house and washing Joe’s sheets. She squared her shoulders.

  ‘It’s the best I can do, Joe.’ Her voice quivered in spite of herself and she bit her lip not wanting Joe to realize how very frightened she was, too.

  ‘We’ll work it out, cariad.’ His voice was softer now, less hostile. ‘Give it time and I’ll be on my feet again, you’ll see.’

  Eline doubted that; the doctors had not been at all optimistic about a recovery but then doctors could be wrong and in any case she couldn’t take away Joe’s feelings of hope.

  Eline slept badly that night. She had made up her bed in the spare room away fro
m the sounds of the roadway. And yet she was tense, listening for any signs of restlessness from Joe and, when she did sleep, nightmares haunted her.

  She woke unrefreshed and heavy-eyed and as she made her way downstairs, she tried her best to feel cheerful for Joe’s sake. She would light the fire, make his breakfast and then get off to work. The thought of work and Will had the effect of lightening her spirits so that when Eline went into the parlour she could smile with genuine good humour.

  Joe, however, was not smiling. ‘Get me to the privvy, for God’s sake.’ The words harshly spoken greeted Eline and blushing, she realized that her husband’s needs were going to be of a far more intimate nature than she’d anticipated. It was impossible, she would never get Joe out to the back where the privvy stood, she would have to carry him bodily and she simply wasn’t capable of such a feat.

  She stood for a moment in bleak despair, wondering if she should go next door and ask for Sam Morgan’s help but would Joe put up with the lack of privacy that bringing in the neighbours would entail?

  She glanced around her in panic and then her eyes lit upon the old, dusty commode that had stood in the corner of the parlour for years, looking as innocent as an ordinary chair.

  ‘I’ll fetch the commode,’ she said with relief and hurriedly dragged the heavy chair nearer to the bed. She lifted the seat to reveal the old chamber-pot, which had never been used as far as Eline knew unless by Joe’s long-dead parents.

  The effort of getting him out of bed was almost beyond her; Eline caught Joe around the waist and half-lifted, half-pulled him into place on the commode.

  She turned her face away from him, knowing how awful he must feel.

  ‘Christ!’ he said bitterly. ‘I’m a grown man and I am to live my life as a child. I’m to be fed and potted and washed and dried – I might as well be dead.’

  ‘Don’t say that, Joe.’ Eline saw to him with as little fuss as possible. At last, making sure Joe was comfortable, she took the chamber-pot outside.