‘Hush now, just rest a minute and then I’ll help you back to the house.’ Even as she spoke, Heath was stumbling to his feet.
‘What’s this?’ Rhian picked up the box and held it out to Heath and he took it, staring at it for such a long time that she wondered if he was still dazed.
‘I recognise it,’ he said at last. ‘Boxes like this have been given out to several of the younger men of the town.’
‘What do you mean?’ Rhian asked, putting her arm carefully around Heath’s waist. ‘What’s it supposed to be for?’
‘Here, take it and look inside,’ he answered, leaning heavily against her.
She stared in puzzlement at the contents of the box. ‘There’s stupid, it’s just a white feather.’
He took the box and threw it to the ground, grinding it into the earth with his heel. ‘It’s the feather of cowardice, Rhian – it’s because I’m not in the Army. If only the fools knew that I tried to join up and the sergeant turned me away.’
‘It’s so unfair.’ Rhian spoke in a low voice ‘I know better than anybody that you’re not a coward. Come on, cariad, let’s get you home and clean you up and then we can see what damage has been done. We may need to get a doctor out to you.’
Heath paused and looked down at her; his puffy, bruised face looked strangely boyish in the moonlight.
‘Does the way you’re looking at me mean you could bear to be the wife of a man branded a coward?’ he asked softly and Rhian felt a thrill of anguish run through her.
‘It means that I care very much about you, Heath Jenkins. Let that be enough for now, is it?’
But as she steered him back uphill towards his house, her heart was beating swiftly and her thoughts were far away… and the image in her head was not of Heath Jenkins but of a man called Mansel Jack.
Chapter Twelve
The sea whispered softly on the curving shoreline, rippling inwards before sucking at shells and tiny pebbles, the waves chattering on the ebb. The sky was streaked with red, merging with the bloody ocean and dazzling the eye.
Heath stood tall, very conscious of his uniform which was warm to his skin – but it made him even warmer inside to know that now he was a fighting man. He could cast aside the white feather which had taunted and nagged at him, lying on his bedroom table lifting and fluttering with every breeze, coquettish like a lady’s fan.
He had taken Rhian’s advice and returned to the recruiting office, making sure that the sergeant on duty was a man who did not know him. This time he had been accepted without question, for the war was a devouring, insatiable monster.
Now Heath became aware of Rhian watching him and he smiled at her, placing his arm on her slim shoulder.
‘How does it feel to have your sweetheart go for a soldier then, cariad?’ he asked softly. Rhian’s eyes slid away from his and he was puzzled, unable to understand her mood. ‘I shan’t be killed, I’m too wily for that, there’s soft you are to be so downcast.’
Rhian’s expression did not alter as she moved away from him, staring down into the rippling waves that laved her shiny boots.
‘The war has taken so much from Sweyn’s Eye and now you’re leaving too. Soon there’ll be only old men and boys left, it’s a frightening thought.’
Heath caught her slim waist in his hands and drew her to him. ‘Good, then you won’t fall into temptation while I’m away, will you? In any case, you can depend on the older men to look after everything until we soldiers return.’ He was unconscious of the pride in his voice. ‘Come on, let’s walk.’
He took her hand, leading her to the higher dunes, standing for a moment to look at the golden sand that stretched into an enormous curve around the town. To the east the bay ended in the docklands and to the west was the rocky outcrop of the Mumbles Head. The bay was sheltered as though in curving arms and the breezes coming off the water were soft and salt.
It would be a wrench to leave it all behind and he was taking the chance that on his return there would be no steelworks to give him the security of a job. He might return maimed or crippled, but that was a risk he was also prepared to take for he was eager for the battle. His young blood sang as he thought of the conquests he would make. Cowardice had never been part of his being and it had distressed him more than he could bear to be branded with the white feather.
‘You are already far away from me.’ Rhian spoke softly and the words which from another woman might have been an accusation were from her a simple statement. He swept her into his arms, feeling the smallness and softness of her, wanting what he had never yet tasted – her sweetness.
‘Cariad, let me take you home, I want you so much.’ He whispered the words in her ear and felt her stiffen. He knew her fears, the dreadful memories that plagued her, but he needed to make her his own before he went into battle.
On the tram that swayed and bucked its way up the hill, he sat close to her, holding her hand, his blood singing. She was pale, her eyes shadowed and he loved her so much that all he wanted to do was take away the ghosts that haunted her.
The house was empty and Heath was relieved, for the presence of old Greenie would have made things difficult.
‘Look, Rhian, you must trust me. I would never hurt you – you know that, don’t you?’ His hands cupped her cheeks so that she could not turn away; her eyes were dark with fear.
‘Heath, I don’t think I can…’ The whisper trailed away as he touched her soft lips with his own. The blood rose in a blinding heat within him and he wanted to crush her against him, but his clear mind urged caution.
He took her upstairs and into his room and she came gently – like a lamb to the slaughter, he thought, pitying her. When he laid her on the bed she stared up at him, trembling like a frightened animal. He lay beside her and cradled her and she lay still, obedient, cowed. And yet he would be making her whole again, he told himself; he would teach her that loving was good and clean, a part of life that was meant to be beautiful.
‘There there, cariad.’ He hushed her as though she was a young baby, opening her bodice and lightly touching the firm young flesh… teasing, gentle. He must take his time and not give in to the agony of desire that brought his senses tinglingly alive. He had experienced many women, but never one that he loved more than life itself.
‘Try to be easy, my lovely,’ he whispered in her ear and she clung to him, burying her face in his neck.
‘I’m frightened, Heath.’
He smoothed back her hair, kissing her eyelids and then her mouth. ‘I will take care of you all my life. I’ll worship you always, Rhian, and I want to know you’re truly mine before I go to war.’
He felt her relax a little and with a flash of insight realised that his words had broken down the last of her defences and that now he could teach her the beauties of love.
When he moved above her she was pale, her face taut, her eyes tightly shut. He kissed her eyes, her mouth, taking his time, exerting all his powers of restraint. When she moaned in fear he was almost tempted to let her be, sorry in his heart for her, yet if he left her now she might never know the joy of loving.
She cried out, a small animal sound and he quickly covered her mouth with his own. ‘My darling sweetheart, I love you,’ he whispered, gentling her, his hands stroking softly. His kisses were tender and with mighty self-control he moved slowly in the rhythm of the waves that gently invaded the shore.
And then he sensed a change in her. The coldness of fear was melting, her arms reaching round him to hug him close. Jubilantly he kissed her with more passion, parting her lips with his tongue. He held her tightly against him as though he could truly make her one flesh with himself, his heart soaring in happiness because she loved him in return.
She cried when it was over and the tears misted her beautiful eyes, but Heath was happy because the biggest hurdle of her life was over and now she would know that physical love was not the nightmare which had haunted her memories these past years.
‘Are you content, cariad
?’ he asked softly, kissing the salt tears from her cheek. She turned to look at him and there was tenderness in her gaze that warmed him.
Silently they lay together on the bed with arms entwined and Heath felt a closeness with Rhian he had never known with any other woman.
After a time she sat up, shyly covering her breasts. ‘There’s grateful I am, Heath. You were so sensitive, I feel as if I never knew the real you before.’ She leaned against the warmth of his shoulder, her hand moving over his skin so tantalisingly that he turned to her with a question in his eyes. After a moment she nodded, looking steadfastly at him even though the heat rose from her proud young breasts up through her neck and coloured her cheeks.
Heath took her more fervently and his heart beat with hers as one. He had never felt such joy in his life; even if he died in the trenches he knew that God had been good to him, giving him all he had ever wanted.
The beach was lit only by a silver moon as Heath took Rhian home. He walked with his hand around her waist and stopped to kiss her warm soft mouth, love melting his being.
‘Stop it, Heath,’ she chided gently, ‘someone might see us.’ She tried to pull free, but he held her fast.
‘I don’t care who sees us, tomorrow I’ll get a licence and we shall be married.’ He held her close to him for a long moment. ‘Though you couldn’t be more truly my wife than you are now at this moment.’
She reached up to caress his cheek and then spun away from him, running down the hill with hair flying and skirts swishing around her ankles.
He caught her easily and drew her breathless into the shelter of his arms.
‘Heath, do you really love me?’ she asked, her voice like the whisper of the waves on the shore. He sensed her uncertainty and kissed her full on the lips.
‘Would Heath Jenkins have anything but the best? You’re going to be my bride – I shall put a ring on your finger and everyone will know that I couldn’t live without you.’
‘I love you Heath, really I do,’ she whispered and for a brief moment he wondered why she was being so vehement – was she trying to convince him or herself? He brushed the thought aside and caught her hand in his. ‘Come on, let’s get you home.’
The streets of the town were deserted. The hill rose in a gentle incline towards Spinners’ Wharf and the gurgling of the ruddy waters could be heard clearly as they neared the buildings. Above them shimmered the lights from the houses in Green Hill and further along the banks of the river the works lay in shadow, except for the belching of sparks and smoke that intermittently lit up the night sky.
Over all, the moon lay a silver shroud that beautified the ugly, turning the town of Sweyn’s Eye into a fairy-tale land. Heath’s heart swelled with pride; he was going to fight for all this, for his home town and for Rhian, for all he held dear in the world.
At the door of the mill, he took Rhian in his arms. ‘Shall I stay with you tonight?’ he asked softly but she shook her head.
‘No, best go home, have a proper night’s sleep.’ She smiled wickedly. ‘For if you stay with me, there’ll be little enough of resting. Even in my inexperience I can see what a devil of a man you are, Heath Jenkins!’
He kissed her tenderly, his hands caressing her shoulders with gentleness rather than with passion.
‘Tomorrow I’ll see about our wedding, my lovely. Good night and God bless you.’
He turned once as he walked away and saw that she had lit the lamp and was framed in its light, waving to him. His heart was full and in spite of the manliness of his stride and the crackling of his new uniform, he had to admit there were tears in his eyes.
Rhian slept little that night. She lay staring at the ceiling in the flickering light of the candle… wondering, reliving the moments when she had lain in Heath’s arms. She had made love with him and he had been kind, teaching her gently as he had promised that human contact was not the ugly thing she had believed it to be. For that she felt a deep gratitude to him, for now she was a woman and knew she was capable of passion.
At first she had resisted him and the pain had enveloped her body and mind but he had been careful, restraining himself for her sake. Gradually her emotions had emerged like a beautiful butterfly opening its wings.
She sighed softly, feeling a mingling of joy and sorrow as she hugged her pillow to her. Before slipping into bed, she had stood naked before the full-length mirror in her bedroom and had really stared at her reflection for the first time. She knew that she was desirable and felt a voluptuous sense of pleasure at the creamy flawlessness of her skin. Her breasts were full and high and her belly unmarked. And she wept because now Mansel Jack would never look upon her.
The thoughts which had been tormenting the edges of her mind all night would be denied no longer and Mansel Jack’s image pressed behind her tightly closed lids. She had told herself that there was no future for any kind of relationship between them yet the knowledge that one day the situation might change had given her a kind of perverse comfort.
Now there was no going back, for she had committed herself to Heath Jenkins and she was his. In a few days’ time she would be his wife in law as well as in deed, put beyond the pale of Mansel Jack or any other man. The brief happiness she had felt in Heath’s arms vanished as Rhian turned on her side and bitter tears soaked into her pillow.
Her first feelings on waking were a mingling of elation and sadness. She turned over on her back and stared up at the ceiling, thinking about the happiness she had found in Heath’s arms. He had brought her the gift of womanhood and she owed him her loyalty – if she could not give him her love, it would not be for the want of trying.
But why was there the sadness and a longing for Mansel Jack? That part of her life was over and done with; she would only hurt herself and tear her emotions to pieces if she constantly harked back to the past.
She ate a solitary breakfast of bread and cheese, deciding not to light the kitchen fire until later in the day; she needed to save coal, for the stocks were getting low.
In any case, she couldn’t linger in the house when there was a great deal to do in the mill. She dressed warmly in a stout calico camisole, covered by a thick blouse and a warm turnover. Her flannel skirt swung to her ankles as she combed her hair quickly.
The air outside was filled with the scents of the town. The sulphur from the copper works lay heavily on the air, the clouds were low and glowering. Rhian could smell the dampness of the freshly washed wool that hung outside on wooden rails and cursed her foolishness in not taking the turnovers into the house last night.
She rubbed her fingers against the wool and found it was soaked with dew, then glanced up at the sky hoping for a brisk wind to blow away the storm clouds.
The rushing waters of the tributary that branched off from the main source of the river ran gurgling alongside the low mill building, turning the wheel that produced the power for the machinery.
At Mansel Jack’s mill there had been water turbines, but then he had been more successful than Heinz Sinman. Just before Rhian had left Yorkshire he had been talking of installing gas turbines, which would be even more efficient.
‘Stop it, stop thinking about him!’ she said fiercely, her words sounding unnaturally loud in the stillness of the morning. She moved nearer the bank and stared down at the stream, marvelling at the rush of water which served the mill so well.
The wheel rods ran the length of the long building, suspended from the ceiling. These rods were rotated continuously and each machine was attached by a belt to a pulley on the overhead line shafting. To switch the machines on and off, the drive belt was slipped from the drive pulley to the adjacent free-running one and it was second nature to Rhian to operate the fast and loose pulleys.
She set the ‘willy’ into operation, feeding the raw wool into the body of the machine where a large roller studded with long teeth chewed and gnawed at it. As she brushed stray pieces of wool from her hair, her thoughts turned to Heath and she wondered what he was doing this m
orning – was he arranging their marriage? She viewed the prospect with mixed feelings and decided not to dwell on it.
Rhian watched the ‘willy’ as it performed its dual function of blending two different colours of wool and opening up the matted fibres, breaking down the woollen mass into smaller pieces.
She felt tired before the day was half begun and unaccountably there were tears in her eyes as she stared around the lonely mill. The only company was the clatter of the machines and she had never felt so lost in all her life.
She longed to ask advice from someone wise, to be told which direction she must take. And yet she knew the answer already. She was bound now to Heath Jenkins, she had given herself to him, allowed him to think he was the only man for her and so he was. If only the memory of Mansel Jack’s dark, handsome face wouldn’t keep creeping into her mind…
‘There’s daft you are, Rhian Gray!’ she told herself fiercely. ‘Get on with your work, girl, or there’ll be no food to put in your belly come tomorrow.’
She brushed back her hair and straightened her shoulders. However momentous the events of last night had been, she must concentrate on her work. Wool-making was too dangerous a job to do with only half a mind on it.
It was while she was eating a meal of cheese and cold ham that Heath came to the mill to see her. One look at his face told her that all was not well. He took her in his arms, held her close and smoothed back her tangled hair.
‘Tomorrow I’m to go for training in North Wales, cariad,’ he said gently, ‘there’s no getting out of it.’
Rhian touched his cheek with her fingers. ‘It will be all right, Heath, I’ll wait for you – don’t look at me like that.’
He buried his face in her neck, his body trembling. ‘I wanted to make you my wife, I’m afraid of losing you.’
‘Hush now, of course you won’t lose me. Who will be here to look at me unless I suddenly take it into my head to fall for Dai-End-House and him with no teeth in his head!’
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