Thrush Green

by Miss Read

  Ben took her arm, calling as he did so to Rachel's father, who was leaning dreamily against a booth negligently picking his teeth with the end of a feather.

  "Take over, Bob, will you, for a bit?" shouted Ben. "Be back in half an hour."

  Bob nodded casually, and strolled toward the coconut shies.

  "Won't make a fortune there for the next half-hour, I'll lay," said Ben grimly. "But never mind, my gal, let's get over and see your dad."

  Molly stood still and looked at Ben with eyes dark with worry.

  "Hadn't I best go back alone? I always gets his supper, see, my nights off, and I could easy tell him a bit about us, without your botherin'. He can be a bit nasty—short like, you know, if he's surprised or anything. I don't want no unpleasantness, not on a lovely day like this has been."

  "This is my business, Moll, as well as yours and his. If there's any unpleasantness I'm the one to stop it. You needn't fear I won't behave civil in your father's house. My gran's learnt me proper manners, you know, but this 'ere's a man's job. You cook his supper and I'll break the news while you breaks the eggs. How's that?"

  He put his head on one side and gave her his crooked smile. Molly nodded silently, too moved with relief and love for speech.

  Together they crossed the soft spring grass toward the cottage. The blare of the fair faded behind them and the rustle of the trees in the warm night air could be heard again.

  "This is Ben, dad. Ben Curdle—from the fair," said Molly. She was smiling bravely, but her heart fluttered in a cowardly way.

  "Oh it is, is it?" grunted her father. He had been rooting in the table drawer when they had entered and now faced them with a pointed knife in his hand and an expression of extreme disgust upon his sour old face.

  "Evening, sir," said Ben pleasantly. Mr. Piggott turned his back and continued to rummage in the drawer.

  "I'm trying to rustle up a bit of grub for meself," grumbled the old man. "Most nights I has to fend for meself, but Fridays I reckons to find a bit ready for me after a hard day's work."

  "I'll get you something," broke in Molly swiftly. "Bacon and egg I was going to do. You sit down and talk to Ben."

  "What for?" asked Mr. Piggott, looking at the young man with loathing. "I never had no truck with gyppos all me life and I don't intend to start now. What you bring him in the house for, I'd like to know?"

  Molly's blue eyes began to blaze.

  "Ben here's a friend. And we don't want no talk about gyppos neither. Ben and me—"

  "It's all right, Moll," said Ben, with disarming gentleness. "You go and see about the supper."

  "And who might you think you are?" shouted Mr. Piggott, with a belligerence born of six pints of beer on an empty stomach. "Whose house is this? Yours or mine? You clear off over the green, where you come from. Sticking your nose into decent folks' houses and laying down the law—" He raised his right elbow threateningly, the dinner knife wavering dangerously near Ben's throat.

  Ben grabbed the older man's wrist and lowered him forcibly into the wooden armchair that stood by the table. Mr. Piggott sat down with a jerk and Ben quietly removed the knife from his grasp.

  "God help us!" exploded Mr. Piggott, attempting to bounce to his feet again. Ben's hand on his shoulder thwarted his efforts, and something about the glint in the young man's eye, despite his steady smile, seemed to flash a warning to Mr. Piggott's beer-befuddled senses. He took refuge in pathetic bellowings to Molly in the kitchen.

  "Here, Moll, what's all this about? Your poor old dad beaten up by this young gyppo—ted then, if you don't like gyppo," he added hastily, as the grip on his shoulder tightened. "Molly, who is this chap? You come on in here and see what he's adoing!"

  Molly put a mischievous face around the door and she and Ben exchanged a swift smile.

  "I told you, dad, it's Ben Curdle. You and him's going to have a little talk while I cooks your supper. Two rashers, Ben?" she asked.

  "He's not having no rashers," stormed her father. "Not a morsel or bite of my hard-earned bread passes 'is lips—"

  "Now, dad," remonstrated Molly, advancing farther into the room. "Ben's as hungry as you are. You'll talk better together over a meal."

  "If you take it easy, sir," put in young Ben, "maybe a drop of something from next door might help the meal along."

  Mr. Piggott's black visage was softened into the semblance of a smile.

  "Now that's talking sense, boy. 'Double X' for me, unless you fancies something stronger yourself. Get the boy a jug, Moll, and get a move on, will you?"

  He settled back in his chair and watched Ben vanish out the door. From the kitchen came the fragrance and sizzling of frying rashers and the sound of a daughter hard at woman's work.

  Mr. Piggott licked his wet lips and sat back well content.

  By the time Ben returned, Molly had set the cloth and was bearing in three plates. Mr. Piggott had bestirred himself to the extent of lifting down from the dresser two thick glass mugs, souvenirs of the Coronation of Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II, and placing them expectantly upon the table.

  His eye brightened as Ben deposited a foaming jug of draft beer by the cruet and he became even more jubilant when Ben pulled a half-bottle of whisky from his pocket and put it deferentially before him.

  "Now that's very handsome of you, me boy," said Mr. Piggott, his voice husky with emotion. "Very handsome indeed. Maybe, you ain't so blackhearted as you looks."

  This, Molly knew, was as honeyed a speech as would ever fall from her parent's lips, and the only hint of apology that Ben could expect. They downed the meal with relish. Molly was surprised to find how hungry she was, and her father's unlovely openmouthed mode of mastication for once failed to nauseate her.

  Ben prudently waited until the plates were empty and his host's first mugful had been drained before approaching the business in hand. Then, characteristically, he came directly to the point.

  "Molly and me's hoping to get wed some day, Mr. Piggott."

  "Oh ah!" said Mr. Piggott carelessly, refilling his glass. He appeared oblivious to the importance of this remark, but fixed all his attention on the billowing head of froth that wavered at the brink of the mug.

  Ben spoke a little louder.

  "We've been friends like for a year now." He looked across at Molly with a quick smile, and she nodded, smiling, in reply.

  "That's right, dad," she said earnestly. A look of annoyance crossed her pretty face as she saw the complete absorption of her father in his brimming mug. Her voice became tart.

  "You listening? Ben's trying to tell you something important. I shan't be here to cook your suppers much longer."

  This practical attack on his creature comforts had the desired effect. Mr. Piggott raised his rheumy eyes and his habitual expression of truculence reappeared.

  "What say? Not be here? What's all this?"

  "I been saying," Ben said patiently, "as Molly and I wants to get married—"

  "Too late!" asserted Mr. Piggott, in his sexton's voice of authority. "Dark now. Can't get married this time o' night. Besides I've swep' up the church "

  "We wasn't thinking of tonight, sir," said Ben, trying to control the laughter in his voice. "This summer, say—later on before we lays up the fair for the winter."

  Mr. Piggott, slightly glazed, looked a little more mollified.

  "Can't stop you, I suppose. People gets married day in and day out—no reason why you and Molly shouldn't."

  His gaze wandered to the whisky bottle and his eyes widened pleasurably.

  "What say we puts a dash o' this in along o' the beer?" he suggested enthusiastically to Ben. Molly shook her head violently at the young man.

  "Oh, I wouldn't broach it now," said Ben with studied carelessness. "It's a little present for yourself. You open it sometime when I'm not here."

  Mr. Piggott considered this suggestion earnestly, the mug at his lips and his eyes still caressing the whisky bottle.

  "Ah, you got something there, boy," he sa
id at last, with the hint of a hiccup. "I'll have more on me own. Have the lot, eh? Do me good, won't it?"

  "Hope so," said Ben briefly.

  "Dad," said Molly, leaning across the table and putting one hand upon her father's. "D'you know what we've said? We wants to get married and I hopes you'll say you're pleased."

  "Oh, I'm pleased all right—I'm pleased!" gabbled Mr. Piggott in a perfunctory manner. "You get married any time you like—summer or something you said, didn't you? Suits me. I'll get the church spruced up. Don't make no odds to me. All part of the day's work getting the place ready for weddings. Funerals, too, come to think of it." He turned a speculative eye upon the young pair.

  "Wedding'd be more in your line, I reckons," he conceded. "If I was you I'd wait a bit for the funeral."

  With a sudden sigh he put his arms around his mug and the beloved whisky bottle, and, pillowing his head upon the empty greasy plate, fell instantly asleep.

  Ten minutes later Molly and Ben, with the washing up done and the dishes stacked away, stood at the open door.

  Ben looked back at the snoring figure at the table.

  "I suppose you might say we've got your father's consent," he said to Molly.

  And putting his arm around her waist he jumped her lightly from her doorstep and led her back to the joyful brightness of the fair.

  16. Dr. Bailey Asks for Help

  DR. LOVELL returned from Ella's to Dr. Bailey's house.

  His eyes wandered over the crowd that now thronged Curdle's fair, but Ruth and Paul were hidden somewhere among the mass.

  It was a perfect evening, he told himself, and it had been a perfect day. The air was still warm, and scented with myriad blossoms of spring; and in the bright light shed by the strong electric bulbs of the fairground the small young leaves fluttered like yellow mimosa against the dark-blue sky.

  It was heady sort of weather, young Dr. Lovell thought. Heady enough to make anyone think of love. Half-defiant, half-amused, and wholly happy he surveyed his present plight and found it good.

  He was hurrying back to see Dr. Bailey in response to a note left on the surgery desk. It had said:

  "Spare me a few minutes during the evening, will you? Any time after surgery to suit you.

  D. B."

  It was probably about a new case, thought the young doctor, or a message from the hospital delivered in his absence. He enjoyed these little encounters with the older man and never tired of hearing his salty and wise comments on the Lulling characters he was beginning to know almost as well as Dr. Bailey himself.

  He walked into the hall, and tapped lightly on the sitting-room door.

  He found Dr. Bailey sitting on the sofa, his thin legs covered with a dashing tartan rug and The Times crossword, almost completed, on his lap.

  Mrs. Bailey put aside her needlework and rose to greet him.

  "Come and keep Donald company," she said, indicating her chair.

  "No, no," protested the young man, "I'll sit over here."

  "I'm just going to do some telephoning and sort out magazines for the hospital," said Mrs. Bailey. "You couldn't have come at a better moment."

  She smiled conspiratorially at young Dr. Lovell as he held the door for her and she went about her affairs.

  "Come and get us both a drink," said Dr. Bailey, removing his spectacles and flinging The Times to the floor.

  The young man carefully poured two glasses of sherry at the tray standing ready on the side table and brought them to the sofa.

  "To Mrs. Curdle and her fair!" said Dr. Bailey, nodding his head toward the window before sipping his wine.

  "Mrs. Curdle!" echoed young Dr. Lovell solemnly, sipping too. He put his glass carefully on the hearth and looked expectantly at the old man.

  "How are you enjoying it all here?" asked Dr. Bailey.

  "Love it," answered Dr. Lovell emphatically.

  "That makes it easier for me then. I've at last made up my mind. It's taken me weeks of shilly-shallying, but now it's done I feel a good deal happier."

  He looked shrewdly across his glass to the young man.

  "You know what I'm talking about?"

  "I think so," said Dr. Lovell soberly. His thin dark face was grave, for his heart was filled with pity and admiration for the older man. One day, he thought, I shall be facing this.

  Dr. Bailey watched the young man closely and liked what he saw. There was no thought of self in that serious face, but an appreciation of a job to be bravely done. He spoke more freely.

  "It's like this. I realize I shall never be able to do much again. If I can take four or five surgeries a week and attend a few of the real old folk who prefer to have me—well, that's about all I can hope to do. The point is—would you be willing to come in with me and bear the larger part of the practice on your shoulders?"

  "There's nothing I'd like more, sir," answered the young man earnestly. Dr. Bailey gave a gusty sigh of relief.

  "Thank God for that! I'll tell you frankly, there's no one I'd like better to have with me and no one hereabouts better liked by the people. You'll fit in ideally."

  A thought seemed to strike him and he leaned forward, peering intently at his companion.

  "But look here, boy, I don't want you to make your mind up too hurriedly. Think it over. It's a big step to take, you know. Winnie always says: 'Sleep on it,' and she's usually right. Let me know in the morning."

  Dr. Lovell smiled for the first time in the interview. It was a slow warm smile that illumined his long dark face and made it suddenly youthful.

  "It's the finest offer I've ever had in my life. I was beginning to wonder if I could ever bear to leave Lulling—and now, this! It's perfect."

  Dr. Bailey raised his glass.

  "To our practice, then." They drank together, and Dr. Bailey replaced his glass with fresh energy.

  "Now, the position is this. This particular practice is really just about big enough for a man and a half. That's fine at the moment. You have to be the man, and probably a bit more, and I'm your half a man." He smiled wryly, but cheerfully.

  "As you know, the other four chaps in partnership in the town cover most of the southern area, but although our district is sparsely populated I believe you'll find that you'll have enough for two men here in time. There's a new estate going up at Nidden and a batch of council houses along the main road to the north. So that if you decide to settle here you should find a growing practice and could take a partner in with you."

  "That's a long way ahead, I hope," said young Dr. Lovell.

  "I shan't last forever," said old Dr. Bailey, "but I know this. I'll last a dam' sight longer with you to carry most of the load for me."

  "Then we're both satisfied," said the young man. And sitting back he basked in the glow born of his good wine and his good fortune.

  Twenty minutes later, having bidden the older man good-night, young Dr. Lovell sat alone in the surgery. He had called in to collect some papers, but enjoyed the opportunity of complete privacy to savor to the full the wonderful news which he had received.

  Earlier in the day he had realized how much Thrush Green and his work there had really meant to him. Now, in a few minutes, he had been offered his life's happiness—work which he knew he could do well, in a place and among people dear to him.

  Outside the fair throbbed and spun merrily, and its cheerful raucous music found an echo in the singing in his own heart. May the first—a day of enchantment. He would never forget it! he told himself. He remembered the doctor's first toast to Mrs. Curdle and her fair. Long may she reign, thought happy young Dr. Lovell, and bring as much joy each first of May as she had done today!

  He took a cigarette from his case and was surprised to see that his fingers shook. He crossed to the window and looked out upon the gay scene spread beneath the dark curve of the night sky.

  Over in the Bassetts' house an upstairs light was burning. It was the landing light, young Dr. Lovell observed, which meant that his first patient of the day was no
w safely in bed after all his excitements and his aunt would be free downstairs.

  Suddenly young Dr. Lovell felt that he must tell someone of the good news which fermented and bubbled within him. He had meant to follow Mrs. Bailey's habitual advice and "sleep on" his secret before he made it known, but now, young, lonely, and bursting with excitement, he knew that he must go to Ruth and let her share his happiness.

  Who knows, thought the young man as he crossed the grass with the clamor of the fair ringing in his ears, this very day may prove to be the start of a new life for us both at Thrush Green.

  The gate clanged noisily behind him, and for a moment he leaned with his back against it, watching the lighted hall through the glass door, suddenly half-fearful of approaching the girl.

  As he stood there, his heart throbbing as madly as the fair behind him, Ruth opened the door with a wide welcoming gesture.

  "How lovely to see you," she cried. "Come in, come in!"

  And Dr. Lovell knew that his happiness was complete.

  Upstairs Paul had been in bed for an hour, but found it impossible to sleep. So much had happened in the day. He had been pronounced cured of his illness, which meant that he could go back to school on Monday and would be free to play all day tomorrow, which was Saturday, and to watch the departure of Mrs. Curdle's fair if he was awake in time.

  He had seen Molly united with her Ben and knew that her worries were ended. But, best of all his sleepy memories, were those of the glittering, noisy, spinning fairground, home of that near deity, Mrs. Curdle, and Ben, who now shone as a hero in Paul's eyes, for he had overheard two gossipers discussing the fight and had noticed the scars borne by both men.

  Tomorrow, or Sunday, he knew that his father and mother would be home again and his heart leaped at the thought. He turned over and felt the cool pillow against his flushed cheek. Across the mirror on his wardrobe the lights of the fair twinkled, signaling across the darkness their message of gaiety and shared excitement, both tonight and in the future.