She now recalled the day that she’d first heard of her Uncle Luke flaying her mother, and it hadn’t been till after Bill had brought her out. She’d felt dreadful about that and had gone up to the farm, but it was all changed and her mother had gone and her Uncle Pete wouldn’t tell her where. But he had said he would let her ma know that she was all right and respectably married.
And now she was dead. And the parson was dead. And Uncle Pete was dead, and his young son was running the farm, so she understood.
She lifted the paper and again read the notice. Her mother had had a son and two daughters. She had a half-brother and two half-sisters, and now she knew where they were…Well, they could remain there. She’d never be able to undo all the damage she had done in her life, but she would cause no more. But she could go down there to the funeral couldn’t she? On the quiet like?
She turned from the window. No, no; the doctor was calling later in the day. He called every week to see to her heart. She smiled to herself: appearances had to be kept up. And then it was almost time for Jack’s boat to be in, it could be any day now. She looked forward to that. He was her nephew…for the neighbours. He had to be to stay a fortnight or more at a time. It took all sorts to make life worth living, and life was for living according to how you were made. Aye, according to how you were made.
She laid the paper down on the table and went out of the room and across a well-carpeted hall and up the stairs and into a very comfortable bedroom and got ready to meet the doctor …
Life was for living.
The End
The Whip (The Spaniard's Gift) Page 47