Don’t Cry Alone

by Don’t Cry Alone (retail) (epub)

  Beth had convinced herself that it was all her fault. If she hadn’t come into the family… his family, would Matthew have turned out the way he was now, or would he have grown into a fine young man with a greater sense of responsibility towards his sister? And, the greatest guilt of all, if she had not been in Maisie’s house… if Maisie had not been tending to the birthing… then the fire would not have happened and that darling woman would be alive today. That was the truth! Beth could never dwell on it too long. It was too painful, too heart-breaking. That was why she could not, must not, give up on the boy. She had made a promise to Maisie, and somehow, whatever it cost, she would try with all her might to keep that promise. Nothing on God’s earth would turn her from it.

  In spite of his loathing for her, in spite of the wickedness that had taken hold of him, Beth would persevere. She had to! The boy had lost the father he adored, and soon after had lost his darling mother also. His hatred since was channelled towards Beth, and, in all truth, she could not blame him for it. He was so very young, so hurt and confused by all that had happened in his life, it seemed only natural that he should want to lash out. And if it was her he was lashing out at, so be it. She was strong enough to take a certain amount of punishment if it meant that, in the end, Matthew would rid himself of that core of hatred which was slowly eating him away.

  One thing Beth would not tolerate, though, and that was his deliberate cruelty towards the children. Richard was only an innocent babe, and as for Cissie, there was no more delightful child on this earth. As Beth had reminded the boy on more than one occasion, his sister also had lost her parents, and the home she had been raised in. Secretly, Beth admired Cissie’s strong character, and the way she had come to terms with the tragedies in her life. It was a pity that Matthew was not made of the same admirable stuff. And yet, she believed with all her heart that there was a great deal of goodness in the boy, buried beneath the sorrow and the hurt.

  In the kitchen she found Cissie occupied in laying the table, while Richard was already seated there, his small chubby arms folded before him and his watchful green eyes following Cissie’s every move. When he realised his mammy was at the door, he swung his legs out of the chair and came rushing to greet her. With a cry, she swung him up, a squealing, squirming bundle, throwing his arms round her neck and covering her face in smacky wet kisses. ‘Hey! Let me breathe then,’ she laughed, giving him a big hug before putting him to the floor. As he ran back to climb into his seat, she thanked God for blessing her with such a healthy and adorable son. Richard would soon be four years old. The boy had grown sturdy and handsome, his green eyes and dark hair so reminiscent of his father. Sometimes the fact was a source of comfort to Beth. At other times, mostly when he smiled in that particular way of Tyler’s, leaning his head sideways and looking at her with incredible love in his sparkling green eyes, she found it unbelievably painful.

  The warm, delicious smell of home baking emanating from the kitchen made Beth realise just how hungry she was. Saturday was the day when she and Cissie rolled up their sleeves and turned out enough pies and bread to last the whole week, more often than not with the dubious help of Richard. Somehow, the wonderful aroma lingered on for days after. If Maisie had taught Beth anything at all, she had taught her how to look after a growing family.

  Beth had thought her son and Cissie were still in the garden, so was pleasantly surprised to see the two of them already in the kitchen; Richard eagerly awaiting his tea, and Cissie fussing with a place setting. ‘Well, now, you have been busy, haven’t you?’ Beth remarked. ‘Thank you, Cissie. You’ve done a wonderful job.’

  Glancing at the table, she saw that the girl had done everything just as she had shown her… the big brown teapot had pride of place in the centre of the table, with the pretty rose-patterned milk jug and sugar bowl beside it. There was the bone china three-tiered cake stand, each layer nicely laid out with slices of home-made cake. On the larger bottom tier were several rather chunky pieces of Beth’s fruit loaf, baked in the manner which Maisie had taught her; then came the apple cake wedges; and finally, making a pretty pattern on the smallest top tier, the tiny sponge cakes, each one displayed in a pretty white doily and finished with a half cherry on top. There were several other plates dotted about the table, one containing best gammon sandwiches, another holding generous helpings of pork pie, and the others mostly displaying white and brown triangles of bread and butter, to be heaped with a liberal spoonful of the plum preserve from the small barrel-shaped pot nearby. Cups and saucers were arranged at just the right angle beside the small plates, and the bone-handled knives were correctly positioned to the right of each plate.

  While Beth regarded the beautifully laid table, Cissie stood opposite, her big blue eyes proud and smiling. Suddenly, a look of horror spread over her face. ‘Oh!’ she cried, flinging herself towards the drawer in the table and snatching out a handful of spoons. ‘I forgot to put the teaspoons out.’ She quickly dropped one into each saucer before standing back and looking at Beth with a forlorn expression. ‘I’ve done it again,’ she said, twisting her lips in that way she had of showing disappointment with herself. ‘I coulda swore I’d remembered everything.’ Clenching her small fists, she folded her arms across her chest. ‘The surprise is ruined! I’ve spoilt it, ain’t I?’

  Suppressing the chuckle that might well have relayed the wrong message, Beth went to her. Putting her arm round the girl’s painfully thin figure, she said warmly, ‘It’s a wonderfully set table, Cissie. I couldn’t have done better myself. I’m very proud of you, sweetheart.’

  ‘Honestly?’ The smile returned to Cissie’s face.

  ‘Honestly.’ Beth chuckled now. ‘What’s a teaspoon between friends?’

  Laughing and relieved, Cissie clung to her a moment longer. ‘Oh, Beth, I do love you,’ she said: the two of them laughing all the more when a little voice piped up from its place at the table, ‘I do love you too!’

  They waited tea for another twenty minutes, before Beth addressed the two impatient children with the solemn words, ‘If the others don’t have the good manners to come to the table at the proper time, then we’ll start without them.’ And that was just what they did, although Beth only picked at her food, her heart too full to eat.

  She was not altogether surprised by her father-in-law’s absence, because right from the start he had taken particular pleasure in taunting her in this way. ‘Of course I’ll be joining you for Sunday tea,’ he would say charmingly, then would purposely keep them waiting until, fretful and concerned, David would leave his place at the table to remind his stepfather, only to be told that they should: ‘Start without me. I’ll be along.’ But to this day he had not once sat down at a table prepared by Beth, and both she and David knew only too well that it was a deliberate snub. Worse, Luther would lock himself in his room until the table was cleared and the kitchen was empty. Then he would go in there, turn everything out of the cupboards, eat his fill, and leave the place looking like a herd of swine had trampled through it.

  Beth had long ago given up the idea of winning the old man over. In fact, she was quietly grateful for the fact that he chose not to sit down to table with them. The ordeal of suffering his ogling eyes on her at mealtimes would have been too much, even for someone with Beth’s strong constitution. It had not taken her long to realise that here was a vindictive old villain, bent on making her life as miserable as he possibly could. Over the years she had learned to stay two steps ahead of him. Her first step was to leave the kitchen exactly as he left it; if he thought she had any intention of clearing his mess up behind him, then Luther was very much mistaken.

  The kitchen was a great echoing place, with high beamed ceilings and quarry stone floor. There were two grand old pieces of furniture in there, a huge square pine table with thick bulbous legs and four small drawers beneath the overhanging table top and a pine dresser of enormous proportions, with a cupboard beneath, two stout deep drawers and four shelves that reached to ceiling heig
ht, each stacked with blue willow pattern plates and festooned beneath with pretty china cups hanging from hooks. From the brown hide couch in the sitting room, and the two matching armchairs set either side of the old range, the pretty cottage paintings and floral drapes throughout the house, the many ornaments that decorated every room, Beth was able to glimpse the nature of the woman who had lived and died here – David’s mother. There was a certain warmth and cosiness in this great dilapidated old house that only a gentle soul could create. On the one occasion she had broached the subject of his mother, David had looked at her with cold eyes, saying in a hard voice, ‘My mother was her own worst enemy. She must have known she was dying and yet she did nothing to help herself.’ That was the only time she ever heard him sound like Luther. It was also the last time she ever mentioned his mother.

  When David first brought her to this house as his wife, Beth had hoped she could fit in, make this place a proper home for all of them. Sadly, she was frustrated at every turn, and all her efforts went to waste. Luther Reynolds ridiculed David in front of her, belittling him in such a way as to destroy any respect she might have had for her husband; although she could not help but like him a little. He was a strange man, still lonely in spite of taking her for his wife, and kept his own counsel, never discussing his thoughts with her, keeping his troubles deep, and always ensuring that she had whatever she needed. In that respect, David Miller kept the promise he made her.

  Yet she was lonely too. Oh, she had the children, and she treasured every moment with them, but she was unfulfilled, possessed of a deep longing which she could not understand. There was something missing in her life. Warmth maybe? A companion who would sit and chat with her, like she and Maisie used to chat? A lover who would hold her close and whisper in her ear? Someone she could share all her intimate thoughts and dreams with? All of these things amounted to one person… Tyler Blacklock. In spite of her determination to forget the man who had wronged her, never a day went by without her thinking of him, remembering, longing for such a love again. And all the while, her son Richard was there to remind her… sleeping, waking, looking at her in that special way that was Tyler’s. He touched her heart, awakening the love, stirring the pain.

  And then there was Matthew, always resentful, always looking to hurt; and her father-in-law, leading the boy into bad ways, moulding him in the same pattern as himself. Luther was the devil in disguise. From the start, Beth had seen him for what he really was. Right away they were sparring, wary of each other. The first time she discovered the awful mess he had deliberately left in the kitchen, Beth was determined she would not be used as a skivvy. When David had asked her to clear the mess away, for fear of inciting his stepfather’s rage, Beth had astonished him by refusing. ‘If he wants to behave no better than an animal, then let him wallow in it,’ she told him, and no amount of cajoling would persuade her otherwise.

  Confused by her rebellious attitude, David himself had cleaned up the kitchen behind his stepfather, and so the pattern was set. Luther would wait until dark, when the rest of the family had vacated the kitchen, then would take everything from the larder, spreading it on the table, spilling it on the floor, and generally inflicting mayhem on a hitherto spotless environment. After he had taken his fill and sampled everything, he would then collect a jug of ale from the pantry and depart along the hallway with the tap-tap of his walking cane making an ominous rhythm on the tiled floor; the sound becoming muffled as he made the difficult journey up the wide ornate staircase to his bedroom. Once there he would guzzle his ale, and cough and belch, and laugh and curse, until his bloated body was overwhelmed by slumber, and the house grew peaceful once more.

  On every Sunday previously the pattern had been the same. When the kitchen was clean and the children put to bed, Beth and David would go to the sitting room, where he would sit at the circular table, head bent over documents and rent books.

  But now the meal was over, and David had only just made an appearance. She was clearing the table when she heard the slow deliberate footsteps of her husband approaching the kitchen. When the door creaked open, she did not turn around but carried on with her task. ‘We waited for you,’ Beth told him. ‘We were disappointed that you decided not to join us,’ she said, keeping her eyes intent on the table. She hoped with all her heart that he was not going the same way as his stepfather; and yet, the signs were already there. The same secretive manner, the way he considered his own wishes to be paramount, the odd furtive way he stared at her when he thought she was not aware of it. David Miller had unwittingly, or maybe deliberately, mimicked so many of Luther’s attitudes. Thankfully, though, there still remained one stark difference between the two men; because where Luther had a cruel and vicious streak in his character, David was a gentle soul, generous and accommodating to a fault.

  ‘I’m sorry, Beth,’ he replied softly, crossing the room and coming to stand beside her. When she paused in her work and turned to look at him, he saw the disappointment in her dark eyes. ‘It was not intentional, I promise,’ he told her. ‘I got to glancing through the ledgers, and before I knew it, the time had flown.’ He slid his arm round her narrow waist and bent to kiss her on the forehead. ‘Forgive me?’ he asked.

  Beth nodded. ‘Consider yourself forgiven,’ she said, knowing from experience that there would be no point in saying otherwise. ‘I can’t speak for the children though.’

  ‘Where are they?’ He turned to look out of the window.

  ‘You’ll find Cissie and Richard in the garden.’

  ‘And Matthew?’ He quickly returned his attention to her, his quiet brown eyes growing anxious. ‘Did he come to the tea table?’

  Returning his gaze with a directness that answered his question, Beth shook her head.

  ‘And Father?’

  Again, she shook her head. ‘That doesn’t concern me. We did not miss your father,’ she said in a hard voice that betrayed her contempt for the man. ‘But something has to be done about his influence over Matthew. It’s a great source of worry to me, David, and the boy won’t hear me out. You know he blames me for his mother’s death?’

  ‘That’s nonsense.’ He knew of Matthew’s bitterness towards Beth, and deplored it. But if Maisie’s son would not listen to her, he would not listen to David either. ‘As for my father’s influence over the boy, I do believe you’re exaggerating, Beth. He has shown Matthew a great deal of kindness, and you have to admit that, were it not for my father’s offer of friendship, Matthew would be a very lonely soul. After all, he refuses to mix with boys of his own age, and rarely leaves this house except when I take him on my rounds.’

  ‘Doesn’t that give you cause for concern?’ Beth asked pointedly. ‘That an old man is all the “friend” Matthew has? Has it not occurred to you that it’s your father who dissuades Matthew from making friends of his own age… talks him out of seeking other work? Don’t you realise he doesn’t want the boy growing away from him? Think of the many hours when the two of them are closeted in the den. Ask yourself what they do, David. What do they find to talk about for so long’

  ‘What are you implying?’

  ‘I am implying that it’s unnatural, and I want you to talk to your father. Heaven knows I’ve tried talking to him, but it gets me nowhere. I don’t like what’s happening, David, and I want it stopped.’

  She felt him recoil from her. ‘The trouble is you see only bad in my father,’ he retorted.

  ‘And you see only good!’ she snapped. It was no use. David would not intervene, she knew that now. Neither the old man nor the boy heeded a word she said. She had tried everything… appealing to common sense, persuasion, threats… but it all fell on deaf ears. Now, as on other occasions, David had scoffed at her fears. All she could do was to keep vigilant, and to hope against hope that Matthew would soon tire of the old man, or that the old man would soon tire of deliberately using the boy in order to antagonise her. Maybe, if she appeared to be unruffled by his underhand behaviour, Luther would seek ot
her means by which to destroy her peace of mind.

  ‘There’s no point in continuing this conversation, Beth. I can see it will only raise ill feeling between us.’ David remained close for a brief moment, perhaps hoping that she would retract her words, but Beth only looked at him in that certain proud manner which told him she would not change her mind. Disgruntled, he turned sharply away, leaving her staring after him and shaking her head, disappointment and frustration written on her face.

  A few moments later, squeals of laughter and delight heralded the arrival of Cissie and Richard; the kitchen door burst open and they tumbled in one behind the other, the boy first, and the girl pretending to chase him, her hands making pointed ear shapes behind her head, and her small pretty features twisted into a fearsome expression. ‘Oooh… Ooooh!’ she wailed, her voice growing louder the more he screamed. When the boy fell into Beth’s arms, Cissie collapsed in a fit of laughter, grabbing the boy to her, and the two of them rolled about the floor, giggling and fighting.

  ‘Well, thank you very much, Cissie Armstrong,’ Beth chided good-naturedly.’ ‘Now that you’ve got him all excited, it’ll be hours before he can get off to sleep.’

  ‘I’ll read to him, then.’

  ‘About monsters and hobgoblins, no doubt!’ Beth laughed. ‘Not a good idea, I think.’

  ‘No, Beth!’ Cissie seemed astonished that she should think such a thing. ‘I wouldn’t read frightening things like that to him. At least, not just before he goes to sleep.’ Cissie had a love of reading, especially since Beth had helped her to master the longer words that she had never really understood. ‘And Richard likes me to read to him.’ She addressed herself to the boy now. ‘Don’t you?’ she asked. He nodded his dark head and turned to Beth. ‘Please, Mammy,’ he said, his handsome green eyes appealing.