Joe said very little about his work and seemed to undertake it with a kind of grim endurance. He had scarcely mentioned it when he was with her, other than to give her an indication of when he must depart again. Daniel, though, seemed fired up by his job; she’d found him only yesterday drawing diagrams in a book that he carried in his overcoat pocket. When she’d asked him about it, he’d replied that he was trying to help solve a problem with the waterwheel at the mill, to make it run more smoothly and efficiently when powering the machines, despite the fluctuating water levels in the river. He’d seemed surprised when she’d teased him about working during his holiday.
‘Why, I’m always thinking about ways to solve problems,’ he said. ‘No matter whether it’s a Monday or a Sunday.’
Now he was gone without a backward glance and Sarah knew that the house would feel quiet without him. She also knew that there was a danger she would start to brood about Joe. There had still been no word from him, although surely a message would come through now that the thaw had set in?
Three more days passed before Joe put in an appearance, on New Year’s Eve. Sarah had reluctantly taken down the holly and ivy decorations, which were starting to dry out and curl up, feeling that the house looked bare without them. She’d wanted Joe to see the place at its best so she was disposed to feeling aggrieved when he made his appearance on New Year’s Eve afternoon.
The smell of ale and smoke on his clothing when she had opened the door to his insistent knocking was in sharp contrast to the fresh chill of the air outside, and brought an unwelcome suggestion as to where he had been spending his time. But Joe swept her into his arms, then picked her up and carried her back into the kitchen while she shrieked and protested, half scared that he might drop her.
‘Why, tha’ barely weighs more than a feather, and wi’ a bairn inside too. Is tha’ sure, lass?’ he asked, patting her belly then bending low to plant a kiss on the bump.
His presence, as usual, seemed to fill the room. Sarah was glad that her grandmother was taking her afternoon rest. She would have Joe to herself for a little while and hopefully in that time he would calm down from his present excitable state. His good humour was infectious, though, and Sarah found herself laughing and smiling despite herself, although she had to persuade Joe that it wasn’t a good idea to take to her bedroom for a rest, as he put it. His hands on her body made it quite clear that a rest couldn’t have been further from his mind but Sarah, only too aware of her grandmother resting upstairs in her own room, didn’t feel enough at ease to take up his suggestion. Instead, she busied herself making a fire in the parlour and setting the kettle to boil so that Joe might have tea and some fruitcake, the only festive food that was left in the house.
Comfortably settled in a chair by the fire, Joe drew her onto his lap and began to cover her neck with kisses while his fingers sought to undo the buttons of her bodice. Sarah returned his kisses but, finding herself growing hot from the fire and by the feelings awakened within her by his caresses, she broke free and, with the excuse that the kettle was surely boiling, she escaped to the kitchen, hastily adjusting her clothing in case her grandmother should walk in.
Joe was dozing when Sarah returned to the parlour and, as she was closely followed by Ada, there was no opportunity to renew their intimacy.
‘A merry Christmas to you,’ Ada said by way of greeting to Joe. Sarah felt it was a rather pointed remark but Joe, leaning forward to select a piece of cake, didn’t appear to be put out.
‘’Tis more like a Happy New Year,’ he observed. He was clearly not disposed to pick a fight, nor to enlighten them about his whereabouts over the festive period, other than to say that he had thought that the snow would never cease and that he would be trapped on his boat in the perishing cold until the spring came.
‘Do you not have a fire aboard?’ Sarah asked. Then she wondered whether this was a stupid question. It was surely necessary, but dangerous?
‘Aye, we have a fire right enough, for heat and cooking. But when the water is chilled to freezin’ and the boat’s arse – begging your pardon –’ this with a nod to Ada ‘– is set in it all day and night, why, ’tis hard to stay warm. This is more like it.’
Joe stretched luxuriously, basking in the glow of the fire, and Sarah, feeling sorry for what he must have endured, hurried to fill his cup and cut him another slice of cake. Her heart, which had been in danger of becoming frozen against him, began to thaw. They sat in silence for a while, content to enjoy the present moment.
Then Ada finished her tea, stood up and said, ‘Well, you two will no doubt be glad of some time together,’ and withdrew to the kitchen, rejecting Sarah’s offer of help with the evening meal. Sarah moved her chair to be closer to Joe and the pair of them gazed into the fire, Joe stroking the swelling of her belly until he fell into a deep sleep, only waking when summoned to eat.
He had little to offer in response to questions about his work during the meal, other than to say that it went on much as usual, with a load being put on in one place and then taken off further down the canal, only to be replaced by another. Sarah described the Christmas celebrations that he had missed, going into detail about the decorations and the dinner, and the games played in the evening. She wanted him to imagine what it would have been like to be there. She observed Ada watching Joe closely but he offered little reaction other than to grunt and concentrate on cracking the leftover nuts that she had put out at the end of the meal.
The mention of Daniel’s name elicited the reaction, ‘So he’s become a regular around here, has he?’ but he just shrugged when Sarah hastened to say that his work quite regularly brought him to the mill in Northwaite and that he, too, had been caught out by the snow.
With the plates cleared from the table Joe fetched bottles of ale, which he had stashed in his jacket pockets. Registering Ada’s frown he said, ‘You wouldn’t deny a man a celebration to see out t’old year, now, would you?’ He poured a little of the ale into a glass and pushed it towards Sarah. ‘And it’s rude to let a man drink alone.’
Sarah sipped at it, feeling torn: Joe was being provocative but they were under Ada’s roof. She found herself in a difficult position: wanting to relax and enjoy her husband’s company after his long absence, but mindful of the respect due to her grandmother. It seemed that Ada was not unaware of her dilemma, however, and not disposed to sit late into the evening with them.
‘She’d have stayed if Daniel was here,’ Sarah thought ruefully as Ada made her excuses after less than an hour had passed, and took herself off to bed. Somehow, Joe’s presence filled the room much more than Daniel’s had, and it was something to which she and her grandmother were going to need to adjust.
PART THREE
February – April 1875
Chapter 22
It was one of those rare February days that offered the alluring promise of spring, following on from nearly a fortnight of heavy cloud that had sapped Sarah’s spirits, and her grandmother’s, too. Ada had taken to her bed over the last day or so and Sarah, now big with child, had volunteered to deliver a remedy to the village.
She was glad that the pregnancy was slowing her pace; she was enjoying the feel of the sun on her skin and the birdsong all around her. The hedgerows were alive with activity; it was as if the birds had been holding their breath, waiting, but now they were firmly convinced that it must be time to nest. Even the air held a certain sweetness and it brought a smile to Sarah’s face. She knew that the weather might change in an instant, that the clouds could roll back in and the gloom could return, but she was happy to enjoy it while it lasted, and to see it as a foretaste of things to come.
She was surprised at how tiring she was finding the walk, but she paused every now and then to draw breath and to take note of the plants starting to peep through in the hedge-bottoms. It was too early for much beyond the first leaves to be visible, but it was nice to be reminded of where the comfrey had been and where clumps of foxgloves had grown tall. The lan
dscape was so changed by winter that it was hard to picture it as it had been through the summer – and yet Sarah knew that it would only take a few more days of weather like this and all the barrenness would be left behind.
She was grateful of the offer of a seat and a glass of water when she arrived at Martha Mitchell’s house in Northwaite. Martha seemed concerned and told her to take as long as she needed to rest before heading home.
‘When do you think you are due?’ Martha asked Sarah, eyeing her bump.
‘Oh, it will be a little while yet,’ Sarah said. ‘Around mid-March.’
‘Hmm. It’s nearly the end of February now. I know first babies are often late but you’re a mere slip of a thing. I wouldn’t be surprised if this baby shows itself sooner than expected. It’s a long walk back up that hill to your grandmother’s,’ Martha continued. ‘I can ask Wilfred Sykes, the carter, whether he has business that way, to save you the journey.’
Sarah smiled politely but disregarded Martha’s concern. ‘No, I’ll be heading home as soon as I’ve drunk this. Gran hasn’t been feeling too well and I’m keen to persuade her out into the garden when I get home. I’m sure the fresh air will do her good.’ Sarah drained the glass and stood up, wiping sweat from her brow. It really was very warm for February.
She was aware of Martha’s eyes on her as she walked down the path, and she made a conscious effort to walk slowly but surely. While she would have liked to stop at the gate and stretch a little to ease her back, instead she used the gatepost to bear her weight as she turned to wave farewell to Martha. Then, with grim determination, she set out again.
Now she was less keen to linger; her mind had locked on to Hill Farm Cottage and she wanted to get back there so that she could lie in the cool of her bedroom. Her body, though, seemed to have other ideas. Her wish to get home simply wouldn’t overcome its apparent determination to prevent her, and she was less than halfway up the hill when she was forced to stop, at the gated entrance to a field. She held on to the top bar of the gate and leant towards it, allowing the weight of her belly to drop forwards.
‘Please, not yet,’ she whispered. Surely it was too soon for the baby to be coming? She looked longingly at the field; the lush grass might make a comfortable bed if she couldn’t make it any further, but could she even summon the strength to push the gate open? Was she to have the baby here, by the side of the road, with no one to help her?
She let out a low moan of panic and pain as a contraction seized her. Feeling hot and nauseous, she tried to pull herself upright and think clearly. Could she make it back down the hill to Martha’s house and ask for help there? Her feet were as good as rooted to the spot, though; no matter how hard she tried to force herself into action, her body had other ideas.
Sarah clung tightly to the gate as another contraction tore through her. She let out a low wail of fright then, as she became aware of the sound of horse’s hooves, rumbling wheels and voices, she felt a sense of shame. No one must see her like this.
‘Sarah!’ It was Martha’s voice, and no sound had ever been so welcome. ‘I knew I shouldn’t have let you leave. Here now, hold still, we’ll work out a way to get you home.’
Martha’s hands were stroking Sarah’s back and she offered soothing words as the carter helped her to climb into the wagon.
‘As quick as you can to Hill Farm Cottage,’ Martha said, then turned to Sarah who was leaning against her. ‘As soon as you left I ran in search of Wilfred here. I thought to follow you home, not liking the idea of you alone there if Ada wasn’t well. I didn’t think I would find you here like this. Heaven knows what might have happened.’
Sarah listened to her through a haze of pain and confusion. She wanted above all else to be at home in her bed and the motion of the swaying cart was agony; she felt every stone beneath the wheels and every footfall of the horse, but she told herself it must be endured. By the time they reached the gate of Hill Farm Cottage she was almost fainting. Martha and Wilfred helped Sarah into the parlour, abandoning any idea of getting her up the stairs to bed, then the older woman despatched the carter straight back to Northwaite.
‘Fetch the midwife at once,’ she said. ‘And if she can’t be found at home, then seek her out, but don’t delay.’
Mrs Atkinson, the midwife, who had been assisting at another birth, arrived nearly two hours later to find that she had missed the main event. Sarah, with her hair plastered to her brow with sweat and wearing an expression of bewilderment, was already cradling a tiny infant. Martha, looking flushed, was bundling up the sheets she had seized in great haste from Sarah’s bed.
‘Well, it looks as though there’s little for me to do here,’ the midwife declared.
‘There’s the cord to be cut,’ Martha said, and her voice started to wobble.
‘Now then, you have a sit-down,’ the midwife commanded. ‘It’s lucky that you’ve had three of your own and have some experience of babies. But the pair of you have suffered a shock, just the same.’
She bustled around making Sarah comfortable and checking the baby over before using some of the water that Martha had set to boil to make tea.
‘You’ll be needing it sweet,’ she said, spooning in the sugar despite Martha’s protests. ‘It’s good for shock. I’d suggest a nip of brandy but, knowing Ada, there’ll be none to be found in this house. Now then,’ she said, addressing Sarah, ‘you’ve a fine, bonny lass there, none the worse for making her entry into the world so suddenly. Have you a name for her yet?’
‘I thought I would call her Alice,’ Sarah said.
‘Is she named for someone special?’ the midwife asked, propping Sarah upright with cushions so that she might drink her tea.
‘Yes, for my grandmother.’ Sarah’s smile was a little tremulous. ‘She told me she’d always wished that she’d been called Alice instead of Ada.’ She gazed down at Alice as if unable to believe her eyes, then looked up suddenly. ‘Oh, heavens. I forgot about Gran. Wherever is she?’
Martha sprang to her feet. ‘Don’t move. I’ll go up and see.’
A few minutes later Martha reappeared, with a slightly dishevelled Ada in tow.
‘What’s this I hear?’ Ada exclaimed. ‘Did no one think to wake me?’
The three other women in the room looked at each other and shook their heads. Ada must have been in a very deep sleep.
Sarah smiled at her grandmother. ‘Meet your great-granddaughter Alice,’ she said.
Chapter 23
Sarah lay awake the whole of the first night, euphoric and stealing glances at her daughter tucked in beside her. She missed Joe keenly, longing to introduce their daughter to him, wanting him there to kiss her and tell her how clever she was. She hoped that he wouldn’t be disappointed that he didn’t have a son; she wanted him to be proud of Alice. Perhaps he would suggest that the time was right for them to look for a house of their own, now that they were a proper family?
But Sarah was unprepared for the way in which the presence of a small baby could have such an effect on a household. After the first night Alice, having arrived a little early in the world, seemed intent on making up for lost time and began to demand feeds constantly. Her cries, though mewling, were insistent, and it felt to Sarah that no sooner was one feed done than another was required. Attending to Alice seemed to take up all of her time and, if it hadn’t been for her grandmother, Sarah would not have known how to manage the cooking or housework. Alice’s arrival, however, seemed to draw Ada out of the gloom into which she had sunk, and to give her a new lease of life. Sarah went from worrying about her grandmother’s health to marvelling at her energy.
Sarah was apt to nod off if she sat down for too long by the warmth of the range whilst Alice was napping. Ada, by contrast, gave up her afternoon rests. She was always ready to take Alice off Sarah’s hands, to walk with her and soothe her cries when she was fretful, and to undertake the domestic chores and cooking that had fallen increasingly to Sarah over the last few years.
She
showed Sarah how to swaddle Alice so that she would sleep more soundly, made a remedy to give Alice when she was colicky, and generally seemed like a woman twenty years younger than her sixty-five years. It brought home to Sarah very forcefully how much Ada had been suffering over the last few months after seeing Mary, Jane and Ellen – her own daughter and granddaughters – into their graves.
The weather took a turn for the worse after the unusual spring-like conditions that had heralded Alice’s birth. March came in, with icy rain brought on strong winds, frustrating Ada in her plans to take her great-granddaughter into Northwaite to show her off around the village.
One day, when Alice was a month old, the minister came calling. Sarah’s heart sank when she saw him approach along the path, his coat flapping and his hat clutched tightly to his head whilst he attempted to stop the wind snatching it and hurling it away.
‘Come in, come in, Minister,’ she said, opening the door before he could knock. ‘It’s not a good day to be out visiting.’
‘Well, with Easter upon us, I thought it was high time that I visited the newest member of our congregation,’ the minister replied. Sarah took his coat and set it to dry over a chair close to the range. She ushered him to the parlour and knelt to light the fire even though he protested that there was no need.
‘It will warm the room up in no time,’ she said. ‘And meanwhile I can get you a cup of tea. You’ll be needing one after your walk up here in the wind and the rain.’
She hurried back to the kitchen, fearful that she was about to start babbling nonsense in an attempt to keep him away from the subject that was no doubt uppermost in his mind: Alice’s baptism. So she fussed about, bringing in the tea things and begging him to set his chair a little closer to the fire, which was indeed drawing nicely with the strength of the wind now blowing outside.
Sarah's Story Page 10