Sarah's Story

by Lynne Francis

  The previous evening, as they lay in bed talking in whispers to avoid disturbing Alice, sound asleep in her crib, Sarah voiced her wish that they might find a house to call their own. Even as they talked about it, cocooned in drowsy warmth, she felt a sense of disloyalty to her grandmother. After meeting Joe, and before she was married, she had longed for the day that she and Joe would live together as a family in their own place, away from Ada. Now she had become only too well aware of what Ada had done for her, over the years as well as recently.

  Common sense told her that they had managed to make things work in the past and could undoubtedly continue to do so, at least until Joe had work that took him away less than at present. A wish to change the nature of Joe’s work was something that Sarah hadn’t dared raise with him as yet, but it had become a goal more real to her than taking on their own family home. Perhaps, she thought, if he could become a respected farmworker on one of the local farms they might have a chance to rent one of the farm labourer’s cottages? At the very least, he would be around much more and his income would be secure. But Sarah kept this to herself. She had decided to bide her time – and meanwhile it wouldn’t hurt to indulge the fantasy of a home of their own, no matter how unlikely that might be.

  Now, as Joe stood before her with the offending socks in his hand, she was puzzled by his petulance and had to ask herself yet again whether she really knew him.

  ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t intend to annoy you,’ she said, even though her instinct was to pick a fight with him. She would have thought that thanks were in order, rather than anger, but for whatever reason Joe wasn’t happy and he threw the offending garments into his bag. She laid her hand on his arm.

  ‘Let’s not part with a quarrel,’ she said. ‘Do you know when we might expect you again? For Alice’s sake, at least,’ she added hastily, fearing that her attempt to pin him down in this way would further irritate him. ‘She will grow so fast and you will miss so many important moments. And she will miss you.’

  Joe sighed, and it was as if he let out all his anger with his exhalation. ‘I hope to be back ere long. May or June, when we can hope for some better weather.’ He cast a glance outside, where dark clouds chased across the sky and gusty winds were hurling rain against the windowpanes.

  ‘It looks as though I’ll be half-drowned afore I reach t’canal-side.’ He shouldered his bag and bent to kiss his wife and daughter. ‘Take care of this precious little ’un. And of yourself. I’ll be back as soon as I can.’ He turned at the bedroom door. ‘And this time I promise to bring my wages with me.’

  Then he was gone, away down the stairs and out of the bedroom door, leaving Sarah feeling the pressure of his lingering kiss on her lips. ‘It’s a long time until May. Or June,’ she whispered to Alice, sleepy and contented after her feed. ‘What will we do without him?’ She gazed at the bedroom door as a sudden sense of bleakness swept over her.

  Chapter 26

  There was little chance for Sarah to mope about Joe’s departure. The very next morning a note was delivered, addressed to Ada. As Sarah read the front of it before handing it over, she was uncomfortably reminded that her lessons in herbalism and writing had come to an end with the birth of Alice. She was about to suggest to Ada that they should be reinstated when her grandmother, who was reading the note, sat down suddenly, her hand clutched to her heart.

  ‘Why, whatever is the matter?’ Sarah asked, hurrying to her side. Wordlessly, Ada handed her granddaughter the note. She frowned as she concentrated on deciphering the writing then turned to her grandmother.

  ‘Have I understood correctly? We’re to be turned out of this house?’

  ‘Well,’ Ada demurred, ‘I don’t know that turned out is quite right. But yes, the farmer wants this cottage for his son, who is coming back to the area with his family. He wants us out by May.’ Ada clutched her head. ‘Why didn’t I see this coming?’

  Sarah sat down suddenly too. ‘Can he do this?’

  ‘Yes, he can,’ Ada said. ‘The terms of the lease are one month’s notice.’ She looked around in despair. ‘I’ve been here for so long. It’s full of so many things, so many memories. However will we find a new place in time? And somewhere nearby, at that.’

  Sarah had rarely seen her grandmother other than totally in control of herself. Now tears were seeping from her eyes and coursing down her cheeks. She looked old and careworn and Sarah’s heart went out to her despite her own anxiety.

  ‘Don’t you worry. We’ll find something. I’ll make a start on looking today. And we should start to pack a few things away. Maybe we can ask the farmer if he will give us a little extra time here, too. You’ve been a good tenant.’ Sarah’s thoughts were flying in several directions at once. She would go down into the village and ask around in case anyone knew of a cottage coming up for rent. And maybe she could take Alice with her on a visit to Hill Farm to ask the farmer whether they might stay a little longer. If only Joe was still here: he would have told them both not to worry, she was sure. Then Sarah realised that it was more than likely that they wouldn’t be here for Joe’s next visit. However would she get word to him to tell him that they had moved?

  Sarah bit her lip. She could only do one thing at a time. First of all, she would go into Northwaite and make some enquiries there.

  ‘The weather is good again today,’ she said. ‘I’ll take Alice and go to the village. If I spread the word that we are on the lookout for a new home it might lead to something.’

  Sarah hoped that she sounded more convinced than she felt. The proximity of the mill meant that cottages, or even rooms, were hard to come by. As soon as anything became vacant it would be taken up by a mill-worker, eager to save time on the journey to work from one of the far-flung villages.

  ‘I’ll come with you,’ Ada said. Sarah, noticing that her grandmother was trembling as she rose to her feet, thought about trying to dissuade her until she said, ‘I don’t want to stay here on my own. I’ll just be fretting until you return.’

  Progress around the village was slow. Sarah thought the shops would be a good place to enquire, as the shopkeepers generally heard all the news from their customers who passed the time of day in idle chat while they queued. But the appearance of Sarah with her new baby meant that everyone in the shop wanted to have a peep and to exclaim over Alice’s bonniness, then to exclaim all over again and commiserate when Ada and Sarah shared the news of their imminent and enforced departure from Hill Farm Cottage.

  ‘If good wishes were enough to find us a home we’d have a hundred by now,’ Ada sighed, after they had visited the last shop and Alice’s grizzling indicated that she was expecting a feed in the near future. They turned their steps homewards, Sarah thinking with some sadness that very soon their home would be in some entirely different place. It wasn’t something she welcomed. A home was so much more than just the fabric of a house; it was everything within it, and even though these things could be moved elsewhere it was harder to take the feelings it evoked. Even though Sarah had been keen to move to a place of her own with Joe, she’d always thought that she’d still be able to visit Hill Farm Cottage, home to all her childhood memories.

  Deep in thought, she didn’t notice Martha step from her gate as they passed her house and she started at being addressed.

  ‘Sarah! Did you think to head home without letting me have a glimpse of this little one?’

  Sarah felt instantly guilty. She had been so taken up with Alice’s early days that she had neglected to visit Martha and thank her properly for her kindness and all her help when Alice was born.

  ‘Oh, Martha, I’m so sorry. I’ve been meaning to visit.’

  ‘But someone has been keeping you busy, I’ll be bound.’ Martha peered at the bundle that was Alice and laughed at the screwed-up face she presented. ‘She looks cross.’

  ‘Hungry, I think,’ Sarah said.

  ‘Then you must come in and have a cup of tea. You can feed her so you don’t have to suffer her wails as you
walk home. And –’ Martha turned to Ada ‘– you look quite done in. Come away inside and have a rest.’

  Sarah made a token protest but Martha was having none of it. She bustled them inside and Sarah, relieved to be able to attend to Alice’s needs, discovered that she herself was also tired. ‘It’s my first proper day out since she was born,’ she told Martha.

  ‘So what brings you to the village?’ Martha asked. Their lack of packages must have been sign enough that shopping wasn’t their purpose, so Sarah enlightened her while Ada sat mute, sipping her tea.

  ‘Why, that’s shocking!’ Martha exclaimed. ‘After all those years, to be asked to leave at such short notice.’

  ‘And there’s nothing to be had nearby,’ Sarah said. ‘Or at least, no one has been able to tell us of anything.’

  Martha was pouring more tea and didn’t say anything for a few moments, before sitting back and saying, ‘Well, there is one place.’

  ‘Really – where?’ Sarah asked eagerly as Ada lifted her head from gazing into her cup, sudden hope in her eyes.

  ‘Why, next door,’ Martha said. ‘But it’s been empty for years. I don’t rightly know whether it’s fit to be lived in any more, or whether the owner would prefer that it fell down.’ She brightened. ‘But I, for one, would be thankful to have it lived in and cared for, and I can’t think of anyone that I’d rather have living next door.’

  Sarah tried to suppress the rush of excitement that she felt. She had passed Lane End Cottage on every journey in and out of the village and she knew that Martha spoke the truth. It was very run-down. But if it should be available for rent then she felt sure that she and Ada could make something of it.

  ‘Do you know who owns it?’ she asked.

  ‘It’s a Mr Timothy Smallwood,’ Martha said. ‘He doesn’t live in the area any more and I’m not rightly sure how you would get hold of him.’

  Sarah’s heart sank but Martha was frowning, deep in thought. ‘I think Sutcliffe’s, the solicitors in Nortonstall, might still have some dealings with him. It was a long time back but the solicitor’s clerk came out here to get some papers signed, when old Mr Smallwood still lived here. I had to help him bang on the door and shout through the letterbox to get entry; the old man was deaf as a post. It’s his son who owns it now but he’s not lived here nor visited in all that time as far as I know.’

  ‘Shall we take a look at the place?’ Ada asked. She’d brightened up at the prospect.

  ‘We won’t be able to go inside,’ Martha said. ‘But there’s no harm in taking a look around the outside.’

  Alice was still sleeping soundly so Sarah left her behind, tucked into the wooden crib that Martha still kept, left over from her own children. They were now all grown but Martha lived in the hope of grandchildren before too long. Once outside, they paused at the gate of Lane End Cottage, taking it all in. Sarah had passed it many a time without paying it too much attention. If asked to describe it she would have said, ‘dark and overgrown’, without being able to provide much beyond that by way of description.

  Now that they were standing before it, that description still stood. Ivy had smothered the front of the cottage and was starting to encroach on the roof, where it looked as though some of the slates might be in danger of being dislodged by the creeping, grasping stems. The front garden was a dispiriting mess, waist-high with skeletons of whatever plants had grown there last summer, still festooned with seed heads and dead leaves. They pressed on cautiously up the overgrown path. Sarah, leading the way, was aware of rustling as creatures that had been used to having possession of this wasteland slipped away at their approach.

  A solid wooden door marked the entrance to the cottage, with a window set at its side. Ada peered in but announced that she couldn’t see a thing, so Sarah tried, with the same result. Layers of grime on the outside of the glass and darkness from within effectively shuttered the room. They made their way around to the back, Sarah giving the round metal door handle a cursory twist as they passed, but to no avail. At the side of the house there was another door, unusual and only possible because it was the end of the terrace.

  ‘I suppose this must lead into the kitchen,’ Ada commented. ‘Is there another door at the back?’

  Sarah, still ahead, took a look. ‘No, just a big window.’

  ‘It works rather well to have the kitchen door here,’ Ada said, reflectively, but Sarah was already stepping out into the back garden. This was a tangled mess of shrubs and plants, with ivy having taken over a good deal of it. Ada and Sarah looked back at the house from the garden, both feeling disheartened, but Martha would have none of it.

  ‘Imagine how nice it will be all tidied up, with the ivy stripped away and the garden properly planted.’

  Sarah tried her best, but in her mind’s eye she could only see Hill Farm Cottage, with its neat borders within the grey stone walls and the wildness of the countryside beyond. Their home was pretty and inviting, with roses climbing around the door in summer and inside all polished wood, flagstone floors, limewashed walls and dark beams, brightened by the curtains and cushions that Ada had made, along with the rag rugs and bed quilts handed down through the family.

  Sarah didn’t like to think how Lane End Cottage must look within and she guessed from Ada’s expression that she didn’t either. Sarah’s initial enthusiasm for the idea was draining away with every step that she took around the property but she knew that she couldn’t let her grandmother see this. They didn’t have any other options at this point and, appearances aside, it did have some things to recommend it. It was in Northwaite, their preferred location, and next door to Martha who had delivered Alice into the world. The cottage was a good size, as was the garden, and Sarah could see how it had potential for herb-growing. Her heart failed her again, though, as she thought of the well-established herb beds at Hill Farm Cottage, and how her grandmother had nurtured them over the years.

  ‘What do you think?’ Martha asked, once they were back inside her cottage where Alice was still sound asleep.

  ‘It looks awful,’ Ada said flatly, having only managed to raise enthusiasm for the side entrance, at the same time as Sarah said, ‘I’ll see if I can get in touch with the owner.’

  ‘Oh, it will be lovely to have you living here,’ Martha said, as they prepared to set off back to Hill Farm Cottage. ‘No more hills for you!’ she called after Ada, as they paused to wave at the gate and then turned their faces towards home.

  Home, Sarah thought bitterly. It was going to be very hard to imagine replacing Hill Farm Cottage but replace it they must, and soon. She would have to try to make contact with Mr Timothy Smallwood the very next day.

  Chapter 27

  A wintry chill still cut the air, despite all the evidence of spring, as Sarah made her way home from Nortonstall the following afternoon. Worrying that Alice would be fractious and undoubtedly in need of a feed, she hastened her steps as she took the woodland shortcut back to Northwaite. It saved struggling up the long hill out of the town as the path threaded its way alongside the stream in the valley but, once the mill had been passed, it meant a steep, sharp climb up to the edge of Northwaite and then on to Hill Farm Cottage.

  As she walked, Sarah turned over in her mind the results of her endeavour to discover whether they might rent Lane End Cottage. She’d left Alice in Ada’s charge that morning when she set off to visit Sutcliffe’s the solicitors, without much thought of how to manage her errand when she arrived in Nortonstall. She’d never had cause to visit a solicitor before, but remembered Sutcliffe’s offices well enough. They took up a prominent position in the marketplace, housed in a stucco building with steps leading up to a pillared frontage that seemed at odds with the traditional grey stone facades surrounding it.

  Her nerve had almost failed her as she mounted the stone steps and rang the bell beside the glossy, black-painted door. She observed the high polish on the brass knocker, letterbox and bell surround, so shiny that you could see your face in it, and at o
nce regretted not having worn her Sunday best. The door swung silently open and Sarah made to step inside, but a gentleman in a frock coat held up his hand to bar her entry, enquiring what her business might be.

  ‘I’m here to ask about Lane End Cottage in Northwaite,’ Sarah said, feeling a little unprepared. ‘To ask about renting it, that is. I gather that you have some dealings with the owner, a Mr Timothy Smallwood.’

  ‘I believe we do handle Mr Smallwood’s affairs,’ the man replied coldly. ‘Wait here and I will enquire as to whether anyone is available to see you,’ and he shut the door in her face.

  Sarah turned back to face the street, much discomfited at being denied entry and feeling as though all eyes must be upon her. She was thankful when the door opened again shortly after and she turned towards it, hopeful of entry, only to be denied once more.

  ‘I’m afraid no one can see you today without an appointment,’ the man said, and made to shut the door once more.

  Sarah felt her colour rise. ‘I’ve travelled from beyond Northwaite today to make this visit, leaving a baby barely a month old behind, and now must make the same journey back again on foot. Can a moment not be spared to see me?’

  ‘I’m afraid not.’ The man was determined to close the door but Sarah was equally determined to gain entry.

  ‘I think Mr Smallwood would not be happy to hear that this interest in his property had been ignored.’

  She wasn’t sure what made her say it, but it had the effect of making the man hesitate.

  ‘Wait here a moment,’ he said, looking pointedly at the doorstep. Sarah saw him take a few steps across the hallway and consult, from the doorway, someone within one of the rooms.

  He returned to his post as gatekeeper. ‘You’re to come back in an hour,’ he said, looking less than pleased as he shut the door on her once more.