The Girl on the Doorstep

by Lindsey Hutchinson

  The winking stars provided no help and Bill turned onto his side with a harrumph. Closing his eyes, Rosie’s worried face appeared. She had been afraid for him during the contretemps with Jake. His jaw tightened as he watched in his mind her frown turn to relief as he laid out his adversary on the towpath.

  This young woman haunted him with her dark hair and sultry eyes. He realised he missed being with her when he was working the boat. He also knew he would be off to Birmingham in a few hours with the consignment of bricks. He was already one day late, he could not afford to tarry any longer.

  ‘Bugger, bugger, bugger!’ he muttered into the darkness as he turned once more onto his back. For hours he watched the stars in the heavens until finally sleep claimed him.

  *

  The twins made breakfast while Bill went to have a word with Rosie.

  ‘I have to get my load to its destination, so that means I’ll have to take Sarah with me, if you have no objections that is.’

  ‘Of course you must take her! She needs looking after, Bill, she’s in a terrible state,’ Rosie replied.

  Nodding once he smiled. He noted the returned smile was tinged with sadness.

  ‘You’ll be staying with Mum and Dad I take it?’

  ‘Should the invitation be extended then naturally I will consider it,’ she said in answer.

  ‘Right then, I’ll be off.’ Bill turned to go.

  ‘Bill…’ Rosie took a step towards him. She didn’t want him to leave. ‘Nothing, it doesn’t matter, just be safe.’

  His eyes lingered on hers and he saw the longing in them. Could it be she felt something for him or was it just wishful thinking?

  Rosie watched as he walked away from her. Will he turn and wave? If he did, would that mean…? Clamping her jaws together she waited, willing him to give her a last look. As he reached the ‘Two Hearts’ Bill stopped and turned. Raising his hand, he waved, and Rosie feeling elated, waved back.

  ‘Well my girl, seems we’m back where we started don’t it?’ Margy said over breakfast.

  ‘I’m sorry, it was never my intention to cause such difficulties.’

  ‘We know that, lovey, don’t we Abner?’

  Her husband motioned to his mouth with his knife. His mouth full he merely nodded.

  Rosie giggled as Abner rolled his eyes at his wife. Swallowing his food, he said, ‘Don’t ask me questions when I’m eating, woman!’

  Rosie giggled again as her friend pursed her lips before saying, ‘Will yer listen to ’im? Now then, I’m taking it you’ll be staying with us, Rosie?’

  ‘I should really leave you two to your work and your own lives,’ she answered.

  ‘Abner, speak to the girl will yer?’

  Waving his knife frantically in the air, Abner mumbled, ‘Mmmm…mmm…’

  The two women burst out laughing as Abner slammed his cutlery onto the small table in utter frustration.

  ‘Margy get the kettle on, and Rosie you’ll be coming along of us. Now, bugger off the pair of yer so I can eat in peace!’ he said at last. His broad grin said there was no malice in his words. The two women hugged then Rosie kissed the top of Abner’s head.

  ‘Thank you both,’ she said quietly.

  John and Frank ensured their mother had enough to eat and plenty of hot drinks as the boat chugged along the canal system.

  John manned the tiller and Frank joined his father in the tiny galley.

  Bill felt his son’s eyes on him as he chopped vegetables for their lunch. ‘Something on your mind, lad?’

  ‘Dad… are you and Mum…?’ Frank began tentatively.

  Bill put down the knife and faced his boy. ‘Look, son, try to understand. I can’t go back to being your mother’s husband. She’s made that impossible for me.’

  Frank nodded. ‘I can see that, but what will happen now – with Mum I mean?’

  ‘I don’t know. We can’t turn her out, look what happened last time. On the other hand, I can’t sleep up top in the winter.’

  ‘This is a right mess, and it’s all my fault!’ Frank wailed.

  Bill sat his son at the table and himself opposite.

  ‘Now then, Frank Mitchell, you listen to me. None of this is your fault.’

  ‘But, Dad, if I hadn’t run away…’ the boy said sulkily.

  ‘Son, think about why you left in the first place. You saw an injustice and set out to resolve it. No matter how you look at it, this is all down to your mother and her spiteful nature. For most of your growing years you saw nothing of your grandparents – your mother’s fault. You saw them turned away, your grandma in tears – because of your mother. They missed the joys of watching you both grow into fine young men – down to your mother again. Those joys, those years can never be retrieved, they are lost. I’m not saying this out of any hate for your mother, Frank, I’m just stating the facts.’

  Frank nodded as he took in the words.

  ‘Why did Mum do it?’

  ‘I have no idea, lad, but it doesn’t do to dwell on the past. Now we have to look to the future and what that might hold for us all. Now, take your mum a cup of tea and see she’s all right.’

  Frank did as he was bid and Bill blew through his teeth. At least now the twins would understand the situation a little better. As for what the future held in store for them – God only knew.

  *

  Jake Harding sat in his caravan brooding and nursing his aching nose and jaw. Bloody ‘cut-rats’! They’re a menace to society! It never occurred to him that that was exactly what people thought about the gypsies.

  William Mitchell. That was the name called out at the towpath. He had to admit the bloke was handy with his fists – maybe he’d been a boxer at some time. Well ‘Billy Boy’ would be in for a shock the next time they crossed paths, he would make sure of it.

  Jake guessed the ‘cut-rat’ would be off on another journey and wondered if Rosie had gone with him. Was there something between them? He snorted his disgust at the thought and instantly wished he hadn’t. Blood dripped again from his injured nose. Leaning forward he pinched the bridge and waited for the bleeding to cease.

  The others had stared in silence as he had limped back into camp covered in dust and blood. No one had dared say a word but he knew their thoughts. Their leader had been causing a ruckus. Now they would probably be moved on by the police, yet again.

  Trying to decide whether to return to the canal side to see if Rosie was still there or strike camp, Jake lay on his bunk to ponder the quandary.

  Hearing raised voices Jake sighed and carefully stood to investigate. Sure enough, council officials and police were arguing with the members of the kumpania. Silence descended as Jake jumped from the back of his caravan.

  ‘What seems to be the problem, officer?’ Jake asked striding over to a policeman.

  ‘You the leader of this lot?’

  Jake nodded, ‘I am the Bandolier.’

  ‘Right well, we’ve had complaints about fighting and the council think it’s time you moved on.’

  Looking the copper in the eye, Jake shook his head. He grinned seeing the discomfort cross the other man’s face. Turning on his heel Jake yelled, ‘Strike camp!’

  The policeman heaved a sigh of relief. He had not relished the thought of the situation turning nasty. Wisely he said no more as he ushered the council officials away from the scene.

  ‘Where we off to then, Jake?’ someone called out.

  ‘North, south, east or west – take your choice,’ he yelled as he began to untether his horse to be fitted into the braces on the caravan. He listened to the mutterings as people packed up their belongings. Ensuring the fire was out Jake then climbed up onto the driving seat. Flicking the reins gently he encouraged the horse to walk on.

  The line of barrel shaped, horse drawn vardos moved off the heath and out onto the streets. The gypsies were off on their travels once more.

  *

  Life on the canals went on as usual as summer finally gave way to autum
n. The trees were beginning to shed some of their leaves and the beautiful colours of the autumn months were already starting to show. The yellowing leaves curled at the edges and clung desperately to the branches until at last they fluttered lazily to the ground. The air held a chill wind and rains came and went battering boats and drivers alike as they went about their business.

  The cold nights had driven Bill inside to sleep. Sitting at the tiny table to sleep was taking its toll and Bill was constantly grumpy. He missed his comfortable bed.

  Sarah ignored him for the most part having eyes and words only for her sons. Playing the part of the victim superbly she had done nothing to help since coming aboard.

  After supper one evening, Frank rose to wash the dishes.

  ‘Leave them, son, your mother can do them,’ Bill said firmly.

  Frank obeyed looking at his parents in turn. John followed suit.

  ‘I’m not sure I’m strong enough as yet,’ Sarah mewled.

  ‘Sarah just do it! I’m tired of fetching and carrying for you. It’s time to pull your weight or get off the boat at the next stop!’ Bill’s lack of good refreshing sleep had him snap at her.

  The twins exchanged a shocked glance as they awaited the outcome.

  ‘Very well,’ Sarah said as she struggled to her feet.

  As she began her task, Bill raised a forefinger to the boys; a warning not to say a word.

  The dishes washed, dried and put away, Sarah turned to her family and pushed away imaginary sweat from her brow with the back of her hand. ‘I think I will go and have a lie down, I’m feeling a little tired now.’

  ‘Not yet, Sarah, I have something to say.’ Bill motioned for her to sit at the table.

  No one spoke as they waited.

  ‘Now, Sarah, you have been on this boat with us for a while now and not once, before tonight, have you lifted a finger to help with the chores.’ Holding up both hands to forestall any interruption he rushed on, ‘I have decided the time has come for a parting of the ways.’

  Sarah butted in unable to keep her mouth shut any longer. ‘You can’t mean… you are leaving the boat?’

  Bill laughed loudly. ‘Trust you to think that, Sarah. No, I’m not leaving the boat – you are!’

  ‘But, Dad…’ The twins spoke together as usual.

  ‘No! It’s time. This boat belongs to Rosie, not us. I can’t have your mother using it as a pleasure cruiser!’

  ‘Rosie again – what is it with you two?’ Sarah snorted.

  The boys gasped at their mother’s words.

  ‘It’s not like that and you know it! After everything you did to us and we still took you in! Now you accuse me of…! Just pack your things, Sarah, you leave this boat tomorrow. For tonight you best think about what you will do to survive. I cannot feel sorry for you anymore!’ Bill was furious. Then a little more quietly he said tiredly, ‘Just go to bed, Sarah, I need to speak with my sons.’

  ‘Our sons!’ Sarah yelled as she left them to it.

  ‘Tomorrow I want to head for Bilston. I have something to do of the utmost importance. Besides which, your mother will be better off in her home town. I’m sure Rosie will forgive us not having a back load just this once. I hope also you boys will forgive me for what I have to say next. I am going to divorce your mother.’

  ‘But, Dad…’ Frank began.

  ‘How will she manage?’ John finished.

  Bill ran his hands through his hair saying, ‘That’s up to her now.’

  Sarah had strained to listen in to the conversation taking place. Catching the odd word, she tried to piece together what her men were discussing. The words she did hear were – divorce and Rosie. So, Bill was going to divorce her! Was it because she’d prevented his parents interrupting their lives? Or, was it so he could marry that Rosie Harris? Whatever the reason, he was set on the action.

  Sarah stewed knowing the following day would see her alone again in Bilston. She also knew it was impossible to find work. Worry etched her face as she thought she may well find herself back in the workhouse.

  Temper flaring, she marched back to where her husband sat talking quietly to their boys.

  ‘So, you are all set to divorce me!’

  ‘You knew this would come eventually,’ Bill said quietly.

  The twins rose and went to their bunks, feeling the ensuing discussion was not for their ears.

  ‘See what you’ve done now!’ Sarah was scathing.

  ‘Sarah…’ Bill wanted to explain his thoughts to her.

  ‘I don’t want to know, Bill!’ She cut through his sentence like a hot knife through butter. ‘If this is your idea of getting rid of me so you can marry Rosie Harris…’

  ‘Now you just hold on one minute! Rosie is my boss, for God’s sake! She’s the one who saved us from the bloody workhouse!’ Bill’s voice rose in anger.

  ‘You only ever think of yourself, Bill Mitchell – you’re just like your mother!’

  The sound of the slap echoed around the small cabin and Sarah touched her stinging cheek.

  ‘Go to bed, Sarah or God help me…’ Bill was shaking with anger now.

  Sarah in shock, left him quickly.

  Bill dropped onto the bench by the table. Covering his face with his hands, his shoulders heaved as he cried out his unhappiness.

  John tiptoed to Frank’s bunk and whispered, ‘Did you hear all that?’

  ‘Of course I did, I’m not deaf!’

  John, the ever more cautious asked, ‘What’s going to happen now – to us I mean?’

  Frank propped himself on his elbow and whispered, ‘Well I’m staying on the canal with Dad. After what I’ve heard from and about our mother, I really can’t forgive her.’

  ‘I know, I do feel sorry for her though.’ John sat on the floor next to his brother’s bunk.

  Frank moved to sit up and John then sat on the other end of the small bed.

  ‘Look, Mum is a grown woman, she could take care of herself if she tried. She thinks it’s beneath her to work, so it’s my guess she didn’t try hard enough to find a job! Think on this, brother, it won’t take her long to get work now she’s had a taste of the workhouse!’ Frank said in an urgent whisper.

  ‘Frank, do you think Dad has set his sights on Rosie?’ John felt awkward even thinking about his father and another woman.

  ‘Yes, brother, I do, and what’s more I think it’s reciprocated!’

  ‘Oh blimey!’ John gasped. Then together they said, ‘Rosie Harris could be our step-mother!’

  Twenty-two

  The ‘Pride of Wednesbury’ moored up in the basin near Gas Street in Birmingham. Rosie left the boat and strolled along the Old Wharf. Her thick skirt and long coat shielded her legs from the blast of the wind, and she shivered as she tucked her hands in the muff hanging from her neck. Her shawl was draped over her head, crossed beneath her chin and tied at the back. Winter had not yet set in and she was already chilled to the bone.

  Watching the loading and unloading of carts on the wharf, she smiled as the men she passed doffed their flat caps in greeting.

  A voice reached out to her as she sauntered along.

  ‘Is that you Rosie ’arris?’

  Looking in the direction of the shout, Rosie nodded.

  ‘Come aboard and ’ave a cup of tea.’

  Rosie knew what the woman wanted so she climbed onto the boat. The tea was hot and very welcome.

  ‘Am you up to do me a “reading”, love?’ the woman asked eagerly.

  ‘Of course,’ Rosie answered. She held out her hand and closed her eyes. The woman’s cold hand rested on hers and instantly the pictures formed behind her eyelids. ‘Someone has a toothache – it needs attention from the dentist.’ She heard a slight groan but ignored it. ‘I feel distrust, there is someone close to you but you don’t completely trust them – that’s wise. Ah, there is a Christening! The letter ‘J’ holds importance for you. Peg, I’m seeing the name Peg… it’s unclear but I think Peg will bring you good news
.’

  Rosie opened her eyes to see twinkling blue ones looking back at her. The woman’s smile told she was happy with the news.

  ‘Jim is my daughter’s baby boy and he’s to be christened next week. Peg is my sister, her’s been that poorly, but should ’ave the all clear from the doctor soon,’ the woman said by way of explanation. Paying the girl, she gave her thanks and Rosie left the boat. Women called to her all along the wharf and Rosie’s day was filled with visits.

  Returning to the Mitchell’s boat, she felt drained and exhausted. A hot meal awaited her and she handed over her money for board and lodging.

  Retiring to bed earlier than usual Rosie lay in the darkness and thought about her life yet again. She remembered all those she had loved and lost, and she wished for Bill Mitchell. Why had she fallen for the one man she could never have? She thought about his wife, Sarah, and saw again the rail thin body which bore testament to the fact she was unable to fend for herself. Clearly she was dependent on her family to look after her. The fact that she’d ended up in the workhouse told Rosie that Bill would not abandon the woman again.

  Her thoughts moved on to Jake Harding. Evidently he loved her, but she knew she could never return that love. She had wondered at one point whether she would have been better off staying with the gypsies, but after meeting Bill she had dismissed that notion.

  Wherever her thoughts took her, they always came back to Bill Mitchell. Rosie sighed loudly as sleep eluded her.

  Abner and Margy, in their shared bunk, listened to the sighs coming from the other tiny cabin.

  ‘She’ll be breaking her ’eart in there in a minute,’ Margy whispered.

  ‘I can ’ear ’er sweetheart, but if we don’t know what’s wrong, we can’t ’elp,’ Abner whispered back.

  ‘Well I know exactly what’s wrong, her’s in love – with our Bill!’ Margy kept her voice low.

  ‘You got the “sight” now as well ’ave you?’ Abner chuckled softly.

  ‘It ain’t no laughing matter,’ Margy said as she snuggled closer to her husband.

  ‘I know and I’m sorry, but she’s aware he’s married to that… to Sarah.’

  ‘That’s as maybe, but it don’t stop her loving ’im, does it?’ Margy pushed.