by Dee Yates
‘Don’t fret, Duncan.’ Tom decided to put a brave face on the problem. ‘We’ll soon sort it out. Why don’t you go and check with Kenneth? She might have gone down there for summat and got delayed.’
Duncan brightened at once. ‘Aye. Perhaps that’s where she is. I’ll go directly.’ He grabbed his coat from the back of the door and hurried out into the snow.
‘Come along, Tom. Let’s go too, before it starts to get dark.’ Clara turned to the door and stepped out of the cottage. Tom grabbed an oil lamp from the entrance and followed her down the path. At the base of the hill stood a small barn. They entered its warmth and looked around. It was silent and empty.
‘There’s nowt here,’ Tom said and they emerged into daylight. He scanned the fields, a ball of apprehension unravelling in his stomach now. There was something wrong. Ellen would never vanish like this unless something untoward had happened. ‘We’ll check the other barns,’ he said, stepping into the snow, which now lay inches deep over the grass. Nothing disturbed the white evenness of the ground ahead.
The second barn was empty too and so was the third, which lay a good distance off across the other side of the farm. A pink sunset, forcing its way between the gathered clouds and through a window, illuminated the pens, where, in late spring, they brought the ewes and lambs that needed extra attention. Tom gazed around, thinking of the hours he had spent here earlier in the year, encouraging ailing lambs and tending ewes. With a pang he remembered that it was here that he had first had carnal knowledge of Ellen. His face burned as he recalled coming upon her that day… the rhythmical sway of her body as she spread the hay, his mounting desire as he watched her, fascinated, his words of encouragement as he seduced her… and his later remorse as he sat on the gathered stones at the top of the hill and thought about what he had done.
He glanced round at the pen and his eyes caught a movement in the straw. He blinked in the gloom and looked again.
‘Are you coming, Tom? There’s nothing here.’ Clara’s voice came from the doorway.
‘Wait! There is summat.’
A prolonged moan made them both jump. Clara followed Tom’s gaze. The moan came again, louder this time, building to a high-pitched scream that subsided in a sob. Tom felt the blood turn cold in his veins.
‘Quick!’ Clara pushed open the gate of the pen and fell at the side of the helpless girl. She threw a glance at Tom, questioning.
‘Ellen.’ Tom was by her side now. His voice was shaking. ‘Ellen. It’s me… Tom. Clara’s here. Tell her what the trouble is. She’ll ’appen be able to help.’
Ellen raised a moist hand and grabbed Clara’s wrist. ‘Aye. It’s pain in my belly. I’ve had it all day. It started last night. I have sickness too. The pain’s worse now. I don’t know what to do.’
‘Do nothing. Rest there. Tom! Light that lamp, will you? It’s impossible to see anything in this corner.’
Tom, shaken out of the momentary inertia that the sight of Ellen had induced, felt in his pocket for matches and fumblingly struck one, holding it with a shaking hand to the mantel. The flame flared and lit the corner of the pen and he shrank back at the sight. Ellen’s face was smeared with dirt and her tears had cut rivulets into the grime at each side of her eyes, which were wide with fright. Her hair was tangled with the straw in which she lay curled up on her side and was soiled with vomit. As he watched, she began to moan again. She rolled over until she lay on her back. Her moans grew louder and, without warning, she shrieked at Clara.
‘Can’t you do something? You’re a doctor, aren’t you? I cannae stand this pain anymore.’ She lost all control and thrashed her head fiercely from side to side, her screams reverberating around the empty barn.
Tom stood up, infected by her panic and, turning abruptly away, put his hands over his ears. As the screaming subsided, he swung round to face Clara.
‘Aye. Can’t you do summat? Can you tell what the trouble is? Has she eaten owt that’s upset her?’
Clara was studying the girl with a look of bewilderment. ‘Tom, turn away a minute while I examine Ellen. Don’t go right away though. I may need your help.’
Tom, grateful to be given the opportunity to put some distance between himself and the helpless girl, stepped out of the pen and stared through the unglazed window at the soft pink clouds on the horizon, the calm picture it presented at striking odds with the shambles within the pen. Its peace was shattered in an instant as Ellen’s keening reached new heights. Among the screams came Clara’s urgent voice calling his name.
Reluctantly he swung back the gate and dropped down on his knees. Clara’s shocked face made his blood run cold.
‘What is it? Do you know what’s up with her?’ he shouted above the din.
‘Aye, I do now. She’s having a baby.’
With a look of horror, Tom’s eyes flicked to Ellen, then back to Clara. Colour drained from his face, as a tide of panic and disappointment in equal measure swept through his body, rendering him as limp and drained as the girl at his feet. He stared at Clara, all his plans avalanching about him. And then the moment was broken as Ellen reached out her hand and dug her fingers painfully into his trembling arm.
10
Another Small Avalanche
Ellen now knew with a certainty that she was going to die. At the sound of Tom’s and Clara’s voices she had been filled with an overwhelming relief. They would make her better. Tom would comfort her… and Clara, with all her learning, would take away the pain. But that wasn’t happening. She had seen the frightened look on their faces, watched Tom turn away… and lastly and sickeningly seen his horrified reaction when Clara spoke those terrifying words.
She was having a baby. A baby! Never had the thought crossed her mind that this was the cause of her pain. Surrounded as she had been all her life by the birth of thousands of lambs, she had never once considered that she herself was about to give birth. In a moment of clarity between her pains she thought of the yearly ritual of lambing that went on all round her and with which she so often helped. It was never like this. The sheep often gave birth without a murmur or, at the very most, muttered a prolonged groan as the lamb slithered out onto the grass. If a sheep were noisy, her father or Tom would tell it in no uncertain terms to pipe down.
Occasionally they would do their rounds in the early morning and find a dead sheep, victim of the complications of labour. That was why she knew she was going to die. It was going to happen to her like it did with her mother. All this pain and for so long… it couldn’t be normal. The baby must be stuck. And surely they couldn’t start groping around to bring it out, like her father sometimes did with a difficult lambing. The pain was coming again now… waves of unendurable agony. Ellen let out a long wail of panic. By the time she was out of breath, the pain had gone.
It was suddenly very peaceful in the barn. She could see pink clouds through a square of window. The slanting rays of the sun hit the wall of the barn behind her, and below, evening wrapped the sheep pens in comforting darkness. Cobwebs festooned the roof over her head and the crumbling muddy nests of swallows clung to the rafters, their usefulness long past. She used to count the baby swallows, as they poked their heads over the edge of their home… maybe four of them, sometimes five. The adults had grown used to her as she lay unmoving on the straw, watching their industry. She came often to lie here in the straw after that time… that time when she had been working in the barn and Tom had disturbed her.
She remembered the pain. It had seemed bad at the time, though it was nothing compared with what she was going through now. She had not known what was happening but she had put up with it because it was a sign that Tom loved her… at least she thought it was, although he hadn’t seemed any different towards her afterwards – more distant if anything – and not in a hurry to repeat the experience. That was why she had tempted him that night when shearing was finished. She wanted to reassure herself that he really did love her. And the second time she too enjoyed what they did. But of course he didn’t love
her. He loved Clara. She was never going to change that. She knew that now. And now she would die and he and Clara would be married.
It came to her in a flash. That was when the baby had been made… that time here in the barn! She had seen it often enough when the tups were allowed to mix with the ewes at each back end. How had she not realised what had happened? Tom had given her a baby. It was his and hers. The thought brought her a fleeting shred of relief.
A lamp flashed in her face. She looked at them, startled.
‘Now, Ellen.’ It was Clara’s voice. ‘Listen to me. It will soon be over. Next time you get a pain, I want you to push. No screaming. Do you understand?’
She understood. She would push the baby out and then she would die. Her eyes swerved to Tom’s and she whispered hoarsely, ‘You will look after it, won’t you, Tom… look after it and love it? Promise me!’ And as the pain started again, she had a picture of his white face, dotted with perspiration and lit in strange contours by the light of the lamp he was holding.
‘Ellen, don’t forget now. Do as I say. Do you understand?’ Clara’s voice came to her as if from a distance.
She nodded. She would do as she had been told for the baby’s sake. Panic began to rise in her throat but, with a huge force of will, she bore down until she was certain her body would tear apart. Taking a deep breath, she pushed again, struggling, struggling against her desire to scream.
‘Rest now, Ellen. Rest a minute. Tom, hold Ellen’s hand, will you. Mop her brow. Do something to help.’
She was conscious of her hand in Tom’s large and rough one, before a final tearing pain came and went, and she lay on the floor of the barn, staring at the swallows’ nests. She was tranquil now.
In the distance, she could hear Clara and Tom talking, but it was nothing to do with her. And then a faltering wail split her tranquillity… followed by a loud insistent cry that none could ignore. And an awestruck father lay the clamouring infant in the crook of her arm.
‘It’s a little girl. You have a baby daughter.’
She turned her head to gaze in bewilderment at the child, who was nuzzling her mouth against her mother’s clothes in an attempt to find her source of nourishment. Clara was doing what she needed to do to ensure that Ellen was safe. Tom, meanwhile, divested himself of some of his layers of clothing to wrap round his tiny daughter.
*
‘Tom, how could you let this happen? She’s only a young girl?’ Clara’s voice shook with anger.
Resentment flared upwards through Tom’s body and his face flushed. ‘You’ve no right, no right at all, to accuse me of this. How do you know the babby is mine? It could be the bastard of any farm worker around these parts.’ He lowered his eyes under the force of her gaze.
‘I saw the way Ellen was with you. I heard what she said.’
‘That happened because she wants someone to help her look after it.’
‘Then tell me honestly that it isn’t yours and I’ll believe you.’
Tom raised his head and glared at her and then the fight went out of him as quickly as it had begun. His body sagged. What was the use of pretending? He had known from the start it would do no good. It was only a last impossible attempt to keep alive the hope of winning Clara’s affection, but now she would despise him for his dishonesty as well as for his actions.
‘It’s mine… at least, I think it is. Though it’s still possible that she might have been with someone else,’ he added lamely.
‘What were you thinking of?’ Clara shook her head sadly.
‘What the hell do you suppose I was thinking of? There she was, a pretty young girl, constantly flaunting herself at me…’
‘Flaunting herself?’
‘Yes, I mean, there’s only so much a man can stand. And you need not sound so prim and proper. If it weren’t for you, this would never have happened.’
Clara gasped. ‘Whatever do you mean? What have I done?’ Her laugh held a hint of hysteria.
‘You’ve put me off all the time. It’s you I always wanted, no one else. You’re the one I always loved.’
Clara’s horrified face stared at Tom’s and at the mounting colour that suffused his cheeks. ‘Come on, Tom. You and I are old friends… but never anything else. I told you that in the letter. Surely you must realise that by now.’
‘I realise nothing of the sort. We’ve always been close. Why shouldn’t we be lovers? There’s nowt to stop us.’
‘There’s everything to stop us. For a start, I don’t love you… not like that. I love you as a sister loves a brother. I always have done and I always will, if you will let me. For another thing, there’s my work. I’ve explained all that before.’
‘But that needn’t be a prob—’
‘Tom! Don’t be stupid. Look over there. You have a child… and its mother to care for.’
Tom was silent. There was nothing to say by way of reply, no wriggling out of his responsibility.
‘You realise we will have to go and present Duncan with his new granddaughter.’
Tom groaned. He had not had time to think about this further inevitable consequence of his dalliance with Ellen. Another small avalanche crashed around him. Ellen was her father’s pride and joy. He would lose his job over what he had done. Of that there was no doubt.
‘We must get Ellen and the baby back to the cottage. It’ll be bitter in here soon.’ Clara stepped back into the pen where Ellen lay with the baby in her arms.
Tom followed reluctantly and Ellen looked up at him.
‘Look, Tom, she’s asleep. Isn’t she beautiful? Do you want to hold her?’
‘Not now.’ Tom attempted to inject some levity into his voice. ‘We need to get you and t’ babby into the house before you get chilled to the bone. Give the babby to Clara and I’ll carry you back.’
Ellen handed over the baby and Clara wrapped her coat around her and cradled her to the warmth of her body. Tom knelt down and lifted Ellen easily, wondering how he had never noticed her advancing pregnancy. True, he had seen that she had put on a bit of weight, but nothing more than that. Her figure was very firm and the baby small, so he supposed that a combination of these two things was enough to hide the changes that had gone on within her young body.
Duncan was standing at the door of the cottage as they came slowly up the track.
‘Mercy! Mercy! Whatever’s happened,’ he cried, seeing only Ellen’s prostrate form within Tom’s arms.
‘It’s all right, Duncan. She’s all right,’ Tom said, stepping inside. Duncan fussed around his daughter’s head, impeding their progress. ‘Let’s get her through to her bed, Duncan.’
The older man stood aside as Tom laid Ellen on the set-in bed and pulled the covers over her.
‘Duncan, we’ll need some hot water. Can you bring some for me?’ It was Clara talking and Duncan seemed to register her presence for the first time.
He nodded towards the fire. ‘There’s a kettle of boiling water here. I put it on for your return.’ He paused, frowning at the bundle wrapped in her coat. ‘What have you got there, lassie?’
The baby, responding perhaps to the warmth of the room, stirred and let out a yell. Duncan came closer and gazed with a bemused expression at the bundle.
‘What’s that? I mean… where did it come from? Did you bring it?’
Clara took a deep breath and said, ‘It’s Ellen’s baby… your granddaughter.’
Duncan stepped back as if she had slapped him, paused as if gathering his thoughts, and veered unsteadily in the direction of Ellen’s bed, the look of bewilderment on his face slowly giving way to one of outrage. He clasped the bedhead with a trembling hand.
‘What does this mean?’ he said slowly, as if having difficulty enunciating the words. ‘Who did this to you, lassie. Tell me who did it and I’ll kill him with my bare hands.’
Tom had stood to one side, watching the tableau unfold with awful inevitability. At the sound of the shepherd’s voice with its barely controlled anger, he knew
he could keep silent no longer.
‘It was me, Duncan. Ellen and I, well, we… er… got together in t’ spring.’
‘You “got together” in the spring? We took you on as a good worker… and Ellen helped out in your cottage to keep you comfortable… and you did this to us? You betray my trust under my very nose.’ Duncan's face was scarlet now and his voice shook. ‘And to make matters worse, you don’t have the common decency to come and tell me about the wain.’
‘He didn’t know about the wain, Father. I didn’t know about the wain. It’s as much of a shock to me as anyone.’
‘But how come? There’s changes happen in a woman’s body to tell them a baby’s on the way. Why, with your mother… with your mother…’ He stopped abruptly, confronted with the even more dreadful events of his wife’s birthing.
Clara came forward. ‘Ellen’s young. It may be that her body’s natural rhythm had not yet established itself. It can happen, you know.’
Duncan wheeled round and brought his face close to the younger shepherd. ‘So not only did you betray our trust… but you took a young girl, not even into womanhood, and defiled her with your lust. You ought to be horsewhipped.’
Tom made to object but thought better of it. He lowered his eyes and muttered, ‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry for all the trouble I’ve caused. I’ll pack my bags and go.’
‘What’s that? What’s that you said?’
‘I said I’ll go. I’ll go now.’
‘You’ll go nowhere,’ Duncan roared so loudly that they all jumped and the baby began to scream. ‘You’ve made your bed and now you’ll have to lie in it. You’ll marry the lassie.’
Why had he not realised that this consequence would be forced on him? He supposed that he had known all along but had not wanted to face the reality of it. After all, it happened often enough in farms around the valley. It was even considered by some to be quite within the man’s rights to test his young lady’s fertility before asking for her hand in marriage. He groaned. His offer to leave would now be seen as another ploy to absolve himself of his responsibilities to Ellen and the baby.