To Catch a Dream

by Mary Wood

  ‘Oh, here and there, as takes a man’s fancy, but I’m not for staying. I’ve been here a few days and I’m ready for the off. I didn’t make meself known to you as I wasn’t looking for work.’

  ‘Well, I won’t keep you. I just thought I would drop by this way on my way home.’

  ‘’Tis Hensal Grange you are living at now, I hear. I was glad you had such good fortune, sir.’

  Something had changed. Andrew couldn’t put his finger on it, but Seamus had an arrogance about him. It was an air that struck a chord of unease in him. The sooner he left the gypsy’s company, the better he would feel. He mounted Goldboy and, feeling less intimidated looking down on Seamus from the saddle, said, ‘Yes, though at the expense of others’ misfortune, sadly. Good day, and I hope your travels are prosperous for you.’

  Setting off at a trot, Andrew had the feeling that Seamus watched him until he went out of sight. Something stopped him from turning back to look. He just felt the need to get home and to do so as quickly as he could.

  23

  Issy and Bridie

  December 1981

  The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away

  Issy clung onto Tom’s arm. For such a wonderful year to end like this! The earth hitting the lid of her mother’s coffin rattled like thunder. A gentle hand touched her. She turned to see Miss Dvina standing close, tears running down her face. Issy acknowledged her, wishing inside that she could cry, too, as she was sure it would be a relief to do so.

  Mr Harvey stood just behind Miss Dvina, and his protective gaze on his wife bore a bitterness into Issy. Her mind still gave her the scene that had horrified her on her wedding day.

  Held a week into June, just three months after meeting Tom, some had said it had been too soon, but they knew it wasn’t, and that’s all that mattered. It had been a wonderful day. Like all the estate workers’ weddings, the venue had been the large barn in the meadow behind Hensal Grange, which had been cleaned and decorated by the household staff, with fresh bales of straw to sit on. There had been oceans of food and drink supplied by Mr Harvey, as was the custom for the master of the household to do.

  The weather had been perfect: a lovely, warm, early summer’s day. Everyone had had a really good time dancing to the music played by the local musicians: fiddlers, mouth organists and a drummer.

  Miss Dvina hadn’t recovered from the birth of her son enough to attend; it took her five months to fully recuperate as a weakness had settled in her and she’d tired easily – the cause had been a heavy bleed two days after the birth, when for a time it had been touch and go. But Mr Harvey had kept the tradition of attending the festivities of one of his workers’ weddings.

  She’d seen him watching Bridie, and had worried that his look held more than admiration.

  Bridie, who at the time had no inkling there was a babby growing inside her, had looked beautiful. She’d danced longer and more daringly than anyone else, often on her own in a free and abandoned way, her skirt twisting and twirling around her, while the other guests clapped and egged her on, none more enthusiastically than Will, though his ma had had a face on her.

  But, when Issy had gone around the barn to the makeshift lav, she’d happened across the pair, their bodies close and their lips sealing the feeling between them. Slipping away unnoticed, she’d taken it up with Bridie the next day.

  ‘To be sure, I didn’t want it to happen, Issy,’ Bridie had said. ‘Wasn’t I for just going to the lav, when he came around the corner and grabbed me, before I could do anything? But when I pushed him off – which is as sure as Mary is Baby Jesus’s mother I did – he was heart-sorry, so he was. And mortified at his actions. Don’t be for saying anything,’ she’d begged. ‘I daresn’t tell Will, for fear of his reaction losing him his job and, well – isn’t it the way of things as I will be the one in the blame? Everyone will say it was me enticing him, and I didn’t. I swear on the Cross, I didn’t.’

  Understanding this last more than she could say, Issy had held the sobbing Bridie in her arms and soothed her. She’d been shocked to hear all she’d been through, as Bridie’s fear had tumbled her past out of her. From that day on she’d vowed to protect Bridie from those who would take advantage of her. And, too, from the harm she could do herself, though she’d had little progress in this. She’d tried to keep Bridie off the drink, and, knowing Bridie wanted a babby, had resorted to telling her many times how her ma had found that those women who took the drink often had problems with getting pregnant, and when they did, they often lost them before full-term.

  ‘From ashes to ashes, dust to dust . . .’ The vicar’s words interrupted her thoughts.

  No, not you, Ma. You could never be reduced to ashes or dust . . .

  The cold, heavy handful of earth she’d taken from the tray offered to her by the vicar set the goosebumps standing out on her body. She didn’t want to throw it, or hear the finality of it as it clunked onto the wooden casket. She stretched out her hand and let it trickle through. The harsh wind took most of it, but some fell in gentle splattering sounds. ‘Oh, Ma . . .’

  ‘Issy, she’s at rest now. Come on, me love, say your goodbyes. Let her go in peace, for no one deserves it more.’

  ‘Oh, Tom . . .’

  ‘I know. She’ll be missed. It’s like a hole in me, and me only knowing her a few months. But she’ll live on in you, Issy. She’ll live on in you.’

  Miss Dvina spoke then. ‘She will, Isabella. You have her look and her ways, and Mr Harvey tells me you have her way with words, too, so you will ease all of our pain. I hope you can find peace and comfort in that. And remember, her failing health wasn’t something she could live with. She wouldn’t have liked not being the one to help everyone, and having to take help for herself.’

  A tightening of her throat prevented Issy from answering, but she knew what Miss Dvina said had truth in it. Ma’s health had troubled her these past few years, but in the last month or two her swollen, red-blotched legs would hardly carry her from her chair to her bed. They’d moved her into the cottage with them just two weeks ago. Tom had made a shake-me-down in the front parlour for her, which she never left. She’d hated the care she’d had to subject herself to, but on her last day all her grumpiness had left her and she’d lain peacefully, holding Issy’s hand until she took her last breath.

  ‘I have had some refreshments prepared in the hall at Hensal Grange,’ Miss Dvina said, breaking into her thoughts. ‘Please tell everyone they are welcome.’

  ‘Oh, you shouldn’t have. Oh, that’s very kind of you, Miss . . . Mrs Harvey. Ta ever so much.’ For some reason Issy wanted at that moment to seek Bridie out. She looked around, while Tom went to tell all those attending of Mrs Harvey’s arrangements, but was shocked to see that Bridie, Will and Janet hadn’t attended. A worry set up inside her. Oh, God, don’t let anything be happening. It’s too soon. Bridie isn’t due until at least another six weeks, if what they’d worked out together was right. Unsure what to do, she waited until Tom rejoined her, then told him, ‘Tom, Bridie isn’t here. She wouldn’t miss being here for me. Ask Gertie to go and check if she is all right, will you, love?’

  Bridie’s screams wrenched Will’s soul. Helplessness and guilt burned into him, for hadn’t he put her belly up and caused her this suffering?

  Don’t let it all be in vain, dear God. Let our babby live, and please, please take care of me little Bridie.

  The prayer had hardly died on his lips before his ma came down the stairs. ‘You’d better come up, Will. I know it’s not a place for a man to be, but she’s calling for you and I’ll have to fetch help.’

  ‘No, you stay with her. I’ll go for Dr Payne. I’ll be quicker than you.’

  ‘No, Will, you can’t . . . we – well, we haven’t enough in the pot to pay him.’

  ‘What? We must have! Me wages are twice what they were!’

  ‘I told you, Will. I told you months back.’

  ‘Oh, God! You mean, Bridie . . . Oh, Ma, what are we
going to do?’

  ‘I’ll have to go along to Issy’s.’

  ‘But she’s at her ma’s funeral!’

  ‘I know that, but I also know as she’ll come. Or if she can’t, she’ll have an idea as to who I can fetch to help us.’

  ‘Is Bridie going to make it, Ma? Will babby be all right? Oh, God . . .’

  ‘Hold yourself together, lad. We’ve enough on our plate. Bridie needs the strength of you, and so do I. Lots of babbies make it after only being in the womb for eight months. Besides, it might be as it’s been there longer, if it took first time. We’ve no way of knowing, but it’s likely it did, cos Bridie were showing signs within three months. So let’s not worry on that score.’

  A scream almost drowned his ma’s last words. He took the stairs two at a time. His stomach turned over when he entered the room. Blood painted the bed in huge patches of dark red. Bridie, demented with pain, clung onto the iron bedstead, her knuckles white with the grip she had on it. Her hair, wet with sweat, spread out like hundreds of coiled rusty springs.

  ‘Bridie, Bridie, me little lass. I’m here, come on. I’ll help you.’

  Screwing up her face and groaning into her throat, Bridie didn’t answer or acknowledge him. Between her legs a black bulge appeared, and she drew in her breath as if someone had given her a stinging slap. Her face swelled as she pushed with all that was in her, but the bulge didn’t move. ‘Don’t be for just standing there, help me! Get it out, Will. For Christ’s sake, will you help me?’ The violence of the screamed plea shocked him.

  The door opened behind him. ‘Help’s coming, Bridie, love.’ Then, in answer to his unspoken question, his ma said, ‘Gertie were at the gate. Issy had sent her. She’s gone back to get Issy. They’re only at the big house, so she won’t take long to get here. Oh, Bridie, love, push. Push hard, lass. It’s got to come out.’

  ‘I can’t, I ca—’ But she did, her face bloated with the effort she put into doing so. The bulge still didn’t shift.

  ‘I think its wrong-road about. Oh God, Will!’

  ‘I’m fetching doctor. I don’t care if we can’t pay him. He’s got to come. I’ll offer him payments – give him sommat each week.’

  ‘Aye, it’s worth a try. Oh, here’s Issy. Issy, it’s . . .’

  ‘Out of me way, Janet, love. Let me get near her. Reet, Bridie, I’m going to try to get your babby out. When I say “push”, push as hard as you can. Come on, love, we can do it.’

  Issy knelt between Bridie’s legs and placed her hands around the bulge. ‘Reet, push, Bridie. Push.’

  Bridie responded to Issy’s commands with a scream that vibrated off the walls. She sank back, and the baby slid most of the way out.

  ‘Hold it there, love. It’s nearly here. Don’t push. I have to release its leg. There, that’s it.’

  No one spoke. All eyes watched Issy cut the cord and begin to rub the tiny, lifeless body with the towel Janet had passed her. Will held his breath, and prayers tumbled upon prayers as he watched Issy lift the still form by its legs and shake it gently, before giving it a sharp tap on its bottom. Nothing happened. Issy tried again.

  The room expanded with the silent fear held within it. Bridie sat up, her face red from her efforts, and her bloodshot eyes holding a horrific fear. Issy shook her head. ‘I’m sorry. He’s . . . he has no life in him.’

  No one moved as she laid the babby down.

  ‘I’m sorry, love – so sorry – but, lass, we have more to do. There’s still the afterbirth. We have to get that out of you.’

  Unable to take in what was happening, Will felt isolated, cocooned in a place where no one could reach him. An urge took him to hold his son. ‘Pass babby to me, Issy, whilst you do what you have to do.’ Is this happening? Am I really holding the body of my son in my arms? Dear God, is there nothing I can do to breathe life into him?

  Issy passed him a small blanket from the pile on the chair next to the bed. Taking off the bloodied towel, he used it to wipe the little face. He swaddled the tiny body in the blanket, but couldn’t cover his head. Looking into the cherub-like face with blue-tinted skin relaxed onto the bone structure, he wondered who his son would have looked like. Curls of matted, dark hair framed his face, and his half-closed, unseeing eyes looked the palest of blue. Like himself? Yes, his son had taken features from him. This warmed a small part of the ice-cold blood running through him.

  Glancing up, he saw Bridie staring at him out of eyes that could have belonged to a mad woman. She didn’t utter a sound, and her face had drained of all colour. Fear clutched him.

  Issy’s urgent tone shocked him. ‘Will, you have to fetch the doctor, and hurry. Bridie is still bleeding, and I’m feared she might haemorrhage. She’s torn badly and needs his attention.’

  Nothing happened. He didn’t move, and his ma just stood on the other side of the bed, her mouth open and her body shaking.

  ‘Will, please . . . Janet! Janet – oh, for the love of God! I know you are shocked and saddened, and I feel your pain, but we must help Bridie. Look, she’s taking with the ague. She’s trembling all over.’

  At this, Will knew himself to respond. His whole being wanted to hold Bridie, to make things right in her world.

  Bridie’s voice shook as she spoke. ‘I . . . I want me babby. Will, let me be having me babby.’

  ‘Pass him over, Will, then go. Go as quickly as you can. Tell the doctor as I sent for him. He’ll come then.’

  Just before he left the room, he looked back. The sight of his Bridie holding their dead son to her breast wrenched his heart from him.

  ‘Me little lass, you’re awake. You’ve slept for hours.’

  ‘Where’s . . . ?’

  ‘I took him to the priest. He blessed him, but . . . Oh, Bridie.’

  ‘Was it for being difficult, me wee love? Arranging the funeral and naming him?’

  ‘I’m sorry, I – I couldn’t do anything. It’s as if our child didn’t exist, Bridie. If he had taken a breath, then . . .’

  ‘You mean, ’tis that he is nothing? Nothing! No, Will, no, no, no. I can’t . . .’

  ‘He’ll never be “nothing” to us, Bridie: he’ll always be our son. We just can’t have anything official to recognize him. They wouldn’t let me register his birth, nor even have a death certificate.’

  ‘Oh, God, Will. What . . . ?’

  ‘Don’t, Bridie, please don’t. Let’s talk. Let’s decide what to do. If we deal with the practical things, it will help us.’

  ‘Where is it you have taken him to?’

  ‘I haven’t. He is wrapped up nice and snug. I made a box for him out of some of the wood hanging around the building site. Ma cut a lining for it from them curtains she didn’t use – them blue ones from me bedroom in Sheffield. We cushioned it with the feathers out of one of her pillows, before I tacked it into place. I had to put it outside in the outhouse to keep it cold, but we left a candle burning in there. Oh, Bridie . . .’

  He felt her arms come around him as her body was racked with deep sobs. He let her cry, letting her tears mingle with his as he kissed her face and held her close.

  When she’d calmed, he told her of his plans. ‘I thought to take him up on that hill at the back. Bury him near the beck, where he and me might have gone fishing one day. We can visit him on nice days, take a picnic up there and sit with him. What d’yer think, love?’

  ‘Is it that he cannot have a burial in the churchyard? I’m for understanding he can’t go in the consecrated ground, but back home there’s a place for them who die without being baptized.’

  Bridie seemed calmer now, and he was glad of it. ‘No, they said he wasn’t just one who hadn’t been baptized. He—’

  ‘No, don’t be saying it. To be sure, he lived in the inside of me. Didn’t I feel him moving around, kicking me for all he was worth? Well, then, ’tis that he must have a soul. And I’m not for believing what they say about this limbo place. Why would the good Lord abandon such a helpless creature and be at
punishing him for something that was not his fault?’

  The anger in her at the injustice of it all was helping her, he could see that. ‘You’re reet, Bridie. He has a soul, and that soul is flying around in Heaven causing as much mayhem as he did inside you. We’ll hold onto that, but we won’t taint his passing with taking the powers that be to task. Let’s just have our own private ceremony. Put him to rest somewhere beautiful, as befits his precious soul.’

  ‘Aye, ’tis right that you are. I would like that. What name shall we give him?’

  ‘How about Eric?’

  ‘But that isn’t for being a saint’s name. I’ve never been for hearing of a St Eric, so I haven’t. What about Patrick, after the patron saint of Ireland? That would be lovely, so it would.’

  ‘Eric is a name very dear to me. It was me da’s middle name, and me granddad’s name.’

  ‘’Tis Eric Patrick, then. Yes, ’tis for having a nice sound to it.’

  Issy and Tom helped Will a couple of days later. The wind carried flurries of snow in it, chilling the tears flowing down his face. The hard and unyielding ground meant they could only use a spot where he and Tom managed to dislodge a large boulder. Underneath, the soil allowed them to dig a deep grave. They replaced the boulder and Issy arranged some heather around it. They stood in silence and prayed. Tom and Issy had the same belief: that Eric did have a soul and that it had gone to Heaven. Tom had brought some tools from the stables, and he took a moment to chip out Eric’s name into the stone.

  As they walked back, Issy talked of her concerns for Bridie. ‘You must help her to come off the drink, Will. I’m afraid it is getting hold of her. Her body is all of a-tremble and only settles if I take her up a cup of gin.’

  ‘I know I have it to do, but I was waiting a while. She’s been through so much, and the drink helps her at the moment.’

  ‘You shouldn’t take that stance too long, thou knows. The more she depends on it, the worse it will be.’

  Will knew Issy was right, but what could he do? When he’d left the house this morning, Bridie hadn’t woken. At least, she hadn’t stirred. Whether that was because she couldn’t face what he was going to do or not, he didn’t know. He’d sneaked out of the room and left her, rather than having to face dealing with her pain as well as his own. His ma had said he should buy a bottle of gin, as the one they had was nearly empty. There had been disdain in her voice, but even she seemed to have the mind to let it ride for now. He decided he wouldn’t. He’d take Issy’s advice and tackle it here and now.