Brackenbeck

by Margaret Dickinson

  ‘Katharine.’

  ‘Jim.’

  They spoke simultaneously. And then with swift strides Jim was by her side, taking her thin hands in his. He dropped to one knee beside her chair.

  ‘My dear Katharine. What have we done to you? Why didn’t you write, let me know? Why?’

  And he held her hands firmly looking into her eyes. At last she dragged her eyes away from his intent gaze.

  ‘What was the use? You can do nothing.’

  ‘Katharine, how can you say such a thing?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘There’s nothing anyone can do. I wish you hadn’t come,’ she added distractedly. ‘I look such a mess.’

  Jim touched her cheek tenderly with the tips of his fingers.

  ‘You’ve changed, I’ll not deny it. But you’re still my Katharine.’

  He stood again from where he had crouched beside her. Suddenly he grinned.

  ‘Now, Dr. Harvey, you’ve no argument this time. You’re coming back to Brackenbeck.’

  ‘I can’t be a burden on others, Jim. I’d have nowhere to live. I–’

  A frown crossed his forehead.

  ‘Are you wilfully misunderstanding me? I mean you to come back as Mrs. Kendrick. And,’ as she opened her mouth to protest. ‘I won’t take ‘no’ for an answer, this time.’

  Katharine’s objection was silenced by his lips. But not for long.

  ‘Jim, Jim,’ she gasped, breaking free. ‘I can’t. How can I marry you now? After refusing you in favour of my career, do you think I could be so cruel as to make you take second best? I have been prevented from practising by misfortune. Do you think I could inflict my suffering on you, besides being a burden to you?’

  ‘But it’s because of me you’re crippled.’

  Katharine searched his face.

  ‘And is that why you’re asking me to marry you now? Because you’re sorry for me and feel responsible.’

  ‘Katharine!’ He moved back as if she had struck him. ‘How can you say such a thing when you know how much – how deeply I love you?’

  ‘I’m sorry – I’m sorry. I hardly know what I’m saying. Don’t you see, it would be so unfair of me? What would everyone think?’

  ‘I’m not concerned with others. All I want to know, need to know, is – do you care for me at all?’

  He knelt beside her chair again. She lifted her face slowly to look at him, the tears coursing down her cheeks. She touched his bronzed face with her fingers. There was a long pause before she spoke. Slowly she shook her head.

  ‘I don’t know. I just don’t know. When you asked me to marry you that day before I left Brackenbeck, on the hillside, remember?’

  Jim nodded.

  ‘Do you think I could have forgotten?’ he murmured wryly, for a moment the hurt returning in full measure.

  ‘I told you then,’ Katharine continued, ‘ that if I ever did care for anyone it would be for you.’

  ‘Then …’

  She silenced him with her fingers on his lips.

  ‘But now, since this has happened to me, I don’t feel anything. It’s as if not only my legs are paralysed by my heart also. I can only remember that when I left you, I missed you more than I had believed it possible. So much that I almost came back – several times.’

  ‘If only you had.’

  She shook her head.

  ‘No, when finally I knew this was going to happen, I was glad I had not done so. I hoped you would never hear about it. When Anthony arrived out of the blue the other day I was so glad to see him, to see an old friend and yet so surprised after all this time, and so careful to avoid your name, that it was not until he had gone that I realised I had not begged him to keep my secret.’

  ‘Do you suppose he would have done so, even if you had asked him?’

  Katharine looked at him searching his eyes and seeing again his love for her.

  ‘I – he never mentioned you either. I didn’t know what to think after he had gone. He never really spoke of Brackenbeck, for all I knew he no longer lived there. Or perhaps you had left.’

  She looked down at his clothes, seeing for the first time, the difference in his dress from when she had first known him in Brackenbeck. Gone were the rough workmen’s clothes, and in their place, he wore a fashionable double-breasted frock coat with a grey waistcoat of good material and fine cut, and the top hat which he had laid on the table on entry, Katharine now noticed, was of beaver.

  ‘You seem to have prospered,’ she murmured, suddenly feeling lost and out of touch, knowing nothing of the happenings to Jim during the past five years.

  Jim shrugged.

  ‘My father died a few months after you left. He left me everything, though I divided it between Mary and myself.’

  Katharine smiled tentatively, memories flooding back now.

  ‘Mary – and Tom, how are they? Anthony did tell me in one of his letters that Tom did not lose his leg. I was so glad.’

  Jim’s face sobered. He rose and stood near the window looking out. She sensed he was seeing not the street but the scene of five years ago, the accident, the tunnel, Tom’s wound and Katharine.

  Katharine’s words broke into his thoughts.

  ‘Little Tommy? How is he?’

  ‘He’s fine, a growing boy. Of course, you don’t know about little Kate?’

  ‘Kate?’ Katharine whispered.

  ‘Yes, they had a little girl, she’s three now. She just about lives with me.’

  He looked down at Katharine.

  ‘They called her after you, my dear,’ he said gently.

  Katharine did not answer.

  ‘I’ve had a long time to think since you left Brackenbeck,’ Jim said quietly. ‘I’ve learnt to see that you did what you thought was right, your duty, even though it cost happiness, mine certainly, and possibly your own too. But don’t you see, for better or worse, we’ve been given a second chance? You’ve no obligation to the medical profession now.’

  Katharine’s eyes darkened.

  ‘No. They have turned away from me when I needed them most. Oh, I don’t mean they haven’t been kindness itself, and everything has been done in the way of treatment, but I think I could have stayed on in an advisory capacity even if I could not practice fully. I could have done something, anything but this useless existence.’

  ‘Could you, Kate? Be honest, could you really?’

  ‘H-how do you mean?’

  She looked up at him puzzled.

  ‘Never mind,’ he murmured. ‘Let’s think no more about the past. Let’s plan for the future – our future.’

  ‘No, Jim, no. I cannot, I should not, marry you.’

  ‘Do you really not want to, my dear?’

  ‘No, yes, no, I don’t know what I do want,’ she said distractedly.

  ‘Listen,’ he said gently. ‘ You’re ill now, low and dispirited. When we get back to Brackenbeck, in the good Yorkshire air, you’ll soon be fit and well and then, I hope you’ll return my love.’

  She looked up at him. He was so tall and strong, so fine-looking in his smart town clothes. She certainly felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude for his continued love for her after all that had happened.

  But was she merely seeking release from the prison of her lonely room?

  ‘You’re coming to Brackenbeck and as my wife,’ Jim said firmly.

  Her further arguments, half-hearted as they were, were futile against his resolve and finally she gave way. She had neither the strength of will nor the desire to fight him any longer. She had hurt him enough in the past. When he had offered her love and security, she had spurned him in favour of her career – that fickle, inanimate object, which, in turn, she felt had rejected her because of her physical disability. She felt, rather than knew, that it was because she was a woman and the majority feeling was that she would not be sorely missed. Had an eminent surgeon or a brilliant consultant been so struck down, she felt that heaven and earth would have been moved to try and fi
nd some way to keep him in practice.

  But Jim had come back to her when she most needed him. Katharine could not, though she felt she were giving him only second best, reject him again, even though all feeling in her seemed to have gone. At this time she did not care whether she married Jim and returned to Brackenbeck or stayed alone in this dingy room.

  In short, life had no meaning for her.

  She tried, however, to let none of this feeling transmit itself to Jim, but though he never said anything to her, she sometimes caught him looking at her with deep concern in his eyes, mingled with hurt and fear.

  At these times she would feel ashamed when he was giving her so much and she giving him so little in return.

  Katharine was surprised at the speed with which Jim put his plans into action. He arranged for them to be married in a small church in London by special licence, though how he managed it she did not know. She knew he would have much preferred to have been married in his birthplace, Brackenbeck, but here again, Katharine realised, he was considering her feelings, knowing instinctively without asking her that she would not wish to be the centre of attention – in her invalid chair.

  Elizabeth, her friend from the hospital, the sister whom the matron had spoken of to Anthony, came one afternoon when Katharine was alone. She related to Elizabeth the happenings of the past day or two and asked for help.

  ‘Of course, Katharine. Oh, I’m so happy for you. So glad you’re going to get out of this place. He must be a wonderful man, your Jim.’

  ‘He is, he is,’ Katharine replied and knew she meant it. ‘You’ll meet him later, but I want you to buy a dress for me. A white one, something suitable for – this,’ she indicated her bathchair with hatred.

  ‘You leave it to Aunty Elizabeth. When is the service? May I come?’

  ‘Would you?’ Katharine said with gratitude. ‘Oh, that would be lovely.’

  ‘Try and keep me away,’ Elizabeth laughed.

  When Elizabeth returned to Katharine a little over two hours later, Jim had returned. As he took the huge box from Elizabeth’s arms, Katharine introduced them.

  ‘I’m very pleased to meet you, Mr. Kendrick.’

  ‘And I you, Miss – er …’

  ‘Please call me Elizabeth.’

  ‘And please call me Jim.’

  They laughed together.

  ‘Katharine tells me how good you have been to her, Elizabeth. I must thank you.’

  ‘It’s nothing, I wish I could have done more.’

  Katharine saw them both turn to look at her and she turned her eyes away.

  ‘Come, show me the dress,’ she said to Elizabeth.

  ‘Not whilst Jim is here, it’s unlucky.’

  Jim laughed.

  ‘It’s time I was going anyway. There are one or two other things I still have to do.’

  He bent to kiss Katharine.

  ‘Goodbye, my love.’

  And, after a further exchange of conversation with Elizabeth regarding arrangements for the morrow, Jim left.

  ‘He’s nice,’ Elizabeth said simply as the door closed behind him. ‘How lucky you are.’

  Katharine did not reply. In her invalid’s chair, she felt far from lucky.

  The dress, though not a wedding dress but a theatre gown, was of white tulle on taffeta with fine needlepoint-lace embroidery. The blouse bodice was high-necked, with sleeves to the elbow.

  ‘I bought this lace hat too with this pretty ostrich plume,’ Elizabeth said, ‘and gloves, of course. Oh, and shoes – will these fit?’

  Katharine put them on her tiny feet.

  ‘Perfect, Elizabeth. However did you manage it?’

  ‘Come, try the dress on, Katharine, for if it is the wrong fit I have only tomorrow morning in which to change it if you’re to be married at two o’clock.’

  Because of Katharine’s disability, they had some difficulty, but at last she was arrayed in the dress. It fitted perfectly and Katharine had never possessed a prettier one.

  ‘It’s – lovely,’ she said.

  ‘You don’t sound very enthusiastic,’ Elizabeth said softly and a little sadly. Thinking she had hurt Elizabeth’s feelings by insinuating that she did not like the dress, Katharine tried to reassure her friend.

  ‘The dress is beautiful, but – but how can I hope to do it justice like this?’

  Elizabeth sighed and then she laughed.

  ‘Katharine, you are indulging in self-pity again. You’ve no need now, you know. Snap out of it.’

  Katharine smiled wryly at her friend’s attempts to help her.

  ‘I’m unworthy of anyone’s trouble, I …’

  ‘Katharine Harvey – stop it. I shall get angry. There’s that nice man going to marry you and look after you for the rest of your life, and it will be for life, let me tell you. He’s no man to go back on his word, I can tell in a minute …’

  ‘But …’

  ‘But nothing. He adores you, anyone can see that,’ she sighed. ‘I’m really quite envious of you, I wish I had a man to love me like that.’

  Katharine was silent. She felt ashamed. Elizabeth was right. And yet, she herself was right also, she was unworthy of anyone’s trouble, and of Jim’s love.

  ‘Now,’ Elizabeth said briskly. ‘I’m going to wash your hair for you. I’ll have you looking a radiant bride if it’s the last thing I do.’

  And when half past one the following afternoon arrived, Katharine looked, if not exactly radiant, at least prettier and a little happier than when Jim had seen her for the first time after five years. But she was still a shadow of the spirited girl she had been on her first arrival in Brackenbeck and she knew it. She sat before her mirror on her wedding morning and looked long and hard at herself. She saw the hollowness of her cheeks, the large dark eyes, the auburn hair which had lost its healthy, cared-for lustre, in spite of Elizabeth’s efforts. Involuntarily, a groan escaped her.

  ‘What can Jim see in me now?’ she asked aloud to the empty room. ‘He’s going to regret today, I know it.’

  Katharine had hoped Elizabeth would come in time not only to help her dress but also to reassure her. But her friend must have been delayed at the hospital and Katharine had had to get ready alone. She had hoped too that Elizabeth would be here to take her to the church for she did not know how she was to get there otherwise and she had not thought to ask Jim.

  There was a knock at the door.

  ‘Come in, Elizabeth, I thought you were never coming, I’m nearly ready …’

  But the door opened and Jim stood there. Tall and handsome in his dark suit, completely at ease in such finery, he smiled at her.

  ‘Good morning, Mrs. Kendrick-to-be.’

  ‘Jim, you shouldn’t be here. It’s unlucky to meet before the wedding. I wish you hadn’t come.’

  He came in and shut the door.

  ‘I didn’t know a level-headed young woman like you was superstitious,’ he laughed. ‘How did you think you were going to get to the church if I didn’t fetch you?’

  ‘I – I don’t know. I thought Elizabeth would come, I suppose.’

  ‘Elizabeth has to work until the very last minute, unfortunately, or she would have come. She told you that yesterday.’

  ‘Did she? I can’t have been listening.’

  Jim shook his head slowly, a slight frown appearing.

  ‘Katharine, you don’t seem to be taking a great deal of interest in our wedding. You’ve left all the plans to me, made no suggestions nor even asked what I’ve done. Am I really making you marry me against your will?’

  Katharine shook her head and twisted her fingers together nervously.

  ‘No, no – of course not,’ her voice sounded shrill, totally unlike her own soft tones.

  Jim sighed, but said no more but instead handed her a small box.

  ‘I’m afraid we haven’t had a proper engagement – but I do so want you to have a ring.’

  Opening the box she found, nestling against a black velvet cushion, a rin
g – three rubies separated by two diamonds. ‘With – all my love,’ his voice dropped a tone lower on the last three words.

  ‘Jim – it’s beautiful. Thank you.’

  ‘Come, it’s time we went or the vicar will become impatient,’ Jim said. ‘Elizabeth will be waiting for us at the church I expect with Dr. Porter.’

  He manoeuvred her bathchair from the room and down the steps out of the house. Katharine could not fail to marvel at the ease with which Jim pushed her, and at the gentle care he showed when moving down the steps. Whenever Elizabeth had taken her out, Katharine had dreaded the steps at the front of this house because of the jolting she suffered as the chair bumped down each one. But Jim’s strength and his protective care prevented this and she hardly noticed the descent. They moved down the road, Katharine grasping the long stick-like handle to steer the chair.

  It was quite a long walk to the church but fortunately the day was fine and warm.

  Outside the church, squatting on the steps, was an old woman selling flowers. She crouched there, hugging a tattered shawl about her thin shoulders, a floppy hat covering wispy grey hair and her sunken mouth working in sucking movements.

  Against the grey pavement and the dark, rather austere, outline of the church, the small bunches of roses, red, yellow and white, added gaiety and awoke, momentarily, in Katharine an instinctive response.

  Impulsively, she caught Jim’s arm. ‘Jim, I’ve no flowers. Please buy me some of those beautiful roses.’

  She looked up at him and saw the look in his eyes, saw the hope leap there, the hope that she was beginning to take a heartfelt interest in the day’s proceedings.

  Willingly he stepped forward and, bending down, he spoke to the wizened old woman. Katharine saw her motion towards the basket with a claw-like hand. Jim’s strong hands reached down and gathered several bunches together – all red roses. Lifting them out gently, he carried them back to Katharine and placed them in her lap to make a splash of vivid colour against her white dress. She saw the smile on his face, and, as she turned, she saw a slow smile of realisation spread across the toothless mouth of the old flower-seller.

  ‘Gawd bless you, ducks,’ the old woman croaked as Jim placed several silver coins in her bony hand.