For a Mother's Sins

by Diane Allen

  He closed his eyes, thoughts of his Rose going through his mind, remembering days when they were courting, how bonny she was, her eyes twinkling as she kissed him. Knowing how wickedly she was leading him on as they frolicked in the hay loft at her father’s farm.

  ‘Come on then, what you waiting for?’ her voice called to him and her laughter bewitched him – a faraway laughter, mocking but urging him to follow. And there she was, holding her hand out to him, surrounded by flowers in a beautiful daisy-filled meadow, exactly how he remembered her. Nay, he must be dreaming . . . but no, she called again.

  ‘Come on, Jim, it’s lovely here. There’s nothing left for you there.’ Her beaming smile drew him towards her, and she flirtatiously tossed the long blonde hair that she used to have all those years ago. ‘Come on, trust me,’ her voice called again.

  ‘I’m coming, Rose, I’m coming.’ Jim reached for Rose’s hand. ‘Where are we going?’

  She giggled and whispered, ‘You’ll see, my love.’

  And Jim felt no pain as he slipped without knowing from one world into the next.

  ‘I’m sorry, John. Losing both parents within a week of one another can’t be easy.’ Doctor Thistlethwaite looked up from signing the death certificate. ‘He seemed fit enough, but he simply couldn’t live without your mother. He died of a broken heart – melancholia. I’ve seen it a few times in my life.’

  John sat in the chair opposite the doctor. ‘He said I’d to stop with Mike and drown my sorrows after the funeral. That he was all right and I didn’t have to worry about him. I should have known. We even left him to walk home, because he insisted he wanted to be on his own.’ John ran his hands through his sandy hair, unable to believe that he’d buried his mother yesterday and come home to find his father dead this morning.

  ‘Don’t feel guilty. I don’t believe he suffered any pain. As I laid him out in our new mortuary hut he almost looked as if he was smiling.’ The doctor rose and patted John on the back. ‘You know where I am if you need me. And if I’m not being too presumptuous, Molly Mason will give you a shoulder to cry on. She was upset this morning when she saw your father’s body come into the mortuary.’ He picked up his hat and put it on. ‘Well, I must get back. We had three new cases of smallpox this morning. I had to admit young Florrie from the Welcome Inn yesterday – it’s touch and go whether she’ll live.’ He shook his head sadly. There’s no rhyme or reason in this life, the grim reaper can appear at any time. Thankfully, the railway has rehoused the Reverend Tiplady and commandeered his residence as an isolation ward and mortuary. Lord knows, I’m going to need them.’

  The doctor doffed his hat and left John with his head in his hands, wondering how he was going to break the news to Mike. He dreaded the thought of another funeral to arrange, especially when it meant dealing with that sanctimonious vicar. Soon both his parents would be in that churchyard. And from what the doctor had just said, many other residents of Batty Green would be following them as the smallpox continued to spread.

  21

  Molly cleared away the dinner things, only half-listening as Lizzie chatted away about the latest goings-on at her job. She too had come home with news, but it was not good. All through the meal she had wondered how to break it to Lizzie, knowing that she’d be devastated when she heard. So she held back, letting her daughter babble on about the forthcoming visit of the director of the Midland Railway.

  ‘He’s travelling from Leeds in the morning, and guess what – the last bit of track was laid today, so the train will bring him right to where the station is going to be, just above the hospital.’ Lizzie was clearly brimming with excitement. ‘Oh, I forgot to tell you! Even though the station’s not built yet, the trains will be stopping there from Saturday onwards. So you can catch a train to Settle and beyond from Batty Green – except the station’s going to be called Ribblehead.’

  ‘Lizzie Mason, you witter on and forget to tell me the most important bit of gossip yet!’ Molly forgot her worries momentarily and joined in her daughter’s enthusiasm. ‘This will open a whole new world to us. Just think, we can go to Settle for shopping! Or if I save up, we can even go visiting relations in Bradford – there’s bound to be a connecting train.’

  Lizzie’s face lit up at the prospect, but she wasn’t done with delivering all the details of the director’s visit. ‘Mr Ashwell’s going to ask the director for money to make the graveyard bigger. That miserable old vicar came by this morning to say he’d only one grave left and that would be going to Jim Pratt. With smallpox rife he’ll be needing lots more room but the church can’t afford to buy the land. Mr Ashwell had to turn him away, but he’s promised to have a word with the director about it. He told me he was devastated at the smallpox outbreak and that no decent boss would think twice about putting his hand in his pocket.’

  Now that the subject had turned to smallpox, Molly saw her opening.

  ‘Lizzie, I’m sorry, love, but I have bad news. Florrie was admitted to the hospital today. She’s got smallpox.’

  ‘No!’ cried Lizzie. ‘That’s not possible. I talked to her only the other day. She said she was tired, but she always is. She can’t be poorly, she just can’t. We’re best mates, I love her, Mam – what would I do without her?’

  Molly wrapped her arm around her sobbing daughter. What she really wanted to ask was whether Lizzie had any idea whose baby Florrie was carrying. Both doctor and nurse had been shocked when they had removed her voluminous skirts and seen Florrie’s extended stomach. Fourteen and already pregnant – who would have taken advantage of such a young lass? Batty Green might be a wild place, but there was an unspoken code of honour among the navvies that prohibited such behaviour.

  ‘She might be all right, love. The next few hours will tell. I’ve volunteered to sit with her tonight, ’cause her mother’s having to serve behind the bar and her father doesn’t want to know, uncaring bastard. When Doctor Thistlethwaite carried her out of the inn, all he said was that it’d be one less to care about. You’d have thought he wanted her to die.’

  ‘He likes to hit her and her mother. Florrie was trying to save up and leave home. She’d do anything for money.’

  ‘Lizzie, she wouldn’t go with men for money, would she? She knew not to do that, I hope.’

  ‘No, she’s all talk. Flirts but runs a mile if anyone flirts back, she says her dad would kill her if she did.’ Lizzie turned pleading eyes on her mother. ‘Are you leaving me on my own? I don’t want to be by myself, not tonight with Jim Pratt dead and Florrie dying. Please don’t leave me on my own.’

  ‘But, Lizzie, I promised. It’s better that Florrie’s got someone she knows with her.’

  ‘Please, Mum, don’t leave me . . .’ Lizzie felt as if she was surrounded by death. And now all she could think about was the horrible vicar refusing to bury Florrie because he knew it was really her that had pinched the church money. ‘Please . . .’

  Molly shook her head in frustration. ‘Lizzie, please, I’ll be back before you wake up. Just bolt the door like you usually do.’

  ‘I’ll come with you. Florrie’s my best friend, so I’ll come with you.’ Lizzie started to button her shoes up.

  ‘You will not! I’m not having you anywhere near that hospital hut. It’s bad enough that I work there, without you going courting death. Tell you what, I’ll ask John if he’ll sit in with you. I haven’t had a chance to offer my condolences since his father’s passing, so I ought to call by in any case.’ She gathered up her shawl and wrapped it around her. ‘I’m not that bitter over your baby brother to turn my back on the poor devil when he’s in the thick of it. He’ll need me now there’s nobody at home. Stay here, and hopefully I’ll be back with him.’ She stopped in the doorway and fixed Lizzie with a stern gaze: ‘I mean it, Lizzie: you’re to stop here. No trailing off to see Florrie while I’m across the way!’

  Lizzie nodded her head, relieved that she wasn’t going to be on her own.

  ‘I’ll not be long, John. It’s ju
st till dawn, then Nurse Gladys will take over. I wouldn’t ask, but I can’t leave Florrie. She’s in bad way and only a baby herself – and then there’s the baby she’s carrying. I’m afraid neither one of them will survive.’ Molly knew John could be trusted with the news. Although if Florrie lived to give birth it would be common knowledge soon enough.

  ‘She’s having a baby? But she’s even younger than your Lizzie! The bastard! Some fellas just want it cutting off.’

  ‘I tried asking, but she was in no condition to talk so I learned nowt. Listen, don’t say anything to Lizzie about Florrie expecting a baby.’

  ‘Don’t worry, I won’t.’ John picked up his jacket. ‘Away, Moll. I’ll stay with Lizzie till you’re back. Lord knows there’s not much joy sitting in this hut on my own. I was beginning to feel maudlin.’

  Molly touched John’s sleeve and looked into his blue eyes, pausing for a moment to breathe in deep. She realized suddenly how much she had missed the smell of him. It was the smell of a true man.

  ‘John, I know I was like a mad woman the night your mother died, but I couldn’t cope with it. She’d already caused me so much pain and then for her to say that about Tommy, when she was dying . . . it wasn’t fair.’ Molly stood on the steps of the hut, tears springing to her eyes despite her efforts to hide her grief.

  ‘She just wanted forgiveness. It was a mistake, a stupid mistake, that cost poor Tommy his life. Why she didn’t say anything at the time, I don’t know. I remember her running out that evening, and when she came back it was like she’d seen Lucifer himself. But she insisted she was all right and wouldn’t tell what had upset her. I never connected it with her using my rat-poison bottle earlier in the day. Moll, I’m sorry we’ve caused you so much pain.’ John hesitated, and then blurted out the decision he’d come to, sitting alone in the hut that he’d shared with his parents: ‘I’d best tell you now, I’m off to lodge with the tunnel gang up at Jerusalem. I can’t do with being on my own here. So you’ll not have the sight of me to remind you of things. Best we move on, eh?’

  As soon as the words were out, he ran down the steps, leaving Molly stunned. It took a few moments for her to recover and run after him.

  ‘But, John, I need you,’ she cried.

  ‘You don’t need me. You’re the most spirited woman I’ve ever met – stronger than any fella I know. And Lizzie’s turning into a bonny young woman; she’ll soon have a lad whistling after her.’

  Molly pulled hard on his sleeve, stopping him in his tracks and clasping his firm chin in her hands to make him face her straight on.

  ‘But I love you, John. I can’t live without you. I’ve no one except our Lizzie,’ she pleaded.

  ‘Aye, and I love you. But after all the harm that’s been done, after the deceit and fighting, we’ve both lost the ones we love. I think we both need a bit of peace, at least for a month or two, to give us time to think.’ John tore himself away from her grasp and walked on to the hut where Lizzie was waiting for him. Molly followed, dragging her feet in the mud, feeling as if her very soul was draining from her.

  ‘Hey, Lizzie Mason! I hear you’re waiting for a charming, sophisticated gent like myself to sit with you while your mother’s at work.’

  The door flew open and Lizzie ran into John’s arms. He picked her up and swung her around, showing all her petticoats as he did so.

  ‘You’re too old for that sort of carry-on, Lizzie,’ said Molly sternly. ‘And I expected you to be in bed before John got here.’ The devastating impact of John’s words had sunk in during the walk home and she had gone into self-protection mode. She would show John Pratt that she didn’t need him. After tonight, she’d make it on her own, without any man’s help.

  ‘Come on, Molly, we’re only playing.’ John didn’t care for this side to Molly. He’d seen it before: when things weren’t going her way she had a tendency to lash out and hurt people, not thinking what she was saying.

  ‘Aye, well, playing leads to other things. Lizzie – bed. John will sleep in the chair until I get home.’

  ‘Moll, stop it! You know I wouldn’t lay a finger on Lizzie, else why am I here? Don’t be daft.’

  ‘Daft? Aye that’s what I’ve been, all right, falling in love with someone who has no feelings, who can walk away from me when I need him the most.’ Tears welled up in Molly’s eyes as she walked out the door, closing it sharply behind her.

  Inside the hut, the two people she loved stood looking at each other in silence, wondering what they had done.

  Molly stroked Florrie’s hair, trying to comfort her. The child’s fever was out of control, leaving her delirious with pain, writhing and thrashing on the mattress. Her long hair was matted and soaked with sweat and her face was covered with pus-filled blisters. If she survived, the scars would be horrendous. No one would ever look at her again. Her cries of distress mingled with those of the three other smallpox victims in the isolation ward.

  ‘Shh, little one,’ Molly told her, leaning into the candlelight so the child could see her there. ‘I’m right here, I won’t leave you. And don’t you go leaving us – our Lizzie’ll miss you. She’s not like me, she takes after her father – a right soft lump. Shh, shh, little love, we’ll get through this together. And whoever that baby’s father is, we’ll get even with the bastard and make him stand by you.’

  Molly kept vigil over Florrie all night, filling the hours by talking softly, pouring out all her worries. Only when the first grey shards of dawn started creeping across the sky did she leave the bedside, stepping outside to empty the dish of water she’d used to mop the child’s fevered brow in an effort to keep her temperature down. As the water trickled away down the drain, Molly gazed out across the dale. The early morning mist mingled with smoke from the huts, casting a veil over Whernside that allowed only occasional glimpses of blue sky. It promised to be a good day, she thought, lifting her head at the sound of someone approaching from the shanties. As he emerged from the darkness, she saw that it was Doctor Thistlethwaite, on his way to carry out the first inspection of the day. Despite the long hours he was putting in, dealing with the epidemic, he seemed a happier man now that he’d married Gladys. She, too, was less of a Starchy Drawers now. The death and devastation brought about by smallpox had made them all realize how lucky they were to be alive, and any animosities had been forgotten as the three of them worked together, battling to keep their patients alive.

  ‘Morning, Molly. How are the patients?’ Doctor Thistlethwaite knocked the mud off his shoes before entering the isolation ward with her.

  ‘No change. But at least there have been no new cases overnight.’ Molly led the way to Florrie’s bedside, letting out a gasp when she saw the pale arm hanging lifeless from the bed. Gently clasping the hand and tucking it in under the covers, Molly looked into Florrie’s face. She’d passed over silently, in the blink of an eye, as if she’d just been waiting for the moment she was on her own. Molly sank into the chair beside the bed, unable to hold back the tears.

  Doctor Thistlethwaite put his arm around Molly as she sobbed.

  ‘She didn’t have a chance. Don’t blame yourself, you did all you could. Come on, Molly, you need to be strong now. There are others who need you. I fear this is just the beginning . . .’

  Molly and Nurse Gladys carried Florrie’s body into the makeshift mortuary. Another coffin for the carpenter to build; he was going to be a wealthy man at this rate. Molly couldn’t help but wonder where this poor soul would be laid to rest. Tomorrow Jim would be buried in the grave next to Rose, leaving Florrie and other smallpox victims with nowhere to go.

  ‘Listen, that sounds like a train!’ exclaimed Nurse Gladys. ‘I heard they’d almost finished laying the track to where the station will be, but I didn’t think there’d be a train on it so soon. How exciting – the first train! I wish I could go and see it, but I’m needed here. You go, Molly. You must be ready for home, you’ve been here all night. Go on, go – and tell me all about it later.’

&nbs
p; Molly was exhausted. She wanted to get home to Lizzie, but she couldn’t face her daughter while her mind was on Florrie, lying there in the morgue with no last resting place for her body.

  She picked up her shawl. ‘I’ll go,’ she said. ‘And then I’ll call by the Welcome Inn and tell Helen Parker that her daughter’s dead. From what I hear, her father won’t be bothered. He doesn’t bother about anything, that one, except drink and money.’

  Seething with anger at the injustice of it all, Molly reached the platform edge of what was going to be Ribblehead station. The train was just coming to a halt, filling the air with a great cloud of steam. A small crowd of onlookers had gathered to greet the train, and they cheered as the engine driver climbed down from his cabin. As the cloud of steam subsided, Molly spotted John and Lizzie standing near the engine. She made her way through the crowd to join them.

  ‘I’m sorry I haven’t been home – there’s something I have to do first. I expect you’ll be at work by the time I’m done, Lizzie, but I need to tell you . . .’ Molly’s voice trailed off as she noticed a small man in a bowler hat being helped out of one of the first-class carriages by Lizzie’s boss.

  ‘It’s all right, Moll. Lizzie and me decided last night to come and watch this. We wouldn’t have missed it for the world, would we, Liz?’ John was so awestruck by the steam engine that he failed to notice the expression on Molly’s face. ‘Did you hear the whistle blow and the chuffing that she made when she came around the limestone cutting? What a magnif—’