Hidden Currents

by Rowena Summers

  She didn’t listen to any more. She was already winging her way back down towards Jacob’s Wells Road. She was terrified of witnessing the birth, but just as terrified of not being there when Ma needed her.

  She rushed inside the house and then stopped dead. It was too quiet. She couldn’t hear anything, save for her own laboured breathing, and she felt a real sense of dread. Then she saw Mrs Green come swishing through from the scullery, with a tray of tea in her hands. It was such a homely, ordinary little scene that Carrie almost burst out crying. For a moment, she had been so very afraid.

  ‘Now then, Carrie, you can take this upstairs for me while I fetch some towels and hot water for Doctor. Your Ma’s fair parched and begging for a cup of tea. You got hold of him, I hope?’

  ‘Yes. He’s coming right away,’ Carrie stammered. She took the tray without thinking, nearly dropping it in her relief. Ma was still all right then, and asking for tea …

  She took the tray upstairs to the bedroom. Her mother looked very pale, and her hair lay lankly around her face, but she managed a weak smile.

  ‘This is a fine carry-on and no mistake,’ she said conversationally, just as if it was no more dramatic than dropping a stitch in her knitting. ‘The sooner Doctor gets the little ‘un turned about, the sooner I can get on with my work.’

  Carrie stared at her, pouring out the tea with shaking hands and handing her the mug.

  ‘Aren’t you scared, Ma?’ she said faintly.

  Her mother shrugged. ‘It happened with our Frank, so I might have guessed at summat like this. It’ll be a bit of a trial, but there’s one thing for sure. The bab can’t stay where he is, so there’s no help for it.’

  She is so brave, Carrie thought. So very brave … and all this while Pa was out somewhere, keeping well out of the way, when he could be here wiping her brow and holding her hand … even as she said it, she knew it had been Ma who ordered him away. She always said there was no dignity in birthing, and the only menfolk capable of witnessing it without fainting right away, were the medical men who were trained to it.

  The doctor came bounding up the stairs a short while later, and told Carrie to make herself scarce while he took a look to see what was happening. They would call her if it was necessary. Mrs Green was hovering behind him then, and Carrie fled thankfully back down the stairs. She had never felt so useless, nor so guiltily glad to be so.

  * * *

  The day grew dark. Wilf returned from his work and was sent up Bedminster Hill to meet Pa and inform him that there was no news yet. Carrie had no doubt the men would be staying up there awhile, at least until Billy was put to bed in his strange room.

  She guessed that the jovial Aunt Vi would provide them with a meal. All would be normal and everyday, while down here it seemed that all she could do was to wait helplessly and wish she could close her ears to Ma’s frequent anguished cries. God only knew what was happening now, and she didn’t want to know.

  She discovered that her finger-nails were digging grooves in the palms of her hands where she was clenching them so tightly. The time dragged on, and Wilf came home again.

  ‘I don’t know what’s happening. They’ve sent me out of the room —’ Carrie began. Without warning, she was sobbing and held fast in her brother’s arms. Childbirth was terrifying, and surely Ma would never be the same again after this …

  Suddenly, she jerked up her head. A strange, thin squawking was coming from upstairs, followed by a sharp slapping sound that increased the squawking to a lusty and healthy bawl. The bawl of a child who was drawing good, deep, protesting breaths to announce his arrival into the outside world … there was a lot of activity up above, but nobody summoned her for a good five minutes.

  ‘Carrie!’ At last she heard Mrs Green call her name. ‘You can come upstairs now, to see the finest specimen of boy bab produced this century.’

  She raced up the stairs then, followed by Wilf. He hovered at the door until Ma nodded and waved him inside. The doctor was packing away his things, and there seemed to be a number of blood-stained towels strewn about the room. But the most important thing of all was the sight of Ma in the bed.

  For a moment Carrie just stared at her. Ma looked quite beautiful now, she thought in awe, as if she had never gone through the ordeal of a day and a night at all. And in her arms, still wrapped in the cloths that had had been prepared to hold him, was her red-faced infant, already with a definite angry look of Billy about him.

  ‘Oh, Ma,’ Carrie breathed, moving closer to the bed. ‘He’s just beautiful.’

  The baby opened his eyes a fraction, blinking in the smoky glow of the lamplight. His eyes were a deep blue, the same as all the Stuckeys.

  ‘He’s a fine boy all right,’ Wilf said gruffly.

  ‘Fine and healthy and a credit to you all,’ Doctor Flowers was brisk. ‘I’ll be on my way now, Mrs Stuckey, and Mrs Green will see to the rest of it.’

  ‘I’ll see you out,’ Wilf said at once, clearly not wanting to stay too long. ‘Then I’ll go and find Pa.’

  ‘Yes, get you gone, Wilf. There’s still some tidying up to do here,’ Mrs Green said delicately. ‘Carrie, I’d like you to take the child while I see to the mother.’

  Carrie moved forward to take the baby from her mother’s arms. He felt weighty and strong, and all her foolish fears fell away as she gazed down into the wizened little face. Her heart was full, and as she met her mother’s relaxed smile, freed from all stress, she knew the fundamental truth that women had always known. No pain was too great to bear, when this miracle was the result.

  The baby gave a slight belch in her arms. It seemed to release his anger, and just for a second his mouth crooked into an involuntary, lopsided smile. To Carrie, the smile seemed to be directed straight at her, and she adored him from that moment.

  Chapter 20

  The baby thrived, and so did Ma. They decided to call him Henry, after Sam’s father. On a blustery morning at the end of February, he was baptised by Mr Pritchard, who declared him to be the loudest and lustiest child he had ever poured holy water over. Carrie wasn’t surprised. The minister had a very free hand with the freezing water, and little Henry had a fine pair of lungs.

  Henry also had piercing navy-blue eyes and a ready smile, even at little more than a month old. His father insisted it was merely the colic, but Carrie and Billy swore that the baby knew them already.

  Billy worshipped his little brother. There was no jealousy, to everyone’s relief, and on Sunday afternoons, providing the weather wasn’t too cold, Carrie and Billy pushed Henry in his baby carriage down the hill and along the waterfront, as proud as peacocks.

  On one such occasion, they had bumped straight into Elsie Miller. They hadn’t seen one another since Boxing Day, when they had nearly torn one another’s hair out by the roots, and for a minute, Carrie had thought her one-time friend wasn’t going to speak at all. Then Elsie stopped abruptly, peering into the carriage.

  ‘It’s come then. What is it?’ she said, her voice uncompromising.

  ‘It’s a boy. We’re calling him Henry,’ Carrie said, just as stiffly.

  ‘How’s your Ma doing?’

  ‘She’s well enough, thank you.’

  ‘Remember me to her, then.’ And with no more than a sniff and a toss of her head, Elsie had gone swishing off up Hotwells Road, leaving the others staring after her.

  ‘I don’t like her,’ Billy said darkly. ‘She don’t smell of fish no more, but I still don’t like her. And she didn’t even give our Henry a proper look.’

  This was clearly the biggest insult of all to him. Carrie gave a short laugh, though she was sorely put out and still upset by the fact that two old friends could be so distant and hostile to one another. She knew she hadn’t helped at all, but it took two to make up, just as it took two to break up …

  ‘Never mind about that. We know he’s beautiful, don’t we?’ she cajoled her small brother.

  ‘Boys ain’t beautiful,’ Billy retaliated at o
nce. ‘Boys are just — well, boys.’

  ‘Babies are beautiful, whatever they are,’ Carrie insisted, as they strode along the waterfront. It was more silent than usual today, being Sunday, and some of the larger ships in dock seemed like majestic castles, awaiting their princes …

  She grinned at her own thoughts. Some princes, those foul-mouthed sailors who swarmed about the taverns to start up drunken fights with any takers. But they weren’t all like that, she amended. Frank wouldn’t be like that …

  * * *

  As Mr Pritchard’s voice rang more sharply in her ears, Carrie realised her thoughts had still been wandering far away from the occasion they were all attending in their Sunday best. Young Henry Stuckey had now been formally introduced into the Church, and Ma was wrapping his sturdy little body up in his shawls again after the minister’s vigorous dousing.

  But for a moment, Carrie had felt a real pang of sadness, and wondered if Ma felt it too. Here they were, all gathered around the font for the small service, but the family circle wasn’t complete. There were her parents, with Pa more than a mite awkward and out of his environment, but blessedly sober since before Henry’s birth; Wilf, accompanied by Nora Woolley now that their relationship was all official and above-board; herself and Billy and the baby.

  But something was missing. Frank should be among them, and so should John. And no amount of letters from either of them could replace their physical presence. Not that either was a great letter writer; Frank rarely wrote, because he was simply having too exciting a time on board ship and seeing all these foreign places that had been only names to him before now; and John, because it was difficult to snatch a moment’s peace in his touring, or to get the letters sent forward. There had only been two, so far, but the most important bits in each were imprinted on Carrie’s heart …

  ‘… remember that you always have my undying love, sweet Carrie, and I count the days until we’re together again. Don’t ever forget that, love, and when you think of me, remember that I shall be thinking of you. When you look at the moon at night, I shall look at that same bright moon and send you all my love. When you look at the stars, assume that each one is a kiss from me to you …’

  She had treasured the words, and she kept the letters beneath her pillow, kissing them every night before she went to sleep. John was educated enough to have a fine turn of phrase, and to be unafraid to say what was in his heart. It comforted her in the lonely nights when she missed him so dreadfully.

  * * *

  ‘Well, thank goodness that’s over,’ Pa said, when they finally spilled out into the daylight from the gloom of the church. ‘The old boy goes on a fair stretch, don’t he?’

  He looked around him at his family, and felt a stab of pride that was reminiscent of the old days when there was plenty of work to be had. Not that he suffered too badly now, he had to admit. Coffin-making hadn’t been a trade he’d ever have chosen, but there was a certain satisfaction in giving a body the best send-off he could, in as much comfort as possible. He smiled faintly at his own pun.

  He realised that Wilf’s young lady was approaching him shyly. He liked the little maid, and Wilf could have done a lot worse for himself, despite her bumptious parentage … but Nora couldn’t help her father being the way he was, and Sam knew he couldn’t have wished for a more pleasant future daughter-in-law.

  ‘Well, Nora, what do you think of our young offspring?’ he said, as proud as any new father, despite this one being a tag-end child.

  ‘He’s a truly lovely boy, Mr Stuckey, and my parents send you their best wishes on this occasion.’

  ‘Do they now? Well, that’s mighty generous of them,’ Sam said, unable to keep the sarcasm out of his voice.

  Providing him with work during the last difficult months would have been a sight more acceptable than best wishes, but at Ma’s frowning look, he let that pass.

  ‘My father says he’d like to see you some time, Mr Stuckey,’ she went on in her soft little voice.

  ‘Well, he knows where I live, don’t he?’ Sam stated, marching on down the road with the family trailing behind. She glanced at Wilf, who quickly strode after him.

  ‘Pa, don’t go off in a huff. Gaffer Woolley might have something of interest to say to you.’

  Sam stopped. ‘Do you know summat I don’t, boy?’

  ‘No more than Nora’s told you. Gaffer says he’ll have no objection if you go to the house this evening, though.’

  For a minute, Carrie thought Pa was going to explode. This suggestion had obviously been decided beforehand, but Wilf had put it clumsily, making it sound like a command, rather than a request. She knew he was about to round on his son. If it hadn’t been Sunday, and other folk were taking the air and passing the time of day, he surely would have done.

  ‘Please, Mr Stuckey, don’t be cross,’ Nora pleaded now. She put one small hand on his arm, and looked up into his face. Sam hesitated a moment, but one look into her melting hazel eyes beneath the pert little bonnet she wore, and he could see exactly why Wilf had been so bowled over by her. He gave a grunt.

  ‘I ain’t cross with you, my duck, and never could be.’

  ‘Well then, won’t you please go and listen to what Father has to say, if only for my sake?’

  Sam gave a sigh of resignation. Womenfolk! They had their own soft ways of getting around a man, and sometimes it was simpler just to give in.

  ‘Well, all right, since you ask it of me. I’ll go and see him this evening, but just for ten minutes, mind, and just to hear him out,’ he warned her. ‘And I ain’t saying no more than that.’

  Wilf smiled at Ma and gave her a small wink. Gaffer had given him a small hint of what it was all about, but he wasn’t going to say a single word to anyone and spoil the surprise. Besides, there was never any knowing how Pa would react these days. He was just as likely to bawl and shout and tell Gaffer what to do with his proposal. Wilf hoped it wouldn’t end like that, though. He felt so secure with his own life now, and he wanted everyone else to feel the same.

  The storehouse at the back of Woolley’s warehouse where he made his toys was not ideal for his purpose, but any day now, the spacious workshop behind the new premises would be available, and he could move in there. In a month’s time, the fittings and fitments should all be in place, and there would be a grand opening, with posters all around the town advertising the event.

  It irked him slightly that the shop-fitting work hadn’t been offered to Pa, but Mr Cedric Woolley had his own regular London contractors that he brought down with him, and there had been no arguing with that. He was already discovering that Mr Cedric Woolley was a canny businessman, with ventures all over the place, and that they inevitably succeeded. It boded well for the future.

  * * *

  Sam presented himself at the Woolley house in Ashton Way that evening, telling himself that whatever Gaffer had to say to him, he wasn’t going to give an inch. He had his pride, and he wanted no warehouse plank shifting work, just because there was a vague family connection now that his eldest son’s future was assured by Gaffer’s cousin, and he was courting Gaffer’s daughter.

  Sam’s pride had come very much to the fore again, now that he had a new young son to raise. He had stopped drinking, and he was becoming known as a reliable coffin-maker. Wilf was bringing money into the house as well, and Ma didn’t need to take in washing any more, though she seemed to enjoy the bits that she did, he thought vaguely. Carrie had taken on the task of dealing with young Henry most of the time, leaving Ma to the wash-tub, which seemed to suit them both. He shook his head slightly, unable to fathom the ways of women.

  But one thing he did know. He was no longer prepared to take a pittance wage for warehouse stacking, if that was what Gaffer Woolley had in mind. No, sir …

  He was shown into the library at the Woolley house by a servant. Uneasily, he’d never realised before that Gaffer lived so fine. Nor had he realised that a private house boasted such a room as this, and he gazed in amaze
ment at the rows and rows of books on the shelves around the room. It smelled of old leather, a comfortable, masculine smell, and the chairs reflected that too. Solid, deep, and inviting a man to sit and browse at leisure.

  Sam’s mouth twisted. It just showed the difference between them who had, and them who had not, he thought sourly. When did a man like himself have any time for leisure, except when he was thrown out of work by the likes of the Woolleys? And even then, all his spare time would be taken up with scratching a living for his family.

  He turned, full of renewed aggression, as his host entered the room, dressed in elegant style, and swathed in cigar smoke.

  ‘Ah, Sam, it’s good to see you,’ Gaffer said genially. ‘I thought we’d be more comfortable in here, away from the rest of the household. Would you care for some brandy?’

  Before Sam could open his mouth, Gaffer had moved to a side table where a decanter and glasses stood ready. A glass containing a liberal amount of the golden nectar was put into his hand, and without thinking, he took a great gulp, which produced an immediate coughing fit.

  ‘Steady, man,’ Gaffer said, by the time he’d done spluttering and watering. ‘I don’t want you expiring on me before you hear what I’ve got to say.’

  ‘Then say it and be done with it,’ Sam growled, furious at being shown up by the attack.

  Gaffer wouldn’t be ruffled. He blew a large smoke ring into the air and looked at Sam through the lingering haze.

  ‘I understand you’ve been doing a fine line in cheap coffins of late, Sam.’

  ‘What of it? Poor folk have a right to be buried decently, same as the toffs.’

  ‘Good God, man, I’m not arguing with that. And if you’re going to leap down my throat at every sentence, we’re not going to get anywhere.’

  Sam clamped his lips together, not knowing where the man’s thoughts were going, anyway. He took a more cautious sip of his brandy, feeling the stinging liquid warm his vitals.

  ‘So how would you feel about making a coffin for me?’ Aaron Woolley said calmly.