by Iris Gower
Maura heard the sound of screaming, it rang inside her head, deafening her. And then, all was darkness and peace.
The funeral of Bridget Dundee took place several days later. Eynon Morton-Edwards had paid for the very best in funeral accoutrements. The coffin was polished oak, the handles solid brass. The hearse was drawn by two splendid greys. But there was no-one to witness the pomp and grandeur, it seemed the entire township had taken fright and those who were not sick were remaining indoors, hiding away.
Maura stood with Eynon and listened to the prayers of Father Duncan. He had retired from his post but he was the only one who would conduct the service. It began to rain but Maura did not feel it. Her baby was dead and it felt like her own life was ended.
When Eynon led her back to the carriage, she followed him obediently. At the gate of the cemetery, she saw Llinos Savage carrying a beautiful bouquet of roses.
‘I’m so sorry,’ she began.
‘Go away. Just go away, leave me alone,’ Maura said. ‘All this is your fault and I hope you suffer the flames of eternal damnation.’
Eynon half lifted her into the carriage and, sunk in misery, she closed her eyes. The world had turned dark and grey. She was alone in her grief and it was all because of one woman, Llinos Savage.
‘This is no-one’s fault, you know that really, don’t you?’ Eynon was speaking to her but she could not hear him. She saw his mouth open and close but she was deaf to his words, locked into her own world of misery.
As soon as they reached the big house, Maura climbed wearily up the stairs and fell on the bed. She was tired, so tired. She felt like death. But she would not die, she needed to live. To pay back those who had done her wrong, Binnie, her husband who had walked out on her, and Llinos Savage, who had taken him away from his wife and child.
At last she slept but her dreams were tortured. She saw her baby, pale and limp like a rag doll, floating in a stream of cold water. She woke suddenly and she was shivering, her throat hurt and she knew she had caught the dreaded sickness.
The night turned to day and back to night again; people came and went. Water was forced between her lips. Fever raged through her body. But her will was strong. By the tenth day after the burial of her child, Maura Dundee’s fever broke.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Binnie was beginning to adjust to life in the village of West Troy even though, at first, it had all seemed foreign to him. The scenery, even the weather, was so different from that at home. But Binnie had been quick to spot the unmistakable signs of the pottery business in the tall kilns that hummed with heat and life on the edge of the village. That fact alone was enough to convince him that he had done the right thing in deciding to settle in Troy Village.
He had found lodgings in a rambling clapboard house near the docks with an elderly couple and their three daughters. Mrs McCabe had looked him over long and hard before renting him a room and it amused Binnie to realize that the woman saw him as a potential husband for one of her girls.
Still, he congratulated himself on finding himself a comfortable niche. His room was kept spotlessly clean, his food, if strange to his taste, was plentiful and well cooked. And the company was most welcome.
Binnie had only lodged with the McCabes for a few days before he learned that Dan McCabe was himself the owner of a pottery, a large flourishing concern a mile or two from the house. Binnie told himself that lady luck was with him for once.
This feeling was reinforced when Binnie discovered that Mr McCabe was looking for an experienced foreman. A foreman who might one day become a son-in-law.
It worked to Binnie’s benefit that there seemed to be a dearth of single men in Troy. He realized at once that the shortage of husband material accounted for the welcome he had received into the McCabe household.
And once Dan became aware of how knowledgeable Binnie was concerning the process of creating good earthenware, Binnie’s position in the household was secured.
After only a month Binnie was made foreman at the McCabe Pottery and was in charge of production from the wedging of the clay to the temperature of the kilns. He had fallen on his feet, at last.
In his spare time, he explored the countryside on horseback, familiarizing himself with the surroundings of his new home. The village of West Troy was located in Albany County, on the west bank of the Hudson River opposite the City of Troy. A distance easily covered on the back of a fine horse, should Binnie be tempted to discover the pleasures of the city. So far he had resisted the bustle of the city streets for the quietness of the village and the sweet company of the McCabe girls.
If Binnie missed anything of his old life, he thought, staring at his reflection in the mirror in his neat bedroom, it was the green of the grass and the softness of the countryside that spread beyond the boundaries of Swansea.
He did not miss Maura or his child at all and though it plagued his conscience sometimes that he had deserted them, he usually managed to put it out of his mind.
Some nights when he lay in bed, dreaming of the warmth of a woman beside him, he remembered his wife as she had been when he first met her. Maura with her bright hair and ivory skin had been so beautiful, so passionate, so willing. But she had turned into a drudge, her mind filled with the baby and the cleaning. He was too young to settle for such a mundane life.
He finished his toilet and drew on a clean shirt. That was another bonus; for a nominal sum, his laundry was washed and pressed. He looked at himself again in the speckled mirror and was pleased with the image that he saw there. He had filled out, his shoulders were broader, his frame strong and his muscles well defined. He had become a man.
The sound of cheery American voices greeted him as he descended the stairs. The big kitchen was usually the centre of activity. Here the family ate and played, here the fire burned brightly at all times.
As Binnie entered the room, the youngest of the McCabe daughters smiled up at him. Josephine was fair and pale, her complexion unaffected by the sun. Josephine took great care to keep her face shaded when outdoors by wearing a big bonnet covered with its scattering of cotton rosebuds.
‘Evenin’, Mr Dundee.’ Josephine smiled up at him and moved her skirts shyly to one side so that he could take the seat next to her. ‘How you been doin’ at work today?’
‘Fine.’ He sat down. ‘I’ve checked out so many pots and jugs that I think I’ll see them in my sleep.’
‘Have some pie, Binnie.’ Mrs McCabe handed him a plate and the rich aroma of meat rose appetizingly and he realized how hungry he was.
‘Have some sweet corn and potatoes, Mr Dundee.’ Hortense was the oldest of the girls. Her dark hair was tied back in a severe knot. She was by no means a beautiful girl but there was something about her eyes and about the seductive swell of her breasts beneath her bodice that made Binnie feel glad he was a man.
Melia, not to be outdone, handed him a jug of lemon juice, her blue eyes smiling into his. He sat back in his chair, it was good to be waited on. He was a welcome guest, much admired, and it was a wonderful feeling.
After supper, Dan McCabe took his fiddle out onto the porch and began to play a haunting tune. The women busied themselves clearing up the dishes and Binnie, knowing he would never be allowed to lift a finger to help, joined Dan under the starlit sky.
‘Here.’ Dan handed him a jug. ‘Take out the cork and get a sniff of that.’
Binnie did as he was told and the strong smell of liquor rose to greet him. ‘Good stuff?’
‘The best. Get some down your throat and pass the jug to me and whatever you do, don’t let on to the womenfolk that I got this here liquor in the house.’
Binnie knew that he had reached a new stage in his relationship with the McCabe family; he was being accepted by the man of the house and his position as a friend established.
‘Beautiful!’ he said appreciatively. Binnie took another drink and passed the jug to Dan. ‘Where do you get it?’
‘Make it myself.’ Dan’s uneven
teeth showed beneath his straggling moustache. ‘Got a still out back. The women think it’s for making potions and such. They only drink it when there’s a chill on them.’
‘You’ve got a good life here, Dan, what with your pottery, your comfortable house, a fine hard-working wife and three pretty daughters.’
‘Aye, well I got it all with these.’ Dan held out his big hands, the fingers broad and callused. He was a man who had worked hard for what he possessed.
He looked around him. ‘Built this house myself. Such carrying of timber, such sawing and such cussing you never did see. But I got it done. Out here, a man’s got to be a man, especially when there’s womenfolk to pay mind to.’
He looked at Binnie thoughtfully. ‘My only regret is that I never got me a boy of my own, a son to foller in my footsteps.’
‘You have three lovely girls, I expect they’ll give you plenty of grandsons.’ As soon as Binnie spoke, he realized that Dan was making plans for one of those girls, plans that involved Binnie Dundee.
He toyed with the idea of telling Dan the truth, that he was a married man with a child, but the words stuck in his throat. He would be a fool to ruin the good thing he had going here.
‘You’ll be looking for a wife right soon, I ’spects. You seem like a fine red-blooded fella to me, the kind that needs a good woman around.’
‘You’re not wrong.’ Binnie spoke ruefully. ‘It’s a very long time since I’ve had the pleasure of bedding a woman. Oh, excuse me, Dan, I hope I haven’t offended you or anything.’
Dan laughed out loud. ‘Lord, you won’t offend me, boy. I’ve had more women than slices of Mrs McCabe’s pie. Still, you are a young sprat and the blood is wild. My advice to you is to keep away from the whore-house. One of them gels gets their claws into you and before you know it you are facing the preacher man, taking on other men’s leavin’s.’
‘I’m sure you’re right, Dan. In any case, I’m not that desperate. I can wait until the right girl comes into my life.’ Binnie had hoped his words would discourage Dan from thinking of him as a prospective son-in-law but they had the opposite effect.
‘Good for you, boy. You got your chance to meet fine respectable gels right here under your nose. An’ if you marries into the McCabe family, you gets all the help you could want regarding the building of a property and all. You think about it, son. Here, have another swig of this.’
Later, the women joined the men on the porch and Dan began to play some melodies on the battered fiddle. The girls’ voices were sweet and harmonious and, relaxed by the home-made liquor, Binnie began to feel that marriage to one of them would not be such a bad idea. So he was already married to a woman back home but how could anyone find out about it?
As he listened to the music, Binnie warmed to the idea of marrying into the McCabe family. He would get himself a good home, a pretty, amenable wife and an easy living, what more could any man want? He pushed the thought of Maura to the back of his mind, that was his old life. Here, in America, he was beginning afresh.
‘So, Lloyd.’ Eynon was sitting opposite Lloyd Savage in the sitting-room of Pottery House. ‘What I would like is to take a more active part in the running of the pottery.’ He could see that Lloyd had become older, he looked careworn, tired.
‘You know the problems we are having with someone buying up the surrounding land?’ Lloyd said. ‘We might not have a pottery to run in a few weeks’ time.’
‘I have ideas about that,’ Eynon said. ‘But leave that with me, Lloyd, I think I will be able to sort it all out for you.’
‘In that case, you are welcome in the camp.’ Lloyd smiled. ‘Most welcome. I think it’s about time I gave up, handed over the reins, I’m getting too old for all this aggravation.’
Eynon rose and picked up his hat and stick. ‘How is Llinos?’
‘All right,’ Lloyd said. ‘She’s been looking after me, I’ve told her to go back to work if she wants to but she won’t have it. I expect she’s in her room. Do you want to see her?’
‘No, don’t disturb her, this was not a social call, not really. All right, Lloyd, with your permission, I’ll get working on the problems right away.’
‘That’s good to hear,’ Lloyd said. ‘I wish you luck in whatever it is you are planning, Eynon.’
Outside in the row Eynon handed a coin to the boy who had been looking after his horse.
‘Thank you, Watt, it is Watt, isn’t it? You’ve grown so much I hardly recognize you.’
‘Yes, sir, Mr Morton-Edwards, thank you, sir.’ Watt pocketed the coin quickly and handed over the reins with reluctance; it had been pleasurable to stand caressing the neck of the big creature instead of carrying loads of waste clay to the bins.
Eynon was about to ride away when Joe came silently out of the gates of the pottery and stood still, like a shadow beside the high wall.
Eynon’s first instinct was to act as though he had not seen Joe, but such behaviour was unbecoming to his new-found determination to face life head on.
‘Joe, good day to you.’ Curse Joe! He was a handsome devil with his black hair and high cheekbones and fine strong frame. And yet Eynon could not dislike him even though Joe was, perhaps, the one impediment between him and Llinos.
‘You are looking well, Eynon,’ Joe said, smiling. ‘You seem different, stronger. I never did give you those lessons in defence I promised, did I?’
‘No, you did not. How about making up for it now?’ Eynon said. ‘That’s if you are not too busy.’
‘I’m not busy at all.’ Did Joe sound a little disgruntled with his lot?
‘Well, what if you come up to my place, say three times a week, early in the morning would be fine.’
‘What if I come up there every day? That way you will learn the art of defending yourself much more quickly.’
‘Right, Joe, it’s a deal. I’ll see you tomorrow at sunrise.’
As Eynon rode away, he felt happier thai he had done in a long time. He was becoming stronger and soon he would be strong enough to fight any battle that came his way.
It was a week later when Philip Morton-Edwards arrived at Eynon’s house, his face reddened by the wind, his eyes gleaming with anger.
‘What do you think you are up to, Eynon?’ Philip stared at his son as though he had grown horns. Eynon would have smiled if the situation had not been so serious. ‘I understand you have bought the waste land to the rear of the potteries and intend to build a roadway there. Is that correct?’
‘Yes, that’s correct. You see, I’ve changed my mind, Father, I’m fed up with being your whipping boy.’
‘What are you babbling on about now? I just fail to understand you, boy. Changed your mind about what?’
‘You are not usually so slow, Father, I’m not going to run away any more, not from you or from life. I’m taking you on, I’m going to beat you at your own game. Now do you understand?’
‘You are a fool! If you challenge me, you will lose, Eynon. Believe me, if it comes to a fight I will not give any quarter just because you are my son.’
‘Oh, I know that. Indeed, you will be twice as determined to beat me, twice as vindictive. Well, I’ll not tell you what I’m up to, you’ll just have to wait and see. One thing I will tell you, you are going to learn that you can’t always have what you want. You finally pushed me too far and now I want to get even with you for all the insults, all the cruelties you have ever inflicted on me.’
Philip slapped his boot with his riding crop. ‘Well, my boy, there’s many ways to catch a fox but you won’t be sharp enough to catch this one.’ He strode towards the door and paused. ‘I know that half-breed is working with you, I’ve had reports of him coming up here every day. What for? Neither of you is up to any good. Well, he’ll be my first target, just to show you I mean business. Good day to you, son, and good luck!’
Eynon watched his father whip his horse and the animal plunged forward, heels flying. Eynon took up his coat and hat, noticing that Jessie had not come
running the way she did when his father called. On reflection, Jessie saw and heard too much: perhaps Philip paid her to keep her eyes open, it would explain a great deal.
He left the house, deciding to walk into town. It was a fine day and a walk would strengthen his legs. He had made good progress in the last few days, finding he was quick to learn Joe’s lessons in defence. Strength, as Joe kept insisting, began in the mind.
Eynon made his way downhill into the valley and out onto the busy streets that led to the Savage Pottery. He needed to see Lloyd and while he was at the pottery he would have a word with Joe, he would warn him about Philip’s threats. Not that Joe would be worried by them, he was well able to take care of himself.
Eynon stepped out more briskly, taking great gulps of fresh air, it was a fine day with the sun shining and it was good to be alive.
Llinos had woken to the early-morning light and as she stared around the bedroom, aware of the sun slanting in through the bright curtains and the smell of beeswax polish rising from furniture, she had the feeling that something was wrong.
Her father was already in the garden, tying up a trailing rose-bush. He looked better, Llinos thought, more rested, and she wondered what was responsible for the improvement. Hopefully, it was her return home.
‘Morning, Father.’ She kissed the top of his head. ‘What a heavenly scent of roses, aren’t they lovely?’
He grunted some response and Llinos patted his shoulder. ‘Had breakfast yet?’
He shook his head.
‘I’m sure the cook is seeing to it,’ she said, ‘I’ll go and find out.’ She stared around her, wondering why her feelings of pessimism were persisting. Perhaps after a cup of warm milk and some food she would feel better.
There were only two places laid in the dining-room. Llinos lifted her head, suddenly aware that the house felt empty in spite of the clatter of dishes from the kitchen and the sound of the groom outside tacking up one of the horses.
She felt her heart freeze. She stood quite still for a moment and then, galvanized by fear, she ran upstairs to the back bedroom. It was empty.