McCann, Maria - As Meat Loves Salt

by Balefanio

  'Elizabeth wasn't young and new in love,' I commented. 'If Cath­erine asks, will you witness it?'

  'O Lord! I pray she won't ask me just yet. Would you?'

  'Not if you don't wish it,' I said, delighted at a chance to spite Hathersage.

  'They won't ask Jacob or me,' Ferris cut in with certainty. 'It will be you, Susannah, then the Tunstalls.'

  'I tried to reason with her,' Susannah sighed. 'She said I'd had my chance and she would have hers. I told her my chance lasted just a year, and I was lucky to have no little one clinging round my neck; I asked had she ever thought on that. But it's ill work preaching to the deaf

  "They will never leave, now.' I watched as they got up and walked hand in hand to the wood, pacing in the dusk along the path which bordered it. As Ferris had predicted, they did not go in.

  We had almost stopped hoping for a letter from Sir Timothy Heys. Either he was not in London, and our friend had been misinformed, or he cared nothing for the plight of a few ragged diggers, having more urgent business in town. Perhaps he had made it up with Sir George Byars. That idea infected me with dread. We might have entrusted

  ourselves to an enemy who amused himself, letting us wait, and yearn, and wait. The air which hung over our fields seemed charged with thunder; it was worse since the haystack was built, a standing provoca­tion to any of his servants or cronies who should ride by. I felt we were living in the palm of Sir George's hand, where any minute he might choose to crush us.

  About halfway through June I volunteered to take a turn at walking to the inn, in case our salvation was come.

  'I will go with you,' said Susannah. We set off across the field before the early haze was lifted. I noticed she walked heavily, as if half asleep.

  'Susannah, go back. You're tired already.'

  'I can't sleep. Leave me be, I'd as lief walk as hoe.'

  We went on a little. 'Is it Catherine?' I asked.

  'If Brother Christopher would give her just a hint, it'd break the whole thing in pieces,' she cried out. 'Why won't he?'

  'What makes you think he knows that?' I hedged.

  'Stop it, Jacob. Everyone knows, except Wisdom. What do I say?' She laughed bitterly. 'Most likely he knows too.'

  'That would be a kind of promise from Brother Christopher,' I said. 'What would he do once she loosed Hathersage? Take up with her?'

  'Jacob, I don't—'

  'Hathersage isn't the only man who can make young bones.'

  Susannah turned her face slowly up to mine. 'Are you saying Brother Christopher would father a child on her?'

  'Though I'm his friend that says it, he's a man like other men.'

  'Is he?'

  Uncomfortable, I returned her stare. 'Did you not know? He was already a father when he was espoused. She died in childbed, a few months after.'

  She seemed nonplussed by this half-lie, and said at last, 'I only thought he might give her some cause to hope.'

  I flushed when I remembered that he considered his taking of Joanna the best act he ever did in his life. Now I had slandered his care of her.

  When we came to the inn the mail, perhaps owing to some ac­cident, was not yet arrived. Susanna, cast down, wept and sniffled. I made her sit in the cool of the landlord's parlour and bought us both ale with some of the money Ferris had given me. After the glare of the sun, the dark wainscot made a little night of the room.

  'To see the whites of your eyes!’ she said suddenly out of our shared silence. 'You're every inch a gypsy.'

  'I've a brother who passed for one.'

  'I guess we both look like tramping people.'

  'And stink like them.' I had been afraid the man would deny us the use of his parlour. Nobody else was in it, which might explain his toleration of such dirty folks as we.

  'Do you still wash yourself in the spring, Jacob?'

  I started and coughed.

  'If we had another cauldron I would make us all washballs,' she went on longingly, and I realised with bitter amusement that it was not my flesh that she hankered after. Poverty makes the humblest things precious: I was not an ill-looking man and with my clothes off (to speak without false modesty) fit to stand beside anybody, and here was Susannah lusting after the paltry ball of fat and perfume with which I cleansed my skin. But I had scant time to muse on this for Susannah was back on the subject of her sister-in-law.

  'We passed a woman on the road as we came up, alone and a babe in arms. I thought directly, That could be Catherine in a year's time.' She bit her lip and hugged herself.

  'I hardly think he'll abandon her,' I said.

  'My meaning was, Sir George might put him in prison. Or worse.'

  'Come.' I downed the remnant of my ale, wanting to be away.

  The sunlight gritted my eyes as we came out and started over the fields. I thought of Ferris, and how he would lift his head from the work he was doing and strain to see us, until we were close enough for him to read the slump of our shoulders. I remembered promising myself, in London, that if he were ever exhausted or ill I should carry him by main force back to Cheapside. That had seemed an easy thing at the time.

  But, I reminded myself, he was now eating more, and (none was

  better placed to know it) was recently grown stronger. I recalled how he had given up his food to me in the army, so I could get well, and my heart twisted with love.

  'Look there.' Susannah nudged me: there was a horse some way off, coming along the road. It put me in mind of Biggin and his hench­men.

  'There'll be no letter,' I replied.

  'We may as well wait after coming this far.'

  There was reason in that. We turned back to the inn and I checked the contents of the purse Ferris had given me. I still had enough. We came up level with the inn just as the letters were being passed over, and stood to make sure there was nothing for us.

  The host put a letter into my hand.

  'Glory be!’ cried Susannah.

  I paid him what he asked and turned over the letter, weighing it, noting the direction, To Mister Christopher Ferris. The two of us stared at the seal: a common device, no motto.

  'Sir Timothy Heys?' I asked Susannah.

  She shrugged. 'Not like a gentleman's hand, is it?'

  The thing might be from Aunt. But no, the writing was of a mas­culine type. Perhaps Botts had written to boast of his powerful friends, and to exult over us.

  'I shall open it,' I decided.

  'No, Jacob. Let him, it has his name on it.' She touched my hand and the touch was kind. I laid the paper next my breast, and we turned back towards the colony without further talk, wincing at the brilliant light full in our faces. Susannah kept up with me despite her shorter legs, and seemed to have thrown off her lack of sleep. We trudged across fields and clambered over the stiles, frightening birds as we went, and at every step I felt the letter weigh on me as if it were stone.

  The haystack came into sight, and shortly after we could distin­guish figures in the fields. I saw Ferris look up from the rows of car­rots, just as I had pictured him; he was doubtless wondering if this could be the day of succour at last, the lamb snatched from the jaws of the wolf. It hurt me to see him, after months of planning and toil,

  waiting on a rich man's humour. By his side, Hepsibah in her cap, hoe­ing the ground. Against the surging of the windy wood, the colonists showed tiny and defenceless.

  Ferris waved to us, gestured that we should come over. I saw Cath­erine leave her work group and cross the vegetable patch towards him; Hathersage stayed where he was. I ran across the last field, Susannah trotting by my side, encumbered by her skirts.

  "There's a letter,' I shouted as I approached.

  Ferris's eyes were as huge, their expression as intense, as when I first eased him backwards onto his bed in Cheapside. 'Is it from him?'

  'We've not unsealed it.' I pulled the letter out, a little damp, and he snatched it from me and tore it open without considering the direc­tion. His eyes leapt along the lines.
I saw his lips tighten.

  'Give it here—' I came alongside of him and pulled his wrist over to me. Ferris opened his hand and allowed the paper to drop. Susan­nah and I grabbed for it together. I took the thing up and read as follows:

  London, at Mistress Coleman's, opposite the Sign of the Bull. Brother Christopher,

  My sincerest wishes that this finds you in good health and all of our brothers and sisters well, and loving one with the other. We are got safely back and think often on you all.

  I will be brief in my salutations and compliments, having unluckily some sad news for you. We called upon your aunt in Cheapside, not to badger her for monies but to let her know that you are well. She knows nothing of Sir Geo. and his menaces, or at least not from us. Nor has Botts been near her, for all we can tell.

  But to the matter. While we were there she suffered a species of fit, which has left her unable to move her mouth and very much weakened in the legs and chest. She is attended by an excellent phy­sician, Doctor Whiteman, who said you would recall him. Once persuaded there was no immediate danger we came away and wrote while the surgeon was still with her. The maid shows herself an able and devoted nurse.

  However, despite the tenderest care your aunt is much dis­tressed and weeps whenever your name is spoken, which emboldens me to say that you would do well to return at once. It grieves me to be the sender of such ill news, knowing as I do how you are al­ready set about by trials. We go to the house every day to do what we can, and if you require any aid, you will I trust call first on your own

  Henry Beste

  Ferris was gazing into the dust.

  'This Whiteman, is he so good?' I asked.

  'Aye.' He did not move or look at me.

  'Who's Whiteman?' cried Catherine. 'Brother Christopher, what's the matter?'

  'His aunt is ill,' I replied. 'It is Harry who writes to us,' and I passed her over the letter.

  Hepsibah and Susannah pressed to her side.

  'I can't read, what does it say?' urged Hepsibah. Catherine began reading the letter aloud. Ferris sat down just where he was standing, in the row of carrots.

  'Take heart, man,’ I urged. 'You see she is in no danger.'

  'Thus my mother died.' He rocked himself back and forth, arms clenched to the sides of his ribs and his hands in tight fists. Sinews stood out in his neck.

  I squatted next to him. 'You must go to her.'

  For answer he looked about him, at the women with their pitying faces, the others further off in the fields, the huts.

  'Yes, go to her,' Catherine put in impetuously.

  'And if Sir George and his hired men should come while I'm away?' Ferris drew back his lips and clenched his teeth until he looked to be snarling.

  'Your presence would not save us,' said Susannah. 'But wait, has she none other? No child of her own, no other nephew?'

  'None.’ He tried to lift himself from his sitting position, fell back. I straightened up and held out my hand to him.

  'Will you help me pack?' he asked me as he hauled himself up­right.

  'We can help,' offered Catherine. Hepsibah nodded, while Susan­nah looked enquiringly at me.

  'No, sisters, my thanks but you were better go on with the work.'

  He turned away from them. I followed him to his hut, aware of Catherine running towards Hathersage and the others with the letter in her hand.

  We paced drearily alongside the field.

  'Here's a rare chance for you, Jacob,' he said. 'Direct my life. Tell me what to do.'

  'I have done so. Go to her.'

  He stamped on a clod, shattering it. 'I begin to wonder if there be a Devil after all.'

  'What's devilish in this? You said yourself, a malady already known in the family.'

  'Not the malady. Don't you see? Go or stay, I betray someone.' He smiled grimly. 'That's a real Devil's riddle, wouldn't you say?'

  'You talk as if your going to her will bring on Sir George.'

  'Bring him on. Yes, he's a kind of sickness.'

  We were almost at the huts. I said, 'Well, you bid me direct you, but you're obstinate as ever. Don't go, then! Stay! Now I suppose you will go.'

  'I am so weary,' he answered in a voice charged with tears.

  I was ashamed. 'I will look after them for you.'

  'No, Jacob, no.'

  'You don't trust my temper?'

  'If she dies I want you with me.'

  There was little to pack up and he had not wanted me for that. He kissed and fingered me in the hut. I felt the depth of his trouble in those touches. But anyone might walk in upon us there, so I gently pushed away his hands.

  That day's coach being gone some hours before, we were to make the journey on foot. I thought it might do him good. Our parting from our fellow colonists was as tender as any could desire: we were clasped close and our backs patted for comfort. Arms stretched up to me and for the first time I wished I had been of Ferris's stature so that people could embrace me heart to heart as they did him.

  Catherine had been crying, and Hathersage supported her, his arm about her waist.

  'Remember, we have your direction in Cheapside,' said Susannah to Ferris. 'If you see nothing of us, and hear nothing, believe we are well. You have cares enough.'

  'The Lord looks after his own,' said Hathersage. I wondered was it meant for a promise or a threat. The other men clapped their palms to ours and wished us good speed and a safe journey.

  'Your aunt is a godly lady,' Hepsibah called out to our departing backs. 'She has nothing to fear.' I pondered on those words as we fell into step, for it seemed to me that the Snapmans and Ferrises could not have been godly as most understood it, else they could never have made the man walking by my side. Aunt was not as innocent as a good woman should be; I remembered how she had thought to use me to tie Ferris to London.

  My life on it, I thought, she understood something, and then, praying in my usual selfish fashion, Let her not be dead before we arrive. My father had taught me from earliest childhood that prayers do not de­mand things of God, but show our submission to His will. Neverthe­less, whenever I heard people praying, they usually said, 'Thy will,' or 'Thy sake,' then asked God to bring about what they wanted. I prayed no better than others.

  I will not say that God was obedient to my wishes, but a carter picked us up before we had been walking half an hour, with the fare­wells of brothers and sisters still in our ears. Ferris scrambled up and lay on the load of hay, face to the sky. I stretched on one elbow at his side.

  'This is our entry to London all over again,' I said, growing more cheerful at the remembrance.

  He murmured, 'When we come back, Hathersage and Catherine will be espoused.'

  'Shame on you, you lost two chances there.' A feeble jest, but I was glad to hear him talk as if the colony would at least survive long enough to witness their union.

  'I never wanted either of them,’ he replied seriously.

  'Jilt,' I teased, 'you promise more than you give.'

  'So they will find.’ His face clouded, and I could have bitten off my tongue.

  The carter here cut in with a most gloomy recitation of deaths by plague. His brother's wife had taken the sickness, 'the buboes under her arms as big as that’. He let go the reins to cut buboes from the air with his hands. 'And then all their children, not a one left.'

  'And your brother? Did he live?' asked Ferris, struggling to show interest.

  'Aye, can you believe it? And lodges with our sister at White-friars. We think to have him with us next month. But he's down — sadly down.' The man seemed surprised at his brother's so easily giving way.

  'Something new for you,' Ferris remarked to me. 'Summer's the plaguey time in London. The sun brings it on.'

  'Why is that?'

  'How should I know? Perhaps corruption in meat, perhaps sweat­ing.'

  Anyway, there's no plague in your house,' I said, trying to cheer him. He did not reply.

  Becs opened the door to us, and t
here was an awkward moment as we all paused, taking stock. I was struck by the deathly white of her skin, set off by purple beneath the eyes, while she in her turn stepped back from our filth and raggedness. I almost smiled at the difference in her demeanour from the last time I saw her.

  'Is she—?' Ferris cried.

  'God be with you, Master, she is well,' Becs answered more after her usual fashion. She bobbed to us and we stepped into the house. Ferris ran up the stairs.

  'The physician is with her!' the girl called warningly. Then, turning to me, 'I'll heat some water and look out some clothes for the two of you.'

  'My thanks.'

  'He'd have been better to wash before going up to her, you're both dirty enough to bring on another fit.'

  'I endeavour—' I stopped abruptly. I was not bound to explain to her that I tried to keep myself clean. Instead I said, 'And was I so dis­gusting when I left? When someone gave me a sore mouth.'

  'Your mouth's quite safe as long as you are so dirty. When you are washed—' she paused.

  'Well, what then?'

  She met my, eyes, all innocence. 'I'll turn down the sheets of his bed.'

  I retreated after Ferris.

  By well I suppose Becs must have meant that the patient still breathed, for Aunt was not well. I found Ferris with his head laid near her pillow, his tangled hair on the bedcover, much to the distaste of the grave and reverend fellow in attendance. Ferris's eyes were wet. He was clasping one of her hands and her fingers showed like wax against his brown and coarsened ones. Aunt's eyes were also moist but her face was otherwise frozen and I had no idea whether she had observed me. The doctor, who in his spectacles and furred gown resembled nothing so much as an owl, turned as I entered, brow furrowed with perplex­ity, and then paused, confounded at seeing a second scarecrow. Me-thinks he must have taken my footsteps for Becs mounting the stairs. I bowed and he returned the politeness, but seemed to find nothing to say to me.

  'Here's Jacob, Aunt,' said Ferris.

  Aunt still did not look in my direction.

  'She's squeezing my hand,’ he went on. 'She sees and hears me.'