Erin’s Child

by Erin's Child (retail) (epub)

  But the pair would not be deterred from their baiting, and between this barrage of insults and Belle’s incessant crying Sam’s temper burgeoned.

  ‘Er, if you’ve taken on t’job o’ feedin’ bairn,’ persisted Johnson, ‘d’yer reckon t’wife’ll be able to accommodate me if I just nip round?’

  ‘Aye, it’d gimme a nice rest,’ shrieked Sadie.

  ‘I’ve allus fancied her,’ continued the man. ‘Right tasty, she is. An’ if her old man’s gone molly on her she’ll no doubt be glad of a proper bit o’ tuppin’.’

  Sam stopped again, this time wriggling out of the sling on his back, his eyes mirroring his intent.

  Dobby watched in alarm. ‘Take no notice, Mr Teale. Yer know he’s talkin’ through his arse. Mrs Teale wouldn’t touch him with a clarty pole.’

  Sam, free of his screaming daughter, passed the sling to his labourer. ‘Here hold that!’ and was off back down the lane before Dobby could say more. The young man’s hands, fumbling with the tiny body, brought an uncomfortable awareness of its crooked proportions, and his kind heart turned over, wishing he could retract his jocular comment about the growth on Sam’s back. Feeling sick at his conduct he watched as Sam approached the other man. The grimy children formed a ring around them.

  ‘Eh, now I wouldn’t want thee to exert thissen,’ mocked Johnson. ‘Tha’s got to keep up all tha strength when tha’s a nursing mother.’

  Sam’s fist shot out and upwards, lifting the man off his feet and planting him on his back at the roadside. The children scattered. Mrs Johnson, far from being upset, laughed loudly as Sam departed, rubbing his knuckles with grim satisfaction. He returned to where Dobby stood holding the baby and, with the young man’s assistance, refitted the sling.

  ‘I’m sorry, Mr Teale. I didn’t know. I’d never seen the babby but in her crib. I wouldn’t’ve joked…’ Sam frowned his incomprehension. ‘About her bein’ crooked, like,’ Dobby provided. ‘I wouldn’t’ve said that about you havin’ a growth on yer back. I could cut me tongue off, honest. I hope you didn’t take offence.’

  Sam set off as the herd passed out of sight round the curve of the hedgerow. ‘If I had you’d be lyin’ there alongside that pile o’ muck. Now him I find extremely offensive.’

  Dobby tapped his stick against his boot as he walked. ‘Yer’ll find a lot more like him, Maister. Tha’s got to admit it’s a strange sight, a man carryin’ his bairn around on his back.’

  ‘I know, Dobby and… oh, look at that blasted pup! I’ll have to fettle him.’ Whistling for the bitch, who dragged her wayward son with her, Sam bent and shoved one of the pup’s front paws through its collar. ‘There, run on three for a while. Happen that’ll slow you up. He’s overkeen, is t’lad,’ he explained to Dobby as they moved again, then took up his original theme. ‘I know I look daft like this, an’ I don’t mind folk taking a laugh at my expense if that gives ’em pleasure – though they must have small minds. But Johnson… well, I won’t have no foulmouthed bugger spoutin’ about my Erin. An’ that wife of his is no better.’ He turned a grim face on Dobby.

  There was a delay, then Dobby said, ‘Happen you’ll be in for more pezzle when he finds out about your young’n being crockity. There’ll be a few more folk round here won’t take to her, neither.’

  ‘Are them your feelings, Dobby?’ came the soft query.

  The youth gave a mirthful bark. ‘Lord no! Pardon my laughin’, Maister, but I’ve no cause to look down on other folks’ misfortune. Our Freddy’s as barmy as Bedlam’s bull. That’s him what got shut in t’stocks last week for frightening the vicar’s wife.’

  Sam remembered now. He had gone to the village and had seen poor Freddy fettered there on the green being pelted with mud and rotten eggs. Even though the archaic custom was supposed to be done away with the law was hard to enforce out here where people were far behind the times. ‘That was your brother?’ he said to Dobby as they followed the herd across to the cowhouse. ‘Nobody said owt.’

  ‘No, well…’ Dobby ran an embarrassed hand over his neck. ‘I try not to let on about it – I don’t mind you knowin’ o’ course, though.’ He saw Sam’s expression change. ‘Yer think I’m rotten, don’t yer? S’pose I am, but… I just couldn’t bear for folk to start tormentin’ me about him, an’ they would if they knew.’

  ‘But surely they know already?’ Sam threw over his shoulder as he stepped into the dimness of the shippen. This was a small village. Everyone knew everyone else’s business.

  ‘Some o’ them, mebbe. But I reckon most are ignorant,’ Dobby shouted over the bawling of the calves separated from their mothers in another part of the shippen. Taking a cloth and pail he started to work his way down the row of swollen udders, sluicing and rubbing the teats – the master’s idea, not his. Everyone he knew made do with a quick wipe. Sam had probably got the idea of all this cleanliness from that book he was always reading. ‘He doesn’t live with us, yer see. He lives in the poorhouse.’

  Sam frowned. ‘Why’s that, Dobby?’

  ‘Well, me mam couldn’t manage him, y’see. She had enough wi’ me dad dying on her. I know it doesn’t sound like motherly love, but she knew t’poorhouse’d take him in an’ he’d get fed an’ bed. So she left him on t’doorstep when he were a babby, pretended to folk that the child she’d been expecting was born dead. Well, she couldn’t afford to keep somebody who wouldn’t be bringin’ no money home, could she?’

  ‘No, I suppose not,’ answered Sam, deep in himself. The lash of a cow’s tail brought him back to consciousness. ‘Ow, that was my eye, madam!’

  ‘There we are, Maister, all done.’ Dobby straightened and stepped back to admire the row of sleek, red rumps. ‘By, you’re building up a crackin’ herd o’ coos there. Look at them udders, full to bustin’. Couldn’t fancy walkin’ round wi’ that lot between my legs, could you?’

  ‘No,’ replied Sam. ‘An’ I don’t suppose it’s all that comfy for them neither, so let’s get crackin’.’

  The bitch, Nip, still tethered to her son, lay down in a corner to survey the workings of the byre. Her master and his boy worked silently for a time, the only sound being the chomping of the cows as they snatched mouthfuls of hay from the manger and the spray of milk into the wooden pails. It was Dobby who broke the silence first as he emptied one udder and moved on to the next.

  ‘Is the missus comin’ down later?’ Previously Erin had stood by in the dairy attached to the shippen, waiting to pour the milk into the flat earthenware separating pans. The process would take a lot longer with just the two of them.

  ‘I told her thee an’ me’d see to the skimming for a while.’ Sam upturned a pail of warm, frothy milk into another container. ‘She’s got her hands full at the moment. I’m trying to lighten her workload.’ He caught Dobby’s grin. ‘You think I’m soft, I can tell. Well, I’m not bothered. I’m not a man who’ll work his wife into the ground. She’s not her usual self, Dobby. Needs to build up her strength before she gets back to turning heavy butter churns. That’s why I brought Belle along wi’ me. She’s allus howling summat wicked an’ I thought it might do Erin a bit o’ good if I got her out o’ the road. It’ll not harm me for a while.’

  The reference to Belle caused them both to realise that she was no longer howling and now slept contentedly, her fluffy head lolling on her father’s back as he worked.

  ‘Well, it looks like you’ve got ’em both knocked into shape, Maister,’ grinned Dobby, grasping two more teats. ‘Her an’ t’pup.’

  Sam grinned back. ‘Aye, females an’ dogs, lad, it’s just a question o’ showing ’em who’s t’boss – now all we have to do is convince the wife o’ that.’

  Chapter Four

  ‘Now then, can milady tell us if she’s feeling any better?’ Sam placed a cup of tea in front of his wife and joined her at the table.

  ‘Much, much better, thank ye, kind sir.’ That was obviously no lie. The hitherto lank hair was now brushed neatly into a chignon, the eyes had begun
to regain their vitality and the crumpled apron had been exchanged for her Sunday dress. Sam’s burden-sharing scheme had only been in motion for a few days but it was certainly showing results. ‘And I shall feel better still when we’ve been to church.’

  ‘Come on then, sup up else we’ll not get there.’ He dropped two sugar lumps into his lukewarm tea, stirred it briskly and swallowed it at one lifting. ‘I’ll get Belle ready.’

  ‘No, I’ll get Belle ready,’ she replied firmly. ‘I’m beginning to feel like a spare part what with all this spoiling. An’ it’s going to stop as from today. I only needed a few days’ rest to put me back on my feet and now I’m fine again.’

  ‘It’s good to tell that, bossy-breeches.’

  ‘Never mind bossy-breeches, just put down that cup and – Sam Teale, what d’ye think you’re doing?’

  ‘I’m only taking me cup to rinse.’

  ‘Give it here!’ She took the cup from him. ‘Now, go get your jacket on and harness Bluebell while I get on with my work.’

  Sam spoke to Belle who lay gurgling on the rug. ‘See what thanks we get for our servitude?’

  ‘Sure, did I forget to thank ye?’ asked Erin lightly. ‘Well, thank ye very much for your kind assistance an’ I’ll admit it was very welcome at the time, but ’tis not right you should be doing women’s work at all, let alone on top of your own job, so we’ll have no more – understood?’

  ‘Does Belle still go to work with her dad of a mornin’, or what?’

  ‘There’s hardly the need now, is there?’

  ‘There’s isn’t, no, but…’ He pulled at his ear, ‘Well… I’ve grown quite used to having her wi’ me of a morning. If nowt else she keeps me back warm – an’ Dobby’s grown fond of her company too.’

  ‘What funny creatures you men are,’ said Erin, smiling. ‘Well, I don’t see any harm in her going with you while ye do the milking. It gives me time to get straightened out here I must confess – though I can’t say I don’t worry about her when she’s away.’

  Sam picked Belle up. ‘Eh, I don’t know what your mother thinks thee an’ me get up to when we’re on us own.’ He pretended to whisper. ‘Don’t let on about them games o’ pitch an’ toss we have while we’re supposed to be milkin’ t’coos.’

  ‘Less of your blarney an’ go get ready!’ Erin took Belle from him and wrapped her tightly in a shawl, whereupon the baby immediately began to wail.

  ‘Oy, I’ve warned you about that!’ Her father wagged a finger. ‘Doest want me to take bullwhip to thee like I did t’other day? Did you see the way she started the minute you looked at her? She knows when she’s onto a soft touch.’

  ‘Soft touch, is it?’ Erin advanced on him, hand upraised. ‘Ye’ll be feeling my soft touch round your ear if ye don’t go – and – get – ready – for – church!’

  Leaving Dobby and the dogs to look after his herd, Sam harnessed the pony and very shortly he and Erin set off. It was an enjoyable ride along those twisting country lanes, with the soft rush of air against one’s face, the melodious accompaniment of the birds. Erin was feeling happier than she had done for a long time. She imagined how much better she would feel on her way home, unburdened of all the things she had been bottling up over the past months.

  On reaching York they made their way through the streetfuls of other worshippers to be met by Patrick and Thomasin at their own church, sitting as usual six rows from the front. Only their grandchildren, Nick and Rosanna, accompanied them today. Sonny was now in France.

  ‘Hello, strangers,’ whispered Patrick from the side of his mouth as Erin came out of her introductory prayer. ‘How’s my wee angel?’ He put his face close to Belle who patted his mouth with pudgy, splayed fingers. Patrick nibbled one of the tiny digits tenderly.

  Thomasin watched forlornly, wishing she could find the same enthusiasm for Belle. The conversation ceased with the arrival of the priest. Sam and Erin swapped confused glances when they saw that their old friend was not to take Mass, but Father Gilchrist.

  Patrick saw the look. ‘It’s been going on for a few weeks,’ he informed them in a low voice. ‘Father Gilchrist started by taking one Mass per week, now he’s doing most of them. Liam’s being slowly edged out. He doesn’t crack much but I know it’s breaking his heart.’ He settled back as Mass commenced.

  Later, clutching Belle, Erin joined the line of sinners who waited outside the confessional. Sam, not as devout, said he’d wait near the door with her parents. His wife ran a rosary through the fingers of one hand, biting her lip nervously as Father Gilchrist stepped into the confessional and shut himself off from the rest of the world. Erin hoped the baby would not aggravate matters by crying. Being fifth in line she had time to study the doleful faces as each transgressor emerged to do his penance, and her fingers worked more fitfully along the tiny spheres. It would have been preferable to talk to Father Kelly. She wished she had taken Sam’s advice and arranged to have an informal chat with the old priest. But it was too late now; it was her turn.

  She perched on the edge of her seat in the confessional and whispered to the grille, ‘Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It is three months since I made my last confession…’

  The smooth voice filtered through the mesh. ‘Such a long absence. You must be a truly virtuous person – or is it that you had better things to do than beg the forgiveness of your Maker?’

  ‘I’m truly sorry, Father.’

  ‘Apart from indifference to your faith, what else have you to confess?’ The voice was cool, impersonal.

  ‘I don’t quite know how to begin.’ There was a long pause. Liam would have given kindly prompting, but not Father Gilchrist.

  ‘Is it the magnitude of your transgression that procures this speechlessness, or have you sinned so often you are unable to enumerate the times?’

  There would be no forgiveness here, but the realisation had come too late.

  She must go through with the purge. ‘It’s my child, Father,’ she whispered falteringly. ‘She… she was born with a crooked spine. We’d waited so long…’

  ‘Woman, I am not a doctor. If you have a sin to confess please do so.’

  Confusion. ‘I haven’t any sin to confess, as such. ’Tis just that… well, Father, I hold myself responsible for her deformity. I feel it must be something I did, some bad thing I committed when I was carrying her.’

  ‘If you did not confess this bad thing at the time then you are right to hold yourself responsible,’ nodded Father Gilchrist on the other side of the grille. ‘Had you cleansed your heart to Our Lord you would have found Him merciful… but our sins cannot go unpunished. God has obviously seen fit to avenge Himself through your child. He has put His mark upon it and you will watch it struggle through life knowing that it was your unconfessed sin that made it so. You say you have no sin “as such” to confess. I find that statement incredible and extremely arrogant.’ Erin’s mind was in turmoil. ‘Well, I have committed sins, yes, Father… but anything I can think of would be of such little import against my baby’s deformity…’

  ‘After an absence of three months you blithely set aside your sins as of “little import” and expect Absolution as simply as that…’

  ‘I didn’t intend it to sound arrogant, Father,’ pleaded Erin tearfully, clutching the baby more tightly. ‘I’m truly repentant for all me wrongdoings, believe me.’

  ‘Very well, I shall pray to Our Lord that you be forgiven… Now, will you complete your confession?’ Erin tried to remember all the things she should have done, but hadn’t, and vice versa, but all her mind saw was her poor baby, marked by her mother’s sin.

  ‘Is that the full extent of your misdeeds?’ asked the priest when she had finished. Erin whispered that it was. ‘And that is the list of crimes which a minute ago you wrote off as insignificant?’

  ‘It wasn’t my intention to say that, Father!’

  ‘But that was your inference – nothing on that list was quite so important as the maiming of your
offspring.’ He’s twisting everything I’ve said, thought Erin.

  ‘And what of the sin that brought about this malformed child? The gravity of it has apparendy made enough impact on you for you to think that it was the cause of the child’s deformity, yet you have made no mention of it.’

  I can’t tell him. I won’t tell him what I think it was. She inhaled. ‘No, I can’t think of anything I’ve done that would warrant such harsh punishment, Father.’

  ‘You really cannot imagine anything? That is very strange, for a perfectly sound reason immediately springs to my mind, one which has already been mentioned several times. It is the sin of extreme arrogance that has visited this scar upon your child.’

  ‘Oh no, Father! I can’t believe Our Lord would be so cruel…’

  ‘You see! Even this you are too self-centred to accept. It is a common failing of women. I see you all, sitting before me on a Sunday, none of you concerned with the warning from the pulpit but more interested in the size of your neighbour’s hat. That is all the church has become to many of you – a social gathering, a place where you can brag and preen in your fashionable clothes, thinking that nothing can touch you, that Our Lord will sit idly by and watch His house reduced to the level of a public meeting hall.’ Each word was coated with rime. ‘And when He chooses to register His disgust by putting His mark upon your child you still arrogantly maintain that it couldn’t possibly be anything you have done.’ Erin’s sobs woke the baby who joined in. ‘Go now, woman, and every time you look upon your hapless child remember that it was you who brought her such misery.’ He ended by giving her an extremely stiff penance.

  Blinded by shame and humiliation she stumbled from the confessional.

  * * *

  Though her tears were dried before she rejoined her husband and parents, Sam at once sensed the regression in Erin’s mood. Half an hour ago she had been quite perky, now she was the same nervous creature of a week ago.