Erin’s Child

by Erin's Child (retail) (epub)

  The vet bobbed down again and undamped the cow’s jaws. The gums were pasty and inflamed by ulcers. The sight of these sores jolted Sam upright like a jack-in-the-box.

  ‘Oh Christ, it’s foot an’ mouth!’

  ‘Not necessarily,’ came the muttered reply. ‘I was about to test these ulcers when you arrived.’ Sam urged him to go ahead. The vet took an instrument from his bag and rubbed it over the cow’s gums. When the tool came away there were bran-like scales adhering to it and the ulcers were left with a ragged appearance. ‘Mmm.’ He showed the result to Sam. ‘Well, that tells me it isn’t foot and mouth.’

  For one precious, cruel moment Sam was given hope. Until the vet looked up, grim-visaged. ‘It’s rinderpest,’ he said. ‘I’m afraid we’re going to have to slaughter the entire herd.’

  Chapter Six

  He would never, ever, see anything that would devastate him quite so much as that empty shippen. Even the grotesque pile of red and white corpses with horns tilted at an unnatural angle, the same milk-laden udders that he had once followed as they swayed heavily down the lane, now shrivelled, empty bags, none of this brought tears to his eyes. But when he had gone that morning after the slaughter to his empty shippen… oh! how he had wept. The echoes of their healthy cries wished him good morning for a long time after they had gone. He would walk slowly along the line of vacant stalls, seeing each face swing round to look at him as he passed: Sukie, the timid one, Rachel, who would nuzzle his pocket in the hope of a tit-bit, little Mousie who had not grown as he had expected and was not as pretty as her sisters but had turned out to be as good a producer as any cow he had owned… All gone.

  Oh, he had been offered compensation – the princely sum of ten pounds per cow. Some might have been thankful for it – twenty years earlier and there would have been nothing – but not Sam. How could money compensate for such a loss? They weren’t just cows, they had been his friends. Years, it had taken him, years of toil, of painstaking breeding and selection to bring them up to their enviable standard. Years wasted. Sam didn’t know if he’d ever get over it.

  Each morning when he looked down at Belle’s expectant little face the anger and helplessness would well up in his throat to choke him. But he would swing her onto his shoulders just the same, even though there was no herd to follow. He varied his days between taking Belle for long strolls down wooded paths, pouring out his feelings to someone who would merely listen and not try to provide him with answers, or lazing by the river, deep in self-examination. What could he turn his hand to now? There seemed no point in anything. Why slave your life away when all your gains could be stolen from you in one lightning blow?

  Erin ached for him, but there was nothing she could do. The healing of such a bereavement could only be found within oneself. She finished tying the bunch of goose wings onto a stick and tested the feather duster against her hand, studying her husband out of her eye-corner. He was trying to conjure up enough enthusiasm to bring himself out of the chair, absently clasping the small hands that tugged at his trousers.

  ‘There’s no need for you to keep taking her out, ye know,’ she told him, fearing that Belle would only add to his burden. ‘I can cope well enough now.’

  Dispirited eyes pursued her as she flicked the feather duster over the furniture. ‘It’s not just to help you that I take her, love,’ confessed Sam. ‘How else would I fill my days?’

  She put down the duster to grip his hand comfortingly. ‘Ye’ll get another herd, darlin’. The disease will burn itself out an’ ye can start again.’

  He laughed bitterly. ‘As simply as that? I’m not sure I want to rebuild only to risk losing them again.’ His knuckles were white as his fingers kneaded his thighs. ‘All I’ve worked for, all I ever dreamed of, gone overnight. I don’t know that I could face that again.’

  ‘There’s no reason why ye should,’ soothed Erin. ‘Didn’t the vet tell us the disease was becoming rarer nowadays? I can understand your chariness but this is a once in a lifetime disaster, Sam. It’s not the kind of thing that happens every day.’

  ‘Isn’t it? Poor Sutherland’s lost two herds to foot and mouth.’ He imagined what it would be like to watch that horrifying slaughter all over again.

  She saw he wasn’t going to be coaxed out of it. ‘Ye’ve not lost everything, ye know; ye’ve still got us.’

  He reached for her and hugged her, a spark of his old self coming to the fore. ‘Yes, I have, an’ here’s me mopin’ about as though it was the end o’ the world to lose a few cows. I want my backside kickin’.’

  ‘If ye want to bend over I’ll oblige,’ offered his wife, then laughed softly, kissed him on the nose and ruffled his blond hair before she pulled away. ‘Oh, Belle!’ She clapped a hand to her mouth and dashed across the kitchen to snatch up her daughter who was struggling to gain position on a high stool. Her little knees scrabbled for a hold while the rest of her clung on like a leech. ‘How on earth did ye get up there?’ she scolded. ‘Naughty girl, mustn’t do that.’

  ‘Leave t’lass be,’ said Sam, coming to chuck Belle under the chin. ‘She got fed up o’ waitin’ for her old dad, didn’t you? It’ll do her good to exercise her inquisitive nature.’

  ‘An’ I’m to stand by while she breaks her neck?’ asked Erin hotly.

  ‘She’ll not do any harm even if she did fall,’ answered her husband. ‘It’s hardly a long drop, is it, an’ there’s a soft rug underneath.’

  ‘If we allow her to climb on the stool it might lead to higher ambitions.’

  ‘Then good luck to her, I say.’

  ‘You would! Ye don’t seem to worry about anything that happens to her, all you’re concerned about is those bloody cows.’

  ‘Now, that’s nonsense…’

  ‘Yes, I know it is. I’m sorry, Sam…’

  ‘…I look after her as any good father would – but we must give her some sort of independence, love. She can’t stay on the carpet all her life. She must move on to higher stations. We really must make an effort to get her them shoes an’ all. Put her back on t’stool an’ see what she does.’

  Erin studied him defiantly, then, tutting, sat the wriggling child on the oak seat. Belle assumed her frog-like posture to return their scrutiny for a few seconds, then, reaching out, grasped the handle of a cupboard and stretched upwards.

  ‘Why, she’s after that,’ exclaimed Erin, reaching for the shiny copper pan which hung on the wall and reflected all that was going on in the kitchen.

  But Sam clamped a firm grasp on her wrist, drawing it back. ‘Let her get it. Look at her. As soon as she saw you reach for the pan she sat back waiting for it to come to her. She’s never going to make any effort if things come to her as easy as that.’

  ‘Eejit! How’s she going to lift down a heavy pan like that?’

  ‘She can allus ask for it, can’t she? Most bairns have some sort of vocabulary at her age, why doesn’t she? It’s because you see her making a move towards summat an’ immediately leap to her assistance, put everything right there in front of her. Why waste words when you’ve got a lackey at yer beck an’ call?’ Bending his knees he addressed his daughter. ‘Now then, Belle, if you want that pan you must get it. Go on!’ He pointed to the pan. ‘Belle take it.’

  The child grinned and shuffled to her knees again, the little fingers stretching up, reaching, but falling just inches short.

  Erin clasped her hands to her chest. ‘Sam, ’tis too high. Let me…’

  ‘No!’ Sam remained adamant. ‘You get it, Belle.’

  ‘Oh, don’t be so mean! Look, she’s given up.’ Belle had flopped back to her bottom, wide blue eyes gazing up at the unattainable.

  ‘No, she hasn’t, she’s just thinkin’ what to do,’ said Sam. ‘Look now.’

  Belle had spotted a toasting fork which was within her reach and, taking it from its hook, pointed it at the target, trying to insert it through the hole in the pan handle that sat on the peg.

  Erin was fascinated as the c
hild jiggled the fork about, attempting to dislodge the pan. Suddenly it fell.

  Sam’s hands were there to catch it. ‘There y’are! There’s your prize, madam.’ He placed the shiny pan in Belle’s outstretched arms. She patted the base, smiling delightedly at her reflection. ‘It’s nowt more than I’d expect from a daughter o’ mine,’ issued Sam. ‘I wish Grandma could’ve seen it. She’d not call you a dunce then, would she, Belle?’ He lifted her onto the rug where she continued to play happily for a while, her proud parents looking on and remarking on her cleverness.

  ‘What’re ye going to do today, then?’ asked Erin finally, setting about her baking. Flour, fat and rolling pin were dumped onto the pine table. ‘I hope ye’re not going to be under my feet.’

  Sam stooped to pull on his boots. ‘Well, if me wife doesn’t want my company ’appen I’d better go find somebody who does. I think I’ll just nip down to Scott’s an’ ask if they want a labourer.’

  It was sufficient to stop her measuring the flour. ‘A labourer?’

  Sam spread his hands, ‘We’ve got to get some brass from somewhere. We’ve no butter or cheese to sell.’

  ‘What about the compensation money?’

  ‘I’m reluctant to break into that, you never know when we might be really desperate. All I need is a few bob to tide us over till I get on me feet an’ decide which way I’m headin’.’

  ‘I understand that – but a labourer, Sam! ’Tis a bit of a comedown, isn’t it? After ye’ve enjoyed so much standing.’

  ‘Aye well, that’s all over an’ done wi’ now,’ replied Sam. ‘Coos’ve gone.’

  ‘Maybe Mam would…’ she began.

  But, ‘No,’ he said firmly. ‘Your mother’s done enough for us. You mustn’t take away all a man’s pride, Erin. Anyway, it’s not just the money, it’s… well, you know how much I put into them cows. I don’t seem able to motivate meself to owt o’ me own. No, labourin’ll do me for a month or so, keep me mind off things. Anyroad, I’m off. I’ll take Belle wi’ me. Don’t know when we’ll be back.’

  She hurried after him with floury hands. ‘Ye will watch her Sam, won’t ye? I’m not suggesting ye’ll do anything silly, but… I just keep getting this feeling that something dreadful’s going to happen.’

  He laughed. ‘You an’ your feelings.’

  ‘It’s been with me for days.’

  ‘Aye, well, your feeling’s come a bit late this time, lass.’ He was grave once more.

  ‘No, ’tis something else. I don’t know what, but I know something horrible’s going to happen.’

  He kissed her. ‘Erin, you’re never happy lest yer’ve summat to worry about. Things can’t get any worse.’

  She watched them through the door then dropped the latch and moved to the window. Poor Sam. She had never seen anything affect him like the death of those cows. As she watched, Belle decided to let go of Sam’s hair, nearly falling backwards had Sam not caught her and made her refasten her grip. The action made Erin catch her breath. She understood that Sam thought he was doing her a good turn by taking Belle out of her way for a spell, but oh, if he only knew how she worried while they were gone in case Sam let her do anything dangerous.

  And there was still that feeling.

  * * *

  The enquiry at Scott’s farm turned up nothing. The farmer was sorry but he had no need of another labourer at the moment. ‘Try Wood’s!’ he shouted after Sam as the blond man loped back down the drive, Belle rocking on his shoulders. ‘He’s getting his crop in tomorrow, he might need a lad.’

  A lad, thought Sam dully, but nevertheless shouted his thanks and proceeded to Wood’s farm. Here, temporary employment was offered and, after gratefully accepting, Sam told the farmer he would be there in the morning, then made his way to the river for a last spot of relaxation.

  Once there, he unhooked Belle from his neck, swung her down onto the river bank and flopped beside her, lying back to gaze at the sky. Tearing up a blade of grass he nibbled it pensively, sucking on the juices from its pink root. It was surprisingly mild for the time of year. The brightness of the day closed his eyes, squeezing trickles of moisture from them that deltaed into the laughter lines on his cheeks. ‘Oh, Belle, what’re we gonna do about our moo-cows? I bet if you could talk you’d tell me you miss ’em as much as I do, wouldn’t yer? I don’t know, I can’t seem to do owt right, can I? Look what happened wi’ you. Still… you love your dad, don’t yer?’ He turned his head, opening his eyes. Belle had gone. He rolled his head in the other direction. Not there either. Sitting upright, he was just in time to see her shuffling into the water.

  ‘Oh blazes, tha’ll get me hung, lass!’ Leaping to his feet he made the three strides to the water’s edge and plucked her dripping to safety. ‘What will yer ma say when she see your wet clothes? She’ll say, “I told yer so, my feelings’re allus right”. Oh well, I suppose we’ll have to stop out till they’re dry – good job for you it’s warm.’ An idea struck him as Belle screeched to get to the water. ‘Like it, doesta? Well, ’appen we’ll have to do summat about that. Can’t have you playin’ in water an’ not be able to swim, can we? Away, let’s have them wet togs off an’ we’ll see how you take to it.’

  Despite its coolness Belle took to it like a young duckling, splashing all four limbs in an ungainly but effective paddle and crowing with delight.

  ‘Good lass!’ called Sam, stripping off his own clothes. ‘That’ll strengthen your legs for when we get them shoes. By, won’t yer mam be surprised!’ He hobbled over the stones on the gently sloping bank and waded up to his waist, then striking out with practised, even strokes circled around her. He flicked the hair out of his eyes, laughed at her obvious enjoyment and hurled himself into a backstroke. The action of the water rushing over his lithe body seemed to cleanse away some of his depression. He rolled over and over in the lapping waves joyfully. With each stroke his optimism was reborn. Erin was right, he could and would start again.

  * * *

  Erin wandered round the garden bending her face over a bush of pink roses as she passed. Sam had been gone longer than usual. It wasn’t like him to be late for his dinner. The feeling still nibbled at her mind. Leaning on the gate she peered up and down the lane for a sighting. After a moment’s indecision she stepped into it and fled off in the direction Sam had taken that morning.

  Mrs Scott answered the impatient rapping on her farmhouse door. ‘Good Lord, I thought we must have death-watch beetle wi’ all that tappin’.’ She came out into the sunshine to join her worried-looking neighbour, and was asked it Sam was here.

  ‘No, love, I heard Mr Scott send him along to Wood’s – why, what’s the pother?’

  Erin answered only with her thanks and rushed off in Sam’s tracks, the feeling of disaster taking firm hold now.

  At Wood’s farm she was told Sam had been there but that was three hours ago. ‘Did he say where he was going?’ Erin, the sense of foreboding rising every second, anxiously awaited new directions.

  But the farmer’s wife shook her head. ‘I never saw him, love. Mr Wood just happened to tell me your Sam’d called. Why, is it owt urgent?’

  ‘He’s late home for his dinner,’ replied Erin distractedly.

  The woman burst into laughter. ‘Eh, is that what’s got thee all worked up? I thought it were summat drastic.’

  ‘No, no, ye don’t understand! I feel something’s happened to him an’ Belle.’

  Just then, the farmer appeared and when asked about Sam pointed a black finger over his fields. ‘He were going over to coppice when I last saw him. But that were hours ago.’ He had no sooner finished than Erin was off across the fields like a panicked mare. The farmer and his wife stood watching her fleeing figure. ‘Eh, she’s an odd sorta lass is that,’ muttered Mrs Wood. ‘Doest know what got her all het up? Her man’s late home for his dinner. Fancy.’

  ‘I could just see thee getting worked up an’ coming to look for me if I were late home,’ returned Wood. ‘More likely I�
�d get me dinner chucked at me when I did get in.’

  ‘Happen it’s ’cause she’s Irish,’ replied his wife with a knowing nod, then went indoors.

  Erin reached the coppice and plunged down the wooded path, her breath coming in rapid gasps. The branches seemed to reach out for her as she dashed past, clawing at her hair and skirts to hinder her flight. She pulled up sharply as a particularly spiky branch caught in her locks. The more she struggled the more entwined her ebony tresses became. She twisted and writhed, emitting little cries of frustration. Her struggles to free herself drew moisture from her eyes as the delicate hair at her temples became more and more tangled. In desperation she snapped off the ensnarled branch and, with it still dangling from her hair, ran blindly on. There was a brief terrifying interlude when an equally startled grouse flew right from under her feet. She screamed once, then ran on.

  She was nearing the edge of the wood now. Where were they? Where were they? She emerged from the tangle of trees with breast heaving, eyes round, scanning the beautiful open countryside that swept down towards the river.

  The river! Grabbing her skirts she hurled herself onwards, her feet moving rapidly over the meadow, trampling the banks of wild flowers, seeking, calling.

  Then, at last she spotted Belle. To her horror she saw her child floundering alone in the brown water – drowning.

  With a scream, Erin galloped towards the river, heart and feet thudding as she flew. She hurled herself in, fully dressed, lashing hysterically at the water, her skirts dragging her down. The child, seeing her mother’s terrified face became infected by the panic and inevitably started to sink.

  ‘Belle!’ screamed Erin. ‘Mammy’s coming!’ Her lungs were screaming also, like two pieces of raw flesh banging against the wall of her chest. Belle went under. With flailing arms Erin clutched at handfuls of water, trying to find her child. The little head buoyed back up, spluttering and coughing. Erin grasped it and hauled the child to her bosom as she herself went under, the weight of her many skirts dragging her towards the pebbled bed. She lashed furiously, forcing her head up, reaching with her chin for the blue sky, gulping down mouthfuls of minute riverlife, coughing, retching.