by Maggie Hope
‘One o’clock,’ he called again, pulling on his leather helmet, then he was off, churning up clouds of dust behind him as he disappeared down the dark lane.
Patrick and Karen stared after him until the roar of the engine faded into the distance. Neither of them had quite realized the reality of the situation they now found themselves in.
It was the sound of Jennie crying which brought Karen out of a near trance and she turned back to the house without looking at Patrick. She couldn’t look at him, not yet. Couldn’t bear to see the condemnation there might be in his eyes.
‘I’ll see to the bairn,’ she muttered, and fled upstairs to Jennie who was screaming with fright after being wakened by the noise of the engine.
‘There, there, pet, it was only a noisy old motor bike,’ Karen soothed, and picked up the child and sat on the bed, rocking Jennie against her breast till the gentle calming motion subdued her own wild thoughts along with Jennie’s sobs. After a few minutes her own heartbeat slowed down and the child too became quiet except for an occasional hiccup. Her eyes closed and the long lashes beaded with tears swept her cheeks. Her thumb was once more firmly in her mouth. Abstractedly Karen thought she would never break her of the habit of sucking her thumb, not at this rate.
Carefully she tucked the bedclothes round Jennie and checked Brian in the other bed. He had turned over in his sleep but had not woken.
Karen tip-toed from the room and went downstairs to put the milk pan on for cocoa. Nervously she rattled cups and saucers and put out biscuits she had made the day before. How happy she had been then, making food for the picnic at Stanhope Show, anticipating the fun they would have today. How different from how she felt now. Well, it didn’t help to think like that, she told herself, and took the pan from the fire to fill the cups.
Patrick was sitting by the fire, staring at the flames, saying nothing, seeming remote. Nick came in and quietly drank his cocoa after refusing anything to eat with it.
‘But you’ve had no supper,’ Karen protested. He only shook his head and went off to bed with a brief ‘Goodnight.’ Karen sat down opposite Patrick with her cup in her hands. They sat for a while in silence. Karen was the first to speak.
‘How will we manage?’ They had to get the money together somehow, she thought desperately.
‘How much have we saved?’ countered Patrick, for Karen was the one who attended to such things despite her helpless question.
‘Fourteen pounds and fifteen shillings.’
It might as well have been nothing, it just wasn’t enough. Sighing, she took the cups into the scullery to rinse. When she came back Patrick was still in the same position before the fire.
‘I’m going to bed now. I can’t think straight, I’m so tired,’ she said dully.
He nodded then asked abruptly, ‘Why didn’t you tell me about Dave?’
‘I …’ Karen bit her lip. She felt as low as could be and terribly culpable. What could she say?
‘There was nothing to tell. I thought he was dead.’
Patrick nodded again and turned back to the fire. Karen looked at him helplessly. He had known she was married before, but her first marriage had not been a subject for discussion. Karen had wanted to put it out of her mind altogether and she had been so sure she was a widow. Now she felt guilty, and worse, as though she had done something which had turned Patrick against her, he was so remote.
‘Well, as I said, I’m going to bed. Are you coming?’
‘Later.’
Karen shivered in the early-autumn chill and as she undressed and climbed into the large double bed, she felt bone weary. Sunday tomorrow, she realized. Could she face Chapel? Her mind shied away from the thought. She wished Patrick would come up. They needed to comfort each other. She felt she wouldn’t sleep a wink, her body ached for him. How could he, with his sensitive nature, face being plastered all over the newspapers? A lapsed priest and a bigamous woman. She could see the headlines written out before her as she lay with her eyes closed. And her father, what would it do to him? He’d had so many body blows lately. Fresh anguish filled her mind as she remembered her father.
Downstairs, Patrick stood before the fire, his hand clasping the brass rail which hung from the high mantel shelf, his head leaning on his arm. I’m tired, he thought, tired to death. But it wasn’t a physical weariness which had overwhelmed him despite the harsh, grinding nature of the work that had been his lot since his marriage to Karen. Marriage, he thought bitterly. Why, it was not even a real marriage, not even a civil marriage, and certainly not a marriage recognized by his church or his God.
His God. Oh, he had tried to deny his beliefs, he had even managed to convince himself that there was no God. Or he thought he had, but rather he had fooled himself, he realized now. He had tried so hard to believe he was living the life he wanted to live, a normal life, and hadn’t he two beautiful children to prove it? Children being brought up in the Methodist faith, a voice in his mind said darkly, but he pushed that aside. And Karen, yes, he had her. These last few years he had seen the anxious look leave the back of her eyes. Poor girl, she thought she had won. Until this happened.
Was it a judgement from Heaven? His mother would say so, oh yes she would, and feel vindicated in saying it. God is not mocked, she would say. And Sean, stern man of the church, unmoving and immovable in his views of right and wrong. Sean, a saint of a man and recognized as such by the Church for wasn’t he a bishop now?
Patrick felt a great longing to talk to Sean, his friend and mentor. Sean saw things so clearly, he would sort out the muddle in Patrick’s mind. For it was a muddle, one unholy mess. He dropped his hand from the rail and shivered. The fire had died and the kitchen was cold. But he could not face going to Karen’s bed, not now. He hesitated a moment then took his overcoat and went to the settee in the sitting room.
The morning dawned cold and grey. Before Karen opened her eyes she sensed the emptiness of his side of the bed. Where was he? Oh, God, her mind cried, and it was a prayer not a blasphemy, had Patrick gone?
Scrambling into her clothes without bothering to wash, she hurried downstairs. The kitchen fire was out, the room bitterly cold. Where was he? Where was he? Panic invaded her mind. He’d left her, he had! She rushed out into the yard, into a falling drizzle of rain. No sign of him there nor in the barn or the stable. It was only five-thirty, she had taken note of the wall clock in the kitchen, he couldn’t have gone, he couldn’t. Half demented she ran back into the house and along the passage to the sitting room and there he was, lying on the settee, his overcoat over him. Relief flooded her whole being, making her giddy. Thank God! Thank you, God! she breathed, sagging against the door jamb.
Her legs were weak as she returned to the kitchen without disturbing him and sank on to a chair, her head throbbing. After a while she rose and raked out the ashes and relaid the fire with twigs and cinders and a few lumps of coal. She soon had a fire going so she could boil the kettle.
Drinking her tea, she faced up to her main fear, her ever-present fear, the fear that had dogged her for so long: that Patrick would leave her and the children.
After all, in the eyes of his church they were not married at all, and now, after yesterday, they were not even married according to the law. Her mind jumped to the problem of Dave. If Patrick meant to stay then he could get work on the roads, that would keep them. They would have to sell stock, though. But would Dave keep his promise, would he go to Canada? Whether or not, they had to take his word that he would, they had no choice.
Patrick came through from the front room looking drawn and tired. Impulsively she reached up and kissed him and they held each other briefly. She could still feel the strong emotional bond between them, surely he did too? She considered whether to ask him why he had slept on the settee but couldn’t bring herself to say the words.
‘We’ll manage, pet,’ she said instead, speaking softly to him as to one of the children. She poured him out a cup of tea from the pot keeping warm on the
hob. It was hot and strong.
‘I’ve been thinking.’ Patrick took a long swallow of the hot, sweet liquid. ‘I sat up so late last night going over it in my mind, I thought I’d just get a couple of hours on the front room couch. I needed to be by myself, to think.’
Karen nodded, trying to show understanding, though in truth she did not understand. Why couldn’t he think in their bed?
‘We’ll have to sell Jess and her foal,’ Patrick continued, ‘it’s the only way. We can manage with Polly for now, at least until the filly’s broken in.’ This was Polly’s foal, a strong two-year old.
Karen felt a pang of regret for Jess, such a gentle mare. And Brian had had plans to break in the colt for riding. Nick would help him, he had insisted.
‘I can help round up the sheep if I have a pony,’ he had urged Patrick. Now he would have to be disappointed.
‘I can go over to Jack Tarn’s place tomorrow, maybe,’ Patrick said now. ‘Then we can sell one of the cows if need be.’
‘That means a lot less butter to sell during the year.’
‘I don’t see what else we can do,’ he answered, and Karen knew he was right. Restlessly, she got to her feet and began to tidy up the kitchen. She folded the towels hanging on the brass rail and took away the cups to wash in the scullery. Anything to take her mind off her worries.
Nick was surprised when Patrick told him they had to sell the pony and her foal.
‘But why?’ he said. ‘We don’t need the money that bad, do we?’
‘We just have to, that’s all,’ said Patrick.
It had something to do with ‘that chap’, Nick decided. He pondered over it, foreboding clouding his mind. As usual, anything which troubled Karen troubled him and he knew this was big trouble, he knew it instinctively.
Chapter Thirty
JACK TARN WAS coming at two o’clock on Tuesday afternoon and Patrick walked up the fell to catch Jess so she could be viewed by the dealer. The autumn was turning cold and wet and he hunched his chin inside his collar and thrust his hands in his pockets as he bent forward against the wind to climb the uneven ground. His eyes watered and he paused for a moment, turning his back on the wind as he took his handkerchief out and wiped them. Sourly, he gazed down on the water-sodden fell, the heather dull and bent now the purple blooms were gone and the bracken brown and dead-looking. It suited his mood. His depression was almost total and he longed for a drink. A man needed a drink to keep him going, make life bearable, though Karen didn’t think so. He thought of her as he continued his climb to where he could see Jess and her foal grazing on a section he and Nick had cleared two or three years before. Damned hard work it had been, too, back-breaking work, not fit for a man.
And Karen now, why had she let him think her first husband was dead? And what was he doing here, on this God-forsaken moor where icy blasts raged over the heather for the better part of the year?
He came to a dip in the fell and startled a group of curlews with their long curved beaks plunged into the mud on the bottom as they grubbed for food. They lifted into the air, flapping their wings reproachfully and crying mournfully. He stood still, remembering seeing curlews feeding like that in small pockets of bog on the Burren. A lifetime ago, it seemed now.
Patrick shook his head. He was thinking too much about the past. It did no good, nothing would bring it back.
‘Ten pounds for the mare and foal,’ Jack said after a sharp appraisal of the animals.
‘I thought fifteen,’ said Patrick.
Jack sighed. ‘Well, I tell you, eleven pounds ten. That’s my final offer. Things is hard right now.’
Even so, thought Karen indignantly, the price was pretty disgusting. But they had to sell. How was it dealers always knew when the need to sell was desperate?
‘Take it or leave it,’ Jack prompted them, and after a glance at Karen, Patrick reluctantly held out his hand and Jack slapped it. So the sale was agreed.
The red cow brought twenty-nine pounds at the auction mart in Stanhope so one way and another they had raised the money though it left them with little more than ten pounds of their savings.
I’ll take it to him, Patrick. It will be better if I take it,’ Karen begged. ‘This is all because of me and I’d best see to it.’
‘No, I’ll do it,’ he demurred. ‘It’s a man’s job.’
‘But I know him better than you …’ She didn’t notice Patrick’s pained look at this, too intent on getting him to agree to her meeting Dave. ‘I can talk to him, show him that we won’t be able to raise any more. Nick can go with me, I’ll be all right with him.’
Patrick felt the now familiar surge of irritation as she spoke of taking Nick instead of him but he said nothing. What was the use? So reluctantly he agreed and at midday on the following Saturday, Karen, accompanied by Nick, set out for Stanhope. Nick had been unsure at first about going into the town; he was happier on the farm. But when he understood that he was there for Karen’s protection he went readily enough. Though he was puzzled. He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to be protecting her from.
Karen was simply thankful that Patrick stayed at home with the children, fearing another confrontation between him and Dave.
He was lounging against the wall at the side of the market square; she saw him immediately they came round the bend. She pulled up alongside him and handed the reins to Nick.
‘You stay and hold Polly, please,’ she said, but Nick wasn’t too sure about that.
‘I’ll tie the reins and come with you.’ He had seen Dave too and knew at once that he was the threat to Karen. Nick was determined to protect her whatever happened.
‘I’ll come with you,’ he insisted stubbornly.
‘No,’ Karen said firmly, ‘I’ll be all right. Please stay.’
Reluctantly he sank back on to the seat, glaring at Dave menacingly, ready to spring out if he was needed. Karen climbed down from the trap and walked over to the wall with her bag, holding the precious bundle of fivers clutched in her hand.
‘You’ve got the money?’ An avaricious gleam came into Dave’s eyes as he straightened up and held out his hand.
‘I’ve got it. But first I have to be sure you’ll go to Canada. There’ll be no more money forthcoming, I’m telling you. It’s a poor little farm and we’ve had to sell stock to raise this. You’ve got to prove you are really going.’
‘Well now, my love,’ Dave grinned at her, ‘how am I going to do that? You’re just going to have to take my word for it, aren’t you?’ He laughed at the expression of fury on her face. ‘I’m going! Don’t worry. I’ll be glad to shake the dust of England off my feet.’
Karen still hesitated. She looked hard at him, wondering if she could trust him. His grin disappeared and his stance became threatening.
‘Howay now! Give me the money or else …’
Nick stood up quickly at this, ready to jump off the trap into the street. He still didn’t know what was going on as he was just out of earshot but recognized the threat all right. As Polly moved restlessly with him, Karen glanced quickly over and waved to him to stay where he was.
‘No,’ she called, ‘I’m all right.’ She held out the money to Dave. ‘Here it is. Now go. I never want to see your face again.’
‘Don’t be like that.’ Dave’s grin reappeared. ‘Of course I’ll go. I said I would, didn’t I?’ He counted the notes carefully and stuffed them in his waistcoat pocket, his good humour restored.
‘Aren’t you going to wish me luck, Karen?’
She gave him a bleak stare, disdaining to answer. With a mocking laugh he touched his forehead and strode off down the street, whistling cheerfully.
Karen watched him disappearing around the corner to the station. Had they really seen the last of him? she wondered. She couldn’t stop the hope rising despite her distrust of him. Oh, if only he would go to Canada then things might turn out all right, she thought. Please let him go to Canada.
‘Karen.’
Nick had tied
up the horse and walked over to her.
‘Howay, Karen, let’s gan yam.’
He took hold of her elbow hesitantly. He was deeply troubled and it showed by the twitching in his face and the way he had lapsed into his native dialect. Karen felt a stab of compunction. She had no right to involve him in this, she had not. She forced herself to smile at him.
‘Yes, Nick, we’ll go home.’
They climbed into the trap and turned Polly round to take the road back to Low Rigg Farm.
‘Who was it, missus?’ Nick asked suddenly as they pulled out on to the moorland road. He looked sideways at Karen, seeing the hesitation on her face as she prepared to answer him. ‘Eeh, you don’t have to tell me, it’s none of my business, like.’
‘Oh, Nick, it’s not that,’ she said helplessly. But she couldn’t bring herself to tell him the truth. ‘He’s someone I used to know. I owed him something.’ After a moment she added lamely, ‘He’s gone now, gone to Canada, we’ll see no more of him.’
Nick said nothing to this, simply stared at the road ahead. Karen watched his face. What did he really think? she wondered. Well, no matter, Dave had gone now and they would all just have to get on with living, trying to make up their position to what it was before he came. And that would take a lot of doing, she thought dismally. It meant Patrick working long hours on the roads. And she would have to use less eggs and butter for the family. She could sell them in Stanhope perhaps, to bring in extra cash.
They reached the farm and Karen climbed wearily down. Patrick came out of the stable, his eyes anxiously questioning. She shook her head.
‘There was no trouble. He’s gone now, Patrick.’
There was a little aching void in Karen, troubling her like a broken tooth. It grew larger as time went on and she couldn’t leave it alone but kept probing it with her mind.
It was Patrick. He was different somehow. Oh, he was civil enough and hard-working as ever. He rarely lost his temper as he had sometimes done before. He was soft-spoken most of the time, even when she herself spoke sharply. And she spoke sharply often these days, both to him and the children. He was good to them and they loved him though they seemed to love Nick almost as much. But there was often a remote look in his eyes, a look which set aside the closeness they used to enjoy, the two of them.