Tangled Threads

by Margaret Dickinson

  At last even Walter was provoked into saying sternly, ‘That’s enough, Mary.’

  Eveleen felt guilt surge through her. Never had she seen her parents quarrel like this. Normally, they were such a loving couple. Indeed, until recently they had all seemed such a loving family. ‘Mam, Dad. Please, I—’

  Mary whirled around on her. ‘Don’t you dare to call me that, girl. Not ever again. You can leave this house for all I care.’ Her lip curled. ‘If I had my way, you’d be gone already.’

  Mother and daughter stared at each other, the older woman with a look almost akin to hatred. Horrified, Eveleen felt the colour drain from her face. For a moment the room seemed to spin around her.

  ‘You’d better go to bed, Eveleen,’ Walter said harshly. He rubbed his hand across his eyes as if he were weary of the whole unpleasant business.

  Eveleen stumbled towards the door leading to the stairs. As she went, she was aware of her brother’s gaze following her, a smirk of satisfaction on his face.

  Mary was not able to turn her daughter out of the house for her husband would not allow it. But the woman refused to speak to Eveleen and acted as if the girl were not even there. She never served her any food at mealtimes and Eveleen’s clothes remained unwashed, unless she washed them herself, for her mother would not include them in the weekly wash. All the things that her mother had always done for her were now left untouched. It was as if Eveleen were no longer a part of the family.

  Jimmy revelled in seeing his sister out of favour, not only with Mary but with their father too.

  ‘Who’s this, then?’ he would say as he sat down at the supper table. But his jesting only heightened the tension, for Mary would smile at him and say, ‘I can’t think who you mean. I see no one else here. At least, no one worth talking about.’

  Mother and son would smile at each other. Walter would sigh and shake his head sadly that Jimmy relished stirring up even more trouble. And worse still, that Mary should egg him on.

  If Eveleen had believed that her brother would heed her warnings and threats, she was sadly disillusioned. He delighted in giving nightly reports across the supper table.

  ‘I saw her with him today. Down by the bridge,’ he would say, or, ‘Where were you all afternoon, then? As if we didn’t know.’

  ‘Eat your supper, Jimmy, and be quiet,’ Walter would say, an unusual sharpness in his voice, but Jimmy, though saying no more, would glance from his mother to his sister and back again, an evil grin on his face.

  At last, after supper one evening, Walter got up from the table and stood over them. ‘This can’t go on, Mary. I don’t like the atmosphere in this house. We used to be a happy, united family. And look at us now.’

  Eveleen glanced up at her father. He looked so tired beneath his weather-beaten features, but it was the sadness in his eyes that touched her the most.

  ‘And who’s to blame for that?’ Mary said.

  ‘You all are,’ Walter said, his voice rising in anger.

  Eveleen and even Jimmy were shocked now. They could not remember their father ever raising his voice to any one of them. ‘You, Mary, for not listening to the girl when she wants to tell you what’s going on. Wants to confide in you. Needs her mother’s guidance.’

  Mary, too, was on her feet now, leaning across the table shouting at her husband. ‘I’ve given her a mother’s guidance, but she ignores it.’

  ‘No, you haven’t, Mary. You’ve not talked it out with her, explained to her why you feel the way you do. And you, Eveleen.’ He pointed at his daughter. ‘For disobeying your mother. You should know her well enough to know that she would not be demanding this of you without a very good reason, even if she does not feel able to explain that reason to you. And as for you.’ Now he turned to Jimmy. ‘You’re just enjoying stoking up the fires, aren’t you?’

  Eveleen now sprang to her feet. ‘Oh, Dad, I’m sorry.’ She turned to her mother. ‘Mam, please—’

  ‘He’ll get you with child and then cast you off.’ Mary was hysterical now, the words pouring from her mouth in a torrent. ‘Leave you to face the shame alone. He won’t care whether your family stands by you or not. He’ll not care if you have to live rough. In the woods, in a barn, any shelter you can find. He’ll not care if you give birth alone in a dirty, stinking ditch at the side of a field when you’re tatie picking, trying to earn pennies to keep yourself and your child alive. Only you won’t keep it alive. It’ll die. There in the ditch and mebbe you along with it.’

  Tears were coursing down Mary’s face as she painted the tragic picture. A picture, Eveleen realized, that had a dreadful ring of truth about it. She watched as Walter put his arms around his wife and drew her close, resting his cheek against her hair while Mary sobbed against his chest.

  ‘There, there, Mary love. Don’t fret.’ Above his wife’s head, Walter’s sorrowful eyes met Eveleen’s. Then he asked the question he had to ask, even though he feared the answer. ‘Has he – have you let him – touch you?’ His tone was stern as he added, ‘The truth now.’

  She shook her head firmly. ‘No, Dad. I haven’t. Not the way you mean.’

  He stared at her for a long moment, as if trying to read from her expression if she was now telling him the truth. ‘No more lies, Eveleen,’ he said.

  Eveleen bit her lip, not trusting herself to speak. As she shook her head, she saw his shoulders relax. This time, he did believe her.

  Walter led his wife to her chair by the fire. ‘Sit there, love, and Eveleen will make you a cup of tea.’ He straightened up and turned to Jimmy. ‘And as for you, young man, you’re going nowhere tonight. You can clear away the supper dishes and wash up.’

  Jimmy’s face was a picture. ‘That’s women’s work. I aren’t washing up.’

  ‘You’ll do as I say,’ Walter said calmly, but there was a hint of steel in his tone.

  Muttering under his breath, Jimmy began to stack the plates, crashing them together as if he would like to break every one to save him the trouble of having to wash them.

  ‘Be careful, else I’ll be taking the cost of any breakages out of your wages,’ Walter frowned.

  Eveleen busied herself making tea for her mother. As she stood over her, holding out the cup and saucer, Mary looked up at her. All the anger and the hysteria had drained out of her now and just a dreadful sadness seemed to have settled upon her. ‘So now you know the whole shameful tale. I hope you’re satisfied.’

  ‘Oh, Mam,’ Eveleen cried with tears in her eyes, ‘I’m so sorry. If only you’d said. If only you’d explained, I—’

  ‘It wouldn’t have made any difference. You’d have still done exactly what you wanted. You’re headstrong and disobedient.’ As she took the proffered cup of tea, Mary shook her head sadly. ‘Stubborn and wilful . . .’ she murmured and a tiny smile touched her mouth. ‘Just like I was at your age.’

  Later, when the supper dishes were washed and put away and Jimmy had stamped angrily up the stairs to his room, Walter followed him wearily to his own bed. Walter hated quarrels and the trouble Eveleen had caused had left him looking white and strained.

  Now only mother and daughter sat opposite each other in front of the fire.

  ‘Nothing can come of it, love,’ Mary said, surprisingly gentle now. ‘Stephen Dunsmore will never marry you. His family wouldn’t let him, even if he wanted to.’

  ‘Don’t you think he – he would stand up against them? After all, it’s his life.’

  Mary sighed. ‘The Dunsmores now think of themselves as landed gentry. They own a lot of land and Mr Ernest employs other people to do the work while he lives the life of a gentleman farmer. And his wife, Mrs Rachel, she thinks herself a lady now. They won’t take kindly to their only son wanting to marry their gathman’s daughter. I’m sure they’ve already got plans for him to make a more suitable marriage.’

  ‘And you think Stephen will – will go along with whatever those plans are?’

  Her mother’s smile was sad, ‘Oh yes, he’ll hav
e to. If he wants to inherit the estate.’

  ‘So . . .’ Eveleen could not hide the catch in her voice as she said, ‘so you think Stephen doesn’t really love me.’

  Mary reached out and took her daughter’s hand. ‘I’m sure he does love you, in his own way. But he’s only young. Let’s see – he’s just twenty, isn’t he?’

  Eveleen stared at her mother. She longed to ask her about her early life, about her family, about what had happened, but she did not dare. This moment between herself and her mother was so precious. She could not bear to break the bond of understanding that was, at last, strengthening between them. Maybe one day . . .

  Instead Eveleen said simply, ‘Well, I love him.’

  Mary’s hold on her hand tightened but it was a gesture more of sympathy than joy at her daughter’s words.

  The silence between them grew but at least now it was no longer the angry silence of the last few weeks. At least now her mother was on her side, even though she could still offer no hope of a happy future for the young lovers.

  But you’re wrong, Eveleen wanted to cry. You’re all wrong. Stephen loves me, I know he does. But the words remained unspoken as they lingered together beside the dying embers in the range.

  Nine

  The following day, after evening milking, Eveleen paddled through the beck and ran up the hill towards Bernby Covert. Taking the cows back to the meadow, she had heard Stephen’s signal from the trees, the soft whoo-whoo of an owl. She felt happier than she had done for weeks for now she had a new resolve, and there would be no reason for their meetings to be secret any more. Tonight, she was going to ask Stephen to speak to her father. If Walter knew that Stephen’s intentions were, indeed, honourable – Eveleen chuckled aloud at the prim saying – then perhaps he would be on her side.

  Her father was the one person who could persuade Mary. While her mother now no longer treated her as if she did not exist, Mary still said sadly, ‘It’ll all end in tears. You’d be better off with Ted Morton and that’s saying something, because I know what he’s like with the girls. But I still say, you’d be better off with him.’

  As she neared the trees, Eveleen could see Stephen’s horse tethered there. She picked up her skirts and ran the rest of the way, arriving breathless and flushed, to run straight into his arms.

  ‘Oh, Stephen.’

  He was holding her and kissing her as if he would never let her go and she returned his kisses with equal ardour.

  ‘Oh darling, darling Eveleen. You’re so lovely,’ he murmured against her hair. ‘Let me love you. Please, let me love you properly . . .’

  Eveleen drew back a little and looked up into his face. Beneath the trees it was shadowy, but she could see enough to see her own love and passion for him mirrored in his face. Oh how she longed to lie with him, to give herself to him. But her mother’s warnings were still fresh in her mind and her own instincts were so strong.

  ‘Forgive me, but I can’t. You know I can’t.’

  ‘You think I wouldn’t respect you, wouldn’t love you afterwards? Is that it?’

  ‘I wouldn’t respect myself. So how could you?’

  ‘Darling, it’s not wrong when two people love each other. I swear I’d love you more, not less, knowing you were mine and mine alone. Please, Eveleen.’

  He was pulling her closer to him again, holding her tightly, but now she put her palms flat against his chest and pushed him back.

  He flung himself away from her angrily. ‘You say you love me, but you don’t show it.’ He grabbed hold of her again and pulled her roughly to him. ‘Prove it, Eveleen. Prove how much you love me.’

  Eveleen didn’t know what to say or do to convince him of her love, short of doing what he asked of her. They were so close that she could feel his breath on her face. His mouth twisted into a sneer. ‘I suppose your dear mama has drilled it into you from the time you could walk that you must never let a man have his wicked way with you until you’ve his ring on your finger. And a wedding band at that.’

  ‘This has nothing to do with my mother,’ she said hotly. ‘This is to do with me. How I feel. I’m – I’m not saying we have to be married first. I’m just saying now is too early. Too soon.’ He said nothing so she went on and her tone hardened as she said, ‘A few secret meetings in an old barn or in the woods and you expect me to lift my skirts for you.’ She was speaking with deliberate crudity, because that was what he was trying to turn their love into: some sordid, clandestine coupling no better than the beast in the field.

  He released her. ‘You mean,’ he said mockingly, ‘that if I was to take you out, wine you and dine you, shower you with gifts and take you home to meet my people, then you would?’

  ‘No,’ Eveleen said carefully. ‘I don’t mean that at all. We know each other’s “people”, as you put it. But this is hardly a proper courtship, is it? Not hiding away as if we’re ashamed of our love.’ She put her hand on his arm as she went on eagerly. ‘Stephen, I want you to speak to my father about us. We can meet openly then. Please, say you will?’

  His gaze dropped away from meeting her eyes. He sat down and leant back against a tree, his hands linked behind his head.

  ‘I could,’ he said, evenly. ‘But I’m going to be busy for a while. I may not be able to see you so much.’

  Eveleen felt as if the breath were being squeezed out of her body. She sat beside him. ‘Why?’

  Stephen sat forward in a quick, eager movement. His face, animated with excitement, was close to hers. ‘My father is going to stand for Parliament and he wants me to take on more responsibility for the estate. He’s going to be very busy campaigning.’

  ‘But why does that mean we can’t meet?’

  ‘I told you. I’ll be busy.’

  ‘But you’ve got Mr Jackson. The estate bailiff. Won’t he—’

  Stephen dismissed him with a wave of his hand. ‘Jackson’s all right. But he’s still only an employee. It’s not the same.’

  ‘Are you . . . ?’ Unshed tears caught at her throat. ‘Are you telling me it’s finished?’

  He put his arms about her and pulled her to him. ‘Darling, of course not.’ He kissed her but beneath his mouth her lips were cold and unresponsive.

  ‘Darling Eveleen.’ He kissed her neck and his hands stroked her hair. ‘Of course, it’s not over. It’s only just beginning.’

  Won over by his caresses and his whispered endearments, Eveleen wound her arms around his neck.

  ‘Oh, Stephen,’ she whispered. ‘It’s just that I do love you so much.’

  Eveleen ran down the hill through the gathering dusk, her heart singing. Stephen loved her, she knew he did. He hadn’t actually said it, but she was sure that was because he was shy. She had found it difficult to say “I love you” the first time, but now the words came as effortlessly to her as breathing.

  ‘I love you, Stephen Dunsmore. I’ll love you till the day I die,’ she shouted to the cattle grazing in the field. They took no notice and Eveleen laughed aloud, throwing back her head and looking up to the stars above that were just beginning to glow. She held up her arms as if to embrace the whole world. ‘I love you, Stephen Dunsmore. I love you, love you, love you.’

  She sat on the bank of the beck and took off her boots and stockings, drawing in a swift breath as she stepped into the chill water. Reaching the opposite bank, she was about to sit down to dry her feet on her apron and then pull on her stockings once more when she noticed that several of the cows had wandered down to the beck. They were standing grouped in a sorrowful bunch on the edge of the bank. Then she noticed, through the gloom, a dark shape in the middle of the rushing water. Dropping her boots and stockings she ran forward, afraid that one of the beasts had fallen in. But as she neared it, she saw that the mound was far smaller than a cow though larger than any of the rocks and small boulders on the bed of the stream. Eveleen stopped, struck by a shaft of terror.

  The shape was that of a person, a man. She leapt forwards, scrambling down the b
ank and splashing into the cold water once more. The rushing water bubbled its way around the object in its path as Eveleen reached out with a trembling hand. Though she expected it, knew even before she touched it, it was still a shock to feel the rough fabric of her father’s jacket.

  ‘Oh, Dad. Dad!’ She ran her hand up and her fingers touched his hair. He was lying face downwards in the water. Crying now, she tried to grip his shoulders and heave him upwards, but the inert form slipped from her grasp and splashed back into the beck. She felt cold droplets spatter her face. She took a firmer hold of him this time, turning him over on to his back so that she could grip him beneath his armpits and haul him out of the water. Sobbing, she pulled and heaved his body, made heavier by the water-soaked clothing, on to the bank. Breathless she collapsed beside him and felt for his face. It was as cold as the water in the beck.

  ‘Dad, Dad,’ she cried, but knew in her heart already that it was hopeless. She searched for his pulse but her own fingers were stiff with cold, yet trembling with fear.

  And then she began to scream for help, the sound piercing the gloom and echoing around the field, but there was no one to hear her cries, no one to come to her aid.

  Eveleen buried her face against her father’s sodden jacket and wrapped her arms around him, willing the life back into him. But it was the hopeless gesture of a grief-stricken young girl. Tearing sobs wracked her and it was several moments before she was able to force herself to rise and stumble her way across the field towards her home. She reached the gateway leading into the yard and, breathless, fell against it for a moment. At the sound of the back door opening, she looked up to see her mother standing silhouetted in the lamplight.

  ‘Is that you, Walter?’ Mary called.

  Eveleen straightened up and began to move towards her. ‘No, Mam. It’s me.’

  ‘Oh, there you are. Where have you been? Worrying your poor father half to death.’ In her anxiety, Mary did not seem to be aware of Eveleen’s bedraggled state. ‘He’s gone out looking for you instead of having his supper. He should be sitting in front of the range by now, resting, instead of—’ She paused, surprised into silence as Eveleen put her arms around her and buried her face against her shoulder. ‘Why, Eveleen, whatever’s the matter?’