Tangled Threads

by Margaret Dickinson

  Before she could answer, her mother’s voice hardened as she pushed Eveleen away from her and grasped her shoulders. Shaking her, she said, ‘It’s him, isn’t it? What’s he done to you?’

  Stupid with grief, Eveleen said, ‘Who?’

  ‘Stephen Dunsmore.’

  Eveleen shook her head, sending a shower of icy droplets over her mother.

  ‘But you’re wet through. Your clothes, your hair—’

  ‘Mam – you don’t understand—’

  ‘Oh I think I understand only too well.’

  ‘No, Mam. Listen!’ Now it was Eveleen who took hold of her mother’s arms. ‘It’s Dad. I’ve found him. He – he was in the beck. I – I think he’s dead.’

  There was a brief, stunned silence as mother and daughter stared at each other in the dim light. Then, sharply, Mary said, ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Eveleen. Where is he? Let me—’

  Eveleen’s grip on her mother’s arms tightened. ‘No, Mam. Don’t. Please, don’t go down there.’

  ‘Of course, I’m going to him. It’s me he’ll want to help him. I expect he’s twisted his ankle or something, going out in the dark to look for you, you naughty, wilful girl. Look what trouble you’ve caused now. Get inside and up those stairs this minute. Jimmy!’ She raised her voice. ‘Jimmy, come and help me. We must go to your father.’

  Jimmy came out of the back door. ‘I’m off out,’ he began, but seeing the state of his sister, he stopped and asked, ‘What’s up?’

  ‘It’s Dad. I found him in the beck.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  Instead of wasting more time explaining further, Eveleen said, ‘Jimmy, fetch Bill Morton and run.’

  Catching her anxiety and distress, for once Jimmy did as she asked him. He was away like the wind, running out of the yard and down the cart track towards the lane leading to Furze Farm, the Mortons’ home.

  Mary clicked her tongue against her teeth impatiently. ‘You needn’t have done that, Eveleen. I can go to him.’

  ‘No,’ Eveleen said harshly. ‘You stay here, Mam. I’ll – I’ll go back. When Bill comes, send him down to the beck.’

  ‘Perhaps you’re right. I’ll get some dry clothes ready for your father and a hot bowl of soup.’

  Mary went back into the house, leaving Eveleen staring after her, unable to comprehend that her mother was refusing to believe what she was trying to tell her. Then Eveleen turned and ran back to the place where she had found her father.

  Ten

  Bill and his son, Ted, carried Walter home on a door, with Eveleen and Jimmy walking beside them. They hesitated briefly as they entered the yard and saw Mary waiting. Eveleen ran forward, her boots and skirt still soaking, mud and tears streaking her face.

  ‘Mam, oh, Mam—’ she began, reaching out to her mother, but Mary brushed her aside and went towards the two men carrying her husband.

  She did not touch him, she did not even begin to cry, but stood there, staring down at him.

  Everyone else just stood there too, not knowing what to do or where to take him until Bill said gently, ‘Missis?’

  Mary sighed heavily and then said flatly, ‘Bring him in, Bill. Into the kitchen and on to the table.’ She turned and began to lead the way. ‘I’ll see to him.’

  ‘My Dorothy will come over, if you want, missis.’

  Mary shook her head. ‘No need, Bill. I’ll manage and Eveleen can help me. Now, gently with him. Don’t make it worse than it already is.’

  Eveleen stared at her mother. What could be worse than what had already happened? Jimmy came to stand beside his sister as they watched the men struggle to manoeuvre their tragic load through the narrow door of the house and into the kitchen.

  Bill and his son laid the door across the table and stepped back, pulling their caps from their heads and standing a moment as if silently paying their respects. Then they trooped out, nodding awkwardly to the two youngsters waiting in the yard. When they were gone, Eveleen and Jimmy went into the house.

  They watched in amazement as their mother bustled into the scullery to fetch a bowl, soap and flannel. ‘He’s in a right mess,’ she said, almost conversationally, as if her husband had merely fallen in the ditch, dragged himself out and squelched his way home to be met by his wife’s berating. ‘And you get yourself out of those wet clothes, Eveleen, or you’ll catch your death.’

  She turned away as if not realizing what she had said. Brother and sister exchanged a horrified glance.

  ‘I don’t reckon she’s taken it in,’ Jimmy murmured, his glance following their mother as she bent to draw hot water into the bowl from the tap at the side of the range. ‘She – she’s acting like she did when I fell in the dyke that time when I was a kid and came out in black mud from head to foot. I got a right telling off, but she peeled off all me clothes and washed me all the time she was doing it.’

  Mary placed the bowl carefully on the table at the side of the still and silent figure. ‘Fancy getting yourself in such a mess, Walter,’ she said gently as she began to wash his face tenderly. ‘There, there, we’ll soon have you cleaned up and then you can sit by the fire and have a nice bowl of hot soup. How’d that be, eh?’

  Although she clapped her hand to her mouth, Eveleen could not quite stifle the startled cry that escaped her lips.

  ‘She doesn’t realize, Evie. She doesn’t know.’

  Eveleen pulled in a deep shuddering breath, trying to calm her shaking limbs. They both continued to watch their mother as she washed the inert form, murmuring endearments and gentle chastisement in turn.

  ‘I’m off,’ Jimmy muttered. ‘I can’t stand this.’ As he made to turn and leave, Eveleen gripped his shoulder.

  ‘Wait,’ she hissed. ‘We can’t leave her like this, we—’

  ‘You can do what you like, our Eveleen. I’m off.’

  Mary was crooning, like a mother bathing her baby, smiling and singing to it.

  Eveleen took a deep breath and gave Jimmy’s shoulder a tiny shake. With a voice that was not quite steady, she said, ‘Go and fetch Bill back and ask Dorothy to come too.’

  ‘Right,’ Jimmy agreed at once. He turned and fled the house, relieved to have an excuse to get out. But there was no such escape for Eveleen. She moved forward to stand on the other side of the table to her mother.

  ‘Mam,’ she began hesitantly.

  ‘Oh, Eveleen, there you are. Help me get these wet clothes off your dad. He’ll catch his death, else.’

  It was a favourite saying of Mary’s and one she had now used twice in the space of a few minutes. Tears sprang to Eveleen’s eyes, but she blinked them back furiously. She must be strong. She had to be strong for all their sakes.

  ‘Mam,’ she said gently, her voice hoarse with emotion. ‘It’s – it’s no use. Don’t you see? He’s – he’s . . .’ She couldn’t bring herself to say the words, not even now. ‘He’s not going to be all right. He’s—’

  ‘Don’t be so foolish, Eveleen,’ Mary answered spiritedly. ‘Of course he’ll be all right. He’s just cold and tired.’ She looked down once more at the white face. ‘Come along, Walter. Stir yourself. You’ll have to help us. Me and Eveleen can’t lift you.’

  Eveleen moved round the table and put her arm about her mother’s shoulders, trying to lead her away now. ‘Mam, come away. It’s no use. It’s – it’s too late. He’s – he’s gone.’

  ‘What on earth are you talking about?’ Mary snapped. ‘Will you do as I say and help me instead of standing there talking a lot of nonsense?’

  Eveleen’s voice was a husky croak as she said, ‘Mam. He’s dead. Dad’s dead.’

  Beneath her touch, she felt her mother’s body go rigid. Mary stared at her daughter and then slowly turned her head to look down at her husband once more. There was a second’s silence and then Eveleen jumped physically as her mother let out a heart-rending scream and threw herself across the lifeless body.

  She was still trying to prise Mary away when the back door opened and Bi
ll’s huge frame stood there. At once he took in the scene, moved forward and lifted Mary bodily. He held her in his strong embrace, stroked her hair and made soothing noises.

  Eveleen felt a huge lump in her throat and the tears she had tried to hold back spilled over and ran down her face. To see this big man being so gentle and caring with her distraught mother seemed to emphasize the painful truth as nothing else could have done.

  ‘Bill?’ Dorothy stepped into the kitchen and, at her husband’s nod towards Eveleen, opened her arms to the girl. With a sob, Eveleen allowed herself to give way to her own grief, leaving, for the moment, Bill to cope with her hysterical mother.

  At last they got her calmed down, but it took Bill, Dorothy and Eveleen to coax Mary to sit down by the range.

  ‘Here, Mary dear,’ Dorothy said, ‘drink this. ’Tis hot sweet tea. Now,’ she went on gently, ‘Bill and Ted will move poor Walter into your parlour and then I’ll see to him. Ted came back with us,’ she explained to Eveleen. ‘He’s waiting in the yard in case we needed him.’

  Dorothy was the person the community ran to in times of trouble. A motherly, buxom woman with a round, placid face, she was the unofficial midwife and nurse. She was always there to lay out the dead when a family could not bring themselves to carry out the sad duty.

  ‘Has anyone called Doctor Roper?’ Dorothy asked Eveleen. ‘I can’t do anything until the doctor’s seen him.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t think about that. I knew the minute I found him face down in the beck that he – that he . . .’ Her voice trailed away and Dorothy put her arm around Eveleen’s shoulders.

  ‘It’s all right, love. You couldn’t be expected to know what needed doing. You leave it to us now. We’ll sort everything out for you.’ She turned towards her husband. ‘Send Ted for Doctor Roper.’

  ‘Jimmy could go,’ Eveleen put in.

  The two kindly people looked at her. ‘He’s run off, love. He came to fetch us and then he went off somewhere.’

  Anger sparked in Eveleen’s dark eyes. ‘That’s just like him.’

  ‘Don’t be too hard on him, dear. He’s very young to have to cope with something like this. I know you’re only a year older than he is, but you’re so much more sensible.’ She gave a little gesture with her head towards where Mary still sat huddled in front of the fire. ‘You’re going to have to be the strong one in this family from now on, love.’

  Eveleen felt the burden of responsibility settle like a heavy weight on her young shoulders. Automatically, she straightened up and lifted her head as she met the woman’s sympathetic eyes.

  ‘Yes,’ the young girl said solemnly. ‘I am, aren’t I?’

  Eleven

  All the legal requirements surrounding a sudden death had been satisfied and the funeral arranged, but still Mary Hardcastle had scarcely moved from her chair in front of the fire. Eveleen had been trying to coax her to undress and go to her bed when Mary hit her and shouted, ‘Leave me be. Let me rot. I don’t want to live any more.’ Then she began to wail. ‘What am I going to do without him? Who’s going to look after me now?’

  Rubbing her arm where Mary had lashed out at her, Eveleen said quietly, ‘We’ll look after you, Mam. Jimmy and me.’

  ‘You? You, look after me?’ Mary’s voice was shrill with bitterness. ‘You haven’t a thought in your head except skipping off to meet that young feller.’ She shook her fist at Eveleen, anger rousing her from her apathy for the first time. ‘You’ll come to a bad end, my girl, you mark my words. Where’s Jimmy? I want my Jimmy. He’ll look after me. Jimmy’ll look after his mam.’

  Jimmy would do nothing of the sort, Eveleen thought. There was only one person that Jimmy Hardcastle was ever going to look after. Himself. But aloud she said, ‘He’s had to go to work, Mam,’ as she sat down on the opposite side of the range in the chair that had been her father’s.

  A wild shriek from her mother made Eveleen jump up again as if she had been burnt.

  ‘Get out of that chair. That’s his chair. Don’t you dare to sit in it. You aren’t fit to sit in his chair.’

  Mary struggled to her feet. She swayed a moment and then, regaining her balance, she came, fists flailing, striking Eveleen on the chin and about the head before the girl could even move to defend herself.

  Eveleen caught hold of Mary’s wrists and held them tightly. From her work about the farm, Eveleen was strong and, once she had a firm grip, she had no trouble in restraining the distraught woman.

  ‘Mam, don’t. Look, sit down and I’ll make you a nice drink and some dinner.’

  Mary thrust her face close to Eveleen’s. ‘Oh aye. And what’ll you put in it, eh? Poison?’

  Appalled, Eveleen stared at her. For the past few days Eveleen had had not only to contend with her own grief over her father’s death but to be the mainstay in her mother’s life. And she had had little or no help from her brother. Early each morning Jimmy left the house and did not return until late at night, leaving Eveleen to cope alone with all the arrangements and with Mary’s paralysing distress. She understood the shattering blow her mother had suffered and had been infinitely patient with her. But now, for the first time, Eveleen began to fear for her mother’s reason.

  She felt Mary’s whole body begin to tremble. She loosened her grasp on her mother’s wrists so that Mary was able to twist herself free. Eveleen stepped backwards, expecting more blows, but now her mother sank back into her chair. Eveleen too, began to sit down, but realizing she was once more about to sit in her father’s chair, drew a chair from the table closer to the hearth and sat down on that.

  ‘Mam,’ she began gently. ‘You don’t know what you’re saying. You can’t possibly think I’d ever harm you.’

  ‘Oh no? I’m in the way now, aren’t I? A burden.’

  ‘Of course you’re not. You’ll soon be your old self again and—’

  ‘I’ll never be my old self again,’ Mary moaned and sank once more into self-pity. ‘Not now he’s gone. Without Walter, I’m no good.’

  Tentatively, fearing to provoke another onslaught, Eveleen reached out and patted her mother’s hand where it rested on the chair arm. If her mother was acting like this now, how on earth was she going to behave at the funeral the following day? Eveleen had visions of the hysterical woman throwing herself across the coffin.

  Uncannily, Mary seemed to be following Eveleen’s train of thought. ‘I wish I could die with him.’

  ‘Mam, please,’ Eveleen said, feeling utterly helpless. Then making up her mind, she stood up. ‘I’m going for Doctor Roper right now.’ Perhaps there was some way he could help.

  ‘We can’t afford a doctor. We’ll be homeless soon enough.’

  Eveleen had begun to turn away but now she swung round and stared down at her mother. ‘What did you say?’

  ‘I said,’ Mary repeated, ‘we’ll be homeless soon enough.’

  Eveleen’s legs gave way beneath her and she sank back on to the chair. Her mother’s outburst had subsided and now she sounded rational and very serious.

  ‘Whatever do you mean?’ Eveleen whispered.

  ‘I mean,’ Mary said, ‘that now your father’s gone, we shall be turned out of our home. It’s only a tied house, Eveleen. Tied to his job.’

  ‘But we still work for Mr Dunsmore. Jimmy and me. And you often help out in the dairy.’

  ‘Huh. Even if he keeps you two, he’ll want the house. You and Jimmy’ll have to go into lodgings. They’ll want this house –’ she jabbed her forefinger towards the floor – ‘for the man who takes Walter’s job.’ She sighed heavily, as she added, ‘Stands to reason.’

  ‘But it’s our home.’

  Mary shrugged. ‘It has been our home, Eveleen, but the property belongs to Mr Dunsmore and he’ll want it vacated. Once the funeral’s over, you mark my words, we’ll get a visit from Mr Jackson.’

  Conjured up at once in Eveleen’s mind was a picture of Josiah Jackson, the farm bailiff, a scrawny, ferret-like man with beady eyes and
thin, mean lips. She shuddered. Thinking of him, she could begin to believe her mother’s words.

  She stood up. ‘I’ll see Stephen. He’ll not let us be turned out of our home.’

  Mary rested her head against the back of the chair and closed her eyes. Her shoulders began to shake and Eveleen bent down.

  ‘Mam, don’t get upset. Stephen’s taking on more responsibility around the estate. He told me. He’ll help us.’ Then with a shock she saw that her mother was not crying, but laughing. But there was no humour in the sound, only bitterness.

  Mary opened her eyes and looked up at her. ‘Oh Eveleen, if you believe that, then you’re more of a naïve fool than even I thought you were.’

  As Eveleen hurried along the lane towards Bernby village, she muttered to herself. ‘She’s wrong. I know she’s wrong. Stephen wouldn’t do that. He’ll help us, I know he will.’

  She was desperate to find him now, this minute, but knew she must go for the doctor first. Her mother needed help. These irrational outbursts were so unlike her. Eveleen’s footsteps slowed of their own volition as the truth slipped into her reasoning. No, she was wrong. Mary Hardcastle had always been unpredictable.

  Eveleen felt her face crumple and she pressed the back of her hand to her mouth as the realization came to her. Only her father, her lovely, patient, understanding father, had been able to calm Mary and keep her volatile temperament on an even keel.

  And now he was gone.

  The girl stood a moment in the lane, missing her father and feeling desperately lonely.

  Then she lifted her head. It was up to her now. Up to her to look after her mother and her brother and to hold the family together. She would have to be sensible. She would not be afraid or too proud to ask for help.

  She began to walk again. She would do what she had planned. She would see Doctor Roper and ask his advice. And then she would go in search of Stephen.