Tangled Threads

by Margaret Dickinson

Eveleen peered through the window and saw Andrew Burns carrying a cricket bat and positioning himself in front of the pump.

  ‘They use the pump as the wicket. Oh, Father must have finished work. He’s joining in. Now, you watch him bowl. He played for the county a few years ago,’ she added proudly.

  ‘Did he really?’ Eveleen could not keep the surprise from her voice.

  Harry had appeared from the workshop. He had left his jacket behind and though dressed in just trousers, shirt and waistcoat, he still wore his bowler hat. Standing at the far end of the yard near the pigsties, he rubbed the ball down his leg and then ran a few paces along the brick path, brought his arm up behind him and over in an arc. He released the ball and it bounced once before Andrew took a swipe at it, knocking it into the patch of herbs.

  Among the young men gathered as fielders, Eveleen saw Jimmy scrambling over the fence to retrieve the ball while Andrew was running the length of the brick path and back again, shouting out the number of runs he was making as he ran. ‘Two.’

  ‘Come on, Jimmy. Find that ball.’

  ‘Four.’

  ‘Here, here, throw it here.’

  ‘Five.’

  ‘Run him out.’

  The yard was alive with shouting, laughing and the thud of the ball against the bat. The game went on until dusk when one or two lads drifted away to go home. Soon only Harry, Andrew and Jimmy were left playing in the yard.

  ‘Do you think,’ Eveleen said to Rebecca, ‘they’d let us have a go?’

  ‘Oh no!’ Rebecca was shocked. ‘Girls don’t play cricket.’

  ‘Well, it’s high time we did. Come on.’

  Eveleen was already at the door, lifting the latch and stepping into the yard, with Rebecca saying fearfully, ‘Oh, Evie, I don’t think we should—’

  But Eveleen was already walking towards the pump and saying, ‘Come on, Andrew, let’s be having a go.’

  The lad’s mouth dropped open and he seemed too stunned to make any protest when Eveleen took the bat out of his hand and turned to face her uncle.

  Harry hesitated for a moment but then bowled a gentle underarm ball towards Eveleen. She brought the bat back and swiped at the ball. She hit it fair and square in the middle of the bat and the ball skidded along the brick path to be blocked by Harry’s boot.

  ‘Right, mi lady,’ Harry said, and though she could not see if his mouth was smiling beneath the bushy beard, she could hear the amusement in his voice.

  Out here, Eveleen thought, he’s like a different man, but then she had to concentrate for Harry had retreated as far back as he could and was beginning his run-up. Now he bowled overarm to her, the ball leaving his hand as fast as any of the balls she had seen him deliver to the boys. The ball came flying towards her, bounced and somehow met the flat of her bat. It flew into the air, sailed above Jimmy’s outstretched hand and was heading straight for the windows of the upper storey of one of the workshops.

  ‘Oh no,’ Eveleen breathed. ‘Now I’m in trouble.’

  There was the sound of shattering glass and the dull thud of the ball dropping on to the floor. All eyes were turned up to look at the broken pane and then they saw Wilf Carter’s face at the window, shaking his fist.

  Eveleen swallowed fearfully as she glanced at her uncle. But to her surprise, and by the look on her face Rebecca’s too, Harry Singleton put his hands on his sides, threw back his head and roared with laughter.

  ‘First team next week, lass,’ he spluttered. ‘First team next week.’

  Nineteen

  ‘Now who can that be when we’re just about to sit down to dinner,’ Eveleen muttered, exasperated by the knock at the door.

  ‘I don’t want to see anyone.’ Mary’s voice was high-pitched with fear.

  Eveleen shot her a glance but said nothing as she opened the door to a middle-aged woman in a black skirt and white blouse with a lace shawl about her shoulders. Her brown hair, liberally streaked with grey, was drawn back into a bun. She was plump and stood with her arms folded beneath the shelf of her bosom. When she smiled, her eyes, full of curiosity, twinkled.

  ‘’Hello, mi duck,’ she nodded as she greeted Eveleen, but craned her neck, trying to see past the girl and into the room behind her. ‘Is she here?’

  Eveleen’s face cleared. ‘Oh, you want Rebecca. I’ll just—’

  ‘No, no. It’s Mary I’ve come to see. Mary Singleton. My George said he’d seen ’er riding through the village on a dray.’ Her inquisitive eyes grew even brighter. ‘Has she come home? Is she here?’

  ‘Well . . .’ Eveleen was uncertain. If the woman chose to peer through the window at the side of the door, she would be able to see Mary sitting by the range. Eveleen was still hesitating when her mother spoke resignedly.

  ‘Let her in, Eveleen. I’d better get it over with.’ Then she raised her voice and said, belligerently, ‘Come on in, Gracie Allenby – if you must.’

  The woman almost pushed her way past Eveleen in her eagerness. ‘Well, I never did,’ she said as she stood before Mary looking down at her. ‘Mary Singleton as I live and breathe.’

  ‘It’s Mary Hardcastle now, Gracie.’

  ‘And I’m Gracie Turner.’

  Mary looked up with a sudden spark of interest. ‘You married George?’

  Gracie nodded and added proudly, ‘I did and we’ve ’ad six kids. Eldest is fifteen, youngest is four.’ Her tone softened and her eyes were sympathetic as she asked, ‘What about you, Mary?’ Her glance flickered briefly over Eveleen and then back to Mary’s face. ‘This your lass, is it?’

  Now the hostility in Mary’s tone was undisguised. ‘What if it is? What’s it to you?’

  Eveleen held her breath but Grace only laughed and, without being invited, sat down in Harry’s chair on the opposite side of the hearth. ‘Aw now, Mary, don’t be like that. Don’t bear grudges, mi duck. Not after all this time.’

  Eveleen stood silently watching, ready to intervene if the visitor should distress her mother, but Mary was glowering at Gracie Turner and appeared to be quite able to defend herself. ‘Forgive and forget, eh? Well, if you want me to do that, you’d better ask my dear brother to do the same.’

  ‘Oh Harry!’ Gracie laughed and dismissed him with a flap of her hand. ‘That brother of yours should have been a preacher. In fact, it’s always surprised me that he isn’t. He’d have made a good one alongside that feller who gave you such a hard time. Jeremiah Tranter. “Tranter the Ranter” we called ’im. D’you remember?’

  Eveleen felt the laughter bubbling up inside her, but she was still anxious for her mother.

  ‘As if I could ever forget,’ Mary said. ‘I’ll never set foot inside that chapel again.’

  Gracie laughed, a loud infectious sound. ‘Don’t blame the chapel, mi duck. It was years ago. Times have changed a bit since then. We’ve got a lovely young feller as our minister on the circuit now.’

  Mary eyed her suspiciously. ‘Are you trying to tell me that none of the preachers stand up in that pulpit and harangue the congregation for their sinful ways?’

  Gracie tried hard, but could not deny it.

  ‘No, I thought not,’ Mary said grimly, her mouth pursed. ‘And you and all the rest followed suit, didn’t you? Banned from teaching in the Sunday school, I was, and not allowed on any of the outings. And you, Gracie . . .’ Mary leaned forward now, almost menacingly. ‘I thought you was my best friend.’

  Gracie looked ashamed. ‘I was, Mary. But mi dad was as hard as yours. He forbade me to see you.’ Now she leant forward and touched Mary’s hand. ‘I came round here one day though. Sneaked out, I did.’

  ‘I don’t remember that.’

  ‘You’d gone,’ Gracie said, and even after the intervening years there was still sadness in her tone. ‘Run away, you had. I came to tell you that I was still your friend, no matter what. Me and Georgie and some of the other village young ’uns. But you’d run away without a word to any of us.’ Now there was reproach in Gracie’s voice.
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br />   ‘That’s as maybe.’ Mary sounded a little mollified, but still not wholly believing.

  ‘My dad found out and I got a right thrashing for coming here, I can tell you,’ Gracie went on, but now she was beaming. ‘But here I am, large as life and twice as natural, to tell you what I came to tell you then. I’m still your friend. I always was and I always will be.’

  Mary stared at her for a long time and then said, quietly, ‘Eveleen, would you make us both a cup of tea, please love. Me and Gracie here have got a bit of catching up to do.’

  Things might have continued in a fairly settled way for by the end of the first week a routine had been established. Jimmy was learning a trade in his uncle’s workshops and the three women were already working well together.

  But then came Sunday and with it the first confrontation between Mary and her brother.

  ‘Eveleen,’ Harry said at breakfast. ‘You will go with Rebecca this morning. She teaches at the Sunday school. You can help her and, in time, you may be able to teach too.’

  ‘Yes, Uncle,’ Eveleen said. She liked children and knew she would enjoy helping her cousin.

  Harry now included Mary and Jimmy too. ‘You’ll all be ready for this afternoon’s service by two fifteen,’ he decreed as he rose from the breakfast table. ‘And you, young man,’ he added, pointing a finger at Jimmy, ‘don’t think you can go out roaming the streets, making an exhibition of yourself. In this house we read the Good Book on a Sunday and Rebecca will play hymns on the organ for us later. Then there’s Chapel again tonight at six.’

  Eveleen saw Jimmy’s horrified face and wanted to giggle, but knew she must not.

  It was Mary who answered Harry. As she rose and began to stack the breakfast dishes, she said, ‘I’m well aware of the debt we owe you, Harry, and that because we are living in your house there are rules we must abide by. Jimmy will not disgrace you and both he and Eveleen will accompany you and Rebecca to the services in the chapel.’ She faced him squarely. ‘But I will not be attending any service in that chapel. And I think you know why.’

  Eveleen heard Rebecca’s little gasp of alarm and then it seemed as if everyone in the room was holding their breath.

  The frown that seemed to be ever present on Harry’s brow deepened and his voice was harsh as he said, ‘You will attend each and every service, Mary. Everyone who lives in these four houses and in Chapel Row,’ he waved his hand to encompass the neighbouring homes and even those in the rest of the street, ‘indeed, all the people from the village who work in my workshops attend the services. Why should you be any different, might I ask?’

  Mary’s voice rose. ‘You should know why. Or have you forgotten how that Christian congregation’ – her tone bitter – ‘treated me?’

  ‘That was your own doing.’

  ‘And are you still denouncing young people who “fornicate”?’

  ‘Mary!’ His admonishment was like a whiplash. Eveleen saw her mother flinch and knew that despite her valiant show of strength she would not defeat Harry. He ruled his small world and while Mary was a part of it, while they all were, they would obey him.

  By two o’clock that afternoon Eveleen was proved right for when they all assembled in the living room Mary was dressed in her best black costume with its tight-fitting waist and leg o’ mutton sleeves. She held a hymnbook in her hands, but her face looked as if she was about to be led to the scaffold.

  ‘I’ll go and help Gran,’ Rebecca murmured and scurried out of the house.

  Mary was startled out of her own problems enough to say, ‘You don’t drag poor Mother to Chapel surely, Harry?’

  ‘It does her no harm,’ he said pompously. ‘The rest of the week she only moves from her bed to that chair and back again. It does her good to get out twice a week.’

  ‘No doubt you consider it’s good for her soul, too,’ Mary said tartly before she could stop herself. She was rewarded by Harry’s deepening frown.

  As they trooped outside, Eveleen saw her grandmother, leaning heavily against Rebecca, coming along the path in front of the houses. Bridget winced with each step she took and their progress was so painfully slow that Eveleen hurried forward to take her other arm.

  ‘There, Gran, lean on both of us. Is that easier?’

  The old lady paused a moment, bringing them both to a standstill. She glanced from one to the other and smiled. ‘My two granddaughters,’ she murmured, pride in her tone. Then she looked towards Jimmy and her smile broadened. ‘And that scallywag of a grandson.’ Eveleen felt Bridget squeeze her arm. ‘I’m glad to have you here, mi duck. All my grandchildren together. It’s grand, isn’t it, Rebecca?’

  Rebecca smiled across at Eveleen and agreed. ‘It is, Gran, it is.’

  It took them ten minutes just to cross the narrow street to the chapel.

  ‘You young ’uns shouldn’t be bothering with the likes of me,’ the old lady said. ‘Mind you,’ she added and gave her cackling laugh, ‘I’d be hard put to even get there without you.’

  Mary was pacing up and down outside the door.

  ‘You going to stay there all day?’ Bridget asked her. Then her tone softened. ‘Come on in with us, lass. They can’t bite you.’

  Mary did not pause in her pacing. ‘Can’t they?’ she said bitterly. ‘They had a good try once.’

  Eveleen and Rebecca helped their grandmother inside and down the aisle to the front pew where Harry was already seated, his head bent forward in prayer. Beside him, kicking his heels against the wooden seat, Jimmy sat gazing around him, turning every so often to gape at newcomers.

  As Bridget sat down heavily, Eveleen turned to her brother. ‘Stop that this minute,’ she hissed at him. Then she put the flat of her hand at the back of his head and, none too gently, pushed his head forward. ‘Say a prayer. And make it a good ’un, ’cos I reckon you need it.’

  She was about to sit down next to him so that she could keep him in check during the service when she realised that her mother had still not followed them in. Giving a click of exasperation, Eveleen hurried out to find her.

  ‘Come on, Mam. It’ll be starting soon.’

  ‘I don’t want to come in, Evie. You don’t know what they’re like.’

  Perplexed and anxious, Eveleen spoke more sharply than she intended.‘It’ll mean trouble for all of us if you don’t come in. Please, Mam,’ she begged and took hold of her mother’s arm. She was shocked to feel that Mary was shaking but she could not, dare not, give way. ‘Come on,’ she urged, more gently now. ‘It’ll be all right. Sit between me and Jimmy. You’ll have too much to do to keep him in order to have time to worry about other folks.’

  At that moment Gracie Turner came hurrying up the street, puffing and panting, afraid of being late. Summing up the situation swiftly, she linked her arm through Mary’s. ‘Come on, mi duck. You can sit with me, if you like.’

  ‘Thanks, Gracie, but I’d better sit with my family.’

  To Eveleen’s relief Mary allowed Gracie to lead her inside and settle her in the family pew before taking her own place further back. But as Eveleen slipped in beside her, Mary clung to her arm as if she would never let it go.

  ‘I want to go home, Evie. Take me home,’ she whispered yet again.

  Eveleen patted her hand, distraught that she could not respond to Mary’s desperate plea, for she knew that her mother did not mean back to the house across the street, but back home to Lincolnshire.

  Although their mother had never been religious, Walter had taken both his children to church regularly, but this service was like nothing Eveleen had ever attended before. Sitting in the front pew, they were directly beneath the preacher. He was a tall, heavily built man with white hair and a long, white beard. Thick curling eyebrows, white too, overshadowed deep-set eyes, and his face was set in stern lines. Not once did a smile even touch his mouth. He led the congregation through the service, through the prayers and the hymns, and while Eveleen did not know some of them, much of the form of the service was familiar
.

  But it was when it came to the sermon that the atmosphere changed completely. The preacher stood in the pulpit and harangued the congregation for their sinful ways. He shouted and stormed and could promise them only hell and damnation from a vengeful God unless they repented their sins this very moment and from this day forth led a blameless life.

  At the first blast of his outrage, Eveleen had jumped physically. Her heart had thudded in trepidation and she had begun to understand her mother’s fears. But as his diatribe continued with what seemed to the young girl mounting hysteria, Eveleen found her thoughts wandering, her mind shutting out his accusations.

  This was not how she imagined the Lord. To her mind – and she recognized it might be a rather naïve and childish picture – God was a huge figure, about ten times the size of an ordinary man, who sat on a giant throne somewhere up in the clouds. He had a long, silky white beard and a wrinkled face that was wreathed in smiles. His eyes twinkled merrily at the mischief his creation caused. He would take his children on to his huge lap and pat their heads and pardon them their so-called sins when they sincerely begged his forgiveness. Even when faced with real wickedness, his eyes would be sorrowful rather than angry or vengeful.

  On his right hand sat his son, resembling, Eveleen thought, the picture she had once seen of Jesus called “I am the Light of the World”. He had a sweet, rather sad face. But then hadn’t he suffered so terribly to save the whole world?

  As the preacher shook his fist above the heads of his congregation and castigated them, Eveleen took her mother’s trembling hand and put it through her own arm. She patted it and, giving a disparaging nod of her head towards the preacher, whispered, ‘It’s all right, Mam. God understands, even if he doesn’t.’

  Whatever Mary had done in her life, she had already, to Eveleen’s mind, been punished enough here on earth. With the confidence of youth, Eveleen had a firm trust and faith in a loving Father rather than a vengeful God. Her earthly father had been kind and loving and forgiving, so why should her Heavenly Father be any different?

  ‘It’s all right, Mam. Everything’s going to be all right,’ she murmured again, and was reassured to feel Mary’s fingers squeeze her arm.