Tangled Threads

by Margaret Dickinson

  ‘Huh, chance’d be a fine thing. If the old man’s not watching us like a hawk, then Burns is making sheep’s eyes at her and looking daggers at me.’ He laughed. ‘Good job duelling is out of fashion. Reckon I’d be called out.’

  Eveleen grasped her brother by the shoulder. She was as tall as he was and now, almost as strong. ‘Just you listen to me. If you upset Uncle Harry, we’ll be out on our ears.’

  ‘So? Why should I care? I’ll go to sea.’

  ‘If you don’t care about yourself, then spare a thought for poor Mam. And me.’

  Their faces were close together in the gathering dusk. ‘Please, Jimmy,’ she pleaded.

  ‘Look, Evie, I don’t want to rock the boat any more than you do. At least,’ he said mysteriously, ‘not yet.’

  ‘What do you mean – not yet?’ Eveleen asked sharply.

  Slyly he glanced at her and then looked away. ‘I don’t want to stay here for ever, any more than our mam does.’

  Eveleen kept her voice low so that none of the workers passing by them on the path to go home would overhear.

  ‘So why don’t you work a bit harder? The sooner we get some money together, the sooner we can go home.’

  ‘Do you think of Bernby as home too, then?’

  ‘Of course I do. Whatever made you think I didn’t?’

  He scuffed the toe of his boot on the ground. ‘I didn’t think you’d want to go back there. Because of . . .’ He cast her a sideways glance. ‘Because of him.’

  Eveleen felt her mouth tighten. ‘He’s nothing to me. Not any more.’

  Jimmy arched his eyebrows as if he didn’t believe her for a moment, but he said no more about it. Instead, he said, ‘Besides, you seem to be getting well in with the old woman. I thought you was feathering your nest, like.’

  Eveleen was appalled. ‘Oh, Jimmy, how can you think that of me?’

  ‘S’what I’d do. Given half a chance.’

  Her grip on his shoulder tightened. ‘Is that what you’re doing with little Rebecca? Trying to wheedle your way into the family by the back door? Because that’s not the best way to get into her father’s good books.’

  ‘’Course not,’ Jimmy said defensively. ‘I – I really like her. Honest, Evie.’ He grinned suddenly. ‘’Sides, I couldn’t get into his Good Book unless I grew wings and polished me halo.’

  ‘All right then,’ Eveleen said, but for once she was not laughing with him. She was still not wholly convinced of the purity of his motives. ‘Because I’ll tell you something, Brother dear. Whatever your reasons for chasing after Rebecca are, genuine or otherwise, Uncle Harry’s not going to like them one bit.’

  Through the gloom she saw his grinning white teeth. ‘Mebbe not. But that doesn’t bother me. Just so long as Rebecca does.’

  With that he twisted himself free and, stuffing his hands into his pockets, walked towards the house, whistling jauntily.

  ‘Oh, Jimmy,’ Eveleen murmured. ‘Just what trouble are you getting us all into now?’

  Eveleen decided to tackle the problem from the other angle. She decided to speak to Rebecca. Her opportunity came when Harry asked her to give Rebecca a hand with the washing one morning instead of going to the workshop.

  ‘There are several long johns and men’s vests got oil on them. And Mr Buxton will be here for them at the end of the week.’

  ‘Who’s Mr Buxton?’

  ‘He’s the bag man or bag hosier.’

  ‘What does the bag man do exactly?’

  ‘He gets the orders for us. He supplies the yarn and then collects the finished garments and takes them back to the warehouse in the city. And he won’t be happy if they’re less than perfect. Here,’ she pushed a bundle into Eveleen’s arms. ‘These all need washing. Then they need stretching and laying out to dry in the sun.’

  ‘Where?’

  There seemed little room here. Not like at home, she thought, where there had been the yard and the fields and . . . She closed her mind against her memories.

  ‘On those boards there.’ Rebecca pointed to four or five wooden boards leaning against the wall in the wash-house. ‘Line them up as many as you can along the pathway. The rest can hang over the washing line.’

  As they worked together, plunging the knitted garments into the warm water, squeezing them and then laying them on the boards, stretching them into the finished shape, Eveleen said, ‘I’ve been wanting to talk to you.’

  The girl glanced up swiftly and then bent her head over the tub as if she guessed what her cousin was about to say.

  Eveleen came straight to the point. ‘Look, Rebecca, you can tell me to mind my own business if you like, but be careful of our Jimmy. He’s – he’s . . .’ She bit her lip. She didn’t want to be disloyal to her own flesh and blood, yet she had to be truthful. She tried to phrase it casually. ‘He’s only young and all young fellers want a bit of fun before they settle down. Just don’t take him too serious, will you?’

  Rebecca kept her face hidden as she worked the dolly peg in the rinsing water, swirling the garments round and round. As the silence between them lengthened, Eveleen went on again, feeling almost as if she were plunging herself into hot water.

  ‘And what about Andrew? Isn’t there some sort of understanding between you two? Don’t let Jimmy—’

  She could not finish her sentence before the girl’s head shot up and she almost shouted, ‘No, there isn’t anything between me and Andrew Burns. He likes to think there is. But there isn’t and there never will be.’ She thumped the dolly peg into the water, causing it to splash even over the high sides of the tub as she added, ‘Not now.’

  Not now, Eveleen thought with a sinking heart. That could only mean one thing: not now that Jimmy has come on to the scene. Eveleen plunged another garment beneath the soapy water, wishing that it was her brother’s head she was dunking.

  The weeks flew by for Eveleen in a haze of weariness. She worked long hours at the frame as well as still doing her share of household chores and even took a turn at the Griswold in the winter evenings when it was too cold to continue in the workshops.

  ‘Do you know,’ Jimmy grumbled, ‘there’s ice on the inside of them long windows and sitting next to them to work is worse than living in an igloo.’

  ‘You’ll have to work a bit harder.’ Eveleen didn’t dish out any sympathy. Nor did she tell him that her own fingers were often blue with cold and her feet felt like blocks of solid ice in the morning. By the time all the workers arrived and the machines were clattering busily, it didn’t seem so bad to her.

  ‘Only one fire to heat the whole room.’ Jimmy was determined to find fault.

  ‘It’d be colder still out at sea.’

  But he was not to be cajoled out of his gloom. ‘Well, I’d rather be out there than stuck in this place. And one day, I just might be.’

  Eveleen laughed. She’d heard his threats so many times before, she no longer believed them.

  Christmas came and Eveleen was surprised to find that the small community celebrated in style. On Christmas Eve Harry planted a Christmas tree in one of the vegetable patches in the yard and decorated it with lighted tapers and bright, shining trinkets fastened to the branches. There were presents for everyone; shawls and scarves, socks and ties. While, quite naturally, their revels were firmly rooted in the traditions of the chapel, nevertheless, they ate heartily on Christmas Day – goose, plum pudding and fruit cake. Mellowed by good food, everyone attended the service at the chapel, including, to Eveleen’s surprise, Jimmy, sitting between her and Rebecca. Even Mary, greeted at the chapel door with open arms by a red-cheeked Gracie Turner, needed no persuading to attend.

  The Christmas spirit seemed to last into the New Year, but then, towards the end of January, the whole nation was cast into mourning by the death of the queen.

  ‘There’s not many folk left alive who can remember us having a king,’ Bridget remarked. ‘Why even I wasn’t born until a year after she came to the throne and I’m as old as
Methuselah’s mother!’ She gave a cackle of laughter and earned herself a reproving glance from a solemn-faced Harry.

  ‘We’ll close the workshops on the day of her funeral as a mark of respect,’ he said.

  Bridget, sharp as ever, remarked, ‘According to the paper it’s not going to be ’til a week on Saturday.’ She eyed him speculatively. ‘So you won’t be losing a full day’s work anyway.’

  But Harry, as ever, had the last word. ‘There’ll be a special service in the chapel,’ he said. ‘And everyone will attend. Including you, Mother.’

  As he left the cottage, Bridget grumbled, ‘Why do I always have to open my mouth and let it say what it likes.’

  Eveleen stifled her laughter. It was what she often said of herself.

  Winter gave way to spring at last and cricket bats were brought out from the back of cupboards and practice at the pump in the yard began in earnest. There was great rivalry between Andrew and Jimmy as to who would be picked to play for the village team that year. But it was on the Sunday school outing when the trouble Eveleen had feared really came to a head.

  When the weather improved and may blossom dappled the hedgerows, Harry announced, ‘There’s to be a picnic for the Sunday school children a week on Saturday.’ The men and the youngsters, he decreed, would go on bicycles, the ladies and very young children would ride in horse-drawn wagons with forms from the chapel to provide seating.

  ‘We only go just outside the village to a meadow near the brook,’ he told Eveleen.

  Her heart missed a beat. ‘I – I don’t think we’ll come, Uncle,’ she began and, seeing his perpetual frown deepen, rushed on. ‘It might upset Mam. Going into the countryside and especially beside the brook might remind her too much of home. There was a beck that ran behind our house. That – that was where I found my father.’

  ‘I see.’ Harry pondered for a long moment before saying, slowly, ‘Mary can stay at home, then, with Mother. But you and that brother of yours will come.’

  ‘Father will find you both a bicycle,’ Rebecca said, her eyes sparkling with an unaccustomed excitement.

  ‘A bicycle!’ Eveleen was horrified. ‘But I’ve never ridden one.’

  Rebecca’s eyes widened in surprise. ‘Then it’s high time you did. You’ve ten days to learn. You can borrow mine and I’ll teach you.’

  For the next few days for an hour after tea, when the men went off to the cricket field to play now that the evenings were lighter, Rebecca wheeled her bicycle out of the washhouse and into the street. While Eveleen stood watching, Rebecca mounted the cycle and rode solemnly up and down.

  ‘Now, your turn.’

  Eveleen eyed the contraption warily. ‘I’ll fall off,’ she muttered.

  ‘Of course you won’t. Come on. Hitch yourself on to the saddle. I’ll hold you.’

  With Rebecca almost supporting her bodily at first, Eveleen took her first tentative lesson. After the first week she could ride up and down Ranters’ Row with Rebecca running alongside and only holding on to the back of the saddle.

  ‘You’re still steering too much,’ Rebecca panted. ‘You’re sort of – doing it too deliberately. Just pedal and move the front wheel only as much as you feel you need to keep your balance. It just becomes – well – a sort of instinct really, I suppose.’

  Three days before the picnic, Rebecca said, ‘You’re getting too good for me.’ She put her hand to her breast, pretending to be breathless. ‘I can’t keep up with you.’ So saying, she let go of the saddle.

  ‘Oh no,’ Eveleen cried. ‘Don’t let go.’

  For a moment the bicycle wobbled dangerously, but then suddenly she was riding completely unaided. As she rode to the end of the street, turned in a wide arc and rode back towards her, Rebecca clapped her hands. As Eveleen slowed the bicycle by putting her feet to the ground and came to a standstill near Rebecca, the girl said, ‘And now all you need is an outfit.’

  Eveleen stared at her.

  ‘We can’t have you going on the Sunday school outing dressed like a milkmaid.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Eveleen said tartly, sounding offended.

  At once, Rebecca’s eyes filled with contrition. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it . . .’

  But Eveleen laughed aloud. ‘I’m teasing you, Rebecca. I know my clothes are old-fashioned and countrified. But what can I do? I can’t afford to buy any smart new clothes.’

  Rebecca regarded her thoughtfully. ‘You’ve got a long black skirt, haven’t you?’

  Eveleen nodded.

  ‘Well then, all we need to do is to shorten it a little to just above your ankles. And I’ve got a pretty white lace blouse you can have. And Gran’s got a piece of black silk. I’m sure she’d let us make you a tie and a band to match to go around your straw boater.’

  ‘I haven’t got a boater.’

  ‘Ah, but I’ve got two.’ Rebecca’s eyes twinkled triumphantly. ‘So you can have one.’

  ‘But I can’t—’ Eveleen began.

  ‘Yes, you can.’ Rebecca contradicted her with far more asperity in her tone than Eveleen had ever witnessed from the shy girl. Linking her arm through Eveleen’s, Rebecca went on, ‘Please take it. I absolutely love having you here. You and Jimmy.’ Her cheeks were faintly pink and then she added hurriedly, ‘And Aunt Mary, too, of course.’

  ‘Of course,’ Eveleen said demurely. The two girls glanced at each other and burst out laughing.

  The day of the outing began well enough. Picnic hampers and baskets of all shapes and sizes were loaded on to the wagons and then at nine o’clock everyone met on the village green.

  ‘Are you sure you don’t feel like coming, Gran?’ Eveleen had asked Bridget.

  ‘My Sunday school outing days are long gone.’ She squinted up at Eveleen. ‘Is your mother going?’

  Eveleen shook her head. ‘No. I – I haven’t told her exactly where we’re going so, please, don’t tell her, will you?’

  The old lady looked surprised. ‘Why ever not? You’re only going just outside the village, aren’t you?’

  Eveleen explained the reason for her concern. ‘Luckily,’ she went on, ‘Mam doesn’t want to come anyway. Says she’d rather stay here on her own and have a bit of peace and quiet. So she hasn’t asked too many awkward questions.’

  ‘She won’t be on her own. I’m here. Tell her I expect her to come for her dinner.’ Bridget frowned. ‘And I won’t take no for an answer.’

  ‘All right, Gran.’ Eveleen stooped and kissed Bridget’s cheek. ‘I’ll tell her.’

  As Eveleen rode her borrowed bicycle to the green, she saw that Rebecca was already there with Andrew on one side of her and Jimmy on the other. Bright spots of colour burned in the girl’s cheeks. As Eveleen watched, Rebecca deliberately turned away from Andrew and began an animated conversation with Jimmy.

  ‘Isn’t it a lovely day? We’re always lucky with the weather.’

  Eveleen pursed her lips as she dismounted and wheeled her bicycle near to Andrew. She raised her voice and said pointedly, ‘I didn’t know you could ride a bicycle, Jimmy.’

  ‘’Course I can. I learnt on Ted’s.’

  Eveleen glared at him. Yet another skill that Jimmy had learned under Ted Morton’s guidance. She wished everything that Ted had taught him could have been as useful.

  Andrew confided in a whisper, ‘And I was daft enough to lend ’im a bicycle an’ all. Now he’s going to be riding alongside Rebecca all day. I don’t know which would be worse. Ridin’ beside her but knowin’ he’s on her other side or not being able to be with her at all.’

  ‘Oh dear, you have got it bad.’ Eveleen tried to tease him out of his despondency, but the only reward for her pains was a baleful glare from the lovesick young man. ‘Don’t worry,’ she tried to reassure him. ‘When my uncle gets here, I expect Rebecca and I will have to ride alongside him.’

  But when Harry arrived riding his own bicycle, sitting very upright so that his bowler hat did not fall off, he solemnly led off the procession f
rom the green and did not appear to have noticed that his daughter was riding between two very attentive young admirers.

  Twenty-Five

  It was, as Rebecca had remarked, a beautiful day. The sun was high in a cloudless sky as the cyclists forged ahead, shouting and laughing with the horsedrawn wagons plodding along behind them. They passed through the village and came to the place where the brook, bordered by trees and bushes, meandered through the fields.

  Already she could hear the shouts and squeals as the youngsters took off their boots and stockings and paddled in the cold water. When the wagons arrived with the rest of the party, the younger children ran about the meadow, shrieking and laughing, like caged wild birds suddenly set free. Eveleen smiled. She could remember herself and Jimmy on their one and only outing to the sea, running across the sand to the sea to dance like mad things at the water’s edge, playing catch-us-if-you-can with the waves rolling on to the shore. Now she watched indulgently as the youngsters pranced about at the edge of the brook, daring each other to put a toe into the water.

  She turned to see Andrew offering his hand to Rebecca to help prop her cycle against a tree while Jimmy fetched the wicker basket that she had packed for their picnic from one of the wagons. Andrew offered her his arm and, when Rebecca put her hand through it, Eveleen saw the look of triumph that the young man threw at his rival, who was struggling with the heavy basket.

  If it had not been for her niggling worry about her brother and Rebecca and the trouble it might cause, Eveleen would have been amused by the antics of the two young men.

  Andrew spread a rug on the grass for Rebecca to sit on, while Jimmy placed a cushion behind her. Andrew handed her the parasol he had been carrying for her. Jimmy opened the basket and offered her a cooling drink.

  Eveleen had never seen her brother playing the courteous suitor and soon her concerns were pushed aside by the comedy being played out. She saw Rebecca glance around her, but her father was taking a walk along the banks of the brook, one of the local preachers at his side. They were deep in conversation, no doubt on chapel business, Eveleen thought, so engrossing, it seemed, that for once he had completely forgotten about his daughter.