Red Sky in the Morning

by Margaret Dickinson

  ‘No, Eddie. She’s not to go to the farm,’ Anna said, overhearing.

  In the past year, she had seen Bertha rarely and, in all that time, had never spoken to her once. The other woman made no trouble now, but on the odd occasions that Eddie had needed Anna’s help in the buildings or the yard near the house Anna had felt Bertha’s malevolent glare following her.

  ‘It’ll be all right—’

  ‘No!’ Anna was adamant. ‘She’s not to go to the farm. Not ever.’

  ‘Bertha wouldn’t hurt her, Anna. She’s got a lot of faults, but she’d never hurt a child. She loves children.’

  ‘Even my child?’

  ‘Oh Anna.’ His eyes reproached her. ‘She’s not a bad woman. She’d not harm your little girl.’ He shrugged. ‘She didn’t like the idea of you being here. Still doesn’t, I expect.’ He wrinkled his forehead. ‘But she’s not even mentioned you recently. ’Spect she’s got used to you being here now.’

  ‘She doesn’t allow Tony to come to see us though, does she?’

  Eddie smiled. ‘No, but he comes anyway.’

  ‘Not so often now and when he does he comes round by the road and the woods so that she can’t see him come up the track.’

  ‘Aye, well, I expect he’s only trying to save her feelings. He’s very fond of his mam, y’know.’

  ‘Of course he is,’ Anna murmured and there was a catch to her voice that Eddie couldn’t fail to hear. For a brief moment, her eyes had that haunted, faraway look. ‘That’s as it should be.’ She paused and then added emphatically, ‘I’m sorry, but I don’t want her to go to the farm.’

  Eddie sighed and shrugged. ‘All right, love, if that’s the way you want it.’

  He patted the little girl’s head and gently disentangled himself from her clinging arms. ‘Ta-ta, lovey,’ he murmured and then walked away from them.

  Anna bit her lip. He was disappointed, she could see that, but she dared not risk Maisie going to the farm.

  She could not blot out the memory of the murderous look in Bertha’s eyes at the time of Maisie’s birth.

  They were still living in the cottage when Maisie reached her fourth birthday. And on that day the little girl decided it was high time she investigated what lay beyond the hill up the track from her home. By now Maisie, with her shining coppery curls and dark brown eyes, was bright, intelligent and surprisingly knowledgeable for her age, considering that she had had little contact with the world outside her isolated home.

  She knew very few people other than her mother, Eddie, Tony and Pat Jessop. But now the inquisitive child was set on adventure.

  ‘I need to fetch some water,’ Anna said. ‘Are you coming?’

  Maisie shook her head. ‘No. I’ll stay with Buster.’ The dog was now fully trained as a sheepdog and was every bit as trustworthy at looking after the child as he was at guarding Eddie’s flock.

  Anna shrugged and set off carrying two water buckets. With narrowed eyes Maisie watched her go. When her mother was some distance away, the child went round the side of the cottage and began to climb the hill, hidden from her mother’s view if she happened to glance back.

  Sensing that his charge was about to do something wrong, Buster began to bark.

  ‘Ssh,’ Maisie frowned at him. ‘If you make a noise, I’ll shut you in the house.’

  The dog whined and then leapt around her, trying to shepherd her back home as he would have done a wayward sheep. But the little girl was not as docile as the animals. She wagged her finger at him. ‘Quiet, Buster.’ Then she added, ‘Down!’ in such a firm, grownup voice that the dog obeyed her. Panting, his pink tongue lolling, he watched her climb the hill with anxiety in his eyes. He sensed this was wrong, but he didn’t know how to stop her.

  At the top of the track, the child, a tiny figure now, looked back. The dog barked and stood up, but Maisie’s shrill voice bounced over the breeze to him. ‘Stay!’ Buster obeyed, though as she disappeared over the brow of the rise he whined unhappily.

  The day was bright but cold and blustery and now, in the late afternoon of the February day, Anna sat down for a few moments on an old tree stump near the stream. She looked down into the brook as it bubbled and chattered its way down the slope, past the wood and under the bridge in the lane and on out of sight. Where it went she didn’t know, but she felt as if this little stretch of the stream belonged to her. She pulled her coat around her as she watched the bright water. She sighed. She loved this place and now she would hate to leave, but soon they must. This time next year Maisie would be five and, if they stayed, she would have to go to the village school.

  Anna couldn’t risk it. She would have to get further away. She couldn’t risk even more people knowing them. People who might ask questions: teachers, other children and their parents.

  She must get away, yet the thought made her feel sad. She stood up, but then, hearing the sound of a bus coming along the lane, she crouched down behind the tree stump until it had passed by. The vehicle stopped and she heard voices. As the bus drew away, she peeped round the side of the stump to see Tony walking along the side of the stream, head down and his hands thrust into the pockets of his trousers. He was whistling and his bulging satchel swung from his shoulder.

  Tony, at fourteen, now attended the grammar school in Ludthorpe. Anna still remembered the look of pride on Eddie’s face when he had given her the news. ‘He’s passed the scholarship for the grammar. Bertha dun’t know where to put ’ersen, she’s that pleased.’

  Anna had smiled. ‘And so are you, Eddie. I can see it on your face.’

  ‘Well, course I am. Can’t deny it.’

  ‘Is Tony pleased?’ Anna had asked softly.

  Eddie had shrugged. ‘I reckon he is, but he ses all he wants to do is follow me onto the farm. But I tell him he’ll have the chance to go to agricultural college now when he leaves there. That’d be something, wouldn’t it?’

  Anna had nodded, happy to see Eddie so pleased and proud.

  Now, as she watched Tony come towards her, Anna realized how much he’d grown and matured in the last four years. He was a young man, already taller than her and almost as tall as his father. He had Eddie’s brown hair and dark eyes.

  As she saw that he was alone, she rose from her hiding place and waited for him to reach her.

  ‘Hello,’ she called and he looked up and grinned at her, his eyes wrinkling in just the same way that Eddie’s did.

  ‘Thought I’d come and see Maisie on her birthday.’ He dug in his pocket and pulled out a small white paper bag. ‘I’ve brought her some sherbet lemons. It isn’t much . . .’ he began, ‘but she likes them and I’ve got her a card,’ he added as if in apology that his gifts weren’t more.

  ‘That’s lovely,’ Anna reassured him.

  Tony grinned. ‘Went without me dinner today so I could get her a card.’

  ‘You shouldn’t have done that. What would your mother say?’

  Tony tapped the side of his nose. ‘She’ll not know if you don’t tell her.’ He laughed. ‘And you’re not likely to do that, are you?’

  Anna laughed too. ‘Certainly not. Come on,’ she said, picking up the buckets. ‘Let’s go and find Maisie.’

  ‘Here, let me take those,’ Tony offered, but Anna shook her head. ‘No, I’m fine. That satchel looks heavy enough and, besides, carrying two I’m balanced.’

  As they walked back towards the cottage, Anna said, ‘She’s been a very lucky little girl. Pat brought her a lovely doll and Eddie has made her a wooden cradle for it. They must have had their heads together planning it.’

  Tony nodded. ‘I know. He’s been making it in the shed for weeks. It’s from both of us really, but I wanted to get her a bit of something on me own.’

  Anna laughed. ‘They’re her favourite sweets. The only trouble is I’ll have to hide them from her and dole them out one by one.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘If she eats too many at once – and given half a chance she will – the lemon
makes her mouth sore.’

  Tony laughed too and nodded ruefully. ‘Yeah, I’ve done that too.’ As they reached the cottage, Tony added, ‘Is she inside?’

  ‘I left her out here, playing with Buster. Oh, there he is. Look, halfway up the hill.’ Suddenly, there was fear in Anna’s eyes. ‘But where’s Maisie?’

  Nineteen

  Maisie skipped down the track towards the farm below her. There was no one about, so she climbed onto the five-barred gate leading into the yard and swung on it as she looked around her. It was lambing time; it always was near her birthday. Only yesterday a ewe had given birth in the field near the cottage. Her mother had allowed her to watch and the child had been fascinated to see a lamb sliding from its mother’s tummy and within minutes stand on its own wobbly legs.

  ‘Can we take it into the house to feed, Mam?’ she had asked.

  Anna had smiled. ‘No, darling. This mother can feed her lamb herself. It’s only when the mother can’t feed her young for one reason or another that we have to do that.’

  The child was disappointed, yet glad that the lamb would have its own mother. She wouldn’t like to be without hers.

  Now, swinging on the gate, she looked across to the large barn in front of her. She could hear the sound of sheep coming from inside. She knew that Mr Eddie, as she called him, took as many of the sheep as he could down to the farm when they were lambing. But he had too many to house them all. He never tired of telling her that she had been born in the cottage alongside several lambs.

  Her glance swivelled to the back door of the farmhouse. She ran her tongue round her lips, jumped from the gate and pushed it open. She skipped through it and across the yard. She hesitated only a moment before she raised her small fist and banged on the back door. A few moments elapsed before she heard a shuffling on the other side and then the door swung open and she was looking up into the unsmiling face of the large woman standing there.

  Unfazed, Maisie looked her up and down then she smiled her most winning smile. Her dark brown eyes lit up and a dimple appeared in each cheek.

  ‘Hello. I’m Maisie. I live over the hill in the cottage. Who are you?’

  The woman gasped and blinked her small eyes rapidly. ‘Well, I never did!’ was all she could say.

  ‘What did you never did?’ the child asked innocently and completely unabashed.

  ‘It’s you.’

  The child nodded. ‘Yes, it’s me. But who are you?’

  ‘Who am I?’ the woman repeated, rather stupidly it seemed even to the four-year-old girl. ‘I’m Mrs Appleyard.’

  ‘That’s Mr Eddie’s name. Are you his wife?’

  Her mouth dropping open, Bertha merely nodded, dumbfounded.

  ‘What’s your first name?’

  ‘Bertha,’ the woman murmured, as if in a trance.

  Maisie beamed. ‘I’ll call you Mrs Bertha then. I like that. It’s a nice name. Mrs Bertha.’ She nodded as if satisfied by the sound of it. ‘Can I come in?’

  Wordlessly, Bertha stood back and opened the door wider, her gaze following the child as if she were utterly mesmerized by her small visitor.

  ‘Ooh, it does smell nice in here. Have you been baking?’ The child sniffed the air appreciatively as she stepped into Bertha’s farmhouse kitchen.

  ‘Er – well – yes,’ Bertha said, waddling after Maisie. Already the child had hitched herself onto a tall stool near the table and was looking longingly at the scones laid out on a wire cooling tray.

  To her astonishment, Bertha found herself saying, ‘Would you like one?’

  ‘Ooh, yes please. And please may I have some raspberry jam on it? I like raspberry jam best.’

  Bertha cut open a scone, spread it thickly with butter and jam on each half. ‘Wait a moment,’ she said, bustling to the pantry. ‘I’ve some cream here . . .’

  A minute later she stood watching as Maisie bit into the warm scone, leaving a smear of jam and cream on her upper lip. ‘Mmm, it’s lovely, Mrs Bertha. Thank you.’

  ‘You’re welcome,’ Bertha murmured. She sat down, her gaze fixed on the child. So this was that girl’s child. The girl that Eddie had brought home four years ago and taken up the hill to live in his cottage near the wood. She stared hard at Maisie, trying to see any likeness to her husband in the child’s face. She had brown eyes like his, but there any resemblance ended. Her hair was copper-coloured, almost ginger, and her features were nothing like Eddie’s.

  Of course, she probably took after her mother. Bertha screwed up her eyes, visualizing the girl. She’d had black hair and unusual eyes – a deep blue, violet almost, Bertha remembered.

  That meant nothing. This child could still be Eddie’s.

  Maisie had finished her scone and was licking her finger and picking up all the crumbs on the plate. She smiled widely at Bertha, the line of jam and cream still on her lip. ‘Are you Tony’s mam?’

  Bertha nodded.

  ‘He’s nice, isn’t he? But he doesn’t come to play with me very often. I ’spect he’s too busy. My mam says he is. Doing his homework and helping his dad and you on the farm.’ She paused and leant across the table. ‘I’m going to school next year. I’ll be five then.’

  ‘So you will,’ Bertha murmured absently, her gaze never leaving the child’s face, her thoughts in a turmoil.

  Maisie jumped down from the high stool and came around the table to stand near Bertha. ‘I’d better go home. I’m not supposed to come over the hill. I ’spect Mam’ll be ever so cross.’

  She smiled as if the thought didn’t worry her too much.

  Then she put her arms around Bertha as far as she could reach and puckered up her mouth. Bewildered, Bertha found herself lowering her face towards the child to receive a jammy kiss. She was still sitting at the kitchen table, gazing after her as Maisie skipped out of the back door and across the yard.

  ‘Well,’ Bertha murmured, ‘I never did.’

  ‘Where can she be?’

  Anna was almost wild with panic and Tony couldn’t calm her down. ‘Don’t worry. She’ll have wandered into the woods. We built a den in there last summer. I bet she’s—’

  ‘She’s not allowed to go into the woods on her own,’ Anna snapped. ‘There’s poachers’ snares in there. Anything might happen. She knows that.’

  Tony glanced up the slope again, frowning. ‘What’s the matter with Buster? He’s never moved. I’d’ve thought he’d have come to us.’

  ‘Buster,’ Anna called. ‘Here, boy.’

  The dog rose reluctantly and came towards them, head down, tail between his legs.

  ‘There’s something wrong,’ Anna said, her anxiety spiralling. ‘Something’s happened. I know it.’

  Tony fondled the dog’s head. ‘What is it, boy? Eh?’ he murmured. ‘You’d tell us if you could, wouldn’t you?’ He knelt in front of the animal and held the dog’s head between his hands. ‘Where is she, Buster? Where’s Maisie?’

  The dog barked, pulled himself free of Tony’s hold and began to run up the hill. A little way off, he stopped and looked back, then ran on again. Tony and Anna glanced at each other.

  ‘I bet she’s gone up there,’ Tony said. ‘He’s trying to make us follow him.’

  Anna’s hand fluttered to her mouth. ‘Oh no! She would never go up there. I’ve forbidden her. Someone – someone must have got her.’

  Tony frowned. ‘Got her? What do you mean?’

  Anna did not answer. She was already running up the hill. Tony followed, his long legs loping easily after her. They arrived at the top together. At once they saw Maisie skipping merrily up the track towards them as if she hadn’t a care in the world.

  Anna ran towards her daughter, almost tumbling in her haste to reach her. ‘Where on earth have you been?’ She grasped Maisie’s arm roughly.

  ‘Mam – you’re hurting.’

  ‘I’ll hurt you, you naughty girl.’ Anna bent and slapped Maisie’s bare legs so hard that red imprints of her hand marked the child’s calves. Mais
ie opened her mouth wide and yelled.

  Watching, Tony winced as if he, too, felt the little girl’s pain. Anna was still incensed, shaking the girl and shouting, ‘Where have you been? Tell me where you’ve been.’ But Maisie only wailed louder.

  Tony moved forward and tried to prise her from her mother’s grasp but Anna held on tightly. ‘No, leave this to me. Come on . . .’ She began to drag the screaming child up the track and over the hill. Maisie, tears running down her cheeks, looked back at Tony, whose tender heart twisted at the sight of her pitiful face. When they disappeared he turned and walked slowly down the hill towards the farm.

  He must find his dad.

  In the cottage, Anna stood Maisie on a chair in the kitchen, their faces on a level. ‘Now, you will tell me where you’ve been or I’ll smack you again.’

  The child’s wails had subsided to a hiccuping sob. ‘To see Mrs Bertha.’

  ‘Bertha?’ For a moment Anna thought Maisie must be lying, but then she noticed the smear of jam on the child’s mouth. ‘You’ve been to the farm?’ she asked incredulously. ‘You’ve been inside the house?’

  Maisie nodded. ‘To see Mrs Bertha. She’s Tony’s mam. She gave me a lovely scone with jam and cream.’

  The surprise was deflating Anna’s anger. Whilst the child had deliberately disobeyed her, Anna knew Maisie could not be expected to understand why she should not go to the farm.

  ‘Was she – was she nice to you?’

  In a strangely adult manner, Maisie wrinkled her brow thoughtfully and then nodded. ‘She didn’t say a lot. I think she was surprised to see me.’

  ‘I bet she was,’ Anna murmured, lost for words herself. Then she pulled herself out of her stunned reverie to say, ‘I’m not going to smack you again, but you’ve got to promise me that you will never go there again. If you do,’ she warned, ‘I will punish you very severely. Do you understand me, Maisie?’

  The child had stopped crying, but her tears streaked her grubby face. ‘Why can’t I go and see Mrs Bertha again? She didn’t say I couldn’t.’

  Anna sighed, unable to find a plausible explanation to make the young child understand. So she resorted to the age-old decree of all parents at one time or another. ‘Because I say so.’