Red Sky in the Morning

by Margaret Dickinson

  Maisie walked slowly up the track and over the hill, her head spinning. She forgot completely to go out of the farmyard gate and into the lane to walk the long way home, as she usually did after a visit to Mrs Bertha. This time she didn’t care if her mother saw her and guessed where she had been. She didn’t even care if her mother shouted at her. She would shout back. And if Anna hit her, she’d probably hit her back the way she was feeling at this minute.

  Bertha had spared the young girl nothing in the end. She had begun gently enough, as if she was doing Maisie a favour. ‘You know how animals are born, don’t you?’

  Maisie had nodded. She’d witnessed sheep and cows giving birth and had accepted it as the most natural thing in the world. ‘Well, it’s the same with human beings.’ And then Bertha launched into an explanation of all the facts of life in the most intimate detail. By the end Maisie felt sick, but Bertha was not done yet.

  ‘You want to be careful of men, young Maisie.’ She wagged her finger at the girl. ‘They’re only after one thing and they’ll tell you all sorts to get it. Tell you they love you and that they’ll marry you. But they’ll never be faithful just to you. They’re like animals. Like a ram amongst the ewes.’

  The vivid pictures Bertha aroused in the young girl’s mind made her scramble up from the table and rush outside. She had leant against the wall, breathing deeply, her eyes closed.

  Inside the house Bertha cleared away the cups and saucers, smiling as she did so.

  Maisie reached the cottage and entered by the back door. To her relief the kitchen was empty, so she climbed the ladder to her bedroom and lay on her bed, staring at the ceiling.

  Was it really true what Mrs Bertha had told her? Was Mr Eddie really her father and Tony her half-brother? Had her mother, her pretty mother, done that with Mr Eddie? He was an old man in the young girl’s eyes. It was disgusting. And the way that Bertha had explained it to her, it was all disgusting. Maisie groaned and turned over, burying her head in the pillow, trying to blot out the images in her mind’s eye.

  She couldn’t ask her mother about it because Anna would then know she had been visiting Bertha and had been doing for years. And she certainly wasn’t going to ask Mr Eddie. She couldn’t even ask Tony. He was away at agricultural college in his final year there. He would be coming home to stay then, to work on the farm. But he wouldn’t be here until the end of June or so.

  Maisie sat up suddenly. There was one person she could talk to, who would understand. Nurse Pat.

  ‘Hello, ducky. This is a nice surprise. Come in.’

  Pat Jessop had hardly altered in the eleven years since Maisie’s birth and to the young girl she had always been Auntie Pat.

  As Pat ushered her visitor into her cosy sitting room and fetched her a glass of lemonade and a chocolate biscuit, she eyed the girl worriedly. She could see at once that something was troubling Maisie.

  The girl sat on the old sofa, twisting her handkerchief in her fingers, leaving her drink and biscuit untouched.

  Pat sat down beside her and took the girl’s agitated hands into her own. ‘What is it, love? Come on, you can tell me.’

  Maisie raised tearful brown eyes. ‘You won’t tell anyone? Not my mam? Not anyone? Promise?’

  Pat’s mind worked quickly. If the girl had been older she’d’ve guessed she was in trouble. Pregnant and scared to death. But Maisie was only eleven. It was almost impossible. Not entirely, but most unlikely. But Pat was an honest woman. Carefully she said, ‘I won’t tell a soul, but I might have to encourage you to tell someone else. I don’t know till you do tell me. It depends what it is, but I’m trying to be truthful with you, Maisie.’

  The girl nodded. Then the words came out in a rush, all jumbled up and making little sense at first. When at last Maisie fell silent, Pat swiftly pieced the sorry tale together. Her mouth was a hard line, her kind eyes unusually angry. Her wrath was not directed at Maisie but at the unthinking woman who had imparted nature’s most beautiful facts to a naive child in such a cruel manner. It could warp the young girl’s mind for life, Pat thought, incensed by Bertha’s callousness.

  She sighed, knowing that she must do what she could to minimize the damage. And she must do it now.

  ‘Now listen to me, Maisie,’ Pat began in a kind but firm tone. ‘Bertha Appleyard is a bitter, twisted woman.’ Over the next half-hour, Pat’s gentle voice eased away the girl’s horror. She explained that Bertha had had an unhappy childhood because of the kind of man that her father was.

  ‘A father is a big influence, specially on a girl and—’

  Maisie raised her eyes to look steadily into Pat’s. ‘Auntie Pat, is Mr Eddie my father?’

  ‘Only your mother or Mr Eddie could answer you that, but I don’t believe he is. Both he and your mother always say that he found her in the marketplace in Ludthorpe just before Christmas with nowhere to go. He brought her home and gave her shelter in his little cottage. And you’ve lived there ever since.’

  ‘Then – then who is my father?’

  Pat took a deep breath. ‘I don’t know. I’m guessing that your mother wasn’t married to him and that she ran away. But why she did I don’t know either. Maybe one day she’ll tell you. All I do know is that over the years she has tried to remain hidden away. She’s terrified of being found, presumably by her family or – or your father. Several times she’s talked about leaving. About getting further away.’ Pat smiled gently. ‘But always something’s happened to stop her going.’

  Maisie nodded, remembering one or two of those occasions for herself.

  ‘You mustn’t believe everything that Bertha told you. There are kind men in the world. I was married to a wonderful man, but he was killed in the war. But we were happy together and – and what happens between a man and a woman who truly love each other is beautiful. Remember that, Maisie, because what I’m telling you is true. What Bertha told you is true from a – a factual point of view, but she made it sound dirty and horrible. And it isn’t. Believe me, ducky, it isn’t.’

  ‘You evil, wicked, owd beezum.’ Pat shouted and actually shook her fist in Bertha’s face when the woman opened the door to Pat’s banging on it. Before Bertha had time to close it again, Pat had stepped inside. ‘You’ve bided your time all these years. Waited for an opportunity to stick the knife in, haven’t you? And now you’ve done it.’

  With troubled eyes, Pat had watched Maisie leave. She hoped she had done enough to minimize the damage to the young girl, but she doubted that Maisie would ever quite forget Bertha’s tales. Pat’s anger had boiled over and, before she knew what she was doing, the district nurse was pedalling furiously towards Cackle Hill Farm.

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about and you can get out of my kitchen, Pat Jessop.’ Bertha glowered at her. ‘I don’t want your sort in my house. You’re no better than you should be. No better than that little trollop over the hill.’

  ‘You’re sick, Bertha. Do you know that? Sick and twisted. Oh, I know your dad gave you and your poor mam a rough time, but you’ve let him wreck your life. And you needn’t have done because somehow, Bertha, and God alone knows how, you managed to hook yourself a decent man. A lovely man. And yet you still can’t put the past behind you, can you? You’ve let it blight your life with Eddie and now you’re trying to twist an innocent girl’s mind and wreck her life an’ all.’

  ‘It’s not the girl so much,’ Bertha muttered and jerked her thumb over her shoulder, ‘as her trollop of a mother.’ She glared at Pat, her eyes full of bitterness and hatred. ‘I’ll swing for her one day. You mark my words. I’ll swing for her.’

  Pat shook her head slowly, more sad now than angry. ‘Oh Bertha, why? You don’t really believe that Maisie is Eddie’s child, do you? He’s just a kind and gentle man who helped a young lass in trouble. Look how he was in the floods. He was a hero. Can’t you understand? That’s just how Eddie is. He puts others afore himself.’

  ‘He’s a fool. Look after Number One, that’s what I
say.’

  Pat nodded and glanced around her. ‘Well, you’ve done all right for Number One, haven’t you, Bertha? Got your feet well under the Appleyard table years ago.’

  ‘Get out! Get out of my kitchen right now,’ Bertha shouted, waving her arms.

  ‘Oh I’m going. I’ve said what I came to say. Except,’ she added pointedly, ‘that I need to see Eddie and tell him what’s been going on.’

  Bertha’s reaction was not what she had expected or hoped for. The woman merely shrugged her shoulders and muttered, ‘Meks no odds to me. Tell him what you like.’

  Pat’s anger seethed once more. She thrust her face close to Bertha’s. ‘And what about Tony? Do you want him to know just what a horrible woman you really are.’

  Again Bertha shrugged. ‘Tony thinks same as me. He hates ’em. Both of ’em.’

  ‘Well, there, Bertha, I think you’re wrong. I think your Tony is very fond of them. Specially,’ she added and she could not prevent a little thrill of malicious triumph, ‘Maisie. I think he’s very fond of Maisie. And I don’t think for a minute that he’ll like what you’ve done. He’s got a lot of his dad in him, has Tony.’

  Now the look on Bertha’s face was exactly what Pat had hoped to see.

  Twenty-Six

  ‘Has the busybody nurse told you then?’ was Bertha’s greeting when Eddie came into the house for his dinner.

  Wearily he said, ‘Why, Bertha? Just tell me why you want to hurt that kiddie? You must know it’s not true. She’s not mine and you know it. And then to take the job upon yourself of telling her what her mother should tell her, well – ’ he shook his head in disbelief – ‘that beats all. It really does.’

  Bertha turned away. For once she had no answer. She didn’t care what Eddie thought of her, but her son was a different matter.

  ‘It isn’t true, love,’ Eddie said gently.

  He had waited in the lane, watching for Maisie to come home from school.

  Maisie didn’t pretend that she didn’t know what he was talking about. Instead, she returned his steady gaze with her soft brown eyes that, to his sorrow, now held a more worldly look. ‘Do you swear it? On – on Tony’s life?’ Tony was the only person that Maisie could think of on whose life Eddie would not risk tempting a cruel Fate.

  Without hesitation Eddie nodded. ‘I swear on Tony’s life that I am not your father.’ Then he smiled gently. ‘Though I’d be lying if I didn’t say I wished I was.’

  For a moment Maisie stared at him. Then she let out a deep sigh and seemed to relax.

  ‘There’s never been anything – like that – between your mother and me.’ His voice deepened. ‘I am very fond of your mam, as I am of you. But I’m nearly old enough to be your mam’s father, let alone yours. No, lass, I promise you that what my wife said is not true.’

  ‘Some of it is, though, isn’t it?’ Maisie said in a small voice.

  ‘What?’

  ‘About – about what men – well, some men,’ Maisie, remembering Pat’s words, amended the sweeping statement, ‘are like.’

  ‘Ah,’ Eddie said, understanding. ‘That.’ He paused a moment then went on. ‘Well, love, I can’t deny that there are some men in the world just like Mrs Bertha told you, but she made it sound as if all men are like that. You see, she was unlucky. Her father was a wrong ’un, so she thinks all men are bad. And they’re not. Your difficulty, lass, is going to be recognizing a wrong ’un when you see one. But a good sort will respect you as well as love you.’ He glanced down at her worriedly. She was very young to be taking all this in. Silently he cursed his wife for her vicious tongue. ‘Do you understand what I’m trying to tell you, Maisie?’

  ‘I – think so.’

  ‘Well, when you’re older and the boys start flocking round, you just come and ask me if you’ve any doubts about ’em.’ He patted her shoulder. ‘I’ll sort ’em out for you.’

  Maisie smiled thinly, but said nothing. How could she, an eleven-year-old child in his eyes – in everyone’s eyes – tell him that she didn’t want a flock of young men, as he put it, round her. There was only one boy she wanted. Only one boy she had ever wanted or would ever want.

  Tony.

  That was why Mrs Bertha’s words had hurt her so much. The last thing that Maisie wanted in the whole wide world was for Tony to be her half-brother.

  If Anna had known about Bertha’s nastiness, more than likely she would have started to pack their belongings and threatened to leave. And this time she might have really meant it.

  But for some reason that was never discussed, no one told Anna what had happened. And, unfortunately, no one thought to tell Tony either when he next came home from college.

  If they had, it might have settled the turmoil in his mind about the truth of Maisie’s parentage. It was something that had plagued the boy from the night that Anna had first appeared in the kitchen. A story perpetuated in his mind by his mother yet denied by his father.

  Tony had never been able to decide whom he believed, and in the meantime Anna and Maisie continued to live in the little white thatched cottage near the woods.

  But now Maisie never called at the farm to see Mrs Bertha.

  In the September of 1958 Maisie started at the grammar school in Ludthorpe, travelling on the bus that trundled through the narrow lanes gathering up the children from the outlying district. As it had for Tony before her, the bus stopped for her at the bridge over the stream and she walked alongside the wood to her home.

  Tony had completed his course at agricultural college and was now working on the farm that would one day belong to him. He bought himself a motorbike and even from their isolated cottage Anna and Maisie could hear the machine roaring through the country lanes, sometimes late at night. When she heard it, Anna could not resist the urge to smile. That’ll not best please Bertha, she thought.

  Maisie grew tall, slim and leggy. Coltish was the word that Pat used. The district nurse still visited the cottage as a friend. In fact, she was Anna’s only female friend.

  ‘She’s going to be a real beauty,’ Pat would say, laughing. ‘A few more curves in the right places, Anna, and you’ll have ’em queuing down the track as far as the lane.’

  ‘Not if I have anything to do with it,’ Anna said darkly.

  ‘Aw, ducky, you’ve got to let her grow and flourish.’ Pat sighed. ‘You’ve kept her hidden away all these years. Never let her have any friends to speak of.’

  ‘She hasn’t wanted them,’ Anna retorted swiftly. ‘She’s quite happy with the animals. That’s all she needs. We don’t need people.’

  ‘Ta very much, I’m sure.’ Pat pretended to be offended.

  Anna smiled and said, ‘You know I don’t mean you. You’re not people.’

  Pat laughed. ‘I’m not sure if that’s a compliment, but I’ll take it as one.’ Then she sighed again. ‘But you ought to let her mix a bit more. Go to her friends’ birthday parties. And as she gets older, you ought to let her go out and enjoy herself a bit. This rock and roll that’s all the rage amongst the youngsters now. I wouldn’t mind a bit of jiving myself.’

  ‘And what would happen then? She’d get in with the wrong crowd and get herself into trouble.’

  Pat put her head on one side and regarded Anna thoughtfully. ‘Is that what happened to you?’

  Over all the years, Anna had never confided in anyone about her past. And again she turned away, muttering, ‘Never mind about that. It’s Maisie we’ve to worry about.’

  ‘Aye.’ Pat nodded sagely. ‘We have.’ But her meaning was not quite the same as Anna’s. The kindly Pat Jessop was concerned that the girl was going to be kept as a virtual recluse all her young life. It was bad enough that a lovely young woman like Anna should have chosen such an existence for herself, but to inflict it upon her daughter was little short of criminal. The youngsters of today were a different breed. They had no memory of the austerity of the war. As the Prime Minister said, they’d never had it so good. They demanded, and got, a be
tter standard of living. As well as working, they wanted to play too. And why shouldn’t they? Pat thought. Why shouldn’t they have a bit of fun in their youth? They’ll be a long time grown up.

  She got up to leave. There was time yet for her to work on the problem, but if Anna wasn’t very careful, when she was older Maisie would rebel.

  And then Anna would know what trouble was.

  On Maisie’s fifteenth birthday Eddie presented her with a battery-operated radio. Maisie was ecstatic.

  ‘Will it tune into Radio Luxembourg? I heard it at Sally’s once. They play all the latest songs.’

  ‘Oh, I reckon it will.’ Eddie laughed and winked at Anna. ‘She’ll probably drive you mad playing all this rock and roll, but I thought you wouldn’t mind.’

  Anna did not join in. She frowned at the machine and murmured, ‘Just so long as that’s all she does.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I don’t mind her listening to the music, but she needn’t think she’s going to the village dances.’

  The previous year the local Young Farmers’ Club had started a Friday-night dance for their members. Maisie had begged to go. ‘Everyone’s going from school, Mam.’

  ‘I very much doubt it,’ Anna had replied shortly. ‘The village hall wouldn’t hold everyone from your school.’

  ‘You know what I mean,’ Maisie snapped back impatiently. ‘I didn’t mean it literally.’ For once her soft brown eyes were sparkling with resentment. ‘Why can’t I go?’

  ‘We keep ourselves to ourselves.’

  ‘But why?’ the girl cried passionately. ‘Why do we have to live like this?’ When her mother didn’t answer, Maisie said, ‘Do you know what they call you in the village? A witch.’

  Anna smiled. ‘I can think of worse names they could call me.’

  Maisie gasped. ‘But it’s awful. Years ago they’d have burned you alive.’

  Anna chuckled. ‘But they won’t, will they? And if it keeps them away from here – all the better.’