by Miss Read
She had ransacked the airing cupboard and at last found a large white damask cloth, old and beautifully starched, with several darns executed, she guessed, by a long-dead hand. No one these days, surely, could be bothered to do such fine work.
Spread upon the dining room table and decorated with two candlesticks borrowed from the mantelpiece, it began to look more like a festive board, although Miriam cursed herself for forgetting to buy crackers, those instant decorations. As it was, there was no time to search for flowers or ribbons, but she filched a few holly sprigs from above the pictures where the children had put them, and set them round the candlesticks.
"It's marvelous!" cried Hazel.
"Can we put some pretty things too?" queried Jenny.
"Yes, do," said Miriam, rushing to the kitchen to attend to an ominous hissing noise.
When she returned, she found that Hazel had added a small sleigh holding Father Christmas and bath cubes, an inspired present from an aunt in America, whilst Jenny had purloined the fairy from the top of the Christmas tree to add to the scene.
Robin's contribution was a toy camel with three lead legs and one of plasticine. It added an exotic touch as it leaned, in a drunken fashion against a candlestick.
Lovell admired everything warmly when he returned from church, and the meal was as cheerful as he and Miriam could make it for the children.
Afterwards, the two adults dozed while Robin slept upstairs and the two little girls played with their new toys. A walk was planned for three o'clock, but when the time came Miriam saw that Lovell was still deep in sleep. Now she observed how tired he looked, how the lines had deepened in his face and how his dark hair was showing flecks of gray. His work and Eileen's illness were taking their toll of his energy, and she grieved for him.
Quietly, she slipped from the room and summoned Hazel and Jenny. A look into Robin's room showed the boy as deep in slumber as his father.
"We'll play games at the end of the garden," said Miriam, "instead of going for a walk. Then we can be near Robin if he wakes."
"Goody-goody-gum-drops!" cried Jenny. "We'll have longer with our toys then."
The kitchen garden was a vast area with a mellowed brick and flint wall. A hundred years or so earlier it must have been the pride of a head gardener and probably two or three undergardeners. Now it sheltered only a few rows of Brussels sprouts, carrots, and parsnips, but it afforded a playground out of the wind and far enough away from the house for the children's shouts to be unheard.
Miriam showed them how to play two-ball against the wall, and was surprised and proud to find that she had not lost her skill over the years. After initial difficulties, the girls soon became quite dexterous, the only snag being that only two balls could be found, and they had to take it in turns.
"As soon as the shops open," promised Miriam, "I'll buy you two new ones each."
"But that's not till Monday," wailed Hazel. "It's ages away!"
"What can't be cured must be endured," Miriam said cheerfully, quoting Euphrosyne.
"I don't understand that," said Jenny flatly.
"It means you have to lump it!" her sister told her, appropriating the balls briskly.
***
The menfolk were much refreshed after their naps, and over tea Lovell spoke of the Boxing Day meet which was always held in the square of the local market town.
"Shall we all go?" he asked.
"Yes, yes!" chorused the children. "All in one car! All squashed up and cosy. And take our presents so we can play while we wait!"
Lovell looked at Miriam. She thought quickly. Certainly lunch would be cold turkey, and that presented no difficulties, but she longed to attack some of the more urgent cleaning that had obviously been neglected since Eileen's departure. She did not want Lovell to see her scrubbing his kitchen floor, but that is what she had planned to do if she could manage it unobserved. Then there was the gammon to cook, and a vast amount of necessary sweeping and dusting to do. To have two hours alone would suit her plans perfectly.
"I think I'll stay here, if you don't mind," she replied. "There are several things to do, and I really ought to ring Joan. I shall probably catch her in the morning."
"Of course, of course," said Lovell. He spoke sympathetically. To his eyes, the girl looked absolutely exhausted and he felt horribly guilty. She worked hard at the office, had undertaken a long journey, and was coping superbly with his family. Obviously, it would do her good to have a brief time on her own.
"I'll take the brood off soon after ten," he promised. "The meet is at eleven, and we'll be back before one o'clock."
"Marvelous!" said Miriam, with relief.
The rest of the day passed quietly. Lovell went to the hospital alone to see Eileen, and the children, tired after all the excitement, were docile enough to go to bed early.
Miriam put the gammon to boil, averted her eyes from the state of the kitchen floor, and fell, bone-weary, into an armchair.
A vision of Holly Lodge as it would be in the New Year, if she ever returned to her ministrations there, floated before her. Quiet, warm, clean—a haven of solitude and silence—it hung before her mind's eye as beautiful as a jewel.
She sighed, and slept.
Chapter 9
BOXING DAY
IT WAS OVERCAST when Miriam awoke next morning. From her bedroom window she looked out across the flat countryside towards the sea, some twenty miles away.
Inky-dark clouds were moving in slowly, dwarfing the trees and farmsteads with menacing stature. Already, a boisterous wind was blowing, and Miriam predicted storms before long. She only hoped that the rain would hold off long enough for the family to enjoy the meet.
They all drove off in high spirits, and Miriam returned from waving goodbye to tackle the worst of the mess.
She tidied the larder, ruthlessly throwing away the flotsam and jetsam of the past week: stale bread, ancient scraps of cheese, decaying and unidentifiable morsels on saucers, withered apples, and the like. The birds descended in a flock, sea gulls among the more usual visitors, and snapped up this bounty.
She scrubbed the sink and draining boards, thankful that, with all its drawbacks, the vicarage was blessed with plenty of hot water.
There was something rather satisfying, she found, in scrubbing the tiles of the kitchen floor. The clean, sweet-smelling wetness, which grew as she retreated backwards from it on her knees, delighted her, and although she doubted if anyone would ever notice the result of her labors, she was content with her small reward of a job well done.
That finished, she mounted the steep stairs, manhandling the vacuum sweeper and dusters, and set about the bedrooms. The chaos of the girls' room was daunting, and the fact that the dirty linen basket was overflowing was another reminder of work ahead. Really, thought Miriam, dusting vigorously, I should never have made a wife and mother! Looking after Barney from nine till five is more than enough for me!
By twelve-thirty the house looked reasonably tidy, and she skinned the gammon, gave up a fruitless search for breadcrumbs with which to adorn it, and set the table. It was while she was doing this that she heard the car return, and voices in the hall.
She emerged from the kitchen to find that Lovell was accompanied by another man.
Who could this stranger be? She looked again, and hurried forward smiling.
"Why, Martin, how lovely to see you again!"
***
"Brought him back from the meet for a drink," said Lovell beaming. "It must be nearly a year since we met."
"And more like ten since I saw Miriam," said Martin. "And as elegant as ever."
They moved into the sitting room, the children following.
"You run and play in the garden for a few minutes," directed Lovell.
"But we're hungry!"
"When is lunch ready?"
"Can't we have a drink too?"
The protests came thick and fast.
"Have an apple each," suggested Miriam diplomatically, "and go and
practice two-ball."
This solution pleased all, and the adults were left to sip their tea in peace.
It appeared that Martin Farrar's farm lay some twelve miles on the other side of the market town.
"Corn mainly, and sugar beets," he told Miriam, "though I keep a few head of cattle. I'm hoping to have pigs some day too. But tell me your news. Where do you live now?"
Miriam told him about the job in Caxley and her new home at Holly Lodge. She found herself rattling away—Martin had always been a good listener, she remembered—and was about to enlarge on her interrupted decorating of the sitting room when she remembered Lovell's feelings, and checked herself.
"I stopped in Cambridge on the journey up," she said instead, and that opened the way to a flood of happy reminiscences.
"You'll stay to lunch, won't you?" said Lovell. He turned to Miriam anxiously. "It is all right? It's cold turkey, I believe?"
"Quite right. And gammon too. And it will be lovely if you can stop."
"I'd love to," said Martin.
Miriam retired to the kitchen to finish her preparations. She was slightly puzzled. What about Martin's wife? Would she be waiting lunch for him? No mention had been made of her. Perhaps she was away. But, at Christmas time? Had they parted?
Perplexed, she assembled pickles and an unopened giant-size packet of potato crisps. She put in the oven the batch of mince pies she had made earlier, and hoped that the cheese board would provide for any empty corners left by the lunch she had prepared.
The children ate hungrily, their appetites whetted by the fresh air. As they ate, the first of the raindrops spattered against the window and the wind began to roar more loudly:
"We're in for it, I'm afraid," said Martin. "The glass was going back this morning. As long as we don't get snow, I don't mind."
"Do you remember the winter of 1962 and 1963?" asked Lovell. "My parents were marooned in the vicarage for four weeks, with eight-foot drifts cutting them off. Thank God, my mother always did a lot of bottling and preserving. Father said he hoped never to face another bottled gooseberry in his lifetime!"
"We were just married," said Martin, "and had misjudged the fuel amounts. Binnie walked about clutching a hot-water bottle all day. It taught us to stock up properly another time."
"I was in London," said Miriam, "a bitter waste of brown slush everywhere. Town snow is so much worse than country snow."
After lunch, the little girls elected to paint at the kitchen table and Miriam left them to enjoy the new paints and painting books while she put Robin to bed, and Lovell made coffee.
The rain now lashed the house, and Miriam stuffed the towel again into the vulnerable landing window before going downstairs to the fireside.
Martin was helping himself to Lovell's brew and surveying the weather.
"I ought to be getting back pretty soon. I'm the cattleman this afternoon, and it's going to get dark early today."
They sat at peace, enjoying the warmth of the fire and their coffee.
Miriam looked at Martin as he gazed somnolently at the blazing logs. He had worn well. His hair was thick, his face tanned with his outdoor life, and he was as lean as he had always been. And yet, there was an air of unhappiness about him. Perhaps he felt the same about herself. Perhaps it was simply the passing of the years, the change from the effervescence of youth to the sobriety of middle age.
Middle age! It was a shock to realize that she was half-way to her three-score years and ten. Martin must be nearing forty.
He put his cup down in the hearth with a clatter, and stretched luxuriously.
"Oh, if I could only stay by this fire! Instead, I must go back and bash swedes."
"Do you really bash swedes?" asked Miriam.
"Not today," said Martin, with a laugh. "Just feed the cattle with something less demanding."
He held out his hand.
"Thank you for giving me lunch, and for your company. I come your way about twice a year. Perhaps I may call in, now I know where you live?"
"I shall look forward to it."
"Well, it may be in a few weeks' time. There's a cattle dealer in Wales I want to see."
He made his farewells, and they watched him race through the rain to his Land-Rover. The rain was now torrential, and the branches clashed overhead in the force of the gale, but Martin's grin was cheerful as he waved goodbye.
"Nice to see him again," said Lovell as they shut the door against the weather. "We live so near, really, and were such close friends in the old days, it seems absurd to lose touch as we have done."
The fireside was doubly snug after their brush with the weather outside. Peace reigned in the kitchen, and Robin slept aloft. Miriam and Lovell resumed their seats with relief.
She lay back, musing about the encounter. It was good to see Martin again. Their early flirtation had been a happy one, and it was comforting to see, once again, the unfeigned affection and admiration in his looks. She hoped she would see him again when he traveled to Wales next.
"What is Martin's wife like?" she asked.
"Martin's wife?" Lovell looked startled.
"Binnie, he called her," said Miriam.
Lovell shook his head sadly.
"Poor Binnie! I should have remembered that you knew nothing about it. She died two years ago—quite that, longer perhaps. I can't quite remember."
"How ghastly for Martin! What was it?"
"One of those incredibly stupid accidents that strain one's religious beliefs sorely. She was bathing within a few yards of the shore, when a freak wave carried her out to sea, and a sort of whirlpool sucked her under. There were treacherous currents there always, we heard later."
"Was Martin there?"
"He had gone to fetch towels from the car, and returned to find the rescue operation going on. The ghastly thing was that the body wasn't washed up until the next tide."
"Poor Martin! And no children?"
"There was one on the way, which made it worse, of course. I heard that Martin was in an appalling state of shock for months. His old mother was a tower of strength, and went to live at the farm with him."
"I remember her," replied Miriam, recalling the ramrod figure of Mrs. Farrar, her white hair and her deep voice. "Dreadful for her too."
"Anyway," said Lovell, "he seems to have recovered, and let's hope he finds someone else one day."
"That's Robin," exclaimed Miriam, at the sound of a distant wailing.
And she went to resume her duties.
***
She traveled alone to see Eileen that evening, Lovell volunteering to see his family into bed.
As she drove through the roaring night, buffeted by a fierce northeaster, she suddenly remembered that she had forgotten to telephone Joan. Martin's arrival had put it out of her head.
Lovell's account of Martin's tragedy had moved her deeply. Why did these things have to happen? Lovell's comment about the strain on one's religious beliefs, in the face of such senseless horror, was understandable. If he, so secure and ardent in his faith, could feel thus, how easy it was to forgive weaker souls who turned against their religion in such circumstances. Martin appeared to have weathered his own storm remarkably well. Possibly the fact that his work must go on in rain or shine had helped him through the worst. She was glad she knew about it, if she were to see him in the future. When she had said that she would look forward to seeing him again, she had spoken from her heart.
Eileen was wearing the new black nightgown, and looked prettier than ever. She was in good spirits.
"I ought to know, very soon, if I'm coming home next week," she told Miriam. "How I long for it! Tell me, how are you managing?"
Miriam told her the scraps of news, how helpful the children had been, how she had introduced them to two-ball, how beautiful the church had looked decked for Christmas, and, finally, how Lovell had brought Martin to lunch.
Eileen's face lit up.
"I'm so glad! We feel so terribly sorry for him, and we wis
h we saw more of him. He ought to marry again. He's such a dear."
She looked at Miriam with such an openly speculative eye that it was impossible not to laugh. Eileen laughed too, with such infectious gaiety that the woman in the next bed said:
"She's as good as a tonic is Mrs. Quinn!"
And it was then that Miriam suddenly realized that there was a new neighbor. Mrs. White, of the gray sad countenance, had gone, it seemed, to a colder bed under the Norfolk sky.
"I'm not really matchmaking," said Eileen lightly.
"I should hope not," replied Miriam. "Tell me, how did Christmas Day go in here?"
Eileen was willing to be deflected from the subject of Martin, much to Miriam's relief, and launched into a spirited account of the chief surgeon's prowess in turkey-carving, the morning carols, and the visit of the Mayor and his retinue.
Miriam stayed later than she intended, reveling in Eileen's racy descriptions, and the undoubted fact that she seemed stronger and more relaxed after her few days in hospital.
"You'll have Annie back on Monday," said Eileen, as they said goodbye. "And with any luck, I'll be home very soon after." "We'll have a grand celebration," promised Miriam, fastening her coat, before leaving the warmth of the ward to face the gales outside.
Chapter 10
GOING HOME
THE WEEKEND passed remarkably peacefully. Miriam felt more confident now that she was becoming accustomed to the routine of the household. One great blessing was that all the family seemed to eat most of the things she put before them, although turkey in a mild cheese sauce was greeted by Jenny with the remark that she "didn't like white gravy." However, her helping vanished, assisted, no doubt, by Hazel's offer to eat her share.
The craze for two-ball persisted, and the two little girls spent any rain-free periods—which were few—bouncing and catching the balls against the wall of the kitchen garden, twirling and clapping as Miriam had shown them.
It seemed a good idea to drive into the market town on Saturday morning, in the hope that a toy shop would be open. They were lucky enough to find a sports shop doing a brisk trade with two girls buying skiing equipment and a scoutmaster buying camping stoves. A basket of rubber balls, red, blue, yellow, and green, drew Hazel and Jenny like a magnet, and they ended by selecting two red and two green.