The Stony Path

by Rita Bradshaw

  That conversation had occurred some years before Tess had met Nathaniel, and Joan had related other incidents over the years about ‘Lady Blackett’, as she referred to her sister’s neighbour. Bearing in mind her own unhappy marriage and the misery that went on behind closed doors, Tess had always kept an open mind about such matters, however. Who knew what this Eva was putting up with in private? Most folks thought Perce was a good bloke – salt of the earth, she’d heard him referred to as more than once. And suffering and despair affected different people different ways. By all accounts this Eva was one of them who kept everything just so – Joan said that according to Mildred, Eva didn’t just stone the front step with a scouring stone to give it a smart cream-edged finish, but scrubbed the footpath outside the front door to boot – so maybe she had her own problems and keeping herself to herself and her house like a new pin was her way of coping.

  And then Tess had met Nathaniel, and within the space of a few weeks life had become a beautiful thing. When he kissed her she felt like a goddess, aye, she did. And the things he said and did ... He was the most caring man alive, he was, and whatever had gone on in his wife’s life before Eva had met him, she ought to be on her knees thanking God every night for such as him.

  Tess had worried at first, knowing how house-proud his wife was and how he must be used to everything looking nice, because she was not like that and she knew it. Dirty mare, Perce had used to call her before he’d swiped her one. But she wasn’t dirty, just untidy, and it didn’t worry her if a bit of dust mounted up now and again. For years – with the constant misses month after month, sometimes three a year – she’d felt too tired and washed out to do much, but she wouldn’t think of them times now. They’d gone, they were dead and buried along with Perce.

  ‘Joan, next door, I reckon she’s got a good idea about us.’ Tess’s big brown eyes with their flecks of green were anxious as they looked up into Nathaniel’s face. ‘She doesn’t miss a thing, that one.’

  Nathaniel said nothing for a moment. Tess was thirty-one years old but she looked nearer forty; she’d had a hell of a life with Perce. And he wanted to make her happy, he ached to make her happy. He wanted to fill her life with joy, with laughter, with all the things she had missed in being married to a drunken thug of a man. He wanted to wake up beside her in the morning and lie down beside her at night, to sit with her in front of the fire in their own place with the front door keeping the rest of the world out. But there was Eva, and he was a Catholic. If he asked Tess to come away with him it would be to live a life of sin, and she was a respectable woman, a good woman. He couldn’t ask her to do that; even if they moved far away where no one knew them it wouldn’t be fair on her. But this, this carry-on wasn’t fair on her either. ‘I’m sorry, lass.’ His voice was heavy.

  ‘Oh, I don’t mind, not for meself, I’m thinking of you,’ Tess said quickly and with an earnestness that was genuine. ‘I don’t know if she’s said owt to her Bert, but with him knowing you and the lads ...’

  Nathaniel shook his head. ‘He’s not one for jawin’, Bert, but whatever happens we’ll face it together, lass. All right? An’ the lads aren’t bairns any more, they’ll understand. They’ve lived with Eva for years an’ all, don’t forget.’ But would they? Would they understand him taking up with another woman, because that was the way they – anyone – would look at it. But Tess wasn’t just another woman, she was – well, she was his other half. That was the way he felt about it. He was incomplete without her and since meeting her he knew he had felt like that all his life. Oh, he’d have been happy enough with Dora if she’d lived, and he’d have never looked the side another woman was on, but what was between him and Tess transcended words. Maybe if he’d been an educated man he could have found words to describe it, but he just knew he wouldn’t want to live a day without her. Not an hour, a minute.

  ‘Here, finish your tea, lass.’ He bent down and lifted up Tess’s cup, but before she took it from him she looked at him lovingly and touched his face again, her voice as soft and enveloping as her body as she said, ‘If it ever gets too difficult for you, if it meant losing the lads or something, I’d understand if we had to call it a day, Nat, and I’d be thankful for what we’ve had. More than thankful.’

  And now the tea was put down again swiftly and she was being held so tightly in his arms she couldn’t breathe, as Nathaniel said hoarsely, ‘Never, lass, never. You’re me sun, moon an’ stars, always will be, an’ whatever happens – whatever happens – this is it for life. I’ll sort out somethin’, I will. An’ I don’t want you workin’ in that laundry for ever neither.’

  ‘I don’t mind the work, lad. I’d go barmy sitting looking at these four walls seven days a week, and it helps with the rent. The bit I got for Perce paid for the funeral and tided me over for a while, but it won’t last for ever.’

  ‘Aye, I know.’ He buried his face in her thick springy brown hair that was liberally sprinkled with grey. If anyone waited for the colliery to look after a dead miner’s wife and family as they deserved they’d be waiting a damn long time. Sometimes he thought they were seen as less than men to the owners and the viewers; certainly the owners’ dogs and horses were treated a darn sight better than the minions who worked their mines for them. Still, it was the way of the world and had been for as long as he could remember. It might get better with all this talk of trade unions and the Labour Party and all – certainly according to their Luke it was the only answer, though he wasn’t too sure himself. It was the same everywhere, the rich got richer and the poor got poorer. Them with money made sure of it.

  Tess was saying, ‘As long as we can see a bit of each other then I’m happy, Nat. I mean it. And who knows what the future holds? One day at a time, lad. One day at a time.’

  He brought his face from her hair, squeezing her one more time before reaching down for their fast-cooling tea without speaking. One day at a time. That was the philosophy Tess had lived her life by and it hadn’t got her much. A husband who had knocked her into next weekend and robbed her of the chance to be a mother – something Nathaniel knew had created a deep and abiding sadness in her. She was born to be a mam, his Tess. Everything in her spoke of warmth and tenderness and kindness. Why, she’d even endeavoured to find excuses for Perce, going on about how he’d had a wretched childhood even before he was sent down the pit at six years of age. Huh! The mental exclamation of disgust was loud in Nathaniel’s head. His own da had knocked him and his mam and his four brothers about when he wasn’t gambling or drinking or working down the pit, but he’d sooner cut his right arm off than raise it to a woman, so you couldn’t tell him Perce had acted like he had because he’d seen it in his childhood.

  He became aware she was looking at him over her tea cup, and as he raised his head and met the soft greeny-brown gaze that was openly adoring, he smiled at her. Her loving was something a man dreamed of, and he knew he was the luckiest man alive. And maybe the future was something you had to take by the throat and make work for you. But there was Eva, and no matter how she was – how she had always been – she was his wife, and she’d had a rotten introduction into the ways of men, if her father’s account of what had happened was true. But she’d stuck to it all these years, so what could he do but accept it?

  By ... He settled himself more comfortably on the lumpy flock mattress beneath him, the empty tea cup loose in his grasp and Tess’s big body fitted into the side of him. He could go mad thinking about this lot. Aye, he could, because there was never a clear answer however much he racked his brains. But one had to present itself one day. His eyelids were heavy and he closed them, a contentedness settling on him despite his thoughts. And when the answer did come he’d know, and he’d grasp it with both hands.

  Chapter Eight

  ‘Oh, Luke, it’s lovely. Thank you.’ As Polly opened the small oak box Luke’s package had contained and saw the exquisite hairbrush set with mother-of-pearl, she raised a glowing face to the man in front of her. She couldn
’t believe how wonderful this day had been. All her presents – a set of the complete works of Charles Dickens from her Uncle Frederick, two fine lawn handkerchiefs embroidered with flowers from her aunt, chocolates from Arnold, and now this beautiful hairbrush from Luke – had been lovely, but Michael taking her aside and showing her the small velvet box in his hand had been the most thrilling thing.

  ‘I want to give you your present when we’re alone,’ he’d whispered. ‘Make some excuse, suggest we go and see Bess and Patience or something, won’t you?’

  She’d nodded, her face alight but her manner decorous as she endeavoured to conduct herself in the seemly manner her sixteen years warranted. But it had been hard, very hard. She knew what he was going to say, what he was going to ask, and that box! She felt a well of emotion rise up in her that turned her cheeks pink and her eyes to sparkling sapphires.

  If the others noticed Michael hadn’t given her a present no one commented on it, but once everyone was sitting down drinking the first of the many cups of tea they usually consumed over the space of a Sunday afternoon, Polly found she couldn’t wait another second. ‘Miss Collins has asked me to take Michael to see her.’ She was talking to the room in general but her eyes were on Michael across the paper-strewn table. ‘She has some books on ornithology she thought he might like to look at, and as she’ll be leaving once the weather is better, if he is going to borrow them it had better be soon.’

  ‘Miss Collins?’ Alice’s voice was sharp. ‘How does she know Michael likes birds?’

  ‘Because I told her,’ Polly said simply. The words themselves meant very little, but as a statement of things unsaid they meant a great deal.

  Polly watched her grandmother’s face stretch slightly, her eyes widening, and then Alice said, ‘You, Ruth, it’s been a while since you’ve seen Miss Collins. You go an’ pay your respects along with Michael an’ Polly.’

  ‘Aw, Gran.’ Ruth was sitting at her mother’s feet in front of the roaring fire, and now she turned to look up at Hilda as she said, ‘I don’t have to, do I, Mam? Miss Collins don’t like me, I can tell, an’ I haven’t drunk any of me tea yet.’

  ‘Of course you don’t have to.’ Hilda’s voice dared anyone to disagree with her, and now her tone was both bitter and pointed when she added, ‘I didn’t see any dresses handed out last month when it was your birthday.’

  ‘We won’t be long.’ Polly rose quickly, Michael following suit, and she was conscious that although the others seemed oblivious to the interchange between her grandmother and herself, Luke’s eyes were tight on the pair of them as they walked out of the kitchen.

  ‘Whew.’ There was laughter in Michael’s voice. ‘That was close. I thought we were going to have Ruth tagging along.’

  Polly smiled back into his bright face but said nothing. It was cold, very cold; the air had a bite to it that nipped at your nose and fingers and would turn them blue within minutes, but she was warm inside.

  ‘Did Miss Collins really ask to see me?’ Michael moved away from the door, which he had shut firmly behind him, as he spoke, and as Polly joined him she said, ‘Yes, of course.’

  ‘And you’ve spoken about me to her?’

  Polly’s blush deepened but she said, ‘Aye, I told you.’

  ‘Why did you mention me?’ They had reached the end of the farmhouse and were moving through the small break in the wall, beyond which lay the stables and the barn and the cottages.

  ‘You know why,’ Polly said, a trifle stiffly now.

  And then the stiffness vanished as Michael caught hold of her hands, the laughter sliding from his voice as he said, ‘You look right bonny today, Poll, beautiful in fact. You’re the most beautiful lass in the world.’

  ‘Oh, Michael.’

  ‘I love you, Poll. Do you love me?’

  ‘You know I do.’

  ‘I’ve loved you forever.’ His arms went round her, but gently. ‘For ever and ever. I can’t remember a time when I haven’t known I love you.’

  She gazed back into his face, which was on a level with hers, her eyes starry as they took in every contour of his sweet, serious features: the finely shaped nose and chin, the midnight-blue eyes with their long thick lashes, the silky brown hair just visible beneath his cap, which he had pulled on as they had left the kitchen. ‘I know, I feel just the same.’

  ‘Aw, Poll, Poll.’ It was a hushed whisper, almost a sigh, and then he drew her against him and kissed her, a soft, lingering kiss, before putting her carefully from him and fetching the little brown velvet box out of his pocket. ‘This is your present,’ he murmured. ‘Will you marry me, Poll, and be my wife?’

  The small ring the box held was clearly not expensive, the stones semi-precious, but to Polly it was the most wonderful ring in the world. ‘Oh, Michael! Yes, yes, I’ll marry you.’ She flung her arms round his neck, her voice ecstatic.

  ‘I’ll have to ask your da.’

  ‘Oh, me da loves you, you know he does. They all love you.’

  Their voices were excited, their breath mingling in the icy air as they stood closely facing each other, and then Michael took the ring out of its snug box and slipped it on to the third finger of her left hand. ‘We’ll have a good life, Poll. I promise.’ His tone was rushed now, feverish, as he kept his eyes on her vivacious face. ‘I can work on the farm and try and get things round a bit, it needs another man here.’

  Neither of them was aware of the incongruity of his words, considering that Michael had the build and frame of a lad much younger than his sixteen years.

  Polly nodded. They needed another man, they needed several, but everything would be all right now Michael had asked for her. The world could be taken on and conquered now Michael had asked her to marry him.

  ‘Do you mind if we visit Miss Collins a bit later?’ Michael was whispering despite the fact that they were alone, but it seemed right somehow. ‘I’d rather go back and ask your da before we see her.’ He was feeling slightly nervous about asking her father if the truth be told. And yet no, that wasn’t quite right – it wasn’t so much his Uncle Henry’s reaction he was uneasy about as his grandfather’s. He didn’t know why, but he had always felt, deep in the heart of him, that his grandfather didn’t like him, probably because he was his mother’s son. It was as clear as the nose on your face that there was no love lost between his mother and her father. And along with this feeling had come another, of resentment towards the dour old man, who – Michael felt – was harsh and cold. With everyone but Polly, that was. But no one could be harsh or cold with Polly, Polly was just perfect.

  His heart lifted again on this last thought, and now he tugged at Polly’s hand, saying, ‘Come on then, let’s go and tell them.’

  They burst into the kitchen like two excited children on Christmas morning and immediately Alice guessed. As they came to a halt in the middle of the kitchen, Michael’s arm self-consciously round Polly’s waist, Alice’s heart turned right over and her mouth went dry with panic. But she said not a word, merely sitting like a stone statue as Michael, with touching boldness, made his little speech to an amazed Henry.

  ‘Well, this is a turn-up for the book.’ Henry sounded as nonplussed as he looked. ‘But you’re still nowt but bairns—’

  ‘No we’re not, Da.’ Polly’s voice was quiet but very firm. ‘Michael has had two years down the pit and I’ve had even more working on this farm. We left our childhoods behind years ago. And don’t forget –’ she slanted a glance at her grandmother now, only to become transfixed for a moment by the look on the old woman’s face. It was another second or two before she managed to continue – ‘Gran was married at seventeen, and that’s just a year older than I am now.’

  ‘That was different.’ Hilda’s voice was sharp.

  ‘No it wasn’t, Mam.’ Polly’s was just as sharp. ‘I do the work of two women, three, out in them fields, and you know it, so don’t tell me I’m not old enough to know my own mind.’

  ‘By ...’ Henry shook his h
ead. ‘By ...’

  ‘Aren’t you going to say something other than by?’ Hilda snapped tightly. ‘It’s ridiculous, absolutely ridiculous, an engagement at sixteen. Eighteen maybe, or nineteen, with marriage in twelve months or so, but sixteen!’

  ‘I’m not waiting three or four years, Mam.’ Polly felt Michael’s arm tighten round her waist. ‘Michael doesn’t want to and neither do I.’ She turned to her grandfather, intending to appeal to him, but his thunderous face warned her it would be a fruitless exercise. She looked at her uncle and his red, angry face seemed ready to explode, and Arnold’s was no better. Her Aunt Eva appeared stunned, her hand pressed over her mouth so tightly it was distorting her face, and Ruth was sitting goggle-eyed on the cracket, her mouth gaping open. It was only Luke, his eyes warm, who said, ‘Young or not you’ll do just fine, I’d bet me life on it.’