The Stony Path

by Rita Bradshaw

  Well, she felt crushed at the moment. She raised her head as though in protest to the thought. And all things considered, she had good reason for feeling so. Her chin moved a fraction higher. But all the self-pity in the world wouldn’t bring back her da or allow her to marry Michael or make her grandda like he had used to be. And if she thought of all those things now she wouldn’t be able to carry on, so ... she wouldn’t think of them. Not now. She would wait a while, that was what she would do.

  She breathed out slowly through her nose and, pulling her coat tighter about her, walked out of the kitchen into the blackness of the yard. Through memory rather than sight she made her way to the privy, shivering now in the bitterly cold wind whipping across from the open fields beyond, but once she had finished and was outside in the yard again, her eyes having adjusted to the darkness, she stood still for a moment despite the raw night.

  Luke was right, she had to fight, and bad as this was, there were others worse off the night. Look at the poor souls in the workhouses or those families living rough on the fells round Gateshead way. They might be mostly tinkers and hawkers and the like, but they died in their dozens during the winter in their makeshift dwellings of earth cottages with sod or turf roofs. Mind, she’d take her chance on the fells any day rather than set foot in the workhouse. She shivered, but it was more to do with her thoughts than the icy wind.

  What was Michael doing right now? Was he awake too? Did he know about her da? The thoughts had sneaked into her mind unbidden but almost immediately she clamped down on them, saying out loud, ‘None of that, none of that.’ That wasn’t the way to be strong. She took a deep breath, her shoulders coming back under the old coat. She was glad Miss Collins had talked to Michael. Her eyes turned in the direction of their lodger’s cottage. And she would see her tomorrow ...

  For the first time since she had decided to rent the cottage for the winter, Gwendoline Collins was experiencing a sensation of being confined on all sides. It had happened in the past several times before, but then it had been due to a physical restriction such as when she had been incarcerated in her cabin in a boat on one of her journeys, or yet still when she had made the mistake of venturing underground into a cave in Greece in order to see some fine specimens of stalactites and stalagmites. But there was no physical limitation now to make her feel so dreadful.

  She twisted under the heaped covers on the bed, but on flinging one arm free quickly pulled it back under the blankets again as the cold hit. This place! She hadn’t known what real cold was until she had made the mistake of renting this cottage. It had seemed like an adventure in the autumn when the air had still been redolent with the remains of summer and the crisp, bracing nights had merely been enough to make the roaring fire seem cosy. But in the depths of winter ... How did Polly stand it? The hard, continuous grind, the harsh conditions, and it would all be a hundred times worse now her father had killed himself. Killed himself. Gwendoline’s thin mouth became thinner as her lips moved one on top of the other. The man was a weakling, a coward on top of his other sins. Or had been.

  The last amendment brought her twisting again, and now she faced the reason for the agitation that had her wishing herself a million miles from the farm. She had broken her cardinal rule and got involved with the people about her. And it troubled her, it troubled her greatly, the more so since she was not at all sure how Polly would view matters when they spoke tomorrow. And Polly would expect her to expound at length on the conversation she had had with Michael after he had left the farm, that was only natural. Had she been right to advise the boy as she had? Her brows drew together, her face screwing up for a moment as though she was suffering pain. Here she was, a lapsed Catholic, and yet she had advised him as she had. But they had talked together at some length and the boy had been desperate; it had seemed right at the time. And he had a faith, there was no doubt about that. He was what her father would have called a good Catholic. Whatever that was.

  Oh, what was the matter with her tonight? She made a little moue with her mouth in the pitch blackness. She had taken up residence here for a while because she had wanted to; no one had persuaded her into it, and it was she who had made the overtures of friendship towards Polly which had resulted in her becoming better acquainted with the workings within the family. She liked Polly. No, more than that, she admired her. The girl had a strong spirit that moreover was hungry for knowledge and enlightenment. Born to a better class with the benefits of education to set her free from narrow thinking, the girl could have gone far.

  Gwendoline’s blue-grey eyes, which had a piercing quality all of their own and were her best feature, suddenly opened very wide. And why not? she thought excitedly. Why shouldn’t Polly have the chance to rise above the trappings of her working-class beginnings? Gwendoline herself could provide that chance. She had taken to the girl – her feelings hovering somewhere between those of a mentor and a friend – and certainly Polly was the only person she had met in a long, long time that she could envisage having as a permanent companion. The business with this boy who now turned out to be her half-brother had effectively finished all thoughts of romance for the time being, and if she took the girl in hand – gave her all the advantages of travel and experience and such – who knew what fine match she might make in the future when her heart had healed. If she was inclined towards matrimony, that was.

  Of course, the matter of her family would have to be dealt with, but then it was clear they couldn’t carry on here without menfolk. The farm would have to be sold, and if there were any debts, as well there might be, they could be cleared and then a small dwelling of some kind purchased in the town of Bishopswearmouth. Failing that, there were places which catered for the old and infirm, as the grandparents undoubtedly were, and possibly the mother too, while the sister appeared old enough to be put into service or work of some other kind. So Gwendoline disposed of Polly’s family without a qualm, and after she had done so she fell immediately into a deep sleep.

  ‘I’m ... I’m sorry, Miss Collins. I don’t want to appear ungrateful.’

  ‘I’m aware of that.’ It was stiff and cold, nearly as cold as the black frost which had fallen the night before and turned the snow-covered ground into glass.

  Polly sat back on her heels in front of the fire she had recently lit and which was beginning to blaze, and surveyed the figure sitting up in the bed with a thick eiderdown draped about it. Miss Collins was angry with her for refusing the offer to be her companion and travel the world. They had been discussing the matter for some five minutes since Miss Collins had first made the incredible suggestion, and although at first Miss Collins had been smiling and soft-voiced as she had countered Polly’s objections, she had gradually got stiffer and stiffer and was now very much the aristocrat.

  She couldn’t deal with this today, not on top of everything else. For the first time since she had known the other woman, Polly felt a dart of dislike pierce the high regard she had for Miss Collins. It was like a mausoleum back there in the house and she had a hard day’s work in front of her; didn’t Miss Collins realise how things were? And she couldn’t just walk away from her family, the idea was unimaginable, but because she hadn’t immediately fallen in with the suggestion it was as if a wall had been erected between herself and this woman she had thought of as her friend.

  Polly now took a long, deep breath, curbing her bewilderment, and said quietly, ‘Thank you for talking to Michael yesterday, Miss Collins. Was ... was he all right when you left him?’

  It was a silly way to put it in view of the circumstances, and Gwendoline’s voice reflected this when she said, ‘Hardly.’ And then, as if realising she was being grossly unfair, Gwendoline added quickly, ‘But I’m sure he will be. Time is a great healer.’ Oh, hark at her! She despised platitudes.

  ‘Did you talk for very long?’

  Gwendoline hesitated. She was aware of her character deficiencies, and unlike most people made no excuses to herself regarding them. She knew she was rather
a passionless person – except where her love of naturalism and art was concerned – but this did not trouble her. Neither did her recognition that from a very young child she had fought constantly to have her own way and heartily disliked being thwarted. In fact if pressed she would have confessed to thinking it an advantage in the solitary life she had chosen. She had been excited this morning before Polly had arrived to carry out her normal duties; somewhat carried away with the idea of Polly as her companion, she confessed silently to herself. And now the girl had made it quite plain she could not be induced to leave her family or this miserable farm. And it had annoyed her. It had annoyed her greatly. But if Polly was closing her eyes to the wonderful opportunity being offered to her, she must accept her decision with grace. Nevertheless, Gwendoline’s voice still had a slight edge to it when she said, ‘I suppose so, some twenty minutes at least. He was in some distress.’

  ‘Did he say what he is going to do?’

  ‘Not exactly.’

  Polly stared at the other woman before rising to her feet and standing perfectly still for a moment. She was glad she had burnt the dress. It was a ridiculous thought to come to mind in the present situation, but it lifted Polly’s chin and narrowed her eyes. And this woman wasn’t a friend, not in the true sense of the word. Real friendship was unconditional. This reticence regarding Michael was a punishment because she had refused to go away with Miss Collins.

  And then Gwendoline disabused her of this idea when she said quietly, ‘I am not being mealy-mouthed through choice, Polly. Michael and I discussed the present state of affairs, the hopelessness of your attachment. You do know it is hopeless?’ And at Polly’s nod, she continued, ‘And then we spoke of other things – his family, life, God.’

  ‘God?’ said Polly blankly.

  ‘His father – his mother’s husband – is a Catholic and Michael has been brought up in the faith. He has not questioned it as I did at about his age. His religion will be a comfort to him.’

  ‘He means to go away, doesn’t he?’

  There was a pause before Gwendoline said, ‘That was his intention, yes. I understand he was going to collect his belongings and leave before his mother returned home last night. He felt he couldn’t see her without ... wishing her harm.’

  He had gone. The women’s eyes held across the expanse of the small two-roomed cottage, and it was Gwendoline who looked away first. He had gone. Gone. The word was reverberating in Polly’s head, before a stern inner voice checked it, saying, Well? You knew he was going, didn’t you? He told you so. ‘Did he say where he is going to live?’

  This time the pause was longer, and Polly had her answer even before the other woman said, ‘I think he thought a clean break was best for everyone concerned.’

  But Miss Collins knew. Michael barely knew her and yet he had confided in her. What had she said to him?

  After another exchange of glances, Polly turned and made for the door, saying over her shoulder, ‘I’ll bring the drinking water and fresh milk shortly.’

  ‘Thank you, Polly, and ... and I think it would be best if I left shortly, perhaps at the end of the week? You are going to have enough to do without tending to my needs too.’

  Polly had stopped at the threshold but she hadn’t turned round, and now her slender shoulders stiffened just the slightest bit but her voice was quiet as she said – still without moving – ‘As you wish, Miss Collins,’ before she stepped out of the door, closing it firmly behind her.

  Chapter Ten

  ‘An’ you’re seriously tellin’ me you can’t get out of that bed for your own husband’s funeral? Is that what you’re sayin’?’

  As her daughter-in-law stared back at her, Alice acknowledged that if the power of thought had any say in the matter she would be six foot under at this very moment, the same as her lad was going to be shortly. Hilda’s eyes told her as much.

  ‘I’m ill.’ Hilda’s voice was thin and cold. ‘And it’s hardly surprising with everything that has happened. Even you must see that.’

  ‘What I see is a lazy, vindictive—’

  ‘Don’t you call me names! Not you! When I think of what I have endured since I was tricked into marrying Henry to cover the goings-on here, it makes me sick to my stomach.’

  ‘Aye, well, there’s plenty that makes me sick to me stomach an’ I’m lookin’ at one thing right now.’ Alice was standing in the doorway to Hilda’s bedroom, her small, slight body appearing even smaller in her black funeral clothes. It had taken all of the big pot of black dye Polly had purchased in Bishopsweaimouth to turn their Sunday clothes into those of mourning, but new ones – even purchased from the second-hand market in the East End at a fraction of the original cost – had been out of the question.

  ‘Gran, come away.’ Polly’s voice was firm as she took her grandmother’s arm and led her away from the doorway. ‘Uncle Frederick is waiting outside.’ She pushed the old woman towards the stairs before returning to her mother’s room and saying quietly, ‘Ruth is here to take care of you and Grandda until we get back, and there’s bread and cheese and brawn for midday. We’ll have a hot meal tonight.’

  There was no reply from the figure in the bed, but then, just as Polly was about to close the door, her mother’s voice stopped her.

  ‘It’s disgraceful, you not having folk back here after for a bite. What will people think?’

  ‘I don’t care what people think.’

  ‘Well, that’s true enough. Cheapest funeral you could get; just one horse, and not even a closed carriage.’

  Polly stared at her mother and wondered how her father had managed to live with such a stupid woman for seventeen years without doing her physical harm. Her mother had ranted and raved for the last week since her da’s death, calling him every name under the sun, so it certainly wasn’t any tender feeling for the departed that had prompted her complaint. Keeping up appearances, that was all her mother was concerned with. No matter that her da’s death and her grandda’s collapse had revealed to the unsuspecting womenfolk that the farm’s finances were in an even worse state than they had imagined. It appeared the two men had been borrowing off Frederick for the last few years and. the amount they owed was now considerable; added to which, with the remainder of the cows gone – excepting Buttercup – the farm was reduced to little more than a smallholding, which left no chance of recovery. The farmhouse and barn were in desperate need of repair, their livestock was almost nonexistent, their debts were overwhelming and her mother wanted to spend money they didn’t have on a lavish funeral and wake! It would be funny if it wasn’t so tragic.

  ‘Goodbye, Mother.’ Polly shut the door on her mother’s voice as it began another lament, and stood on the landing for a moment, biting hard on her lip. Then she nipped along to her grandparents’ room and opened the door very quietly, only to find her grandfather wasn’t asleep as she had thought he might be. For the last week it seemed he had barely been awake.

  ‘Hello, me bairn.’ He was lying quite still on the big feather bolster doubled behind his back which brought him almost sitting upright in the bed. The doctor had advised his patient to lie in such a position, and Polly and her grandmother had found it helped his breathing.

  ‘We’re just going, Grandda.’ Polly walked across to the bed and took one of the big, bony-knuckled, blue-veined hands lying limply on the bedcover. ‘We’ll be back before you know it.’

  Walter said nothing, but as a drop of moisture slid out of the corner of one eye and down his weather-beaten face, Polly said thickly, ‘Oh don’t, don’t, Grandda. It’ll be all right.’ She had never thought to see her grandfather cry, not her big, burly, tough grandda, and it hurt her as much as anything that had happened.

  ‘I’m sorry, lass.’ Walter wiped his hand across his face before sniffing loudly. ‘I’m a bit down the day.’

  ‘Aye, I know, we all are, but we’ll get through, Grandda. Once the spring is here and the weather’s warmer everything will look different. You’ll see.’ />
  ‘He wasn’t a bad man, lass, an’ he’d have sooner slit his own throat than bring such pain on you. I know that. I should’ve stopped your aunt comin’ to the farm, I know that now an’ all, an’ weathered whatever came from that direction. As it is ...’ He shook his head slowly, his voice trailing off.

  ‘It’ll be all right,’ said Polly again, squeezing his hand between her own. Her grandda loved her, he always had, and it had been his hands that had lifted her high on to his shoulders and carried her round the farm as a small child, his hands that had mopped her tears and fashioned little wooden toys for Ruth and herself. Her granny and her grandda might have made mistakes with their own children, but with her mam as she was and her da always having been a remote father until the last couple of years, it had been her grandparents she had always relied on for security and love. She couldn’t let them down now when they needed her the most, and whatever it took she intended to keep what was left of this family together. She bent over the bed and kissed the old man’s furrowed forehead before hurrying out of the room and down the stairs to the kitchen, where she found Frederick and her grandmother waiting for her, Ruth purring like a kitten over the box of toffee their mother’s stepbrother had brought her.