The Stony Path

by Rita Bradshaw

  He dabbed at his cheek now, his eyes still on his wife before they lowered to the cloth in his hand, and he saw it was stained red. Aye, well, maybe in this – if nothing else that had happened since the first day he had set eyes on the woman across the room – he had got exactly what he deserved. But it was over with at last. Finished. Done with.

  Luke had pushed Eva down into the chair she had vacated when Nathaniel had walked in, and now he kept one hand on his stepmother’s shoulder as he said, ‘Da? What are you going to do? You aren’t really going now?’

  ‘It seems a good time, lad.’

  Aye, it seemed a good time as far as his father was concerned right enough. Luke stared at the older man, rubbing his hand tightly across his mouth as his thoughts raced on. If his father went now, who would take care of his stepmother in the years ahead? She certainly couldn’t return to her family – that boat was well and truly burned – and Arnold’s first priority would always be Arnold. It would be Luke who would bear the responsibility for a woman who – if he were being truthful – he would have to say he had always disliked.

  ‘You can’t just walk out.’ Arnold had obviously been thinking along the same lines as his brother, and his tone was aggressive. ‘Whoever this woman is, you’ve got a duty to your wife.’

  ‘Wrong.’ Nathaniel’s brusqueness was decisive rather than hostile. ‘I brought Eva into this house sixteen years ago for your sake, yours an’ Luke’s, an’ she knows that as well as me, and I was prepared to make it a marriage in every sense of the word, but she was havin’ none of it. She’s made a monkey out of me but enough is enough, an’ neither you two, nor her, nor Father McAttee, not even the good Lord Himself, will stop me doin’ what I intend to do this day. An’ that’s final, Arnold.’

  ‘I’ll never divorce you.’ This was from Eva, who was sitting stony-eyed but quiet now.

  ‘That’s neither here nor there. I was more married to my Tess on the day I met her than I’ve ever bin to you.’ Nathaniel was walking towards the door leading to the stairs as he spoke, and when Eva said, ‘Where do you think you’re going?’ he didn’t pause in his stride as he answered, ‘To get me things together. I haven’t much an’ you’re welcome to such as the house holds, but there’s certain things I’m takin’ with me an’ no blighter’ll stop me.’

  ‘Stay with her.’ Luke nodded at Eva as he spoke swiftly to Arnold, and then he followed his father out of the room, mounting the stairs two at a time and walking into the bedroom his father and Eva shared to see Nathaniel sitting on the bed looking as though the stuffing had been knocked out of him.

  ‘You all right, Da?’ He walked over to his father and knelt in front of him, moving the tea towel away from his cheek and shaking his head at the sight of the nasty scratch, which was still oozing blood. ‘You’ll need some salt on that.’

  ‘I’ll sort it when I’ve seen Tess.’

  ‘You think a bit of her then?’

  ‘Oh, lad.’ Nathaniel had never been a one with words, but now he looked into his son’s deep brown eyes – his favourite son, although he had never voiced it – and said softly, ‘She’s everythin’ I ever wanted an’ more. What she sees in me I’ll never know, but I thank God every day for her, I tell you straight.’

  His father thanked God for her, this other woman he was putting in the place of his lawful wedded wife. All Luke’s life, until he had earned his first wage packet and was considered a man by his da and therefore old enough to choose his own road, he had been forced to go to church with Eva and his brothers. His da might miss a few weeks or months if he felt like it, but his wife and his children must attend Sunday Mass no matter what. His father wouldn’t have been able to hold up his head otherwise. He had endured the Catholic school with its demented old-maid schoolmistress, Miss Potts. Potty by name and potty by nature, all the bairns had said, but it still didn’t prevent the screaming nightmares which featured her dire warnings about that dreaded place, purgatory, where the fires never went out and naughty bairns were forced to sit on sizzling red-hot gridirons on their bare backsides.

  And what fear the good Miss Potts hadn’t been able to instil mentally had been accomplished physically, with the lethal cane she’d wielded with all the considerable power of her big fat body. Luke could feel it still. A nasty, mean-minded tartar Miss Potts had been – he had often wondered if the priests, Father Gray and Father McAttee, had known what their schoolteacher was like with the bairns, because they’d been decent enough men on the whole.

  But he’d put up with it – and no doubt imbibed a certain amount of indoctrination he’d carry with him until his dying day – because he’d known how his father felt about the ‘one true faith’, as he referred to it, all apparently overseen by a fiercely jealous – and definitely Catholic – God.

  And now ... Now this same God was apparently approving of his father taking another woman in adultery, because dress this up as you like, that was what it boiled down to. Not only approving of it – if his father was to be believed – but receiving thanks each day for having orchestrated the event in the first place.

  ‘You don’t think this is right.’

  His father’s voice was still soft, but there was a note in it Luke had never heard before, a plea for understanding. It created a feeling of uncomfortableness. His father had married Eva to keep his family together and he had put up with hell on earth – Luke himself knew that – to continue to keep it together. If his father had been a different kind of man he might well have stuck his bairns in the workhouse; there were many who did just that in similar situations. And what Luke was feeling now wasn’t so much righteous indignation or anything like it; he was worried about how his father leaving would affect him. And – and here Luke’s disquiet deepened into self-disgust – he was resentful that his father was going to walk off into the sunset with his Tess when there was no chance Polly would ever look the side he was on.

  ‘You go, Da.’ Luke thrust out his hand and Nathaniel gripped it hard. ‘You couldn’t stay now anyway, so go and be happy with your Tess. But let me know where you are. Promise me that, Da.’

  ‘Aye, aye, I’ll do that, lad.’ There were tears in Nathaniel’s eyes for the first time Luke could remember. ‘It’ll have to be on the quiet, but I’ll find a way. Likely one of Tess’s neighbours’ll tip you the wink.’ He let go of Luke’s hand as he got to his feet, and as Luke rose too, Nathaniel looked about him helplessly.

  The big battered trunk containing the spare blankets and sheets for the household stood at the end of the bed, and now Luke opened the lid and took out a pile, saying, ‘You’ll need this.’

  ‘Aye, that’s an idea. There’s not much bar me clothes an’ a few things of your mam’s an’ mine, but I’ll need somethin’ to carry ’em in.’

  The packing was accomplished in minutes, and again the two men were standing looking at one another. ‘Not much for forty-seven years, is it?’ Nathaniel gestured at the trunk. ‘But then there’s only ever bin two things in me life I’m proud of, you an’ our Arnold.’

  Never had Luke seen a look such as was now on his father’s face. Their relationship had always been a good one but devoid of what Nathaniel would term ‘soft blathering’, but the fierce love his father had always kept hidden beneath the rough northern exterior was now blazing forth.

  It made Luke humble and brought the pain of regret for a hundred things left unsaid, and his heart was crying out with the simplicity of a child as it silently begged, Don’t go, please don’t go, Da, stay. We can get to know each other, really know each other before it’s too late. But the awareness of his father’s selflessness through the long, bitter years of internment with the woman downstairs kept him silent, and instead he said, ‘I’ll miss you, Da. I wish things could be different.’

  ‘Aye, me an’ all, lad. Me an’ all. But this isn’t goodbye, not really. You’ll meet Tess one day an’ likely then you’ll understand.’

  ‘I do understand.’

  ‘No you do
n’t, lad, not yet. You’re young, you’ve yet to taste the bitter dregs, an’ that’s how it should be, that’s right an’ proper. But Tess is a good woman, believe me on that. She’s Perce’s widow, you remember Perce?’ Luke nodded. ‘I met her when I went round to offer me respects after the accident, an’ it all came from there.’

  ‘You’ll be all right?’ Luke was aware he was talking for the sake of it now, saying anything to delay the inevitable. Why couldn’t he tell his father he loved him? Why couldn’t he take him in his arms and hug him? What was this crippling code of honour that said such actions were womanly, daft? Were working men like this the world over, or was it only the north that produced such weakness? Because it was weakness. Anything that paralysed normal responses like this had to be such.

  ‘Aye, me an’ Tess’ll be all right. She’s young, darn sight younger than me, an’ we can both work an’ build up a home together. But not round here. I’m not havin’ her treated as a brazen hussy by them not worthy to lick her boots, an’ you know some of the wives round these parts when they get goin’. Tarred an’ feathered a bit lass only a couple of months ago in Thomas Street North near the tram depot ‘cos they’d got wind she was carryin’ on with a married man.’

  Luke nodded again. Oh, aye, he knew how it would be all right, and ten to one it would be this Tess who would bear the full brunt of righteous disapproval from all and sundry. He could hear them now. ‘Have you heard about Nat going off the rails, then? He’s walked out on his wife and taken up with her that was married to Perce! Lost her own man a while back, she did, so bold as brass she sets her sights on Eva’s, poor soul. Now granted, Eva might be something of a tartar, but give her her due, she kept that house spotless and brought them two lads from his first wife up as if they were her own. She don’t deserve this. Ought to be horse-whipped, that Tess. Someone should do something.’

  And no doubt a few of the women would do something, and ironically it was often the foul-mouthed and coarse element among them who were the most voracious in their self-righteousness. It was rare a mob got together and went as far as they had with the lass in Thomas Street North – most of the women were too worried about what their menfolk would say if they got to hear about such goings-on – but someone in Tess’s position would regularly have a handful of filth thrown at her or muck smeared on her doorstep. And the decent housewives – the ones who minded their own business and got on with looking after their menfolk and families – would simply ostracise the lass in question with a relentlessness that was perhaps more cruel than all the verbal and physical abuse. Women could be the very devil.

  ‘No, I see you have to move away, Da.’ He stared at his father and Nathaniel stared back before he bent and lifted the trunk, refusing Luke’s offer of help as he lugged it out of the room and down into the kitchen, where Eva was still sitting in the chair, Arnold standing alongside her.

  Whether they had been conversing Luke didn’t know, but when Nathaniel held out his hand to Arnold and his elder son refused to take it, his father’s body remained absolutely still for a moment before his head turned to glance at his wife. Eva stared back at him, her eyes full of deep loathing, but again no one spoke.

  Luke followed his father out of the house and into the street, where they stood for a moment in the icy drizzle that carried the odd snowflake in its midst. ‘You got far to go, Da?’

  ‘Carley Road, lad.’ And now Luke felt his father’s arms about him for the first time that he could remember since he had been a very young child, and Nathaniel’s voice was thick as he said, ‘Look after yourself an’ our Arnold. He’s not like you, Luke. He’ll get into trouble, he’s too easily led.’

  The embrace only lasted a matter of seconds, but although every pore of Luke’s body was straining to return it, he remained like stone, his hands at his sides and his limbs stiff. And then he was watching his father walk down the street, his small body bent with the weight of the trunk, and he was glad of the sleet wetting his face because it hid his hot tears. I love you, Da. As Nathaniel neared the corner his pace quickened, and Luke could feel the sense of release that was filling the other man’s soul. Through blurred eyes he saw him turn and raise his hand, and he lifted his own in response, and there was a long moment when they just looked at each other through the mist of sleet and rain. Then Nathaniel turned again and walked on, and he was gone.

  Chapter Eleven

  Stone Farm was as different from the one Polly had been born on as chalk to cheese, and the full realisation of this had been sweeping over her in waves of increasing amazement ever since the horse and trap had turned off the lane and into the long stony track bordered by her uncle’s fields on both sides.

  Although the boundary of her grandfather’s farm joined that of Frederick Weatherburn’s, the divide was in the nature of a high dry-stone wall beyond which rose a steep and sudden incline – whether natural or man-made Polly had never ventured to ask. As bairns she and Ruth had climbed the hillock to see beyond, but the acres of grazing cattle and sheep had deterred the two girls from exploring further.

  Now, as the horse and trap bowled along, Polly reflected that her uncle’s farm could swallow her grandfather’s paltry forty acres whole, and morever, there was an air of prosperity abounding that was in stark contrast to the desperation at home.

  ‘There we are.’ She came out of her musing to see her uncle pointing to a large thatched house in the distance, which looked to be mainly three-storey except for what appeared to be an addition to the original house which was a third of its size and two storeys high. The size of the dwelling place brought Polly’s mouth open for a moment. ‘You can’t remember anything of Stone Farm, can you?’ Her uncle was speaking directly to Polly, leaning slightly forward in order to look round her grandmother, who was sitting next to him on the hard wooden seat, and when Polly shook her head he continued, ‘Your mother was always very happy here, from the day my father brought her and her own mother to stay. I was eight years old at the time, so I remember it well.’

  ‘You’ve always bin kindness itself to Hilda, Frederick.’ Her granny’s voice was loud and she nodded as she spoke. ‘Especially considerin’ she’s no relation of yours, not in the blood sense.’

  ‘I’ve always prided myself on being a man who takes his responsibilities seriously, Alice.’

  ‘Aye, there’s not a soul as could say different.’

  There was something in the exchange, normal though it was, that caused Polly to glance sharply at her grandmother, but the old woman was looking directly ahead, and although she must have been aware of her granddaughter’s eyes, she made no effort to meet them.

  As they neared the farmhouse, Polly saw that the winding stone track they were following opened up into a large cobbled yard, but unlike the one at home, this did not lead directly to the house. Instead the yard was bordered by a small stone wall with a wooden gate set in it on the far side, beyond which – and directly in front of the farmhouse – stretched an area of regimented flowerbeds some twenty yards long. As though he had been waiting for them, a figure materialised from the barn to the left of the muck-free farmyard and, as the horse and cart drew to a halt, took the reins from Frederick and stood at the horse’s head.

  ‘Thank you, Croft.’

  Frederick did not look at the man as he spoke and his voice was very much that of master to man, and again Polly found herself glancing at her grandmother after they had alighted – with Frederick’s help – from the trap.

  ‘Come along, you must be in need of a warm drink.’ As her uncle made to usher her in front of her grandmother, something in Polly rebelled. He was making her feel uneasy – odd somehow – and the need to assert herself was strong. She half turned, taking her granny’s arm as she said somewhat pointedly, ‘Be careful you don’t slip, Gran. These cobbles are like glass with the rain.’

  ‘I’m all right, lass. You go ahead.’

  ‘No, we’ll go together.’

  Frederick made no comment to th
is, but hastily opened the little gate in the wall, standing aside as the two women passed through into the garden beyond.

  As they reached the front door it was opened from the inside and Betsy stood in the doorway, her round eyes commiserating as she glanced at Polly’s white face. ‘Everything’s ready, master, an’ I’ve lit the fire in the sittin’ room,’ she said hastily. ‘Shall I bring a tray of tea through while Mrs Farrow an’ the miss warm up a bit?’

  ‘Splendid.’ Frederick’s voice was hearty, and once they were all standing in the wide hall after wiping their feet on the thick rope mat on the threshold, he said, ‘I’m glad you’re seeing Stone Farm, Polly, although of course I wish it were in happier circumstances,’ before opening a door to his left.

  The sitting room was large, very large, and for a moment Polly just glanced about her. The furniture was dark and old, but nice old, not like at her grandfather’s farm, and the two sofas and three chairs were covered in a chintz fabric, the red of which was reflected in the drapes at the two windows. A big rug lay in the middle of the wooden floor, with another smaller one set in front of the fire, which was piled high with burning logs and coal, and it was this which drew her gaze.