by Valerie Wood
Sammi refused the tea and sat opposite Jenny by the fire. ‘Is Tom in the mill now? I saw George up on the barn roof.’
Jenny nodded and picked up the socks again. ‘Aye, he is, though they’re not grinding till this afternoon. Luke Reedbarrow’s gone to deliver animal feed to a farmer somewhere and George is fixing ’roof while ’weather holds.’
Sammi stood up and took off her coat. ‘I need to talk to Tom,’ she said. ‘I’ll go now while Uncle Thomas is asleep.’
Jenny looked up at her. ‘He might be up at ’top, Miss Sammi. I doubt he’ll hear you.’
Sammi delayed for a second only. ‘Then I’ll have to go up to him.’ She lifted up her skirts and petticoats. ‘Jenny, will you unfasten my hoop?’
Jenny blinked and gazed open-mouthed, but without a word got up from her chair and unfastened the whalebone hoop, holding on to Sammi as she stepped out of it.
‘Thank you.’ Sammi stood it in a corner of the kitchen. ‘I won’t be long, and – and I’ll probably have a cup of tea when I come down.’
‘I’ll put ’kettle on then, miss, and it’ll be on ’boil when you’re ready.’
As Sammi went out of the door, Jenny moved a pan from the fire and replaced it with the kettle, and then stood looking at the hoop in the corner. She hesitated before skipping to the window where she could still see George up on the barn roof. She picked up the hoop, and, holding on to the table, put first one leg and then the other into the hoop. Her skirts were too short and the hoop showed below her hem, but she twirled around the kitchen floor, her skirts swaying, and singing softly to herself.
Her back was to the door and she didn’t hear it open but as she was just rising from a deep mock curtsey, she heard a chuckle, swung around and there was George in the doorway.
He gave a bow and joked. ‘May I have this dance, ma-am?’ and took hold of her hand.
She snatched it away, blushing crimson. ‘I didn’t mean no harm, Master George. I haven’t damaged it. Don’t tell Miss Sammi, will you?’
‘Sammi wouldn’t mind,’ he protested. ‘She’d see it was just a bit o’ fun. Come here.’ He grabbed her hand again and whirled her round the table. ‘I’m no dancer,’ he said. ‘Me feet are too big.’
She laughed, her fears disappearing, but once more around the table and she stopped. ‘I’d better take it off before she comes back, she’s gone up to see Master Tom, that’s why she took ’hoop off.’
‘Gone up into ’mill?’ His face showed alarm. ‘What for? I’d better go up in case she tummels.’
‘No.’ Jenny hopped first on one foot, then the other to remove the hoop. ‘No, don’t, Master George. Don’t.’
‘Why not?’ he asked, grabbing her arm so that she didn’t fall. ‘What’s up?’
‘I don’t know why not.’ She gave him an impish grin. ‘Only don’t.’
Sammi stepped into the bagging room and called Tom’s name. The mill appeared to be empty. The floor was swept clean of the previous day’s milling, no loose grain left lying around that would attract vermin, and the rope and chains neatly coiled or hung so that no-one could trip and fall. Sacks of grain were stacked ready for the afternoon milling, but above her head on the stone floor, the stones were still, and above them the great spur wheel, the wallower and brake wheel were silent.
‘Tom!’ she called again, but her voice echoed around the room and didn’t reach any higher up the battered walls. She lifted her skirts to climb the access ladder and put her head through the hatch into the stone room. Stone dressing tools were laid out neatly in a wooden box and the hoppers had their covers in place. Tom wasn’t there either, but she heard a sound above and awkwardly she climbed up, putting her feet cautiously on to the wooden boarding and up the next ladder to the bin floor where the grain bins were clean and empty.
She looked out of the small window and saw below her the mill yard and the hay cart, and shuddered as she remembered Uncle Thomas’s fall, then continued up again until she reached the cap, where she could hear Tom’s footsteps. She tiptoed precariously on the rungs and peered through the hatch into the cap; the chocks were firmly lodged in the brake wheel and the two access doors set into the walls were open to the sky; one led to the fantail, and through the other, the storm hatch, which led to the sails, she could see Tom’s legs. She dare not call in case of startling him, nor could she climb up unaided as the gap between the ladder and staging was too great. So she waited, perched on the narrow ladder, until he finally put his head through the storm door and re-entered the cap.
He gave a startled exclamation as he saw her head sticking up through the floor, and the thought flitted through her mind that the sight of her disembodied head wasn’t quite the effect she had planned for him.
‘Sammi! Whatever are you doing up here?’ He crouched down to speak to her.
‘I came to talk to you.’ She suddenly felt foolish.
‘Why didn’t you shout? I would have come down.’
‘I did! You didn’t hear.’
He said nothing but she saw an impulsive twist to his mouth as if he was hiding a grin.
‘Well, I can’t talk to you like this,’ she said impatiently. ‘Can you help me up?’
‘Are you sure you want to come up? Will you feel safe?’ He stood up and towered above her and this time he did grin and then started to laugh.
She gave him her hand. ‘I’m glad you find something funny,’ she said, and with her other hand, hitched up her skirt. ‘I haven’t heard you laugh in a long time.’
He heaved and pulled and she half jumped, half fell onto the floor where he hauled her to her feet, and because there was so little room between the open doors and the hatch below, he kept a firm hold of her.
‘There hasn’t been much to laugh about.’ He was serious again and she regretted her pettish words.
‘No.’ She looked up at him and saw grease on his cheek and a look of wretchedness returned to his eyes. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t be.’ He dropped her hand and bent to pick up an oily rag. ‘It’s not your fault.’ When he straightened up it was as if a shutter had dropped; his face was expressionless.
‘Don’t shut me out, Tom,’ she whispered. ‘I need to talk to you.’
‘I’m not shutting you out,’ he said abruptly. ‘You know you can talk to me any time.’
‘But I never see you now. You don’t call.’
He turned away. ‘No. I’m sorry. The weather was too bad before and I’ve just been so busy since. There’s little time for a miller to socialize.’ He had a note of bitterness in his voice. ‘And you forget we are two men short.’
‘I haven’t forgotten, Tom. I realize how hard it must be for you.’
He turned back at her quiet words and gave her a slight smile. ‘I’m sorry, Sammi. I’m an old grouch these days. Forgive me?’
‘Of course,’ she said lightly.
‘What was it you wanted to talk to me about? It’s something important or you wouldn’t have climbed up here.’
Sammi looked up into the dome of the cap. The wind was rushing in through the doors and the timbers were creaking. ‘It’s like being on a ship,’ she murmured. ‘I can feel the movement.’
‘Yes.’ His eyes roved her face. ‘It is; especially when the sails are turning and the mill shakes; and more so at night when you can see the stars.’
She looked towards him and caught him off-guard as he was gazing at her; for a second they neither of them spoke. Then he repeated, ‘What was it that was so important?’
‘I wanted to tell you something. I wanted you to be the first to know.’
It was as if a shadow fell across his face. ‘The first to know?’ His eyes were anxious. ‘To know what, Sammi?’
She moved across to the access door and looked out. The morning was clear; a kestrel was hovering, suspending its flight with buoyant wings, and across the meadowland and hedgerows as she gazed towards Monkston, she saw the white surging crests of the sea.
�
��You know how everyone thinks that it’s time I was contemplating marriage?’ She had her back to him, but heard a sharp intake of his breath and smiled in satisfaction. ‘Oh, I know that Mama and Pa don’t want to rush me, but even you—’ she turned back to confront him and was taken aback by his anguished expression ‘—even you have said, “soon you’ll be thinking of marrying”.’ She gave a deep sigh as if in resignation. ‘So I have decided that as it is expected of me, then that is what I shall do.’
‘But – but, have you met someone? I mean, you mustn’t rush into an unsuitable – someone you don’t care for,’ he finished miserably.
She wanted to put her arms around him, to comfort him, but resisted the urge and continued. ‘Oh, but Tom! Times are changing, women have more control over their lives nowadays, and although men can dictate to their wives, I shall make sure that the man I choose – have chosen – will eat out of my hand.’
He was, she felt sure, barely listening to her. ‘So you have met someone?’ he asked quietly. ‘Someone you care for? He’s a lucky man, Sammi.’
‘Yes. Well! That’s just the trouble. You see, he doesn’t know it yet!’
‘Doesn’t know it?’ A frown wrinkled his dark eyebrows. ‘You mean he hasn’t asked? Has he not spoken to your father?’
She shook her head and lowered her eyes. ‘No,’ she whispered. ‘I don’t know why he hasn’t, for I’m almost sure that he loves me.’
‘Then the man is a fool! He doesn’t deserve you, Sammi.’ He took hold of her hand and, looking down, he gently stroked her fingers.
‘He has his reasons, I think, why he won’t ask. He is such a principled, honourable man.’ She took another deep breath. ‘So I have decided to take matters into my own hands. If he won’t ask for me, then I shall have to ask him.’ She kept her eyes on his face and as he quickly glanced up, she pressed the hand that was holding hers to her lips and kissed it. ‘So will you, Tom?’ she whispered. ‘Will you marry me?’
He gathered her into his arms and held her close. ‘I can’t marry you, Sammi.’ His voice was low and bitter. ‘Our family has lost its good name, your father would never agree to it. You must marry someone else. Someone with prestige and power; someone from a grand house who’ll take you to parties and balls, not a man like me who works with his hands.’ He released her and turned his hands over. ‘Look,’ he said. ‘That’s a miller’s thumb.’ His right thumb was flattened where he tested the grain.
She took hold of his hand again and stroked his thumb. ‘It’s the sign of a good miller,’ she smiled. ‘Like the sight of a miller’s fat pigs is a sign of a cheating one.’
She rested her face against the roughness of his coat. ‘You can’t teach me anything about country customs, Tom. You forget that I am a farmer’s daughter.’
‘A rich farmer,’ he objected. ‘A land owner!’
‘Your father owns land,’ she persisted. ‘I’ve heard my father say so.’
He stroked her hair. ‘Sammi,’ he murmured. ‘Be sensible. How could you join your name to ours? It’s for the best. I’m only thinking of you.’
She looked up at him, tears were beginning to well in her eyes and his expression changed to one of anxiety. ‘Our names have been joined for generations,’ she said, ‘and besides, I’m only thinking of me, too. I don’t want to marry someone who will take me away from everyone and everything I care about. I only know that I love you and want to be your wife. A miller’s wife.’ She let the tears fall. ‘Are you telling me that I have been mistaken? That you don’t love me after all?’
He groaned and took her in his arms once more. ‘Love you? Of course I love you. I’ve always loved you, only I didn’t know it until Mark told me I did!’
‘Mark told you?’
He kissed her on each cheek and on her forehead, pushing aside the wisp of curls. ‘He told me that I had always been sweet on you, and I realized then that I had.’
‘So will you marry me, Tom?’ She held up her face to his and tenderly he bent to kiss her lips. ‘For better, for worse?’
‘Yes,’ he breathed. ‘I give in. I’ll marry you, Sammi.’
She felt a great surge of emotion pass between them as she put her arms around his neck and his tender kisses turned to passion.
‘I’ve missed you, Sammi. I love you so much,’ he whispered. ‘I have wanted to tell you so often. I’ve wanted to shout it from the roof tops.’
‘Then do!’ She laughed with happiness. ‘Go on. I dare you.’
He held her at arm’s length. ‘You think I dare not?’
She nodded. She was so happy she felt as if she could fly. ‘You dare not,’ she challenged.
He moved away from her and she held her breath as he bent his head and stepped outside the door onto the narrow ledge.
‘Sammi!’ he bellowed into the air. ‘I love you!’ and the breeze gathered his words and scattered them like seed.
As he stepped back inside, she held out her arms to him to hold him close. Then she looked down at the wooden ladder below her feet. ‘Tom!’ she said uneasily, clinging to him. ‘How am I going to get down?’
51
‘There’s going to be a wedding! There’s going to be a wedding!’ Victoria skipped and danced when told of Sammi and Tom’s declaration. ‘And I’m to be a maid of honour.’
There was a flurry of excitement in the air as the two families prepared for the marriage, and Tom and Sammi walked in the sweet meadow grass and crushed the newly growing clover and dandelions beneath their feet and ran their fingers through the soft hairy stem of Yorkshire fog and the rolled leaves of marram grass which grew on the cliff top, as together they made their plans.
‘A simple wedding, Tom,’ Sammi said. ‘It’s too soon after Betsy’s death for anything lavish.’
Tom demurred. ‘Betsy wouldn’t begrudge you a grand wedding on her account, if that’s what you want, Sammi.’ He had become forgiving of his sister as he had allowed his own passion and love for Sammi to flower.
She shook her head and smiled. ‘But it isn’t what I want. I want a country wedding; a May day with the sun shining, the scent of blossom and everyone to share our happiness.’
He took her into his arms and kissed her. The breeze blew her fiery hair into his face and he breathed in the sharp sea air and heard the call of gulls as they wheeled over the sands. ‘Then that is what you shall have, my darling. I shall order it specially.’
* * *
And as Sammi awoke on that May day to the repeating refrain of the song thrush, and of Martha drawing back the curtains to reveal a sweeping blue sky dotted with chasing white clouds and the sun already climbing high, she knew that Tom had ordered well.
Martha placed a breakfast tray on the counterpane and snuffled. ‘There you are, Miss Sammi. I wanted to bring it meself, seeing as it’ll be ’last time I get ’chance.’
‘Oh, Martha.’ Sammi clutched the housekeeper’s hand. ‘It isn’t as if I’m going away. You will see just as much of me as you do now.’
Martha shook her head and reached into her apron pocket for a handkerchief. ‘It won’t be ’same, Miss Sammi. You’ll be mistress of your own house. Mrs Foster you’ll be, after today.’ She looked shrewdly at her young mistress. ‘I allus thought it’d come to this. I knew Master Tom cared for you.’
‘How?’ Sammi smiled and sipped her tea. ‘How could you know?’
‘Never you mind, Miss Sammi,’ she replied significantly. ‘Sufficient to know that I did!’
Her mother and Victoria and two of the maids came to help her dress in her gown of pale cream silk, its heart-shaped neckline and leg o’ mutton sleeves edged with lace. Beneath the gown, tiers of crisp petticoats gave the gown fullness, and rustled and whispered like young aspen leaves as she walked.
Her long red hair they coiled and dressed with a garland of myrtle and cream rosebuds, and caught with a short mist of a veil of Brussels lace which merely touched her forehead and fell about her shoulders. She carried a posy of honeysu
ckle, ladies mantle and roses, and around her throat she wore Tom’s gift, a single strand of pearls.
Victoria and Anne, who were her attendants, wore gowns of deep gold satin with overskirts of soft cream silk, with pointed bodices and a ribboned band around the hem and neckline; short satin fichus edged with lace sat around their shoulders and a circlet of fresh flowers intertwined with pearls were dressed in their hair.
Johnson waited outside Garston Hall in his new outfit of green and black. He doffed his topper as Sammi and her father, he dressed in a pale grey tailcoat and dark pin-striped trousers, appeared at the door, and murmured approvingly as he helped her into the carriage for their drive to the church at Tillington.
The organ resounded and everyone stood as she smilingly came down the aisle on her father’s arm. Everyone is here, she thought, except for three: James and Mark and Betsy. She felt a lump in her throat as she thought of Betsy and saw Luke standing alone with baby Elizabeth in his arms. He hadn’t wanted to come to the wedding or reception, saying that he would come to the dance which was being held later in the day for the farm hands and villagers of Monkston and Tillington.
But both Sammi and Tom had insisted. ‘Please come, Luke,’ Sammi had pleaded. ‘Come for Betsy’s sake if not your own; and bring her daughter, your daughter, to see her uncle wed.’
Tom’s relatives, his uncle, the miller from Beverley, stood in a pew at the back with his wife and three of his six children, the York Rayners, neighbouring farmers, her mother’s cousins from the Wolds, and other guests, all crowded the pews. And Tom’s father, with Jenny in attendance, was given a special smile as she passed him.
Adam was gurgling and chanting in Gilbert’s arms and she reached out to him as she passed, catching hold of him by his chubby fingers.
Her brothers, Richard and Billy, handsome in tailcoats of grey, with red waistcoats and grey striped trousers, and attending as ushers, had greeted the guests as they filed into church.
She raised her eyes towards the altar steps and saw three figures standing there. Mr Collinson, the vicar, with a welcoming smile as he waited to greet her, and George as his brother’s best man, nervously fingering his high white collar, his face wreathed in a bashful grin.