‘I do,’ Miriam said quietly. ‘I was the apple of his eye. He would probably have killed me, and most certainly he would have cast me off. And besides . . .’ Now it was Miriam’s turn to twist her fingers together. ‘I am trying to be honest with you, Johnnie. It’s important that we should all be honest. I – I have to admit that when you were born, I didn’t want you. Didn’t want to have anything to do with you. I would have put you up for adoption, given you away, anything, just to be able to return to my girlhood and forget that your birth had ever happened. And, but for Kitty, that would have happened.’
Now the boy’s glance came slowly round to look at her and Kitty trembled afresh, fearing to see censure in his eyes. But there was only a surprisingly detached kind of curiosity. ‘Why? Why did you take me then?’
‘I loved Jack,’ she said simply. ‘I couldn’t bear to think of his son being given away to complete strangers. But then, when I held you, it was as much for you as for Jack or myself. More really, for I loved you from that very first moment you slipped into the world. It was as if you were mine.’ She swallowed painfully, knowing that now she must take up the story. ‘When we came back my family were very upset, believing that it was me who had given birth out of wedlock. For a long time my father would have nothing to do with me, although my mother was more understanding.’ She paused a moment wondering whether to explain why, but decided not. Time enough another day for that particular skeleton.
‘And my father? Jack Thorndyke? What about him?’
Kitty blushed at the telling, knowing how it must hurt Edward too, but it had to be said. ‘I told him you were his son, though I never, ever actually said you were mine, only – only led him – and everyone else – to believe that to be the case by – by, oh what’s the word . . .?’
‘By implication,’ Edward said softly.
She glanced at him gratefully and went on, ‘Yes, that’s it. By implication. But – but when he – he touched me, he knew I hadn’t given birth. He said . . .’ Her voice faded and she lowered her head almost in shame. ‘He said he’d lain with plenty of women who’d had bairns, some of them his and he – he just knew.’ There was silence and then she added more strongly, ‘And then he guessed just whose child you were.’
Kitty heard a gasp and looked up to see Miriam’s startled face. ‘He knew? Even then?’ Astonishment was in her tone.
Kitty nodded. ‘He said if I stayed with him, kept house for him and worked for him, he’d keep the secret. I lived in terror for years, thinking that if I did the slightest thing wrong he’d – he’d tell.’
‘My God!’ Miriam let out a most unladylike oath. ‘He’s blackmailed you all these years, Kitty, and you let him?’
‘What could I do? At first I still – you know, felt something for him – but slowly, the way he treated me killed any love I had for him. Then I only stayed because of Johnnie. I thought he should be with his father. And when Jack had his accident, well, I couldn’t leave him then, could I? He really did need me for a while.’
‘Huh, not for long,’ Miriam said scathingly. ‘From what I hear he played the part of the wounded hero to all the women between here and Timbuktu. Even making out to some who didn’t know him, that he’d been wounded in the war.’
Kitty sighed. ‘I guessed as much.’
They had been talking almost between themselves, forgetting that Johnnie and Edward were in the room. But then, together, they looked at the boy.
‘So, Johnnie, what now?’ Miriam said with some of the vigour and directness that Kitty remembered so well from her youth. She allowed herself a wistful smile. Miss Miriam had not changed so completely. She still liked her own way and she wanted her own way now. She wanted her son.
The boy was looking puzzled. ‘I don’t understand?’
‘I want you to come and live with me at the Hall. Sir Ralph knows everything and . . .’
Johnnie was shaking his head. ‘It’s very kind of you, Mrs Harding, but—’
‘But nothing,’ she said quite sharply. ‘Johnnie, I’m your mother.’
‘I understand that, Mrs Harding – Mother.’ The word came awkwardly to his lips and hearing it, Kitty’s heart contracted. But at his next words, words she could hardly believe she was hearing, tears filled her eyes.
‘I don’t mean to be ungrateful, or to hurt you in any way, because to tell you the truth, I’ve been fascinated by you for a long time. Even from being quite a little boy.’ He glanced towards Kitty and Edward and smiled mischievously. ‘I seem to remember being found in the hayloft at the Hall once, because I’d gone to see the pretty lady. And now . . .’ His gaze was again turned to feast upon Miriam’s lovely face as he added softly, ‘And now I find that you’re my mother.’
There was a long pause and, in the silence, Kitty held her breath. Then Johnnie cleared his throat and said, ‘Of course I’d like us to be close, really I would, but . . .’ Now he took Kitty’s hand into his own and, with an old-fashioned gesture of courtesy and love, he held it to his cheek. ‘But this is me mam. She’s the one who’s always loved me, the one who’s brought me up and, by the sound of it, suffered a lot because of me. So, I hope you’ll understand if I say that I want to stay with her and . . .’ he looked directly at Edward, ‘the man I really think of now as me dad.’
Kitty saw the conflicting emotions on Miriam’s face, could see – and understand – her struggle. She found she was holding her breath, waiting for the inevitable outburst, the red rage that she had witnessed so often.
But Miriam swallowed hard and her voice was husky as she said, ‘I understand. Truly I do. And though I’m – I’m desperately disappointed, I – admire your strength and your loyalty.’ She looked towards Kitty and caught and held her gaze. ‘It’s no more than your mother richly deserves for her devotion to you.’
Kitty’s lips parted in a little gasp. ‘Oh Miriam,’ she whispered. ‘Miriam.’ It was all she could say, for in those few words Miriam had acknowledged Kitty’s sacrifice and put another’s feelings before her own desires.
But for Kitty, even through the hardest times, it had never been a sacrifice. It had all been for the love of the tiny baby boy.
Kitty leaned her head against Johnnie’s shoulder and wept again, but now her tears were tears of joy and thankfulness. He was still hers, this boy whom she had loved with such devotion.
Then a comical look came on to Johnnie’s face as he stared at Edward. ‘Oh heck, I’ve just realized. You’re my uncle. What on earth am I going to call you?’
Edward put his hand on the boy’s shoulder and there was a catch in his voice as he said, ‘Dad will do just fine – son.’
Suddenly the four of them were all laughing together.
Epilogue
‘Gran? Grannie Franklin?’
The bedroom door opened and Clare’s merry face appeared around it. ‘There you are.’
The girl, sixteen years and one day old, came into the room, closing the door softly behind her. She tiptoed across the thick, fitted carpet just in case the old lady might be dozing. But Kitty Franklin smiled up into the blue eyes. Clare smiled back and flopped down on to the floor, resting her arms on her grandmother’s lap. ‘What are you doing, hiding away up here? The party’s about to start. Mother and Auntie Amy are flapping in the kitchen, worrying that the potatoes are overdone, or that the sprouts aren’t done enough, and Dad’s struggling to open the champagne.’ She paused and then searched the lined face. ‘You are all right, aren’t you, Gran?’
The wrinkled hand rested briefly upon the girl’s springy black curls, but the voice was vigorous, still youthful even. ‘Of course I am. I just came up to have a few moments to myself.’ Her eyes hazed. ‘Just to remember, you know.’
The girl said gently, ‘Of course, you must have a lot of memories. Especially on a day like today.’
Kitty nodded. ‘Oh yes. A lot of memories, dear.’
As if reading her thoughts, Clare said, ‘Grannie Harding’s arrived.’ She chuckled a
nd leaned forward, sharing a secret. ‘I’m surprised you didn’t hear the commotion.’
Kitty’s smile broadened and she tapped Clare playfully on the nose. ‘Naughty girl,’ she murmured, but then she, too, leaned forward, a glint of mischief in her eyes. ‘I did. Why do you think I’m up here?’
Clare giggled and their two foreheads touched in a gesture of affection.
‘I suppose I’d better come down and welcome her, then,’ Kitty said, leaning back again but making not the slightest effort to move.
‘I am lucky, you know,’ Clare said suddenly.
‘Well, yes,’ her grandmother agreed, teasing. ‘You’re spoilt to death by your doting parents and your grandad.’ She chuckled. ‘And I suppose I’m as guilty as any of them. But why, particularly?’
‘Having three grannies instead of the usual two.’ Impulsively, the girl knelt up and kissed the weathered cheek. ‘And they’re all such sweet old dears.’
Kitty chuckled. ‘We weren’t always such “sweet old dears” as you put it. At least, not your Grannie Harding and me. I can’t speak for your mother’s mother, because I’ve only known her for a few years.’
‘Well,’ Clare persisted, ‘you’re a couple of darlings now, anyway.’
‘Why, thank you, dear,’ Kitty bowed her head graciously, her eyes twinkling. ‘I think your Grannie Harding would be most amused by that description.’
There were no secrets, not now, not in this generation. Clare was Johnnie’s daughter, his only child, and the girl knew that her blood grandmother was Miriam Harding, but Kitty and Edward had always been Gran and Grandad.
‘I know I shouldn’t ask,’ the girl began a little hesitantly. ‘Not today of all days. Not on your golden wedding day . . .’
She paused until Kitty prompted, ‘It’s all right, dear. It’s all so long ago and I’ve had such a wonderfully happy life with your grandad . . .’ Her face clouded for a moment, ‘Except, of course, when your uncle Joe was killed in the war.’
Joe, Kitty and Edward’s elder son, had been shot down in 1943 leaving a wife and tiny baby, Eddie.
‘You brought Eddie up, didn’t you?’
Kitty nodded, smiling fondly. ‘Joe’s wife, Pearl, was only twenty when he was killed and she came to live here at the Manor with us.’
‘She married a GI after the war, didn’t she, and emigrated to America?’ Clare said, seeking confirmation of the family stories she had been told.
Kitty nodded.
‘And left Eddie with you?’
‘Yes,’ Kitty said simply, remembering how she had felt at the time. Another baby for her to love and to bring up as her own. In a way, she had been grateful to Pearl for leaving him in her care, even though she hadn’t wanted to see the child’s mother go.
‘And now he’s all grown up,’ Clare grinned. ‘And courting.’
Kitty smiled. ‘It looks like it. I’m glad he brought his girlfriend today. Pat seems a nice girl, doesn’t she?’
Clare nodded enthusiastically. ‘Oh yes. I do hope there’s going to be a family wedding soon and maybe you’ll be a great-grandmother. Wouldn’t that be something?’
‘It would indeed,’ Kitty murmured.
Clare scrambled to her feet and stood by the window. ‘Look, they’re all down there in the garden. Aren’t you going down? Grandad keeps glancing up at this window as if he’s looking for you.’
Kitty smiled gently at the thought, but said, ‘What was it you wanted to ask me, dear? We seemed to get on to something else.’
‘I just wondered – what happened to my real grandfather?’
‘To Threshing Jack?’
‘Is that what they called him?’
Kitty nodded and explained. Then she shook her head and murmured, ‘Poor Milly. Poor, poor Milly.’
‘Auntie Milly?’ the girl asked. ‘But she lives in a cottage near the station, doesn’t she? What had she got to do with him?’
Kitty glanced up, surprised. ‘Don’t you know? Oh, I thought you knew the whole story.’
‘I thought I did, but obviously not that bit. What about Auntie Milly?’
‘She ran away with him. Full of high hopes that he would marry her . . .’ Her voice dropped. ‘Just like I’d had once.’ She cleared her throat and continued more strongly. ‘She came back here years later, nothing but skin and bone and so dreadfully ill. It took us six months’ nursing to get her right. And, of course, Jack’d never married her like he promised. Poor Milly,’ she said again.
‘Didn’t she ever get married, then? To anyone, I mean?’
Kitty shook her head. ‘No. She stayed with us for a while until she was well again. My father would have nothing to do with her, you see. Then she went back into service. She was at Nunsthorpe Hall at first. Miriam was very kind and gave her a job. Then she went to work in a big house in Derbyshire as a cook. It was only when she retired that she came back to Tresford again.’
‘Is she coming today?’
‘Oh yes, she’ll be here.’
‘But what happened to Threshing Jack?’
‘Goodness only knows,’ she began tartly, but then there was a tiny hint of wistfulness as she added, ‘I don’t suppose we’ll ever know now.’ She stared out of the window. ‘You know, Clare, you never quite forget your first love. Of course, it’s the last love that really counts. The one that endures down the years, the faithfulness, the devotion – that’s the one that matters, but you never forget the love of your youth when all the days were warm and golden and the nights . . .’ Her voice faded away and the old lady closed her eyes.
Afraid that she had asked too much, Clare moved from the window, bent and kissed her grandmother’s forehead again. ‘I’m sorry, Gran. I shouldn’t have asked you. Not today.’
Kitty opened her eyes and clasped the girl’s hand. ‘It’s all right, really. You run along and tell your grandad I’ll be down in a moment.’
‘All right.’
The door banged behind her and Kitty heard her feet clattering down the stairs.
Young ones, she thought with indulgent affection. They always seemed so noisy. What would dear old Mrs Grundy have said?
She rested her head against the back of the chair and let her gaze wander through the open window into the garden below.
They were all there now, enjoying the last of the day’s sunshine as the shadows lengthened in the walled garden before they came indoors for the dinner party in honour of Edward and her.
Her gaze rested on their second son, Harry. He was talking earnestly to his father, beating one fist against the palm of his other hand as he emphasized every word. He was planning to stand for Parliament at the next election.
Well, if he gets in, Kitty thought, he’ll make a good politician. He has a lot of his aunt Miriam in him. Kitty’s smile broadened. Her and her Votes for Women. Just look at all the trouble that had caused.
And she’d gone on causing trouble or, at least, always being in the thick of it. Miriam had driven an ambulance in the blitz in London and in the early ’fifties she had gone out to Korea. Even now, she could be relied upon to join a demonstration if she believed the cause to be worthwhile.
Kitty watched her walking down the long path towards Edward, kissing his cheek and then linking her arm through his to stand beside him, listening to Harry holding forth.
Then Kitty’s gaze came around to Johnnie. It didn’t seem possible that he was in his mid-fifties, with hair as white as Edward’s. He was down there now, with all of them, sitting on the seat at the very end of the garden. Contentedly puffing on his pipe, his arms folded across his chest and his long legs stretched out in front of him, he was watching the younger children, Harry’s three and Amy’s two, playing a lively game of tag.
‘Now come on, Dad.’ Even from here, she could hear Johnnie’s deep voice plainly. ‘Come and sit down. When Harry gets on his soap box, it’s enough to wear anyone out.’
It still gave Kitty a thrill to hear him call Edward ‘Dad’ with such ease
. She watched Edward move towards the seat and pretend to collapse on to it, breathless, his hand on his chest.
She leaned forward, suddenly concerned, the smile frozen on her lips. And then she saw him catch sight of her at the window of his old room and he raised his fingers to his lips and blew her a kiss.
She waved in return and relaxed once more. He was all right, he was only teasing them.
She half closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the cushion. Their happy voices came to her and she imagined they came from the stackyard beyond the wall. She heard the sound of a car and in her memory the sound changed to the throbbing of a threshing engine. She could almost smell the dust and the chaff floating in the air, drifting in through her open window. And she remembered the tall, handsome man, his black hair shining in the sunlight and a glint in his eye for a pretty girl . . .
And she was young again.
Chaff Upon the Wind
Born in Gainsborough, Lincolnshire, Margaret Dickinson moved to the coast at the age of seven and so began her love for the sea and the Lincolnshire landscape.
Her ambition to be a writer began early and she had her first novel published at the age of twenty-five. This was followed by twelve further titles, including Plough the Furrow, Sow the Seed and Reap the Harvest which together make up her Lincolnshire Fleethaven trilogy and her most recent novel, The Miller’s Daughter. Married with two grown-up daughters, Margaret Dickinson combines a busy working life with her writing career.
This book is a work of fiction and is entirely a product of the author’s imagination. Although certain places, buildings and machinery have been used for the setting, and duly acknowledged, all the characters are fictitious and any similarity to real persons is purely coincidental.
Acknowledgements
My very grateful thanks to all my friends at the Museum of Lincolnshire Life in Lincoln for their wonderful technical help and encouragement always and also for their kind permission to use Sylvie, the 1913 Ruston Proctor general purpose traction engine No. 46596, whose home is at the museum, as the model for Jack Thorndyke’s threshing engine.
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