A Country Marriage

by Sandra Jane Goddard

  ‘No idea, although you should have heard Tom and Annie upstairs just now.’

  ‘Oh…?’

  ‘And that’s why I werret so. Just think, one day Tom will be in charge of the whole farm.’

  Watching the ferocity with which Ellen was scrubbing at a pottery bowl, she shivered. Perhaps she should have gone to Annie’s rescue earlier; she’d seen well enough what Tom could be like. But then Annie wasn’t exactly defenceless and there had been the very real possibility that she might just have made a fool of herself.

  ‘Maybe I’ll just go an’ wait for George,’ she said and left the kitchen to wander towards the gate.

  Earlier, she had been unable to decide as to whether or not to tell him what she had overheard, and until this latest upset with Hannah, had been coming down against the idea. But she needed reassuring that she had been right not to intervene; she needed to have him tell her to put it out of her mind and think no more of it. If only! In her heart, though, she didn’t need George to tell her that the stark truth of the matter was that if Tom wanted to treat his wife that way, then that was up to him. Although now that she realised what Annie had to endure, she did feel sorry for her. It might even explain why she was so hostile at times. After all, who knew how being treated so badly by her husband affected her? Indeed, how would she herself feel if George treated her like that? No. He was nothing at all like Tom and so she wouldn’t torture herself thinking about it.

  Reaching the gate, she leant against the pillar and, lost in her thoughts, started to pick idly with her thumbnail at the vivid green tufts of moss. She had a good husband. But it could so easily have been different because in truth, it was a state of affairs that had come about largely through luck.

  ‘You all right there?’

  She looked up, squinting. Somehow, George had walked all the way down the track without her noticing.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I just asked if you were all right. You looked miles away.’

  Licking her forefinger, she rubbed at the green-stained tip of her thumb.

  ‘Oh, yes, I was,’ she replied flatly.

  Turning her towards the house, he kissed the top of her head.

  ‘Baby wearing you out?’

  ‘No, it’s not that. It’s just that there’s been something of a… mood… this afternoon an’ now everyone’s afraid of putting a foot wrong and upsetting somebody else.’ Oh, how wearisome that sounded, she realised then.

  ‘I told you; take no notice. Somebody’s always goin’ at someone else. Pay no heed.’

  ‘I can’t take no notice. It just ain’t possible. I didn’t want to come here anyway and now I remember why.’

  ‘Look,’ he said, holding his head at an angle to look at her, ‘it’s like I said a while back: there ain’t hardly an inch of space to breathe down here, which is why you and me are better off up Keeper’s Cottage.’ Just short of the doorway, he caught her arm and pulled her to a halt, lowering his voice to add, ‘And much though they wouldn’t admit to it, there’s some folk in this house who’d rather be up there too and it’s surprising the resentment that sort of envy can breed.’ She looked back at him, her lips pressed tightly together. ‘Not much longer and you’ll be home again anyway.’

  ‘Hm. Not soon enough for me,’ she muttered and followed him reluctantly into the kitchen.

  *

  Supper that evening proved to be even more agonising than usual; knives scraped on plates and mouths chewed loosely at food but when Mary looked around the table, it was to see that most heads remained bowed as everyone tried to avoid inciting trouble with an unwitting look or comment.

  George, though, she noticed, had finished with his food and was looking across at his father.

  ‘Done cutting the hay, now then, Pa?’ she heard him ask.

  Around her, cutlery quivered in mid-air as everyone seemed to hold their breath; the ensuing silence overwhelming everything except the ponderous tick of the hall clock and the sound of Thomas Strong swallowing.

  ‘Not quite.’

  ‘Oh. Only, last night it sounded as though you were expecting to finish today.’

  ‘Aye, we were.’

  From further along the table came a smirk and flicking her eyes towards it, she was unsurprised to see Tom shaking his head.

  ‘What?’ Beside her, George’s sudden question made her flinch.

  ‘Nothing.’ As quickly as the lightness of Tom’s answer made her think that was the end to it, she heard him adopting a harder tone to add, ‘I suppose I was just wonderin’ what concern it is of yours, since being foreman up that estate don’t carry any weight around here, you know.’

  ‘It’s of no concern to me at all,’ George was replying. She glanced back to him. ‘I just happened to be making conversation. With Pa.’

  ‘Sounded like criticism to me.’ At Tom’s comment she bowed her head and staring at her dusty skirt, realised that it was far from the end of it. ‘You know, brother, until these last weeks, I would never have thought a foreman’s job came with enough power for it to go to a man’s head in such a way.’

  Under the table, she fumbled for George’s hand and squeezed it hard. Not now, she willed. Not here.

  ‘It may or it may not come with enough power, as you choose to put it. But one thing’s for certain; I recognise jealousy when I see it.’

  Almost before George was even finished, Tom was on his feet, his eyes bulging as his chair crashed backwards behind him.

  ‘Outside!’ their father bellowed into the stunned silence, such that next to him, Ellen’s hand shot out, knocking her teacup sideways and rattling its saucer.

  ‘Sorry. Forgive me,’ she whispered, scrambling to right her cup and mop the dregs from the tablecloth with the corner of her apron.

  ‘Both of you!’ Thomas roared when neither son showed any sign of moving.

  Feeling George let go of her sticky hand, she could see from the corner of her eye that he was scraping back his chair, standing up and then slowly and deliberately straightening his shirt before eventually following his father and brother out into the yard.

  ‘Now, does anyone need anything else to eat?’ she heard Hannah’s voice break into the collective astonishment. No one seemed able to answer. ‘Well, it’s come to summat when my own family can’t even hold a civil conversation,’ they heard her remark as she rose stiffly from her own chair and picked up the breadboard with its remains of a loaf. ‘Summat I never thought to see,’ they heard her muttering as she carried it through to the pantry.

  Some long minutes later, when the back door opened and George came back in, Mary was in the doorway to the scullery helping Ellen to finish the clearing-up.

  ‘Ma in the parlour?’ he asked with a glance in her direction.

  She nodded. And then, quickly depositing her drying cloth on the table, she waited until he had gone into the parlour before following on tiptoe behind him. Surprised by her own boldness, she stood a pace back from the cracked door, trying to silence her breathing. From the little that she could see, the air was thick with dust motes shifting randomly in the low shafts of evening light and Ma Strong was standing by the window staring out at the summer-parched garden.

  ‘We really ought to make more of an effort to keep this rose in check,’ she was saying, apparently gesturing in the direction of the rampant foliage crowding in at the window’s edge.

  ‘Um, aye…’ she heard her husband agreeing. ‘Look, Ma, forgive me if I caused a disturbance just now. I didn’t intend it.’

  She held her breath. It was beyond the pale to be listening and she had no idea at all how she would defend herself if she were caught, but on the other hand, George would never see fit to tell her anything later on, no matter how carefully she asked him.

  ‘I know you didn’t son,’ his mother was continuing. ‘I’m well aware that the upset wasn’t of your making. You’re not the one who needs to apologise but that’s a separate matter. All I will say, since I’m sure your pa has
already said plenty for the both of us, is that you know what your brother’s like. And yes,’ she said, appearing to wave away any protest that George had been about to make, ‘I know I shouldn’t have to ask you to tread carefully on his account but in that regard you’re the better man and hold it within your gift to help keep the peace, not stir up trouble. There’s already enough of that going on around here.’

  She glanced back over her shoulder towards the kitchen. What she didn’t need now was Tom to come storming back in.

  ‘Aye.’

  ‘So between you an’ me, son, let’s leave it there, shall we? And maybe it’d be best to say goodnight to Mary and then take yourself off home, eh?’

  ‘Yes, all right, Ma.’

  ‘And mark my words, when I mention to Thomas about cutting back this rose, he’ll say it’ll spoil the blooms but at this rate, we soon won’t know whether ’tis night or day in here.’

  ‘No.’

  Turning carefully about, she started to tiptoe away. At least Ma Strong knew, then, that the trouble hadn’t been of George’s making, and deciding that she’d had quite enough of the family for one day, she slipped into the room where she slept and sat heavily on the bed.

  ‘What happened then?’ she asked, when a few minutes later, George poked his head around the door.

  ‘Let’s not talk of it,’ he replied, coming to sit alongside her and reaching for her hand. ‘Pa had a right go at both of us but it’s all over and done with now.’

  Feeling how her heart was gathering pace again, she let out a long sigh.

  ‘I wish I believed that.’

  ‘Well, for my part it’s over and done with, although of course I can’t ever speak for Tom.’

  ‘No. But I beg you, George, don’t rile him. I know ’tis none of my business an’ I don’t mean to speak out of turn but I have to be here all day and sometimes his moods are real frightening.’

  ‘I know,’ he said, reaching for her other hand and holding them both in his own. ‘It’s his way; summat he does on purpose.’

  ‘I know that; I’ve seen enough of it recent times. So perhaps when he’s being… well, you know… couldn’t you just ignore him? Your ma is near at her wits’ end with it all, poor Ellen creeps about like a church mouse and although it astonishes me to say so, I even feel quite sorry for Annie now that I’ve seen how she gets the brunt of Tom’s moods.’

  ‘Annie?’

  ‘Aye, you should hear how he threatens her with awful things. But I don’t want to speak of that or I shan’t sleep tonight.’

  ‘Well, let’s both agree not to talk any more about Tom, then.’

  ‘All right.’

  ‘Anyway, how have you been today?’

  That he asked the question briskly suggested to her that he wished to change the subject away from Annie and Tom. But when she glanced towards him, his eyes seemed fixed on something far away and she guessed that his thoughts were there too.

  ‘Well enough, I suppose. Although I do wish this ’un would come soon. It’s such hard work carrying him about and I’m fair tired with it now.’

  ‘Well, we don’t want him arriving early.’ To her surprise, he was smiling now; a genuine smile. ‘We want him all proper grown.’

  ‘I know. We’ve waited all these months, so in truth a few days more don’t make much difference, do it, although I’ll be surprised now if it’s a girl, since I long ago decided on it being a boy!’

  ‘I do miss you at home,’ he said; and when he pulled her against him she could feel his chin pressing on her head. ‘I can’t wait to bring you both back up there with me.’

  She pulled herself free. What an unexpected thing for him to say.

  ‘’Tis real nice to hear that.’

  ‘Seems that saying’s true,’ he went on to say. ‘Absence makes the heart grow fonder. I do love you, Mary.’

  With a long sigh, she snuggled as best she could against his chest.

  ‘An’ I love you, too, so just don’t you go forgetting it, up home all on your own!’

  Chapter 8

  Lead Us Not Into Temptation

  The weather on Sunday had been stifling since first light. The air in the farmhouse felt stale and humid and there was little respite to be had anywhere, even in the yard. By mid-afternoon, a bank of heavy cloud could be seen building to the west and in the clammy air, it seemed that no one – man nor beast – was able to stay cool.

  ‘You all right?’ George enquired of Mary as they sat together after dinner. To his mind, she seemed awful fidgety.

  ‘Not really, no, I’m not. Although it pains me to complain, I don’t feel right at all. I just can’t settle.’

  ‘Maybe you should go and lie down for a bit,’ he suggested, reaching to kiss her forehead and thinking that she felt as hot as coals.

  ‘Aye, that mid be for the best,’ she agreed, seemingly reluctantly.

  ‘And while you rest, I’ll go back up and water the vegetables, although we’re surely in for a storm afore nightfall.’

  Back in the garden at Keeper’s Cottage, he worked as best he could in the muggy heat to remove some weeds, water the crops and inspect the underside of leaves for caterpillars as Mary had reminded him. And, aware that the sky seemed to be growing ever darker, he brought up the cow from the water-meadow and tethered her on the grass under the apple tree. Then, feeling as though he’d earned a drink, he fetched a jar of mead and took it down to the grass beyond the woodshed, although barely had he taken a slug when he heard a woman’s voice calling to him.

  ‘George? You out here?’ Recognising it as Annie, he sighed. ‘Oh, there you are,’ she said, arriving beside him and sinking to her knees on the grass. He looked at her, expecting some great announcement but all she said was, ‘Hot, ain’t it?’ and flapped the material of her blouse.

  By way of response, he offered her the mead, surprised to see that she shook her head.

  ‘Everything all right?’

  ‘Aye, fine,’ she replied, ‘although everyone up there is real fractious from this heat and Tom’s in one of his foul moods so I was minded to get away. I did think it might be fresher up here but turns out it ain’t, really.’

  Her reason for being there did at least seem plausible and since she seemed to pose no immediate threat, he cast his eyes to the clouds. They were low and grey and bulging with their burden.

  ‘It’ll be better after the storm,’ he commented – but rather than reply, she was getting to her feet. Feeling too hot to move anything other than his eyes, he watched her saunter up the garden towards the pump. Her progress was lethargic and he found himself thinking that the way she was swinging her hips was not unlike that of one of the prime milkers in full pail. Pressing his lips against a grin, he wondered whether she did it purposely.

  When she eventually reached the pump, he continued watching as she slowly pushed down the handle and then cupped her hand in the spout of water to drink. She knew he was watching, of course; that much was obvious by the way that when she cranked it again, she held up her hair and splashed water down her neck and chest, seemingly not caring that she soaked her blouse. Apparently refreshed, though, she ambled back down the garden even more slowly than she had gone up but when she drew level with where he was sitting, he was surprised that she continued onwards. Now what was she up to?

  ‘Just seein’ that you done your job,’ she announced as though able to read his thoughts as she picked her way between the rows of vegetables, lifting a leaf here and there as she went. ‘Wouldn’t want you getting into trouble with your wife.’ What he intended as a dismissive laugh sounded more like a snort and when she disappeared from his view down into the water-meadow, he heard her calling back, ‘You should be down here, George; ’tis cooler.’

  He let out a groan. It really was too sticky to bother going to find out, especially since he had no real desire to make conversation with her, but on the off chance that she might be right, he heaved himself up and ambled down to where she was sitting a
mong the long grasses, her lips stained red by something that she was eating. Strawberries. She had picked strawberries; Mary’s favourites and no doubt the few that he had been purposely saving for her return. Damn the woman. Still, he reasoned, too hot to want to raise a fuss, Mary might not be back for some days yet. Shaking his head at her nerve nevertheless, he sat down a couple of feet away and deliberately avoided looking in her direction.

  Into the oppressive stillness, the lightest of breezes brought a sibilant hiss through the silvery-green seed heads of the hair grass, and although insufficient to offer any real respite from the humidity, it nevertheless hinted at the relief to come.

  ‘So when’s this storm going to break, then?’ it seemed to prompt her to ask as she fanned ineffectively at her face with her hand.

  He shrugged his shoulders.

  ‘Soon.’

  ‘Well I’m so hot I might expire.’

  It was a comment that as far as he could see, didn’t warrant a response. There was, though, something about her demeanour that was beginning to make him uneasy; something that suggested she was sidling up to something. And the longer she remained quiet, the more he began to wonder what it was. Why had she come? Some long time back now, Tom had warned him to stay away from her and briefly, he wondered whether he had warned her in the same way. The only safeguard on this occasion was that having already seen his brother earlier in the day and knowing him to be a man inclined to extreme laziness, he considered it unlikely that he would walk all the way up there now for no reason. And it was equally unlikely that Annie had told him where she was going.

  Flopping backwards into the long grasses, he tried to decide whether or not he could be bothered to go and fetch the mead that he had left at the top of the garden, concluding that on balance, he couldn’t. Instead, he closed his eyes and lay still, grateful that at least she didn’t seem to want to talk. Before long, though, thinking he heard movement beside him, he opened his eyes expecting to see that she was getting up to leave, astonished to see that in fact, she was pulling her blouse over her head. The thought did occur to him that he should ask her what she was doing but, momentarily, he seemed to have forgotten how to breathe, so that in his confusion, he simply froze, propped on his elbows and watching as, ignoring him completely, she tossed the garment aside and then stood up to unfasten a button at the waistband of her skirt. When it fell to the ground, she hooked it away with her toes and then, turning slowly to face him, stood without the least hint of shame, watching while his eyes wandered up and down her body.