A Country Marriage

by Sandra Jane Goddard

  ‘Well, if you got to go, I’ll help you dress but you got to move about real slow; you ain’t been on your feet these last two days.’ When she looked at him for acknowledgment, he nodded.

  ‘I can manage. Why don’t you get back into bed? It’s cold,’ he said softly, lifting his head and bringing his hand to rest on her knee, a gesture that struck her as uncharacteristically intimate.

  Distractedly she got up but he remained sitting where he was. Getting back into bed, she pulled the blanket up to her chin and stared ahead at the shadowy wall. Then it dawned on her. Today: it was today! A thud of recognition in her chest caused her to gulp for breath as she realised that this morning – very soon now, in fact – Francis would be waiting to take her away from her husband, away from this cottage and away from her life here in Verneybrook. Stretching out a hand to steady herself, she felt a wave of nausea welling up from her stomach until, giving a single retch, she leant over the side of the bed.

  In what seemed like an instant, she became aware of George appearing beside her.

  ‘Mary?’ She could feel the cold of his hand on her shoulder, easing her upright. ‘What’s the matter?’ She shook her head and wiped at a dribble of saliva on her chin, still reeling with nausea. ‘Mary,’ he asked more urgently, ‘are you all right?’

  ‘I th-think so,’ she replied, but her voice seemed faint and her limbs were shaking uncontrollably.

  ‘’Tis probably the shock of waking so quick,’ he suggested, and thinking to herself that it was indeed shock, she murmured something that sounded like agreement. ‘Lie down,’ he urged, and when she reluctantly complied, confused and anxious, he pulled the blanket on top of her. ‘You’re shiverin’ badly,’ he pointed out and, looking around helplessly, lay stiffly down alongside her and put his arms around her. Even in her panic, she realised that being held by him was peculiar; strange when it should have been familiar. ‘You need to get warm,’ she heard him saying and felt him start to rub the blankets around her body.

  ‘Be careful of your ribs.’

  ‘Maybe I should warm you some milk,’ he ventured, the thoughtfulness of his suggestion seeming ludicrous, given that at that precise moment, it was only his continued presence that was thwarting her attempt to leave him. Somehow, though, she couldn’t find it in her heart to belittle his good intentions by pointing out that there wouldn’t be any milk unless he went to the farm to fetch it.

  ‘No,’ seemed all she could manage by way of reply.

  ‘Maybe not,’ he seemed to deduce for himself.

  In her mind she cast frantically about for a means to hurry him on his way, but her thoughts were in turmoil and the feeling of sickness still persisted, too. All she could think was that she had to get him out of the house so that she could work out what she needed to do next. Wrapped inside the blanket and beginning to prickle with sweat, she managed to say, ‘I’m… hot.’

  ‘Are you? Good, that’s better then,’ he replied, releasing his hold on her a little.

  ‘Too hot.’ But when she tried to sit up and push back the blanket, he wouldn’t let her.

  ‘No, bide there, Mary. I don’t want you to get up and faint or summat. I’ve already enough injuries for the both of us.’ His sudden concern for her was so utterly unexpected and seemed so genuine that she felt her eyes filling with tears. It was so long since he had shown the least interest in her well-being, and now it seemed that he had chosen today, of all days, to do so.

  ‘You don’t want to be late getting to work,’ she ventured. ‘Truly, George, you should get ready. It’ll take you a good deal longer to walk there today.’ She looked at his half-lit form sitting awkwardly by her side and wondered what time it was. With their usual routine gone by the way she had no measure of the hour and, looking quickly towards the tiny window, was able to determine only that beyond the fingers of ice creeping up it, everywhere still looked evenly black. Then something that Francis had told her came starkly to mind: that they must be away from Verneybrook by sunrise since his freedom depended upon it, and that if she hadn’t arrived by the hour of eight, he would assume that she had changed her mind and go on without her. The recollection of his words panicked her afresh, and with her thoughts in a frenzy, she tried to recall whether the church clock had struck yet; in the winter months, the first bell was at seven and she was fairly certain that it had long since rung.

  ‘Aye, you’re right,’ her husband finally seemed to agree. But having forgotten what it was she had said, she eyed him warily. ‘I’d best be on my way.’

  A tiny flicker of relief stilled her sickly panic, and from under her lowered lashes she watched him stand up, hover uncertainly and then, with considerable difficulty, bend to reach for his clothes. Slowly, she too sat up and swung her legs down to the floor; once he was gone there would be no time to waste. She ought to start dressing, too.

  ‘Here, let me help with that,’ she said going around to him, unable to watch him struggling with his shirt. ‘An’ I better come down and help you on with your jacket, then you’ll be all set.’

  ‘Aye, maybe. But that can wait just a minute, only there’s summat I want to do here, first.’ Adjusting the front of his shirt, he turned carefully to face her and while inwardly she cringed at this further delay, his fragile expression gave her an unexpected stab of pity. ‘Mary,’ he began gently. She noticed that he was looking at her now, really looking at her, something that only heightened her anxiety and sent gooseflesh down her arms. ‘I know this is an odd time to choose for saying this but…’ Unnerved by the candour of his stare, she looked down and stared purposefully at her bare feet on the worn floorboards. An odd time? To say what? What did he know? And unless she was much mistaken, there was something different in his eyes; sadness maybe but something else, as well. Quelling her impatience, she remained perfectly still and waited. Then, to her surprise, she felt him lift her hair away from her face and felt drawn to look back at him. ‘I want to say I’m sorry.’

  ‘S-sorry?’ she repeated, stumbling over the word. ‘For what?’ Of its own volition, her right knee had started to quiver and she pressed her foot hard onto the floor to try to quell it.

  ‘For being such a terrible, bad husband.’ It was such a startling admission that she continued to look at him, finding it both strange and unsettling to see his gingery-brown eyes actually looking back at her after having for so long only seen them screwed up in anger or dislike. ‘I’ve treated you real badly, especially these last few months but I ain’t going to make excuses for it. There was summat that I… well, in truth I don’t suppose it matters since ’tis done with now.’ Although she may have had no idea what he was talking about, she was certain that she had never seen such genuine regret. ‘I realise now that I been a fool and I can’t believe how you’ve put up with me. I been real evil to you at times but you’ve never spoken out against me, not even once.’ This new honesty from him was disconcerting and very unlike the man he had become of late, all secrets and dark moods. ‘I know I don’t deserve it, Mary but if I promise to change my ways, do you think you could find it in your heart to forgive me?’ So all this time he had known the distress and anguish he was putting her through and now he wanted to apologise? Unbidden tears started streaming down her face, something that seemed to prompt him to move closer and reach for her hands. ‘I’m so sorry, Mary, truly I am. I know I’ve hurt you but please forgive me and tell me we can be all right.’ Before she could answer, he had wrapped his arms around her but although she could feel his heart beating, he may as well have been on the far side of a vast chasm for all the closeness she felt.

  ‘I…’ It felt as though her mind was a void. She no longer knew this man – his dark and distant behaviour had seen to that – and although he was admitting fault, he didn’t appear to be about to elaborate further, leaving her mildly curious as to the source of his guilt but not entirely sure that she truly cared any longer. The plain fact was that they should never have married; it had quickly become clear th
at he would have been better suited to someone older and more his equal; someone who would have been better able to understand him. Someone more like Annie, it pained her to realise now. He was asking whether they could still be all right together, so this was her one chance to answer him truthfully and say that no; it was beyond them to be happy together now. She risked a glance at his face. His eyes seemed to reflect remorse, but it wasn’t enough; he might harbour regret and want to start afresh but she knew then that she didn’t. And she was more certain of that now than ever.

  She could feel that he was looking at her again; she still hadn’t answered him and momentarily at least, she didn’t think that she could.

  ‘Mary, please, can you find it in your heart to forgive me…?’ Unexpectedly, something inside her cracked and she felt it instantly. Deep in her very core, a dark hollow was opening and sucking her dream of happiness down beyond reach, twisting it out of all recognition and squeezing the very life from it with such strength that she knew without a doubt, that nothing she did now would be enough to rescue it. Her one chance of unconditional love was at this very moment waiting for her along the path behind the church – eager and hopeful – while here, sitting on their bed, her husband was begging forgiveness and promising her better. But to go after her dream of happiness with the man who was offering her the earth was, she suddenly realised, precisely that; just a dream. After all, what was it her mother always used to say to her about having her head in the clouds? Stop daydreaming girl. Life isn’t a fairy tale. And when it came down to it, that was what she was doing, wasn’t it: dreaming?

  Deep inside, it felt as though her heart was being torn very slowly into tiny, tiny, ragged shards by the realisation and the pain of it was unbearable. Now he wanted to love her. Once, she would have given anything for this, but he had waited until now to want her; now that she no longer wanted him. Francis was the man she wanted to spend her life with. Would it even be possible to continue living and breathing if she never again felt the warmth of his arms around her, never again felt the tenderness of his kiss on her lips, and never again came alive under his touch? From some deep fissure tears streamed, bleak and jagged, as the cruel truth continued to crush her precious dream. Was it possible for a person to drown in their own tears? It would feel like a fitting end. ‘Can you?’ his pitiful plea broke through her utter despair.

  She opened her mouth, not certain that she could form any words.

  ‘Course.’

  ‘So you still love me?’ he asked, regaining a little composure.

  ‘Course.’ But even to her own ears her answer was devoid of all emotion and she didn’t risk looking up. How ridiculous it seemed now, to imagine that her life could ever be any different. Yes, she had been foolish in the utmost. And selfish; selfish to even think of depriving Jacob of his father and of Summerleas, his birthright. This was her life, here in Keeper’s Cottage and one day yet to come, as mistress of Summerleas but either way with George, the man she had wed of her own free will, for better or for worse. It was what she had agreed to on her wedding day and it was what she had got. From the depths of her despair, she could just make out the sound of the church clock starting to chime the hour and, wretchedly, she counted it striking eight times before answering. ‘I still love you.’

  Perhaps, she reflected, she should be grateful that after all of this time, it still felt wrong to lie. But just lately she’d had a lot of practice and had learned enough to recognise that whilst the best of lies were hidden among half-truths, the worst of lies were told for love.

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  Glossary of Dialect used in This Book

  Avroze: frozen, of the weather

  Bailey: more properly, a bailiff; one who acted as agent or steward of a landlord

  Blood turnip: beetroot

  Bridewell: a gaol or prison

  Brimstones: a type of moth

  Caddle: a muddle

  Churched: churching – a blessing ceremony for a new mother

  Dirn: doorframe

  Doust: dust

  Figgety-pudden: plum pudding; the forerunner of Christmas pudding

  Goosegogs: gooseberries

  Gurt: great or big (of size)

  Hob and nob: to chat, gossip or socialise, especially over a drink

  I’ll count: I suppose, I concede

  I’ll own: I admit, I’ll acknowledge, I’ll own up to

  Joppety-joppety: a state of nervous anxiety, jittery

  Limber: slim or slender (of a person)

  Mazed: crazy, mad, mentally unbalanced

  Nammet: lunch; usually taken by a labourer to eat at his place of work

  Pummy: the pomace or what remains from the apples pressed for cider making

  Quag: a quagmire or bog

  Randy: a rustic celebration, often in connection with a wedding or harvest

  Shrammed: frozen or cold to the bone (of a person)

  Slug-abed: a sluggard or lazy person

  Sowbugs: woodlice

  Sterlyng: starling

  Strickle: a block on which a blade – usually of a scythe or sickle – was sharpened

  Summat: something

  Turmit: turnip or occasionally, a swede

  Vittles: food, provisions or ingredients

  Water-meadow: grazing pasture that was flooded during the winter months to give an earlier crop of grass

  Werret: to worry or a worry

  Withywind: the climbing plant known as Bellbine or Bindweed

  Yardstack: a stack of sheaves of grain waiting to be threshed, sited within the protection of a farmyard