A Mother's Grace

by Rosie Goodwin

  ‘She looks right ill,’ he commented in a whisper when they were standing beside the horse. ‘Poor lass, she’s clearly taken her mam’s death badly.’

  Gertie nodded just as Dylan appeared with the porter, dragging a large trolley with Grace’s luggage piled upon it. The three men fell silent as they loaded it into the back of the trap.

  ‘That’s it then,’ Aled said cheerfully. ‘We’re all ready for the off. Cerys has a lovely dinner all ready and waiting for you.’

  Gertie had already climbed into the front seat to sit beside him and Dylan hopped lightly into the back next to Grace.

  ‘It was right sorry I was to hear about your mam, cariad,’ he said softly so that only Grace could hear but she merely nodded and stared ahead. Dylan made a few more attempts at conversation but when it became clear that Grace wasn’t going to respond he fell silent and they sat watching the countryside pass them by. It started to rain halfway back to the cottage and, reaching into the back, Dylan got a canvas and flung it over their heads. It was the one that Aled usually used to cover the horse and it smelled, but as he was quick to tell her it would at least keep them dry. Normally Grace would have giggled but today she didn’t even comment.

  Aled and Gertie looked at each other, concerned. ‘She just needs a little time to come to terms with what’s happened,’ Gertie muttered and Aled nodded.

  For the next few days, Grace stayed mainly in her room only coming downstairs at mealtimes when Gertie insisted, although she ate little.

  ‘You know the old saying,’ Cerys told her. ‘You can lead a horse to water but you can’t make it drink. But she will when she’s good and ready so stop fretting.’

  There was nothing else Gertie could do so she went about her business. The weather was terrible and she had moved as many of her animals into the small barn as she could fit in there, separating them with bales of hay. Meanwhile, the wind continued to howl and the icy rain came down making them all wet and miserable and virtual prisoners in the cottage.

  ‘I doubt our Dylan and his tad would have been able to go out in this for days,’ Cerys fretted one day as she stood staring from the kitchen window. It had rained all the day before and overnight the puddles had frozen, turning the back of the cottage into a skating rink.

  The words had barely left her lips when Grace appeared wrapped up for outside.

  ‘Why, you’re never thinking of going out in this are you, cariad?’ Cerys was horrified.

  ‘I thought a brisk walk might blow a few cobwebs away.’ Grace tied a thick woollen muffler about her throat and pulled the matching hat well down over her ears.

  ‘But it’s blowing a gale out there,’ Cerys pointed out. ‘You’ll be wet through in no time and you’ll likely catch your death. Why don’t you just wait until the rain stops at least?’

  Grace shrugged as she headed for the door. ‘I’ll be fine and I shan’t go far.’ And with that she was gone, leaving Cerys to shake her head.

  Once outside, Grace shielded her eyes against the rain, which was icy cold and sharp as needles, then she turned in the direction of the woods and began to walk, her head bent against the wind. It wasn’t so bad once she reached the shelter of the leafless trees, although it was so cold that her teeth began to chatter despite the many layers of clothes she was wearing. She hadn’t been sleeping well and was feeling exhausted, for every time she closed her eyes a picture of her mother standing with the bloodied candlestick in her hand flashed behind them. The guilt she felt was overpowering and sometimes she wondered if she could continue – if it hadn’t been for her, her mother might still be here. Then her thoughts would turn to her father, lying in his bed a helpless cripple; it was a hard cross to bear. She moved on, locked in her morbid thoughts until eventually she emerged from the trees to see the convent spread out before her. She had never needed to feel peace as much as she did at that moment, so without even thinking she circled the gardens and headed for the tiny chapel. As she had hoped the door was open and she let herself in. The peace and silence met her as she walked down the short aisle and stood staring at the carved wooden image of Mary and baby Jesus. Puddles formed on the floor about her feet as the rain dripped from her clothes, and she hoped she wasn’t making too much of a mess.

  ‘Why … hello, Grace.’

  The voice from behind her caused her to turn quickly and she felt colour flood into her cheeks as she saw Father Luke standing there smiling at her. She hoped he wouldn’t be angry to find her there although in fact he looked pleased to see her.

  ‘F-Father … I didn’t expect anyone to be here.’

  ‘I wouldn’t be normally,’ he admitted with a smile. ‘But the inclement weather has made it impossible to visit some of my parishes so I’ve been staying here and catching up on some work.’

  Grace nodded and sank down heavily onto the nearest pew and after a moment he sat beside her and gently took her hand. ‘I was so sorry to hear of your mother’s passing,’ he said softly. ‘But take comfort in knowing that she is now in a better place.’

  The kind words unlocked the great blockage in Grace’s throat and suddenly the tears came in a flood.

  ‘That’s it, let it all out,’ he soothed as his arm slid around her shoulders and she leaned into him. Sometime later she straightened and smiled at him apologetically.

  ‘I’m so sorry, father,’ she muttered, taking the clean white handkerchief he offered and noisily blowing her nose.

  ‘Don’t be. It isn’t healthy to keep grief locked inside.’ He paused then as he stared into her haunted eyes before asking, ‘But are you sure there isn’t something else bothering you?’

  She opened her mouth to deny it but then the temptation to confide in someone was too strong and she whispered, ‘I am a very bad person. I feel my father’s stroke and my mother’s death are all my fault.’

  He didn’t pull away from her as she had expected but instead asked quietly, ‘Is it something you would like to talk about? Perhaps you would like to take confession?’

  Grace shook her head. ‘I can’t confess, I have been taking instructions from a father at a nearby church back at home but I haven’t fully converted to your faith yet.’

  ‘Then perhaps you would like to share whatever is troubling you with me right here?’ His eyes were kind. ‘We are in God’s house and He will listen, whatever faith you are.’

  Grace thought about this for a moment then she began tentatively. ‘When I was a little girl I was very close to my father and I realise now that he spoiled me shamelessly. But then, as I grew, I began to find his affection and restrictions oppressive. He wouldn’t allow me to go out unless it was with him and I wasn’t allowed to have any friends. It wasn’t until I started at a local school at my mother’s insistence that I realised just how isolated I was.’ She gulped but forced herself to go on. ‘A few years ago, Father began to invite guests to stay, men who I disliked intensely. They stared at me and made rude comments but I could bear that. And then Father started coming to my room at night.’ She squirmed uncomfortably in her seat as she remembered. ‘He … he began to want to touch me and fondle me and it made me feel uncomfortable. On the night he had his seizure he had been drinking downstairs …’ Despite the bitter cold she found herself sweating and she licked her dry lips. ‘Father came to my room and I remember asking him to leave but after that everything is a blur … the next thing I remember is my mother standing there. She was holding the candlestick that I kept on my bedside table and there was blood on it … Father was lying on the floor with a gash on his head and his face was a funny colour. I can remember Mabel, our maid, coming in and between them they managed to get Father back into his own room before sending for the doctor. So you see, it must have all been my fault. Mother must have thought Father was hurting me and attacked him but it’s all just a blank.’

  She was sobbing again now and when the young father’s strong arms came about her she clung to him.

  ‘I’m sure none of it was your fault,�
�� he said firmly. ‘It would have been a terrible shock seeing your father become ill like that and shock can do funny things to people, that’s probably why you can’t remember everything clearly. Your mind blocked it. By your own admission your mother had a weak heart. It could have given out at any time and they had probably rowed earlier on, which is what would have brought on your father’s seizure. Furthermore, your father could have hit his head on the candlestick as he fell and it would have been your mother’s automatic reaction to snatch it out of the way. You shouldn’t blame yourself.’

  She stared at him uncertainly for a moment feeling as if a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders. ‘Really?’

  ‘Really.’ He nodded. ‘Not all marriages are a bed of roses,’ he said. ‘And I should know. Believe me I have seen some things in my role as a priest … So you must put all this behind you now. You have your whole future ahead of you. Do you have any idea yet what you would like to do?’

  ‘No …’ she said uncertainly.

  ‘There is plenty of time. But first you must allow yourself to grieve and then go on. The Good Lord will show you the way.’

  She stared at him from her deep green eyes wondering how anyone so young could be so wise, and his stomach did a little flip. Quickly reverting to his role as priest he offered, ‘I could continue to give you instruction if you wish, perhaps here once a week? And then when you feel ready you could be baptised into the Catholic faith, but only if you’re quite sure that is what you truly want. Why don’t you speak to your aunt about it? She’s always seemed to be a very level-headed woman to me.’

  ‘I will,’ she agreed with the first smile he had seen from her that day. ‘And thank you for listening to me, father.’

  ‘That’s what priests are for.’ He returned the smile before rising. ‘And should you feel the need to talk again, remember I am here for you. But now I really should be getting on. The Reverend Mother is expecting me over in the convent and I don’t want to get in her bad books.’

  He left then and Grace watched him go feeling more at peace than she had since her father had taken ill. It was strange, she thought, that she always felt that way when she had seen him.

  When she eventually left the chapel, she was surprised to find Dylan waiting outside with his coat collar turned up and his hands thrust deep in his coat pockets.

  ‘My nan said you’d come up here so I thought I’d wander up and wait for you.’

  Grace raised her eyebrow. It was hardly the weather for wandering anywhere but she was pleased to see him. They got on well and she found him easy to talk to, although she’d said little to anyone since returning to Wales this time, apart from Father Luke. She fell into step with him, telling him of Father Luke’s offer to give her instruction in the Catholic faith, and Dylan frowned.

  ‘My family are strict chapel-goers,’ he muttered. ‘Most of the Welsh people are, come to that.’ Grace wondered why it should matter to him what religion she was but she was keen to get out of the biting cold now so they hurried on their way.

  Both the Llewelyns and Gertie noticed the change in Grace the second she walked through the door.

  ‘Hmm, it seems that walk did you some good after all,’ her aunt remarked, looking up over the top of her glasses from the newspaper she was reading. ‘You’ve actually got a bit of colour back in your cheeks.’

  ‘Yes, an’ a red nose and blue fingers to match, and yours aren’t a lot better, our Dylan,’ Cerys said drily as she finished kneading the dough for a new batch of loaves. ‘Go and sit yourselves down by the fire and I’ll get you both a brew. It’ll be a bit stewed by now but it’s wet and warm.’

  ‘Aunt Gertie,’ Grace said the second she had done as she was told. ‘I’ve been speaking to Father Luke up at the convent chapel and he’s offered to give me instruction once a week. Trouble is my father is in no fit state to give his permission.’

  ‘That’s not a problem,’ Gertie said stoically. ‘I have guardianship of you now until your father recovers – if he recovers that is – so if that’s what you want I have no objections.’

  ‘Oh, thank you!’ Grace leaned over and plonked a sloppy kiss on her cheek before hurrying away to get changed out of her wet clothes.

  ‘Can’t see why it’s so important to her, personally.’ Gertie sniffed but she was smiling as she turned her attention back to the newspaper. It was nice to see Grace smiling again.

  Meanwhile, up in the convent, Father Luke was deep in prayer in the chapel. Grace had awakened a feeling in him that he had never had before; a deep feeling of wanting to protect her and he had felt drawn to her. Although she wasn’t pretty in the classical sense, there was something about her deep flame-red hair and those glorious dark-fringed green eyes, which seemed to be able to look right into his soul, that he found deeply endearing. But most of all, it was her nature that attracted him. She had a serenity and a grace about her that he found enchanting.

  ‘Help me, dear Lord, for I should not have such feelings for a girl,’ he prayed.

  Down in Beehive Cottage, Grace was also thinking of him and looking forward to their next meeting. Father Luke was kind – and handsome too, a little voice in her head whispered – and at the thought, Grace bent her head to hide her blushes.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  In the early summer when the birds were singing in the trees and the sun was riding high in a cloudless blue sky, Grace was finally baptised into the Catholic Church. The Llewelyns and Aunt Gertie attended the service, even though none of them were particularly religious, and afterwards Aunt Gertie presented Grace with a silver rosary, which Grace said she would cherish for ever. Dylan was fishing out at sea that day otherwise Grace was sure he would have come too.

  Whenever he was at home now he would visit and they would go off on long walks together. He had also taken her out to sea on a boat trip, and one Saturday evening he had taken her to a dance in the local village hall; it was a new experience for Grace and she had thoroughly enjoyed it. Over the last couple of years Dylan had developed into a very muscular, handsome young man and it had amused her to see the way the local girls’ eyes followed him about the room. But he had not even glanced in their direction and didn’t seem in the slightest bit interested in any of them.

  Gradually Grace felt that she was returning to her former happy self, although she still had dark moments when she missed her mother terribly. Aunt Gertie phoned her home in Nuneaton religiously every week but still there was no change in her father.

  ‘He’s no better, but then he’s no worse either,’ she would tell Grace when she came off the phone.

  On Dylan’s next day off, Cerys packed a picnic hamper and Grace and Dylan set off for a day at the beach armed with their swimming costumes and two towels. Grace couldn’t swim properly as yet but Dylan was teaching her and she loved to go into the sea.

  Down in the little cove they favoured, Grace got changed discreetly behind a rock and as she rounded it with her clothes folded neatly across her arm Dylan shouted, ‘Last one in is a rotten egg!’

  Grace felt a sharp stab of pain as she thought back to the time when Myfanwy had said exactly the same thing to her. But then she pushed the thoughts aside as she dropped her clothes into a heap and chased after him, splashing into the waves. They spent a happy half-hour in the sea dipping and diving before emerging and dropping onto the towels Dylan had lain across the sand, and Grace poured them each a cup of lemonade from the bottle that she had left cooling in a small rock pool.

  The hours spent in the sun had turned Grace’s skin a ferocious red colour to begin with, which Dylan had teased her mercilessly about, although it wasn’t so sore now. By contrast, Dylan was tanned and golden.

  ‘I can’t help it, it’s because I’m a red-head,’ she had pointed out.

  Now, after a long cool drink, he sighed and turned onto his stomach, leaning up on his elbows to stare at Grace. Her normally deep red hair had golden highlights running through it from the sun and as it
blew about her slim shoulders in the gentle sea breeze he had the urge to run his fingers through it.

  ‘I was wonderin’ if you might like to come to tea at my house on Sunday. I’ve asked me mam and she said you’d be welcome.’

  Grace had been watching the seagulls as they dipped and dived into the sea looking for fish and his words took her by surprise. She had not visited Dylan’s home since before Myfanwy’s death and she was reluctant to accept but she had no wish to hurt Dylan’s feelings so after a moment she answered, ‘All right then. That would be very nice … thank you.’

  They tucked into the fresh-caught sardine and tomato sandwiches that Mrs Llewelyn had packed for them.

  Afterwards, they dozed in the sun for a while before going for another swim and eventually they set off back to the cottage. Dylan’s father was taking the boat out fishing that evening and Dylan didn’t want to be late.

  ‘Dylan has asked me to go to tea at his house on Sunday,’ Grace informed her aunt and the Llewelyns that evening as she helped herself from a freshly picked bowl of salad. There was cold ham, pickles and crusty bread to go with it and Grace was surprised at how hungry she was again. She was feeling much better, although she still had nightmares about her mother and father at times.

  Gertie and Cerys exchanged a crafty little grin. Yes, Dylan was well and truly smitten with Grace. The trouble was, neither of them had any idea how she felt about him. She seemed to enjoy his company, but she had never hinted at any romance between them so Cerys fervently hoped that her grandson wasn’t going to get his heart broken.