by Diane Allen
Lucy looked at herself in the wardrobe mirror in her bedroom. She viewed herself from all sides and pinched her cheeks to give them a little colour. If she was to be made to go to church, then she might as well have something to enjoy doing, rather than listening to the vicar bestow his views of religion on one and all. Dressed in her finest blue dress edged with lace, and with her hair tied back and plaited, she aimed to catch the eye of Alex Braithwaite and flirt with him over the pews to alleviate the boredom of the church service.
She smiled as she looked at herself. If Alex could resist her advances, then he was better than half the local lads, who were forever yelling their comments at her, and whom she usually looked upon with disdain. She had higher ideas about who she was going to marry, and it wasn’t going to be any Tom, Dick or Harry with hardly a penny to his name. It had to be someone who offered her security, and at the moment she wasn’t showing commitment to anyone. She was simply going to enjoy herself and flirt with them all.
Sitting in church with her mother and siblings, Lucy looked across the pews at the blond-haired, red-cheeked Alex Braithwaite. He was sitting in his family pew and his father kept looking sternly at him, as Alex kept turning his head to look at her.
‘Stop it, our Lucy – behave yourself! You are in the Lord’s house now, so stop your flirting with Alex Braithwaite,’ Dorothy whispered to her daughter. But secretly she smiled to herself. She knew that her daughter took many a man’s eye, and secretly hoped that Lucy would end up with the quarry owner’s son.
‘Sorry, Mother, but he keeps looking at me, and what am I to do?’ Lucy smirked and put her head down to avoid Alex’s gaze.
‘You can ignore him until we are out of the church,’ her mother whispered. ‘He should have more respect – just like you.’
Lucy looked up and blushed as Alex winked at her, and the vicar stared from his pulpit at the flirting that was undermining his service. She hoped that she would be able to talk to Alex, but she knew his father would have other plans once the service was over, and that his carriage would be waiting to take them back home to celebrate Easter Sunday in his luxurious home at Rockfield Hall. She would never be good enough for the owner of the quarry, who expected his son to marry into money, and not a lass from the flay-pits.
On Easter Monday, Susie and Lucy had been busy. They had wrapped hens’ eggs in onion skins, encasing ferns and leaves next to the onion skins, before dropping them into a pan of boiling water. There was a drop of cochineal in another pan of water, to die some extra-hard-boiled eggs – called ‘pace eggs’ – bright red, ready for rolling down the hillside at Black Moss Farm; the holder of the last egg to crack would be declared the winner, a tradition that was as old as religion itself. Susie had also decided to make Adam Brooksbank an Easter Garden, in thanks for his invitation to see the chicks that he had penned up in the yard, along with their mother hen.
‘Do you think Mr Brooksbank will like my garden?’ Susie enquired of Lucy, putting her head to one side and resting it on her hand as she looked at her Easter Garden from every angle.
‘I’m sure he will love it. It’s the most beautiful Easter Garden I’ve ever seen.’ Lucy smiled at her young sister. They had scoured the wall tops along the lanes around their home for the moss that grew on the limestone walls, along with sprigs of white blackthorn blossom, violets and daises, to be placed like a carpet on the metal lid of an old biscuit tin, making it look like a garden with a pond, with the aid of a piece of broken mirror in the centre of the delicate affair. Lucy was in the process of tying two blackthorn twigs together to make a cross shape, to be placed on part of the garden that they had built up high with layers of extra moss to make it look like a hill. She pushed it in firmly to the layer of moss and hoped it would stand upright, and not topple over with the first bit of movement. ‘There now, it’s complete with the cross that Jesus was placed on, to save our souls.’ She sighed and looked at her little sister. All Susie was worried about was that she had made a beautiful garden, and she didn’t care about the fact that it signified Christ’s resurrection and that it had a deep meaning at Easter time.
‘I don’t think I want to give it to Mr Brooksbank. I want to keep it. It’s too pretty to give away.’ Susie pulled a long face and looked up at her older sister.
‘Then you keep it. We’ve got some pace eggs boiling, so you can give him one of those, and we will pick a bunch of primroses on our way to his farm. I noticed some growing in the bankside when I walked down home the other night. They will look nice on his kitchen table.’ Lucy smiled at her young sister.
‘I think I’ll give it to my mam. She’s been poorly and it will make her feel better.’ Susie beamed. ‘And Mr Brooksbank is a bit posh, and I don’t know him.’
‘He’s not that posh – he’s a good man. I enjoy working for him, he’s very kind.’ Lucy thought about her master and felt her cheeks flush as she considered the man she was employed by, and had found herself growing fond of. ‘Now, let’s get these eggs out of the pans and see what they look like. I always like peeling the layers of onion skins off the eggs, to see the pattern it has made on them.’ She reached for the two pans filled with a dozen eggs that had boiled on the fire for the last twenty minutes, then poured the excess water from them, to reveal nicely coloured red eggs in one pan, and six eggs still wrapped in onion skins with a string holding them in place in the other.
‘Woo! Look, pink eggs – I like those.’ Susie clapped her hands.
‘Just you wait until we have taken the skins off these eggs; they should have lovely patterns on them. Heavens, they are hot.’ Lucy juggled the onion-skinned hard-boiled eggs in her hands as she untied the string and peeled back the layer of onion skins and ferns. ‘Now, isn’t that beautiful? Look, the eggs have turned a yellowy-brown and where the fern’s been, it’s left its pattern.’ Lucy looked at the delight on her sister’s face as she passed it across to her.
‘It’s like magic,’ Susie whispered.
‘We will give Mr Brooksbank that one, because it’s perfect and it would be a shame to smash it, when we roll it down the hill. Besides, we have another five to unpeel yet, so there’s more than enough to go round.’ Lucy placed the egg to one side and helped Susie peel the remaining five, each one having a different pattern from the others.
‘Well, you two have made a good job of those.’ Dorothy glanced at the decorated eggs as she came in from the yard with baby Bert on her hip. ‘It’s a pity they will end up smashed, broken and eaten. I don’t know what’s got into your father, Lucy. He’s digging up half the yard, and poor Thomas Farrington is helping him. It might be Easter Monday, but he’s making him work. It must be something important that he’s up to – he’s even got Nathan helping, so he’ll not be joining you on your visit to Adam Brooksbank, as his father says he needs him.’ Dorothy sat down in the chair next to the fire and put Bert down on the pegged rug next to her. ‘Don’t take this one with you, either. He’s nothing but a moaner this morning; his back teeth must be coming through. Besides, I’m feeling a lot better now and I can manage him.’
‘You still look a bit pale to me. Are you sure that you are alright, Mam?’ Lucy asked with concern.
‘I’m right, lass. Now you, Susie and Will get yourselves gone to Black Moss. It will suit them seeing some young chickens and rolling the pace eggs. Bert and I might have half an hour on the bed, if I can get him to sleep. It will do us both good.’ Dorothy sat back and looked at Susie. ‘Are you taking Mr Brooksbank the garden you’ve made? It looks lovely.’
‘No, Mam, it’s for you. I don’t love Mr Brooksbank, but I do love you.’ Susie got down off her chair and went and kissed her mother.
‘I love you too, my little angel. Now you go and have a lovely afternoon with Lucy, and don’t show her up. Mr Brooksbank is her boss, and we don’t want him to think we have no manners, no matter where we live.’ Dorothy kissed Susie’s blonde hair and picked up baby Bert, who was beginning to cry yet again. ‘I’ll get his dummy a
nd lie on the bed with him – he’ll soon drop off. Now get yourselves gone. It’ll be dark before you know it, although the days are beginning to draw out a little now. Spring should be here: it’s April after all.’
Lucy tied Susie’s cape around her and put the dyed eggs into a basket, before pulling her own shawl around her. ‘You sure you will be alright, Mam?’ she said as she opened the kitchen door into the yard.
‘Yes – get yourself gone. Will’s waiting for you both. Your father will be glad to get him out from under his feet. He’s too young to help and is only hindering the job he’s trying to do.’ Dorothy stood up and walked to the bottom of the stairs with Bert in her arms and watched as her two daughters left the house. She’d be glad for a bit of peace, once Bert had dropped off to sleep. An hour or two without anyone else in the house but her and her youngest would be a welcome respite from the usual bustle of her family and its noise.
‘What are you up to, Father?’ Lucy looked around her as Nathan and Thomas Farrington dug deep into the earth of the yard.
‘I’m making drainage from that pit to the beck. Every time it rains, that pit overruns and flows down the yard nearly to the back door. It needed doing. So I thought I’d do it while we haven’t many men at work. Tom here’s being a good help; he said he’d nothing else to do with his time, so he might as well earn some brass. And Nathan’s not at school today.’ Bill stood with his hands on his shovel and wiped the sweat from his brow as he looked at Thomas Farrington and his son digging out a small trench, which he aimed to fill with some secondhand drainpipes that he’d managed to find, and which would cover just the first drain of many that he now knew he had to dig. He’d no intention of telling anyone about the conversation that had taken place between himself and Adam Brooksbank. ‘I hope you are taking Will with you up to Black Moss. He’s hindering us something terrible, and he’ll get the rough side of my tongue, if he doesn’t bugger off.’
‘Yes, I’ll take him. He’ll enjoy the walk and it’ll get him out of your way.’ Lucy glanced up and noticed Thomas Farrington looking at her, as he shovelled dirt to one side of the trench. She turned and shouted at Will to stop hindering Nathan and to join her and Susie.
‘Can I bring my jam jar? I might find some frogspawn or tadpoles up where we are going. I’ve never looked in those streams up there,’ Will yelled, as he ran for his jam jar from behind the kitchen door, with a piece of string tied around it for a handle.
‘Hurry up then.’ Lucy set off walking with Susie out of the yard. The sooner she was out of Thomas Farrington’s gaze, the better, as he looked darker than ever in mood and manner.
Thomas leaned back on his spade and looked at the lass that he was besotted with. He’d watched her growing up into a good-looking young woman, and with every day he admired and needed her more. The trouble was that she never looked at the side he was on, preferring to wind up Archie Robinson with her flirting. If Lucy flirted with him like that, he’d show her what sort of man he was. She’d have no need to look at any other man ever again. She didn’t know it yet, but she was going to be his – he was going to make sure of that. He’d longed for her for too long, and now he was going to make Lucy his, before any other man sullied her.
‘Stop your bloody gawping at our Lucy, and put your back into it,’ Bill shouted at Thomas, as he caught him watching Lucy disappear from the yard.
‘Yes, boss. I was just having a rest,’ Thomas replied, as he swore under his breath. He was going to show the bastard; he’d plans for Bill’s daughter and for his yard. Bill would not be boss for ever, not if he had his way.
Adam raised his head from the job in hand, as he heard the sound of young voices approaching his yard. He’d decided, since the sun had started to show its strength, to turn over the much-neglected garden, which had always been so neatly planted in his youth. Now it was a mass of dock leaves and nettles and was taking longer than he had anticipated to clear. The packets of seeds that Lucy had requested on his first visit to Keighley still stood on the mantelpiece in the kitchen, where he had placed them after showing her the selection he had bought her; but that had not been followed up by digging the plot over. Now, with it being Easter Monday, he’d been reminded of his father saying that early potatoes and broad beans should be planted at Easter, and had decided that if he needed to be self-sufficient in the coming months, he would be best getting on with digging the plot over. With only half the garden already cleared and the soil turned over, he was glad of the distraction of his young visitors, for his leg was aching and he was ready for a break.
‘Good afternoon. I see I’ve got visitors.’ Adam smiled and shoved his spade into the earth of the garden and brushed his hands on the side of his breeches.
‘Yes, I hope we’ve not disturbed you. Susie was anxious to see your chickens, and Will wonders if you could tell him if you have any likely spots for frogspawn or tadpoles in a stream or pond near you?’ Lucy looked at her employer. He was wearing a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up and was partly showing his chest as he walked towards them. She couldn’t help but think that, with his black collar-length hair and muscled body, he could pass for a much younger man – a very attractive man.
‘I can oblige with both.’ Adam tussled Will’s hair. ‘Frogspawn can be found just down there, in that gully, if I remember rightly. There’s a small wet spot down by those rushes, and I’m sure it will still have frogs breeding there. Your jam jar will soon be filled, if you are lucky. But I hope that you’ll free the tadpoles, once they’ve grown too large for your jar, else you’ll end up with one large tadpole, as they are carnivorous and eat one another, you know.’ Adam smiled at his visitors.
‘Can I go, Lucy? I can’t wait to show Nathan, if I get my jam jar full – he’ll be so jealous. He’s been looking for some for weeks.’ Will looked up at his sister, seeking her permission, before thanking Adam.
‘Yes, but take care you don’t fall into any water, else you’ll be wet until you get home. Go on. Susie and I will stay here until you get back and will look at the chickens, which is what we really came for.’ Lucy watched as her brother ran down the length of the field, his jam jar down by his side in readiness for his catch.
‘And you, young lady, would like to look at my chickens, I believe?’ Adam bent down on his knees and looked at Susie. ‘They are growing fast. I’ve only had them a few days and already they are walking around the pen and worrying their mother to death. Just like your mother worries about you, I bet.’
Susie pulled a face and retorted, ‘My Mam never worries about me, but Lucy says I’m nothing but a pest and a worry. She’s always moaning at me.’
‘Does she now. Well, you come with me and we will give her five minutes free of worry as we look at the chickens. Then I see that you’ve brought a basket full of pace eggs. We will have to see whose eggs crack first, when we roll them down the hill in the back field when your brother returns.’ Adam held out his hand for four-year-old Susie to take, which she did without a minute’s hesitation.
Lucy watched from the garden wall as Adam and Susie walked across the farmyard to where the hen and her chicks were living in the newly made coop. She smiled as she listened to the conversation between her employer and her young sister, and to the giggles and laughter as Adam placed one of the few-days-old chicks in Susie’s hands.
‘Lucy! Lucy, come and look. Come and see: I’m holding this baby chick. It’s so fluffy and it’s crying for its mummy.’ Susie turned with a big smile on her face, holding desperately onto the fluffy chick while its poor, distraught mother clucked about and tried to control her brood, in the hope that she would not be losing another one to the hands of the child.
‘It is lovely, darling, but its mother would really like it back with her. She’s full of panic for her baby – she thinks you’ve pinched it.’ Lucy walked over to where Adam and Susie stood. ‘Let’s put it back with its mother, and perhaps Mr Brooksbank will let you feed them with some meal, and then you can watch them eat.�
� Lucy took the chick from Susie’s hands and stroked the chirping bird, as Adam opened the coop’s lid. ‘There, we will put it back with its mother, where it belongs.’ Lucy bent down next to Adam and placed the little chick back with its brothers and sisters and its mother. As she stood up she nearly brushed cheeks with Adam, and she caught her breath and looked into his eyes.
Adam, noticing her blush, closed the lid quickly and turned to talk to Susie. ‘Come with me and we will get some cornmeal for their dinner and feed them, like your sister Lucy says, until your brother returns. They may only be small, but they are always hungry.’ He took Susie’s hand and walked across the yard, leaving Lucy looking out across the valley.
Her heart was beating fast and she could feel the colour rising in her cheeks. How stupid she was to feel this way about her employer. He was a good few years older than her, and he’d never shown an ounce of interest in her, and yet here she was looking at him and going weak at the knees, when they touched briefly. It wasn’t right. He was the master of Black Moss and she was just the lass from the flay-pits. She shouldn’t even be thinking that way, and couldn’t understand what had come over her.
Lucy lay in her bed, with her young sister fast asleep by her side. She had enjoyed one of the best afternoons that she could ever remember.
Susie had loved the attention that Adam Brooksbank had shown her, and Will had been bragging all evening about his catch of tadpoles, making his older brother mad and envious of his day at play, while he had been busy in work with his father. Lucy smiled as she remembered Adam and her brother and sister chasing the hard-boiled pace eggs as they rolled down the steep hillside of Black Moss’s fields, then eating them once they had cracked open wide – all done in remembrance of the breaking open of the Lord’s tomb in the garden of Gethsemane. None of them were religious, but they enjoyed the fun that the Easter festivities brought. But most of all, Lucy had enjoyed being next to Adam and not being in his employment for that one day. ‘Adam Brooksbank,’ she whispered to herself and visualized his face and his smell, as she clutched her pillow close to herself. She was trying not to think or dream of him, but she could not keep the man out of her thoughts, no matter how hard she tried. He was the first man she had ever felt this way about, and her heart fluttered like a trapped butterfly as she lay in bed trying to sleep.