Christmas at Emmerdale

by Pamela Bell

  Astounded, Maggie could just stare at him as he reached out and straightened the collar of her coat quite as if he hadn’t called her beautiful. ‘I wish you would take Fly with you,’ he said.

  She swallowed. ‘It’s too cold to leave her outside the hall.’ Her voice didn’t sound like her own and she had to clear her throat before she could continue. ‘I won’t do anything silly this time. It’s stopped snowing and I can’t get lost on the lane into the village.’

  ‘Be careful anyway. It’s not that long since you hurt your ankle.’ As if he couldn’t resist, Hugo traced the outline of Maggie’s cheek with his knuckle, letting it linger by the corner of her mouth. ‘Enjoy the party, Maggie,’ he said. ‘I’ll be waiting here for you until you get back.’

  Face burning, Maggie fumbled with the door. ‘Don’t let the fire go out,’ she managed, hating how husky her voice sounded.

  ‘I won’t.’

  After a brief thaw, the snow had come back, carpeting the countryside in white once more. The farmyard was criss-crossed with footprints leading from the stable to the farmhouse and from the farmhouse to the byre where the cows were contentedly waiting out the winter. In the field behind, the sheep huddled together in a stoical mass. Hugo waded through the snow twice a day to feed them now that Maggie had grown too big to carry big bundles of hay around.

  Maggie drew on her gloves, remembering with a pang how delighted Frank had been with the gloves she had given him the day they had walked into Beckindale together, the day she had found out that Ralph was dead. Over a year ago, Maggie thought as she slipped through the gate and set off down the track.

  A year without Ralph. The first agony of grief had faded now to a dull ache that still jabbed painfully at times. She hadn’t forgotten him – never that – but she was used to missing him now and those few weeks when she had believed that he would come home and take her away seemed no more than a bittersweet dream.

  So much had changed since then. Maggie put her hands on her stomach as she felt the baby kick. How could she have guessed that at the end of this saddest of years, she would have a child to look forward to? That she would have learned to respect a conscientious objector? Extraordinary, Hugo had called her. Strong. Brave. Beautiful. Maggie pushed his words to the back of her mind, to take out later and examine carefully to see how they made her feel.

  Her feelings towards Beckindale were the biggest change of all. Had she changed, or had the village? Either way, Maggie had surprised herself with how much she was looking forward to the party, so much so that when it had started to snow heavily the day before, she had been dismayed in case she wouldn’t be able to get down to the village hall in time for the party.

  Excitement had been building in Beckindale as preparations were made all over the village. There had been impromptu meetings in the shop and much popping in and out of kitchens as carefully hoarded ingredients were shared and exchanged. Since they all had to economise, they had decided to pool their resources to create a feast. Some eggs from Emmerdale Farm, some treacle from Betty Porter’s larder, spices and flour provided by Edith Haywood who had rifled through the vicarage store cupboard to see what she could find.

  Everyone wanted to contribute to the party. Polly Warcup had already passed on a jar of blackberry jam in case she couldn’t make it on Christmas Eve. ‘She looked about ready to pop when I saw her,’ Mary Ann had told Maggie when they met in the village hall to make final preparations. ‘She’s that big, I can’t believe she hasn’t had that baby already.’

  Janet Airey clapped her hands to call the meeting to order. ‘We’ll need more than a jar of jam,’ she said. ‘Miss Haywood says a dozen soldiers from the hospital are coming, so we’d better have summat to give them to eat and drink.’

  She went round the room and asked for contributions. That was when Maggie had made her ill-advised promise to make a Yule cake. The offers came thick and fast. The baker promised a dozen loaves, the Websters offered packets of tea and candles for the tree. Mary Ann’s husband, Thomas, said he would bring his fiddle and there were old men in the village who could easily be persuaded to play the accordion and the tin whistle. Even Levi Dingle wanted to make a contribution.

  ‘He says he can get hold of some chocolates for the children,’ Rose Haywood passed on his offer. She looked uncomfortable. ‘I’m not sure where they’ll come from,’ she added. ‘I have a nasty feeling they might be stolen.’

  ‘Well, don’t ask him,’ Janet Airey advised briskly. ‘It’s Christmas. I reckon we can all turn a blind eye for chocolates, don’t you?’

  The snow squeaked under Maggie’s boots as she walked down the track. It already lay thick along the top of the walls and rimmed every twig with white, and as turned onto the lane into Beckindale, it started snowing again, great fat snowflakes drifting silently onto her hat.

  Remembering the blizzard up on the moor, Maggie wondered if she should turn back after all. She was heavily pregnant. Everyone would surely understand if she didn’t appear.

  But she had promised she would be there.

  Keep your promises.

  And she wanted to be there, Maggie admitted to herself. She had enjoyed being part of the discussions whenever she went to the village, had liked feeling accepted, had even been interested in the snippets of gossip she had heard.

  She had begun to feel as if she might belong in Beckindale after all.

  So she plodded on, ignoring the cold that crept through her boots and the snowflakes that tangled on her lashes. It would be dark by the time she came home but there was no way she could get lost. There was the Warcups’ cottage just ahead, and beyond it the bridge where she had met Ralph the previous summer, before everything had changed. It felt like remembering another world.

  Maggie paused for breath to admire Polly Warcup’s garden, now little more than graceful mounds of pure white. It was a lovely garden in spring and summer but there was something moving about its sculptural simplicity in the snow.

  ‘Wait! Mrs Sugden, wait!’ She had just moved on when she heard frantic calling behind her and she turned to see Polly’s husband, Robert, floundering desperately through the thick snow.

  ‘Thank God!’ he panted. ‘Polly’s having her baby and I can’t leave her alone to get the doctor. I think summat’s wrong. Please, please can you come in and help us?’

  ‘Robert, I don’t know anything about babies,’ Maggie began, but he was too worried to listen.

  ‘You’re a woman, aren’t you?’

  It was true. She was a woman and a neighbour and if Polly needed help, she would do what she could until the doctor arrived.

  Polly was in the kitchen, kneeling on a cushion, groaning. Her arms and chest were supported on a pillow placed on a chair. ‘It hurts!’ she wept. ‘Make it stop hurting!’

  Maggie was terrified, but she put down her basket and went over to Polly and put a hand on her shoulder. ‘It’s me, Polly. You’re going to be fine.’

  ‘The baby’s stuck,’ Polly sobbed. ‘I’m going to die!’

  ‘Nonsense,’ said Maggie briskly. ‘Of course you’re not going to die.’

  Robert was wringing his hands. ‘What shall we do?’ he asked Maggie.

  ‘You must go and get the doctor,’ she said. ‘Or someone who knows what they’re doing. I’ll try and keep Polly calm.’

  ‘Right.’ He seemed grateful to be told what to do. ‘Hold on, love,’ he said to Polly. ‘I’ll be back as soon as I can.’

  Polly’s only response was a scream of agony and he blenched as he rushed out of the door. Maggie took Polly’s hand. ‘You’re going to be fine, Polly,’ she said firmly.

  ‘Maggie?’ To Maggie’s intense relief, she heard Rose Haywood calling her name a few minutes after Robert had left.

  ‘In here,’ she shouted, not wanting to leave Polly.

  ‘I was on my way to see if you needed help getting to the party,’ Rose said after she had greeted Polly. ‘I was worried about you in the snow. And then I met Robe
rt who said you were in here. He seemed in a terrible panic and wouldn’t wait. He said something about going to fetch Dr Barker.’

  ‘I hope he finds him soon,’ said Maggie grimly. ‘Polly here’s having a baby and it’s not going to hang around. I’m glad you’re here,’ she said to Rose.

  ‘I don’t know anything about having a baby,’ Rose said nervously but she unbuttoned her coat and cast off her hat.

  ‘Nor do I, but we’re the best Polly’s got.’

  ‘All right.’ Rose nodded. ‘What can I do to help?’

  Maggie took a breath. ‘Can you boil some water so I can wash my hands?’ she said, and while Rose looked around for a kettle, she crouched as best she could next to Polly, who was panting and groaning.

  ‘I think we should see what’s happening with the baby, Polly. Are you all right with that?’

  ‘Anything!’ Polly bit off another scream.

  ‘Let’s lie you down then and I’ll have a look.’

  ‘The baby’s stuck, I can feel it!’ Polly whimpered as Maggie and Rose helped her onto the rag rug.

  ‘If it’s stuck, we’ll give it a hand. Don’t worry about that.’ Maggie spoke with more confidence than she felt. ‘Rose, do you want to see if you can find some towel or something to protect the rug?’

  ‘Do you know what you’re doing?’ Rose asked in an undertone.

  ‘No,’ muttered Maggie, remembering how confidently she had told Edith Haywood that birth was a natural process, and that if sheep could manage without a doctor, she could too. ‘But I’ve helped birth lambs, and it must be the same principle, surely?’

  Grimacing, she got to awkwardly to her feet. If she wasn’t careful, she’d be having her own baby. She washed her hands and slathered them with the butter she had been taking to the party in the village hall.

  ‘Right then, Polly,’ she said. ‘Let’s see what’s going on down there, shall we?’

  While Polly screamed and groaned, Maggie managed to feel a tiny foot. ‘Looks like this baby is coming out in its own way,’ she told Polly.

  ‘Oh, God, I knew it! There’s something wrong!’

  ‘Not at all,’ Maggie told her, bolsteringly. ‘I saw this all the time with my flock when I was lambing this year,’ she said, but she exchanged a worried look with Rose over Polly’s head.

  Where was the doctor?

  Rose wiped Polly’s forehead. She was appalled at the pain poor Polly seemed to be enduring. Nobody had told her having a baby would be like this!

  She fixed a cheerful smile on her face. ‘You’re doing well, Polly,’ she said, hoping that Polly wouldn’t ask how she knew. But she had sat with enough of the wounded soldiers in the hospital to know that they didn’t want tears or sympathy, they wanted calm and reassurance. ‘Everything’s going to be fine.’

  It would have to be fine. Nobody else could die, Rose thought frantically. She had been feeling sick with worry ever since the night of the fire. Ever since she had seen Levi’s expression and remembered what he had said. I’ll make sure that cow Ava Bainbridge never bothers you again.

  And now Ava was dead.

  What if Levi had set the fire deliberately? It would make him a murderer and he would say that he had done it for her!

  Rose hadn’t dared to ask him outright. If he admitted causing the fire, then how could she keep that to herself? She would have to tell someone, and then she would have to explain how she knew Levi. Her father would find out about Mick. And Ava had died. They would hang Levi, and Mick would know that she had been responsible for handing Levi over to the law. He had asked her to look out for his brother, not see that he was sent to prison.

  But perhaps Levi hadn’t set fire to the Woolpack. Rose’s thoughts went round and round in her head. His expression might just have been a trick of the light. She had seen him twice since and he had seemed exactly the same as always, with that strange mixture of arrogance and obsequiousness.

  Even if she did ask him outright, how would she know if he were telling the truth?

  Rose couldn’t decide what to do, and the longer she waited, the harder it became to make a decision. There was nobody she could talk to. If only Mick were here! She didn’t dare write to him. Someone might read the letter and besides, what could he do from France other than worry?

  No, she would have to deal with this terrible anxiety herself, Rose told herself as her thoughts circled endlessly back to the same place.

  Unable to bear thinking about it any more, she had set off to help Maggie and now here she was in Polly Warcup’s kitchen while Polly screamed and writhed and sweated. Rose felt guiltily grateful to have something completely different to worry about.

  It seemed to take a very long time. Rose lost count of the times she had wrung out the cloth to wipe Polly’s face and she could see Maggie casting anxious glances at the door.

  ‘Robert could have found a doctor in Bradford in the time he’s been gone!’ she said to Rose in an aside. ‘I’m afraid Polly’s right and the baby’s shoulders are stuck. I don’t know how much longer she can go on.’

  ‘I think she’s weakening,’ said Rose in the same low voice. ‘We need to do something. The baby might die.’

  ‘Please …’ Polly arched with an agonised scream. ‘Please, help me!’

  ‘What would you do if she were a ewe?’ Rose asked Maggie.

  ‘All right.’ Maggie drew a breath. ‘Give me some more of that butter.’

  Taking hold of Polly’s hand, Rose watched anxiously as Maggie manoeuvred her own considerable bulk onto the floor. ‘Maggie knows what she’s doing, Polly,’ she said, ignoring the look Maggie flashed at her. ‘She’s done this hundreds of times.’

  Maggie’s face was screwed up in concentration as she felt for the baby.

  ‘Nearly there,’ Rose said brightly as Polly’s grip tightened so painfully on her hand that she nearly cried out herself.

  ‘Have a push now,’ Maggie said after a few minutes and Polly gathered her breath and with an almighty yell, pushed. ‘That’s it! Another one.’

  ‘Push, Polly,’ Rose said, feeling tears on her cheeks. ‘Push!’

  As she watched, the baby slithered into Maggie’s waiting hands so quickly that Maggie very nearly dropped it.

  ‘That’s it! Well done!’ she cried, and Rose felt giddy with relief as the baby opened its mouth and wailed in outrage. ‘You’ve got a lovely daughter, Polly,’ Maggie said and her smile was brilliant. ‘Just listen to the lungs on her!’

  Her vision blurred with tears, Rose let go of Polly’s hand so that she could hold the baby Maggie placed in her arms.

  ‘I’ll get some water,’ she said shakily. ‘We’ll clean you up a bit, Polly, before Robert comes back.’

  The hospital had inured Rose to blood. She found a clean cloth while Polly wept with happiness and relief. ‘Let’s make you more comfortable … Oh!’ Rose looked up in wonder. ‘Um, Maggie? I don’t think we can relax just yet. Polly’s having twins!’

  Chapter Thirty

  By the time Robert came back with the doctor, his exhausted and dazed wife was in bed cradling not one but two baby girls. Rose and Maggie had cleaned up the kitchen and were both in the grip of a strange euphoria that had them weeping and laughing at the same time.

  ‘Twins!’ Robert was inarticulate with gratitude as he wrung Rose’s hand again and again. ‘T hank you, thank you!’

  ‘It was Maggie,’ Rose protested. ‘I didn’t do anything.’

  ‘Yes, you did,’ said Polly weakly from the bed. ‘I needed someone to hold my hand and you were there.’

  ‘That’s right,’ Maggie agreed. ‘I’m so glad you were here, Rose. I was terrified until you came.’

  ‘Have you ever thought of nursing, Miss Haywood?’ Dr Barker said, packing away his bag. ‘I think you would make a fine nurse.’

  ‘I would love to,’ sighed Rose. If only she could convince Papa! ‘My parents don’t want me to leave Beckindale while the war is on, though.’

  ‘I c
ould have a word with the matron at Miffield Hall if you like,’ he suggested. ‘She might be able to find a place for you. It might mean starting as an auxiliary nurse, but you are young and at least you would be learning.’ He closed the bag with a snap. ‘It’s just a thought. Have a word with your father.’

  ‘I will.’ Rose glowed with hope. And if only she could believe that Levi wasn’t responsible for the fire at the Woolpack, she might begin to feel like herself once more. ‘Thank you, Doctor.’

  ‘Now, can I escort you ladies to the village hall?’

  Maggie put a hand to her mouth. ‘I’d forgotten about the party!’

  Rose had forgotten too. The doctor pulled out his pocket watch. ‘It’s not even three o’clock. Plenty of time to enjoy the party before the carol service.’

  Rose bent to say farewell to the twins who were sleeping, tiny fingers waving above the shawls Polly had swaddled them in. She stroked their cheeks and smiled at Polly. ‘They’re beautiful girls. What are you going to call them?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t think there’s any doubt about that,’ said Polly. ‘They’re Margaret and Rose.’

  Rose felt as if she had lived through a lifetime since she had walked over the bridge to find Maggie. She was exhausted but elated and she tingled with awareness as if hearing for the first time the creak and squeak of the snow underfoot or feeling the featherlight drift of snowflakes on her cheeks. This was the night that would change her life, she promised herself. Whatever her father might say, she would learn how to nurse, and she would be able to write to Mick and say that she was doing something truly useful at last.

  And she would speak to Levi, Rose decided. She couldn’t put it off any longer. She would ask him outright if he was responsible for the terrible fire at the Woolpack and she would take it from there.

  Outside the village hall, a gaggle of small boys were running around, shouting and shoving snowballs at each other, but at the sight of Rose and Maggie with Dr Barker they whooped and cheered.