A Dinner Of Herbs (14 page)

you’ve learned a lot

in the waitin’, and what you’ve learned is, you weren’t meant to catch that first one, you had to have

some. practice

“I Mary Ellen’s voice was breaking now “ I don’t want any practice, Kate. You know I

don’t. From I

was little’—she put her hand out to measure the height “I’ve known he was for me.

And ... and he has

too, he’s known it.”

“No, lass, no.” Her hands were being shaken up and down between the gnarled ones now.

“Give him his due, he didn’t. With him, you’ve been too close. If you had come on his

horizon out of

the blue like, it may have been different. But you’ve been too close, so close that he cannot see you,

more fool him. Oh aye, more fool him.”

The tears were starting, and she gasped, “I’ve... I’ve got to go, Kate. You’ll... you’ll be all right?”

“I’ll be all right, lass. It’s you I’ll say it to now, you’ll be all right. Time’ll tell, but you’ll be all right.”

“I won’t, Kate, I won’t, ever.”

She turned blindly away and groped for the basket; then she went out and closed the door quietly

behind her. But once she had got down into the meadow she began to run, stumbling as

she went.

When she reached the fork she took the ride path, running now until she came to a thick belt of willow

herb, and she pushed her way through this to where she knew there was a small open

space. And here

she threw herself down into the long grass and gave way to her grief, for it was grief, and as painful as if

she had been suddenly told he was dead. And all the time she cried she asked herself the question: Who

was she, this girl who had taken him from her? Because he was hers. Had he ever looked at any of the

other lasses round about? No, never, not to her knowledge. He never bothered with any of them, even

at the harvest suppers. He might dance with this or that one, but just one dance he would give them, a

reel or a jig or the barn dance, but with her he would dance for most of the evening,

which proved that he

was for her and he was showing everybody she was for him.

Her face was buried in the grass, her two hands clutching at it. The ground was very

damp after two

days of rain, but she was aware only of the fact that she was experiencing misery and

didn’t know how

she was going to go on bearing it. What was she going to do? What she was going to say if she saw

him?

When a hand came on her shoulder she screamed and rolled onto her back, her hands

now clutching her

throat, and looked upwards into the concerned face of Hal on which was an expression

she had never

seen there before, and the tone of his voice was one she had never heard before as he

said, “Mary Ellen,

what is it? What’s happened Somebody done something?” He was on his hunkers now,

kneeling by her

side, his hands holding hers, and she was aware that this was the very first time there had been any

personal contact between them, and that this was strange for she had known him as long as she had

known Roddy.

For a moment she could only gasp, but then managed to say, “You... you gave me a

fright.”

“Aye, and you gave me a fright an’ all. What’s happened? What’s upset you like this?”

Lowering her head, she shook it from side to side, saying, “Nothing.

Nothing. Nothing. “

“Aw, don’t tell me that. For you of all people to bubble like a hairn, something must have happened and

it cannot be light. Are you sure ... sure somebody hasn’t done something?”

She again shook her head; then pulling her hands from his, she swung round, got onto her knees and

stood up.

She was slightly taller than him but he being of the breadth he was his head seemed to be on a level with

hers, if not looking down on her. He said now, “Which way are you goin’? To Kate’s or

back to the

farm?”

“Back to the farm.”

“You’ve just come from Kate’s?”

“Aye.”

“Well, something must have happened there. Is Roddy back?”

At the sound of the name she turned her head away, then said, “No.”

He looked down at the ground for a moment as if in bewilderment, then he said quietly,

“Well, tell me

what’s upset you so?” And there was a half smile now on his face as he added, “You

know me, I’ll pry

and pry till I get to the bottom of things.”

“Yes, you would, wouldn’t you?” For a moment she was her old self and he was Hal

Roystan,

someone she had never been able to stand. Yet a moment ago, he hadn’t seemed sarcastic or sneering,

but thoughtful and concerned not like himself at all.

“That’s better.” he said, smiling widely now, ‘that’s more like Miss Mary Ellen. “

“Oh, you!” It was her favourite expression she used against him when she found that her tongue in no

way could cap his remarks. And she turned to walk back along the ride.

As he walked beside her, she said, “I’m ... I’m all right. I can find my way back; I know it, you know.”

Her head was nodding at him now, and when she sniffed away her last remaining tear and wiped her

cheeks with the wet ball of a small handkerchief, he put his hand in the breast pocket of his rough coat

and drew out a clean square and handed it to her.

The very fact that he should carry a clean handkerchief seemed to surprise her still further and for a

moment she stared at the outstretched hand and the article in it. Then without a word, she took it from

him and rubbed her face with it, and as she passed it back to him she said in a small

voice, “Ta.”

They had walked a considerable distance before he said, “Do you think anything will

come of his

lordship’s visit to the high and mighty patrons in Newcastle?”

It was a moment before she answered, “I don’t know, and I She stopped herself from

saying childishly,

“ I don’t care. “ But he put in now on a small mirthless laugh, “ Don’t tell me you were going to add, I

don’t care. Ah! Then I have got to the bottom of the trouble.

“Tis our noble friend, isn’t it?”

“Oh, you!” She turned and confronted him.

“You speak like that about Roddy as if at the back of you you didn’t like him. Yet you never leave him

alone, you’re like his shadow. I know you, you’re....”

“You don’t know me.” His words were like a sting now.

“You know nothin’ about me. Do you hear? Listen to me for one moment, Mary Ellen

Lee. You don’t

know me and, I repeat, you know nothing about me, what I think or what I do, or what I want to do, or

what I mean to do, nothing, nothing at all. You never have. All you’ve ever wanted in

you life has been

to possess Roddy, mind, soul, and body. But you’ve gone the wrong way about it. I’ve

watched you.

I’ve watched you for years digging your own grave; that tongue of yours lashing at him about stupid little

nothings, not letting him do what he wanted to do, grow;

following him when he didn’t want to be followed, pestering him.

That’s what you’ve done, and by! as I’ve said, you’ve dug your own grave, because

you’re not for

him. And that’s what it’s all about, isn’t it, the cryin’? “

Her teeth were clenched tightly together. She was gritting them backwards and forwards as she had

never done before, and the spittle was on her lips as she blurted out, “I hate you! Do you hear, Hal

Roystan? I hate you! I’ve always hated you and I always shall.”

An expression passed over his face that she could not define in any way, and his tone, too, was different

as he said, “I know that, I know that fine well, ‘tis no news to me, but at this moment I’ll tell you

something: I’m sorry for you an’ what you’ve got to go through because I know all about it, what you’re

going to go through.” And on this, to her astonishment, he turned and left her.

He walked quietly, his arms swinging, his shoulders slightly forward as if on the point of a run. She

watched him until he had disappeared back along the ride, then she turned and went on

her way, her

emotions so mixed that, as she said to herself, she didn’t know which end of her was up.

Well, something had come into the open at last. She had told him how she felt about him, and always

had. But there, it had been no news to him. Instead, what had he said? He knew what she was going to

go through because he had experienced it.

“You’re late.”

“No, I’m not. Father.”

“I say you are. You generally get here at two o’clock, and look at it, it’s turned half past.

You’ve been

to Kate’s again afbrecomin’ home.”

“I haven’t. I haven’t been near Kate’s.”

Bill Lee drew in a deep breath; but then asked more quietly, “What have you brought?”

“The usual He rose from his chair by the fire and came towards the table, and it was

noticeable that he

was finding it difficult to breathe. He was but forty-two years old, yet he looked a man of sixty, but

unlike many of his mates who had started in the smelting mill when boys, he was still

alive. But the gas

and dust had taken toll on his lungs, although, as he would remind anyone who would

listen, he had

helped to build the tunnels to the chimneys, or the condenser as it was called, that was to perform

miracles. Well, it might do for the coming generation, but it had happened too late for his.

It had seemed to Mary Ellen that the gas had affected not only her father’s lungs, but his whole

character. He had always been strict with her, but, as her mother had so frequently

pointed out, it was

because he loved her. However, since her mother’s death from consumption six years

ago, his attitude

towards herself had changed, his strictness had turned into a domineering possessiveness in which there

was no element of love.

“You’ve let your fire go low,” she said.

“Aye, well, I’ve nobody to fetch and carry for me.”

Rounding on him, she cried, “And neither have I, Da! I’m fetchin’ and carryin’ all day for somebody

and if you cannot go out and bring the wood in after I’ve chopped it, then you’ll have to go cold, won’t

you?”

He stared at her, surprised at this unusual bout of retaliation; then in a much quieter voice, he said,

“What’s ... what’s come over you?

What’s the matter with you? “

“Tisn’t what’s the matter with me, ‘tis what’s the matter with you, and is always the

matter with you.

Da. You’re never satisfied: nothing that I do is right. I never get a minute to me self I take me half leave

day on a Sunday when I could take it on a Saturday and go into town, which I would like to do

sometimes, but no, I take it on a Sunday so I can have two hours longer to see to you. But what do I

get? Never a word of thanks. I’m tired. Do you hear? I’m tired.”

He stared at her as if he were being confronted by a strange preacher.

Presently, his voice low and self-pitying, he said, “I’m sorry you find me a burden.”

She turned her head away and stood leaning on the table for a moment.

“I don’t find you a burden, Da, but I get tired of not hearin’ a civil word,” she said.

At this, he turned from her and went towards the fire, and, sitting down, he said, “I’m sorry, lass. I’m

embittered against life and everything. Why should I have this!” He thumped his chest.

“And why should Jane have been taken from me? Your mother was a good woman, never

did or said a

wrong thing in her life. I could put up with anything when I had her. There’s no sense or reason to life.

Why should she be taken when there’s women left who are bad to the core and acting like mongrels on

heat. There’s Maggie Oates, forty-five if a day, and still supplying men practically on me doorstep. They

slink past here shamefacedly. I feel at times, if I had a gun I would shoot them, or her.”

As she unpacked the things from the basket she thought of the change that had come over her da.

When her mother was alive he used to laugh about Maggie Oates, joked about her, at

least when she

herself wasn’t there. Many’s the time she would hear him say to her mother, “I think I’ll take a stroll

along to Maggie Oates,” and they would laugh together. And she wondered why her da

had never gone

to Maggie Oates’s cottage. Of course it was a good distance down the valley, a mile or more. But she

knew other people went to Maggie Oates, because she was a friendly creature. She

herself had spoken

to her a number of times. Once, when she had come across her sitting in a field, she had made her a

daisy chain. Looking back, she thought it was from that very incident that her da had

become strict with

her, telling her what she must do and what she must not do, especially that she must not speak to Maggie

Oates.

She said, “This pie’s fresh, I baked it this mornin’. Will I cut you a shive?”

He nodded, and when she handed him a wedge of the meat and potato pie he looked up at

her and said,

“Thanks, lass.” And on this she turned away and went into the scullery where she took an old coat from

behind the door and after putting it on went out and into the woodshed. And there she

began to chop

wood, sufficient to keep the stock up and to help out with the peat.

After finishing this chore, she next started on the room. She changed his bed and put the two fresh twill

sheets and a pillow case that she’d brought with her from the farm: Mrs. Davison allowed her to do his