A Dinner Of Herbs (94 page)

was reverting to normal, and to this he replied gallantly, “ It would be of more value to me having touched

youf face. “

She stared at him and again the tears came to her eyes, and abruptly she swung round and hurried down

the barn and out of the door, and straight into John.

“What is it?” he asked, holding her by the arms, and she gulped in her throat as she said,

“Tis nothing,

nothing.” He looked towards the barn door, and when he saw a spray of hay leaving a

fork to land on

the feed cart. he said softly, “Willy?” He looked at the—paper and the box clutched in her hand held

against the neck of her hood, and he said, “Aw, Maggie, Maggie. But ‘tis no use for

either of us. We’re

both in the same boat, aren’t we? We’ve left it too late. Look, go into the tack-room and dry your face.

We’ll talk later.”

He pushed her gently away; then he went into the barn where Willy was forking the hay, but he said

nothing to him. he just picked up a fork and helped to fill the cart.

Towards the end of January two letters came from France: one was addressed to Maggie,

and one to

John. Maggie immediately read hers, but when Mary Ellen handed John his, he thrust it

into his pocket,

then stood listening to Maggie as she now read her letter out aloud to them.

“Ma chere Maggie.

The weather, it is bleak, but I am warm with business. I have had much business of late to attend. We

have cleared my father’s studio, most pictures have gone to the agent. It has been turned into apartments

for an attendant. it is housekeeper I mean, is it not? My English is worse on paper than when I speak.

The housekeeper has a husband who works. It is very convenient. The housekeeper, she

attends me.

Mademoiselle Estelle pretends illness. She is afraid I take another sea voyage. I think of you all very

much, and I dream at night of the cows. There is much business to be done with the

lawyers, but I hope

to be soon free. Many friends call. People are kind. But I would wish I was with you. I send my warm

greetings to your mother and father, and the family. To yourself, ma chere Maggie, I give my love.

In sincerity. “

Maggie’s voice trailed away, and she looked to where her father was sitting on the settle, then to where

her mother was bending towards the fire holding a heavy iron pot in her hand in which

was sizzling

butter. She watched her whip it quickly up and onto a wooden stand on the table, then, pouring sugar

into it, begin to stir the contents, and she said, “Well?” and Mary Ellen turned her head towards her and

said, “Well what?”

“Tis a nice letter.”

“Yes, yes, ‘tis a nice letter.”

“What has she got to say to you, lad?”

John now looked at his father. Then on a sigh, he pulled the letter from his pocket,

opened it, read it,

then said briefly, “She’s simply asking about the farm, and the weather.” And with this he thrust the letter

back into his pocket, picked up his cap from the corner of the table, pulled it well down over his ears,

turned the collar of his coat up to meet it, then went out with his head bent against the piercing wind.

Back in the kitchen, Maggie went into the pantry, picked up her basket of household

dusters and

brushes and, it being Wednesday, began her work on the bedrooms.

She went into her own room first, but did not immediately get down on her hands and

knees to brush the

carpet; instead, she sat on the foot of her bed, her hand gripping the iron knob. She knew that John’s

letter had not contained questions about the farm, and she understood how he felt. They had become

very close over the past weeks, saying little, but understanding each other’s problem.

There was a

tension in the house that, as she put it to herself, you could cut with a knife.

There was tension all round for that matter, and each member of the family was aware of it. Her mother

had stated openly yesterday that nothing had been the same since that lass had come on the scene. And

she had retorted to this, “Don’t you mean, since your girlhood sweetheart put in his last appearance?” At

this, they’d had high words. She knew she should keep her mouth shut, especially about her mother’s

past, but whenever she saw the blame apportioned in the wrong direction, ^he had to

speak out.

Then Kate had arrived with her troubles. Apparently Fraser had come home the worse for drink from

the market, and Ben had had one of his bad turns. She didn’t want to, but she was being forced to agree

with her father that there was a bad streak in Fraser. He seemed to gravitate towards the lowest of

company. And yet there were times when he appeared a normal, nice enough lad.

Life was unfair when you came tojhink about it. There was that boy being given a chance of higher

education. He still had time to make something of himself, but was already starting on the wrong road.

And there was a man like Willy who had been working since he could toddle and had

appreciated the

chance he had been given to read and write and to inform himself. And she knew it to be a truth, that he

was better informed than anyone on this homestead or round about for many a mile.

Yet there he was, working almost every hour that God sent, for the most part of his life in a smock, with

the title of cowhand.

“Twasri’t fair, ‘twasn’t.

Twice of late she had almost burst into the sitting-room where her mam and dad had been comfortably

ensconced in the evening, and cried at them, “I’m going to marry Willy. Do you hear?

I’m going to

marry Willy.”

On the first occasion she was stopped only by the thought that he hadn’t asked her to

marry him, nor

had he said that he loved her. It was only in gestures and looks and a few words of

affection that she

imagined he would want to marry her. There were men who didn’t want to marry, who

could get along

without it, but who liked a woman about them, and a little romance on the side, nothing that would tie

them.

Was he like that? No. No. She had denied it in her mind. The second time she had been

stopped in

following her urge by the telling fact that he had not even tried to kiss her on the quiet.

And it could have

been done. There had been plenty of opportunity when they had been alone together. And oh, she had

longed for him to put his arms about her and kiss her.

Lately, the nights were becoming unbearable. She walked the floor half the time. They

had heard her

from across the landing one night, and her mother had come over and she’d had to lie and say she had

toothache; and her mother had gone downstairs and made her a mustard plaster, which

she’d had to put

on the supposedly offending tooth, only to spit it out when the door had closed on her, then dash to the

ewer and gulp at the cold water.

What was she going to do? She couldn’t go on much longer like this, she’d go mad. She

should have

married years ago. Yes, she knew that now. Yet there had never been the urge on her as there had

been since she knew Willy. He had seemed to bring this thing alive within her, and oh, at times she

wished he hadn’t. And strangely, her state of need had become worse since Yvonne had

come into the

house. Why was that?

John made for the tack-room, he would be warm in there and he would have a minute to

himself to read

her letter again. But when he opened the door, it was to see Terry sitting by the stove mending the

harness.

“You want me. Master John? I just thought I’d warm me knees while seeing to this.”

As he made to get up, John said, “Sit where you are, Terry. How are your feet the day?”

“Well, to tell the truth. Master John, I don’t feel I’ve got any on.

They’re sort of numb. But ‘tis funny, I can walk better on them when they’re numb than when they’re

alive, so to speak. The ointment the missis gave me, I’m sure is helping, I’m sure of that, the new stuff

she made up for me. It burns like blazes, but I don’t mind that. Want something. Master John? “

“No, no. I was just looking for a new bit. That one seems to be chafing old Noah.” He

walked to the

far end of the room where the wall was covered with hanging braces and bits, bridles, and all

accoutrements needed to dress a horse, and, selecting a bit, he went from the room,

nodding towards

Terry as he did so, saying, “Stay put. There’s enough mending to keep you occupied for the next few

hours. There’s nothing spoiling so far.”

“As you say. Master John, as you say. I’ll do that. I’ll do that.”

John stood for a moment outside the door. What was it like to be in a subservient position like Terry

back there, his body racked with pain most hours of the day, the result of years of toil spent working for

them? He should be pensioned off, and with enough to keep him comfortable. By damn!

he’d see the

old man about it. There was Ozzie Taylor free for hiring. He was young and could be

trained, and he

was as strong as a bull. He’d tell his father the night and, storm or no storm, he’d have his way over this.

With a defiant movement he pulled the letter from his pocket now, and again read the few lines of writing

on it. It did not begin, “Mon cher Jean’, but started abruptly with,

Jean, Why don’t you write to me? You said you write to me. I am very lonely for a word from you.

Do you not wish to hear from me again? Life here is not good. I miss you.

It was signed simply, Yvonne.

Slowly he placed the sheet back in the envelope and returned it to his pocket. As he went to walk

across the yard, his father came towards him. He had just come out of the kitchen and had undoubtedly

viewed him reading his letter, for now he said in a high breezy tone, “Well, what does she say that we

haven’t got to hear?” But he wasn’t prepared for the answer he got.

“She says there’s some very nice farms going in France that would suit me down to the

ground, and

she’ll buy me one. That satisfy you?”

“What the hell’s up with you? My God! I ask a civil question.... Now you look here!”

“No, you look here. Dad, and we’ll forget about my letter and talk about this particular farm, eh?

There’s Terry over there, not able to stand on his feet. Now as I see it, he’s ready for his pension. I

know he’s not that old, but there’s not a day’s work left in him, and he’s given you his life since he was a

lad. Ozzie Taylor’s mother’s wanting to place him. I promised her I’d see to it. There’s the other

cottage that could be done up. It’ll want money spent on it, but I think you owe that to Terry.”

“Well, I’ll be buggered. Here’s me, not dead yet, and a new boss taking over. Now let me tell you

something, John;’ His father was digging him in the chest with his finger now, and when, with a swift

movement, he pushed the hand away, Hal became silent and, his voice changing, he said,

“ Look, first tell

me. What’s brought this on? All right, all right, I know me duties. I know what I intend to do with

Terry. I have for some time now. I don’t need you to tell me. Another time you would

have talked

about this, not come laying the law down as if you were master of the place. And’—his

voice was

changing again ‘don’t you forget it, John, I’m still here. You’re not in control yet. “

“It might be news to you, Dad, that I never want to be.” And on this he turned and

marched away,

leaving Hal gazing after him, his mouth agape, his mittened hand flat on the top of his cap. And now he

went slowly back towards the kitchen door again, muttering, “What the hell’s come over everybody?

That’s what I’d like to know.”

The mood in the household changed in the middle of the afternoon when Charles rode

into the yard.

Having led his horse into an empty loose-box, he made swiftly for the kitchen door and, thrusting it open

and seeing Maggie setting a tea-tray, he said, “Hello there, Maggie.

Where’s Mam? “

“She’s in the sitting-room with Dad, coddling him again. He’s had one of his coughing

bouts.”

He reached out a hand towards her, saying, “Come on.

Come on in. I’ve got news. “

As they went down the kitchen, the back door opened and John called, “Hello there,

Charles, anything

the matter?”

“Yes, yes, lots, John. Come in a minute. We’re going into the sitting room. I’ve got some news.”

“Well, if your face is anything to go by, it must be good.”

“Tis that.”

John pulled off his boots and in his stockinged feet hurried up the kitchen, through the hall, and into the

sitting-room, to where his father was sitting before a roaring fire and his mother was standing looking

towards Charles and saying, “You look as if you’ve lost a threepenny bit and found a

sixpence, lad.

What is it?”

Charles placed the high hat he had been holding in his hand on a side table, unbuttoned the neck of his

greatcoat, drew in a long breath, then let his gaze wander from one to the other before allowing it to rest

on Mary Ellen, and he said slowly, “Florrie’s going to have a child.”

They all stared at him, no one saying a word. Charles and FIorrie had been married

fifteen years, and

she hadn’t shown a sign of falling.

Of a sudden there was a great hubbub. Hal was on his feet shaking Charles’s hand and