A Mother's Sacrifice (37 page)

And then came the wail, the long plaintive whine that turned into the heart-rending screech of her baby’s distress at being born into this harsh and cruel world and it was the sweetest sound she had ever heard. She cried. She laughed. She fell flat on her face on the floor. She had done it! She and her baby had done it together!

‘It’s a boy, Sally,’ she heard Amos say.

A boy. She cried some more. She laughed some more. A boy. ‘Patrick,’ she shouted. ‘It’s a boy.’

‘Patrick. That’s a nice name, Sally.’

Yes it was. She was too tired to argue with Amos about names, her own or her baby’s. Her baby! Her little Patrick! She struggled to a sitting position with her back against the couch. ‘Give him to me. Give my little Patrick to me,’ she breathed.

Amos handed her a wailing bundle wrapped tightly in linen and she held him close to her breast. Her baby. Hers. She could hardly believe she had done it. ‘Hush now,’ she whispered. ‘You’re safe with me. I’ll always keep you safe. I promise.’

His crying quietened to a snuffle and he settled against her as though he understood. She marvelled at this tiny wonder of nature, her pain and distress forgotten. ‘I’m your mother, little Patrick.’ she added softly, closing her eyes. ‘I’m your mother,’ she repeated with a sigh.

She heard Amos moving about the room, in and out of the scullery, when a pain struck her again, milder this time, and she yelped. Little Patrick jumped and began to whimper. Amos placed a shallow tin plate beside her on the floor and said, ‘For your afterbirth. I’ll take the child, if you like.’

‘No.’ She clutched him more tightly for a moment, then relaxed. ‘Very well.’ She passed him across and asked, ‘Where’s Miss Banks? And Davey?’

‘I left Davey rebuilding a wall. He has a lantern so he’ll be busy for hours. Miss Banks has disappeared. She couldn’t stand the screaming. She doesn’t like noise.’ Patrick’s whimper grew into a wail again. Amos carried him to the window. ‘Can you do for yourself now?’ he asked over his shoulder. ‘There’s fresh water and clean cloths on the table.’ He sang softly to Patrick in a surprisingly gentle voice, and Patrick’s wailing eased.

She did the best she could, then staggered wearily to the window to reclaim her child from this stranger; this shepherd who had offered three guineas for her at the market and lifted the edge of her skirt with his crook.

‘I’ll have him now,’ she said sharply and took him out of this stranger’s arms. She saw he looked hurt and added, ‘Ththank you for, well, for delivering him.’

He gazed at her steadily and said, ‘Shall I find Miss Banks for you?’

‘No!’ She inhaled to calm herself. ‘She won’t be any use. She’s quite mad, you must know that.’

‘What can I do?’

‘There’s an old drawer in the pantry and a blanket airing by the fire. Would you make up a crib for him?’

‘Very well. I expect you’d like some tea as well, and something to eat.’

She cradled her child in her arms and watched Amos as he fussed about with the crib and then prepared her a simple meal of bread and goat’s cheese. He was the only other living soul she had seen since she came here and she needed somebody to help her get away with little Patrick. He sat at the table and drank a mug of tea while she ate hungrily.

A crumb dropped on her baby’s cheek and she eased it gently away with one finger. He had a beautiful face.
All babies are beautiful to their mothers.
Laura’s words echoed around her head. If only her own mother were here to share this wonderful moment; to see her beautiful, beautiful grandchild, an infant who would have been so welcome to her, if only . . . A single tear of grief rolled down Quinta’s cheek and she brushed it aside with the back of her hand, returning her finger to stroke little Patrick’s face. He had her mother’s cheekbones, a feature that she, herself, shared; now she realised it was where her own beauty came from. Her son would grow into a handsome gentleman, for he had his father’s chin and a thin covering of Patrick’s black hair on his head. She wondered whether the blue of his eyes would darken and strengthen like Patrick’s, or turn to hazel like her own.

As she thought of her infant’s father, the void where her heart used to be seemed to collapse in on itself and her shoulders sagged. How she wished he could be with her and with his child. Her body yearned for Patrick’s love and she swallowed back a sob.This was a happy occasion. She had an awe-inspiring healthy baby who was filling her heart with love again.

Silently, she pledged her life to this tiny boy. He was her very being and she would devote all her energy to him. His father would always be with her through their child and, even though she would never see him again, she determined to be a mother that Patrick would be proud of.

Her child’s safety was her responsibility and hers alone. But Amos might give her some assistance. He had to, for she had no one else to ask. ‘You will keep Davey away from me, won’t you?’ she said without further thought. ‘Don’t let him come back here.’

‘This is his home.’

‘He thinks I’m somebody else. He thinks I’m this Sally woman.’

‘I’ll do what I can. He likes living in my hut during the summer.’ He picked up the metal plate holding her afterbirth. ‘This’ll fry nicely over the fire.You should eat it for the nourishment. ’

She nodded. She had to eat and drink to feed two people now. Little Patrick was already rooting at her breast and she went to sit on the couch. Later, when the door opened, he was suckling greedily. Miss Banks stood in the doorway and surveyed the quiet orderly room. Quinta realised that she didn’t care what Miss Banks said or did any more. She was experiencing such a wonderful feeling of love and satisfaction from feeding her child that she even smiled at the spinster.

Miss Banks gazed at her and stepped into the kitchen. Quinta saw a look of sheer wonderment on her gaunt lined face, as though she could not believe her eyes. She took the drink of tea that Amos offered her and continued to stare. Quinta was prepared for her to want to hold her baby and was ready to refuse. But Miss Banks did not come near her. It was as though she was nervous, even frightened of her now she had had her child. Quinta gazed adoringly at her son, eased her nipple out of his tiny lips and lifted him over to her other breast.

Miss Banks did not seem to be able to take her eyes off them. She sank to a chair by the table with her drink. ‘What happened to Davey?’ she asked eventually.

‘He’s working on breaches in the walls,’ Amos replied.

‘Oh. He likes doing that.’

Quinta doubted that little Patrick would have the same pacifying effect on Davey that he had on Miss Banks and was uneasy about his return.The light had gone and he might come looking for Amos so she said, ‘Why don’t you go and find him?’

Amos took the hint and stood up. ‘I’ll take him up to my hut as usual.’

‘Is it far?’ Quinta asked.

‘A mile or so up the hill in the lee of the rocks.’

‘You’ll be down for your dinner tomorrow?’

‘I’ll bring Davey, yes.’

Quinta glanced at Miss Banks, wondering if she expected Davey to move back to the farmhouse, but the older woman simply nodded in agreement. She continued to stare, in awe of what she saw, and seemed unable to say much. Quinta smiled at her suckling infant. At first she was reluctant to lay him in his crib until she realised that Miss Banks really had no inclination to hold her child or take care of him. Only then was she able to sleep easy herself.

Patrick suckled and slept well. Quinta fed him, kept him clean, washed his linen and rested when she could. Miss Banks, without prompting, took over the household chores and the cooking, and Quinta marvelled that even sour old Miss Banks appeared to respect her right to nurse her infant. Little Patrick had given her a new status in this household.

But Davey had been puzzled by this turn of events and, Quinta thought, who knew what went on in his head? The following day he came with Amos for his dinner, grubby and tired from mending walls; as soon as Quinta heard the men’s voices, she went to stand by little Patrick in his crib. He was awake, kicking and gurgling and, she judged, building up to the grizzling that told her he was hungry. She hoped dinner would be over before he became too demanding, and crooned softly as he grasped her finger with his tiny fist.

Davey’s puzzled frown turned to one of anger and he muttered, ‘Sally mine,’ several times.

Quinta became anxious about this restlessness and appealed to Miss Banks: ‘I think Davey is agitated by the baby.’

‘Aye. It’s a shock to the pair of us, having this little’un in our kitchen.’

‘Now the weather is improving,’ she suggested, ‘perhaps the men will eat their dinner out of doors as they do at Amos’s hut.’

‘That won’t do for me. You see to your babby and I’ll see to my Davey.’

‘Very well.’ Quinta pulled gently on her finger and little Patrick’s grip tightened.

The men were dusty from their building work and Amos went into the scullery to wash. Miss Banks told Davey to do the same and when he returned he clattered noisily about the kitchen area in his clumsy fashion, disturbing and alarming her child who quite naturally began crying. Quinta bent to pick him up and comfort him, increasing Davey’s agitation. ‘No, no, no!’ he cried. ‘Sally mine.’

Alarmed, Quinta turned away from him and spoke soothingly to her son. She felt a strong hand on her shoulder twisting her round. ‘No baby. No baby.’

Amos intervened, placing a hand on his arm. ‘Now then, Davey, you have to let the ewe have time with her lamb.’

‘Sally mine!’ he cried, throwing off the restraint.

Little Patrick continued to wail. ‘Go away, Davey,’ Quinta said. ‘Amos, take him outside please. I’m going to feed him now.’ She sat on the couch and unbuttoned the front of her bodice.

But before anyone could stop him, Davey had wrenched little Patrick from her arms and was holding him aloft. Horrified, Quinta watched him kick at the couch and prepare to dash her baby to the ground. She shot to her feet but was not tall enough to reach him. Amos was. He moved fast, rescuing the bundle from Davey’s clutches and bringing him safely down to hold him to his chest. Quinta retrieved him immediately and hugged him to her own breast. If Davey wouldn’t go outside then she would. She hurried out of doors, followed closely by Amos. His sheepdog got up immediately to hover by his feet.

‘You have to get me away from here,’ she whispered fiercely.

Amos’s weather-beaten face was grey. ‘He thinks you’re Sally and he’s jealous of your infant,’ he uttered, rubbing his hands over his eyes.

‘He’s an
idiot
. He could have killed my child. She -
she
- has made him worse. Who in their right mind goes out to
buy
a wife?’ Too late, she realised that Amos had done just that. He would have bought her for three guineas if Noah had not had his own evil plan for her. She exhaled heavily and moved to the sheltered side of the farmhouse. ‘Hush, now, my baby,’ she murmured and manoeuvred her nipple towards his tiny rooting mouth. ‘Who was Sally, anyway?’

‘Miss Banks bought her as a servant from the hiring fair. But she seemed to, well, like Davey.’ He hesitated. ‘Leastways, she occupied him and he was quieter, less agitated when she was - here - with him.’

‘What do you mean by “with him”?’

‘In the summer, Miss Banks let them go off wandering. I’d come across them occasionally, together, high up on the Peak.’ He stopped and Quinta saw the colour return to his features. He was embarrassed. ‘You know ...’

Yes, she did know and Quinta said emphatically, ‘Well, I am not Sally. What happened to her?’

‘Nobody knows. She just went.’

‘Just went?’

‘She disappeared one day.’

‘Lord in heaven! He might have killed her! You must help me, Amos. You must. I have to get away from here. I have to get down the valley to Crosswell with my baby.’

‘Miss Banks relies on me to help with her lambing and shearing. She’s given me more work since I lost my flock. I’d be at the hiring fair if it weren’t for her.’

‘But she expects me to take Sally’s place! She’s mad!’

‘All the Bankses are like that.They’ve had too much breeding in the family and there’s only these two left now.They’ve never harmed anyone, though.’

‘You don’t know that for sure, do you? I won’t go in the house again while Davey’s there. I won’t.’

He shook his head and bent a finger to stroke little Patrick’s cheek as he suckled. ‘It’s gone quiet in there. I’ll fetch you a chair.’

Quinta thought Amos was kindly enough towards her. He was a simple country fellow who knew which side his bread was buttered, but she hadn’t forgotten the way he had lifted her skirt at the hiring fair. Nevertheless, he was her only chance to escape and she had to persuade him to help her. When she looked at her darling son snuffling at her breast, she knew that she would do anything to get him away from here. Miss Banks may be in awe of her child but Davey . . . well, Davey was jealous and unpredictable. She feared for Patrick’s safety when he was around. The weather was kinder now and the days lengthening. It was time for her to leave. She wondered how best to win Amos over to her side.

He brought the chair and sat on the ground, his dog beside him, watching her with a mixture of wonder and admiration. ‘What Davey did has frightened Miss Banks,’ he said. ‘She wants me to stop bringing him down for his dinner.’

‘You mean he would stay away all day as well as the night?’

‘Only until you can - you know - give him more of your time.’

Dear Lord, no. Never, she thought and said, ‘I will not be his wife.’

‘Will you be mine instead?’

‘Amos!’

‘I wanted you but I couldn’t afford Noah’s price.’

‘I have a husband,’ she replied shortly. She wasn’t thinking of Noah. Little Patrick’s father is my true husband, in my heart, she thought wistfully.