A Sixpenny Christmas (36 page)

It now occurred to Molly, with some alarm, that she had no idea what Mrs Pritchard would look like with her hair loosed from its tight little bun and her body clad in a nightdress. She could not suppress a giggle. In her mind’s eye she could see the hospital bed, the sheets starched and white, and there in the middle of it, propped up by pillows, would be Mrs Pritchard in a black nightdress, and a black headscarf pulled defiantly forward to shield her bright, dark eyes.

Still smiling, Molly fell asleep at last.

Chapter Thirteen

AS HE HAD
promised, Rhys was up and ready to go as soon as a faint grey light appeared in the sky. He had listened to the weather forecast on the wireless, which had given a fine day for the northwest, and hoped to get back to Cefn Farm whilst it was still light. Despite their best efforts, however, it was eight o’clock before the family assembled in the kitchen, where Molly and Ellen, who had been first up, had made a brew of tea and a large saucepan of porridge. Rhys had suggested a sandwich breakfast to be eaten on their way but the women had scoffed at this idea. ‘We’ve packed ab-dabs enough for an army; they’ll do for elevenses and us dinners,’ Ellen said cheerfully. ‘Lucky I got a nice bit of boiling bacon, meaning to have it for our evening meal when we came back from our trip to the shops today. I bought some tomatoes an’ all, off of me pal in St John’s market, and put ’em in the ab-dabs . . .’ she saw Rhys’s puzzled expression and laughed, ‘sarnies – sangwiches to you – so’s they won’t get too dry. But there’s nothin’ like porridge to line your stomach, I allus say. And we’ll take Mr Taplow’s big flask full of tea so’s to have a hot drink . . .’

‘Did you ask him?’ Molly said. ‘Well, I don’t see how you could have since he’s off visiting relatives. What’ll he say when he comes back and finds his flask has gone missing?’

Ellen shrugged, but Lana answered for her.

‘Oh, Auntie Molly, it’s plain you don’t know our Mr Taplow! He thinks the sun shines out of our mum; he’ll say she were welcome to his flask and anything else she had a mind to borrow. They’re good pals, honest to God they are.’ She grinned at Molly. ‘He’s a funny chap but he fair worships my mum. It’d never surprise me . . .’

‘Oh, shurrup!’ Ellen said, her cheeks reddening. ‘He’s just a friend, and I couldn’t ask for better.’ She turned to her daughter. ‘And you’ve not brushed your hair, you horrid little slut. The minute you’ve finished your breakfast, get up them stairs and see to it.’

Rhys was an excellent driver, and packed though the jeep was with both people and luggage he made good time. It was a long journey and they made two or three stops – comfort stops Chris called them with a grin as his sister and her friend disappeared into the trees for what Lana had called, with a giggle, ‘a private moment’. Chris had offered to share the driving with Rhys but his father had firmly refused. ‘You aren’t used to driving on the left and the jeep isn’t the easiest of vehicles to handle,’ he said. ‘When we get back home you can take her out in the fields and lanes and get used to her without a lot of traffic. But right now I’d rather take the wheel myself.’

Chris moaned a bit, of course, since he, Molly and the two girls were all squashed up together in the back, for Ellen’s ample figure had to be given the front passenger seat. They stopped as Rhys had promised to eat their sandwiches, and were driving into the farmyard by mid-afternoon. Rhys drew up with a squeal of brakes and jumped out to greet Jacob and Nat, who shot out of
the farm buildings, mouths already opening to give the news which the family had already heard. Rhys cut across the gaggle of information with which his workers were bombarding him. ‘It’s all right, we had a telegram last night,’ he said briefly. ‘I’m going to leave Mrs O’Mara and Lana here – they’ve kindly offered to get us all an evening meal – whilst the rest of us go on to Cae Hic. I take it Mr Pritchard and Rhodri will be there?’

‘You won’t find anyone at the Pritchards’ apart from old Mr Williams, who’s gone up there to keep an eye on things, feed the dogs and the poultry and see that no one walks into the house,’ Nat said urgently. ‘Rhodri went into the village this morning to ring the hospital to find out if they could bring his mum home yet and there were a telegram for him – well, for his dad really – saying they must get to the hospital as soon as possible because she’d taken a turn for the worse.’

Molly wound down her window and poked her head out of it. ‘Is Mr Williams all right, up there by himself, or is his wife with him?’ she asked anxiously. ‘Oh, I know he’s perfectly capable of feeding the stock, but suppose something were to happen? Suppose he were to take a fall, or . . .’

Nat shrugged. ‘Mrs Williams has gone home; she didn’t want to stay here on her own and there’s no room at Cae Hic. Jacob offered to go with Mr Williams but he wouldn’t let him – said it were too far for him to get back to the village each night, though Jacob offered to stay over, even if it meant sleeping on the floor.’ He lowered his voice. ‘But you know these old Welsh farmers; independence ain’t the word . . . stiff-necked, mebbe. At any rate they won’t accept help if they can
possibly avoid it, and to be fair to Mr Williams he’s real sensible, and I’m sure he can cope.’

The rest of the family had got out of the car while Nat was speaking, and when Molly followed suit she saw Chris stop, eyes rounding, and realised he had seen the extension. ‘Gosh, Mum,’ he breathed, ‘you’ve made the farm twice the size, and it’s beautifully done. I’ve always loved our grey stone and the bluey grey slates on the roof and you’ve matched them exactly.’ He clapped his father on the back and Rhys pretended to give at the knees, but his smile spread from ear to ear at his son’s obvious pleasure.

‘It’s good, isn’t it? The lads and I worked like dogs to get it completed in time for your return,’ he said. ‘I mean to grow Virginia creeper up the side just to hide the join, although as you say it’s well matched. But just wait until you see the inside! There’s a lovely big bedroom, already full of your stuff, and a smart sitting room, so if you don’t fancy spending your evenings with the family you can shut yourself away and listen to records, write letters, study the farming magazines if you like, all on your todd.’

Molly saw he was so proud and pleased that he meant to take Chris straight into his new quarters, having clearly temporarily forgotten the reason for their unplanned return, but halfway to the kitchen door he must have recollected himself, for he turned apologetically to his son. ‘You go and take a look, Chris, but make it quick. We’re off to Bangor. Or do you think you’d best stay here? I don’t suppose we’ll be gone long, and really there’s no point in you accompanying us. Stay and give Auntie Ellen and Lana a hand with supper. After all,
there’s a limit to what anyone can do once a body is in hospital.’

Chris agreed reluctantly to stay behind, though he added that he rather thought he would go up to the Pritchards’ place and make sure that Mr Williams did not need a hand.

‘If you want me to give you a lift before I leave . . .’ Rhys said rather doubtfully, but Chris shook his head.

‘No, it’s all right, Dad. It’s been ages since I got a lung full of good clean mountain air. I’ll saddle Wanderer and ride up there; it’s been ages since I’ve ridden a really good mount, too.’

Molly, listening, gave a little laugh. ‘Last time Nonny rode Wanderer, she ended on the other side of the hedge! As she said, she had intended the pair of them to clear it, not just herself. So just you remember that Wanderer hasn’t been getting enough exercise lately and he’s full of beans.’

‘I’ll remember,’ Chris said gravely. He picked up his suitcases and made for the back door, with Ellen, hefting her own bag, just ahead of him. They entered the kitchen to find Nonny already there, bustling about getting cups, milk and the big brown teapot on the table, though when she saw the rest of the party she promptly stopped her work and jerked a thumb at Lana.

‘You get the grub started, and brew the tea when the kettle boils,’ she commanded. ‘Mum’s bringing my case in, and Dad’s carrying the big one, and as soon as they’ve taken them upstairs we’ll be on our way.’

Lana pulled a disconsolate face. ‘Oh, but Nonny, why can’t you stay here?’ she wailed. ‘If you were to help my mum get the supper and unpack and that, I could go
with Chris up to the Pritchards’. I’m sure I’d be ever so useful, honest to God I would.’

‘Pull the other one,’ Nonny said briefly. ‘All you want is to be with Chris and he won’t welcome you, because there’ll be all sorts of work which he can do better by himself without you moithering him.’ She turned to her mother. ‘Don’t you agree, Mum? I say, you’ve gone quite pale. Sit down for a minute until the tea’s brewed.’

Molly sat down obediently and gave her daughter a rather wan smile. ‘Sorry, love; I’m afraid today has been a bit much for me,’ she said apologetically. ‘Mrs Pritchard has been such a good friend to us, so kind and generous, that the thought of her being ill and taken away from her beloved Cae Hic to a cold impersonal hospital down on the coast really upsets me.’ She turned to Lana. ‘As for you, love, you don’t want to be a nuisance to Chris, do you? Not that I think there will be much to do at Cae Hic, not with Mr Williams in charge. Do you know, he’s eighty-seven years old and still digs and plants his own vegetable plot, keeps fowl, and sells their eggs at market – well, actually his wife does that – and has a couple of fatteners in a sty at the bottom of the garden. Now, promise me you won’t pester Chris, my dear? Apart from anything else, he means to go on Wanderer and you can’t ride at all, can you? Not even the little pony Chris and Nonny learned on.’

Lana stuck out her lower lip and it occurred to Nonny, not for the first time, that fond though her mother was of her she seemed to have set her face against Chris and Lana’s becoming too friendly. Perhaps it’s my imagination though, Nonny thought. Much likelier she simply believes that Lana would make anyone a rotten wife, particularly
a farmer. So she waited until her mother and Chris had left the kitchen and then smiled affectionately into her friend’s disappointed face. ‘Oh, Lana, you look as though you’ve lost a quid and found a penny,’ she said. ‘But you know Mum’s right, really. You wouldn’t mean to, of course, but you’d hold Chris up and he needs to get to the Pritchards’ place as soon as possible. I dare say he won’t stay long, however, so we’d best start searching the pantry and the meat safe to see what grub we can find for supper.’

Molly was not frightened of hospitals, despite having spent so long in this particular one, or perhaps because of it, for towards the end of her stay she had begun to appreciate the friendly helpfulness of the staff, and the plain but excellent meals which were delivered to her bedside three times a day, so now she went straight to reception and asked which ward her aunt was on, explaining that they had come all the way from Liverpool to see her. She chose to introduce herself as Mrs Pritchard’s niece because she knew Rhodri had several cousins, and knew also that as a relative she would be allowed to visit whereas as a friend she might have been turned away.

Armed with the information they required, the three of them made their way quietly through the numbers of staff and patients in the long corridor until they came to one of the single rooms, which had a number and Mrs Pritchard’s name on the door. So used had the family become to always addressing the Pritchards as Mr and Mrs that the sight of her Christian name, Mair, was quite a shock and almost caused Molly to walk straight past, except that Rhys caught her arm. ‘This is the one,’ he
whispered. ‘Just a gentle tap, my love. I can see her shape under the blankets, and there’s Mr Pritchard and Rhodri sitting on the bench with their backs to us, so I think we should go in very quietly.’

They entered the small glassed-in cubicle, and the two men seated by the bedside swung round at the gentle susurration of the opening door. Rhodri got to his feet in one quick flexible movement and his father creaked upright also, a hand pressed to the small of his back, but a big smile chasing, momentarily at least, the fear and worry from his weathered face. Rhys began to whisper that they had come as soon as they could, but Rhodri shushed him, a finger to his lips, then pointed to the door. The Pritchards, Rhys and Molly went obediently out into the corridor, but Nonny indicated by signs that she would remain with the old woman whilst the adults talked.

Outside in the corridor Molly gave old Mr Pritchard an impulsive hug. She had never done such a thing before, never dared to do more than shake his hand, but now she felt the tremble vibrating through his arthritic frame, and felt his cheek wet with tears. She saw that Rhys was holding Rhodri’s hand as though the young man were just a small child, and knew instinctively that this was what the Pritchards needed at this difficult moment. Spotting a bench a little further up the corridor she led the three men to it and sat them down. Then, clasping both Mr Pritchard’s hands, she asked him if they could help in any way. The old man produced a large and not very clean handkerchief and unashamedly mopped his eyes.

‘A stroke she did have,’ he muttered, his voice breaking. ‘Very ill she do be. The doctor says it’s coma, not sleep,
yet he says he doubts she’ll wake again.’ The eyes he turned on Molly were as puzzled as a child’s. ‘How can that be? I don’t understand. If she’s not going to wake, she must be asleep, and if she’s asleep why shouldn’t she wake? Oh, Mrs Roberts, love my Mair I do, miss her we shall, until she do come back.’ He turned to his son. ‘The boy understands. He tries to explain, but . . .’

Rhodri put an arm round his father’s thin shoulders. ‘Coma is really only a word for a very deep sleep, and from such a sleep few do recover,’ he said gently. ‘Remember, Da, our mam is old, old, old.’ He turned to Molly and Rhys. ‘This come about because she fell out of the hayloft and that caused her to have what they call a stroke. She were bringing down a bale of hay for the carthorses . . . ah, God, often we’ve told her, Da and meself, not to climb that ladder, but she’d not heed us. And now this! Poor Mam.’

Molly took old Mr Pritchard’s thin hand, calloused from years of hard work, and gently squeezed his fingers. ‘We’ll do anything we can to help, because no one deserves help more than you,’ she said softly. ‘When we first came to Cefn Farm all we had was book knowledge, and a deal of that was wrong because it didn’t apply to hill farming. We made mistakes which would have cost us dear, only you and Mrs Pritchard were not afraid to tell us what we’d done wrong and what we should do to put the wrong right. Oh, we had kindness from most folk in the mountains when it came to buying and looking after our stock, but you treated us as a good father treats his children and we shall never forget it. Believe me, Mr Pritchard, if we can pay you back in any way we’d be proud to do it.’