Honey's Farm (23 page)

‘It's for your own good,' she said at last. ‘My father isn't here at the moment, but I know he'd object to anyone nosing about his property.'

‘Your father is Bob Smale, isn't he?' Fon asked, and it was as though a shutter had come down over the young girl's face. Her large eyes suddenly wore a guarded expression.

‘Just go away,' she said, at last. ‘Don't you know a bit of good advice when it's offered to you?'

With a quick movement, she wheeled the horse around and was riding away in the direction from which she'd come.

‘Well, what do you make of that?' Fon asked, and then smiled as she saw Eddie's pole-axed expression. ‘I know what
you
make of it all right,' she said in amusement, ‘you're in love.'

‘You know,' Eddie said, as they set off back across the fields, ‘I do believe you are right.'

The next day, Eddie took time off to go to the newspaper offices and search out what was contained in the files. He dressed in his best suit, and as he stood before Fon at the kitchen door he looked to her for approval.

‘You'll do all right,' Fon said. ‘What with your fine appearance and that posh voice of yours, they'll let you see anything you want to see.'

‘This will help too.' Eddie tossed the coins that Fon had given him the previous night. ‘I feel quite wealthy.'

‘I suppose you were used to having money before . . .' She broke off in embarrassment, but Eddie simply smiled.

‘I took money for granted. That's something I'll never do again, believe me.'

When he had gone, Fon stood at the window, staring out into the fields. Tomorrow, Jamie would take the Black Devil to market, and with the money buy some winter barley and, more importantly, buy in some cattle for finishing.

With farming it was always a waiting game, she mused; you planned, you planted and, hopefully, you reaped. And you could do without enemies who burnt your crop.

Jamie came into the kitchen, his hair tangled by the breeze blowing uphill from the sea, his cheeks wind-burned. He smiled and took her in his arms, his hand caressing the small of her back in a way that sent shivers running through her.

‘What are you up to, colleen?' he asked, his mouth pressed against the warmth of her neck. She put her arms around him, holding him close, her eyes closed as she listened to the beat of his heart.

‘Never you mind, Mr O'Conner,' she teased. ‘You'll know it all in good time. Just be patient.'

Jamie tipped her face up to his and kissed her mouth. Fon longed to cling to him, to tear off her clothes and make him love her; amazed at her reaction, she drew away from him.

‘
Duw
, you're turning me into a real hussy! For shame on you, Jamie, kissing me that way, and it's still daylight.'

He sat at the table and put his elbows on the scrubbed boards. ‘If you don't like it, why are you smiling so happily, then?' he challenged, his eyes bright.

‘Who said I didn't like it?' Fon placed her hands on her hips and stared at her husband provocatively.

‘Where's Patrick?' he asked.

Fon pointed in the direction of the parlour. ‘Having a nap in there,' she said. ‘Why . . . ?'

She broke off as Jamie rose suddenly and swept her up into his arms. ‘In that case, I might just as well have my wicked way with you, colleen,' he said.

In the bedroom, he dropped her lightly on the bed, and then he was beside her, his hands caressing, his eyes alight. The scent of him was of the sun and the grass and the open air, and Fon was as desperate as he was as her fingers opened the buttons of his shirt.

He took her quickly, and she moaned in surrender, feeling the fire in her that he always roused. The second time, calmer now, he was tender, teasing and tantalizing her until she could have screamed out for release.

Afterwards, they lay in each other's arms, bathed in late September sunlight from the open window. Fon pushed herself up on one elbow and looked down at her husband.

‘You are a fine man, Jamie,' she said softly. ‘I don't know what I would have done with my life if I hadn't met you.'

‘You'd have turned into a dried-up spinster, no doubt,' he said, kissing the breast nearest to his face, ‘and I would have found myself a rich widow who would have died in gratitude for a kiss and would not be wearing me to a shadow with constant demands.'

Fon leaned over him. ‘Wearing you to a shadow, am I?' she said softly and put her mouth against his throat. Gently, her hands stroked him and she felt him become aroused to her touch.

‘What are you doing, colleen?' he asked. ‘Don't you know I've got work to do?'

‘The work can wait,' she whispered, ‘but first I want to wear you to a shadow.'

It was almost dark by the time Eddie returned from Swansea. He joined the others at the supper table and looked at Fon questioningly.

‘It's all right, Eddie,' she said. ‘Let us all know what you've found out.'

‘It's quite staggering,' Eddie said, accepting the plate of meat and potatoes that Fon handed him. ‘There's going to be a new road, a big road running all the way through the hill and down into the town.'

Jamie was ahead of him. ‘And the road will go through the piece of land I bought from Tommy's mother.'

‘That's right,' Eddie said. ‘You made a good investment when you bought that, Jamie, for now you're all set to make a quick profit.'

Jamie sat back in his chair, a satisfied expression on his face. ‘You can fill me in on the details later of what you and my little wife have been hatching between you,' he said. ‘For now, eat your supper; you've earned it.'

Jamie's eyes met Fon's and she read admiration in his gaze; desire she was used to, but the way he appraised her now, as though seeing her as an adult woman for the first time, gave her a heady sensation of triumph.

Slowly, meaningfully, she smiled at him. ‘You see,' she said softly, ‘you're better off without your rich widow, after all.'

‘But, love, you've
got
to see him, tell him about the baby. He's the
father,
and he's got the right to know.'

Gwyneth listened to her mother's words, but they seemed to be washing over her like the waves of the sea outside.

Gwyneth looked through the window, wishing herself any place but here, in Oystermouth, bearing this terrible feeling of hopelessness.

‘I can't ruin his life,' Gwyneth said slowly, her lips almost failing to form the words. She felt weighed down with misery. She couldn't forget the picture of William and Eline Harries, so close, so
right
together.

‘Well,
I
won't sit down and watch my daughter go through the hell that I did,' Nina said fiercely. ‘I know what it's like to be looked down on, mind. I know the feeling of being an outcast, a fallen woman, and I don't want any daughter of mine experiencing that sort of treatment.'

‘Just let me think things out, Mam,' Gwyneth begged. ‘Give me a few days and then I'll decide what's the best thing to do.'

Nina moved to the window and stared along the street. Her mouth was a tight line in her pale face. Gwyneth realized that Nina was suffering more heartache for her daughter's plight than she ever had for her own.

Had Nina yearned to be with Joe Harries as she yearned to be with William, Gwyneth wondered? Had Nina felt the tearing, destructive force of jealousy that wanted to kill the obstacle between her and her love?

‘I know it hurts,' Nina said softly, as though reading her daughter's inner thoughts. ‘It hurts like nothing on God's earth to see your man with another woman. And it
had
to be that Eline Harries standing in your way, didn't it? I wish she'd never come to Oystermouth.'

Gwyneth felt suddenly very tired. She longed for silence, for rest from the feelings that warred within her, and for respite from her mother's indignation.

She moved towards Nina and rested her arm around her mother's shoulders. ‘Thank you, Mam,' she said softly. ‘Thank you for not judging me or blaming me.'

Nina looked into her daughter's face. ‘How could I judge you, when you got your nature from me?'

In an unexpected show of affection, Nina hugged her. After a moment, Gwyneth disentangled herself from her mother's arms and moved away slowly towards the stairs. ‘I'm going to lie down, Mam,' she said softly. ‘I've got a bit of a headache.'

‘A bit of a heartache more like,' Nina murmured, but Gwyneth didn't answer. She made her way wearily upstairs and sank on to her bed, staring around at the room as if she'd never seen it before.

It was as neat as it had ever been, but the curtains were growing shabby; the patchwork quilt on the bed was faded with washing; even the enamel washbasin on the table was chipped and discoloured.

Mam was getting older, Gwyneth thought, with a dart of pity. Nina could no longer go out and work on the oyster beds as she'd done when Joe Harries was alive. It was as though, with his death, Nina had given up her youth, allowed herself to become older, a woman in a shawl content to work in the house, cooking and cleaning and sometimes even spending the evenings near the fire knitting or sewing.

Nina had always provided for her family, and now, it seemed, it was Gwyneth's duty to repay her mother for all her years of toil.

Sal was married, and so was Fon, the youngest of the sisters; they both had their own lives to lead. It was left to Gwyneth to take care of Mam.

Gwyneth sighed. Perhaps the solution to her problem was a visit to Mrs Kenny. She was known only by word of mouth, but she was reputed to be adept at helping young girls to slip an unwanted baby. And she charged much less than the proper midwife.

Gwyneth hugged her stomach. She was carrying Will's child; it was growing here within her. How could she even think of getting rid of it? And yet – her mind went round like a trapped fly in a web – what was the alternative? She couldn't work on the beds with the other women, not once her condition began to show; she just couldn't face it.

Mrs Kenny, it seemed, was the only way out. Tomorrow, Gwyneth would go to see her. There was nothing else for her to do.

She curled up on the bed and pulled the quilt over her head, trying to burrow down into the darkness. She didn't want to think any more, or to feel any more pain. She just wanted to go to sleep and never wake up again.

‘You've done an excellent job, Mrs Harries, I congratulate you.' Mrs Bell positively beamed, and Eline smiled warmly in return.

‘Thank you, Mrs Bell. It's very kind of you; but, even though I've worked very hard, I've enjoyed every minute I've spent at your emporium.'

And Eline meant it. She had felt the creative juices flow as she'd decorated first the window for Will and then, at Mrs Bell's insistence, the other windows in the store.

‘I confess myself wrong.' Mrs Bell eased herself into one of the chairs strategically placed around the store for the comfort of her customers. ‘It was old-fashioned of me to think that people don't change. They do; at least my customers seem to have changed.' She smiled. ‘There's more of them, for a start, since you had a hand in things, young lady.'

Eline was pleased and warmed. It wasn't like Mrs Bell to make congratulatory statements, and she usually meant every word she said.

‘Well, I suppose you'd better be on your way, then. I mustn't keep you.' Mrs Bell smiled to soften the edge to her words. ‘But you'll be back in two weeks? That's definite, I trust, for I shall want my new stock shown off. It will have arrived by then.'

‘I will be back in two weeks, I assure you,' Eline said, holding out her hand.

Gravely, Mrs Bell shook it. ‘That's a promise, then?' she insisted, and Eline smiled warmly.

‘That's a promise.'

Eline felt strange walking out of the store into the pale sunlight. She looked up at the trees, bare now, stripped of the last of the red and gold leaves. The last of the warm weather had gone; the streets would grow cold, and in the country the earth would seem to be quietly drifting off to sleep.

Eline thought suddenly of autumn on Honey's Farm, the days spent among the ripe corn, the backbreaking work of cutting and drying it, and the threshing and winnowing. It had been hard, but she had loved it. And then in winter, the ground hard, appearing as though nothing would ever grow on it again. And yet spring always came, bringing green shoots thrusting strongly through the ground, looking for sunshine. In a way, this was the winter of her life. The old ways were over and done with; she must face the future with courage.

She walked more briskly now. She was meeting Will to say goodbye before she returned to Swansea. Goodbye – it was such a sad word. And yet, in spite of herself, Eline felt warmed by the thought of seeing Will again, even for a few minutes. At least they were friends now, and, though she could never forget his infidelity with Gwyneth Parks, she
could
believe now that it had happened in one weak moment when he felt as lost and alone as she sometimes did.

And for men it was different; she knew that from her marriage to Joe. Men had greater urges, urges they found it hard to control. She didn't condone it, because love wasn't to be given carelessly – that way led to pain and suffering – it was a thing to be cherished, encouraged to grow.

But, to be realistic, how many times had she surrendered to her husband, not out of love at all, but out of duty? Joe had wanted her so much; he had earned the right to take her to his bed, he had married her.

Will had simply used Gwyneth Parks as a momentary assuaging of his loneliness and passion: not a kind act, certainly, but one she could understand.

Eline felt suddenly sorry for Gwyneth. She loved Will just as surely as Eline loved him, and now her feelings of rejection must be terrible.