Honey's Farm (33 page)

He tensed, almost dropping the cup as he heard Gwyneth scream out in agony. He gripped the edge of the table, his knuckles white. God! He had done this to her, foisted on her a baby, brought her nothing but pain. He rubbed his hand over his eyes and sank into a chair, and then he became aware that Nina was in the room, her face ashen.

‘Something's wrong,' she said in a small voice. ‘
Duw
, had babies, me, and not felt such pain as my girl is suffering.'

‘What can I do?' Will asked, looking up at Nina uncertainly.

‘Only one thing,' she said. ‘Fetch my girl a doctor before it is too late.'

Fon turned over in bed and saw the white of the snow against the window with a feeling of contentment. Jamie in the bed beside her was still asleep, a rare occurrence on a farm where, in the normal course of events, work began at an early hour. But this was Christmas, and even Jamie had decided to lie in bed for a while.

As if aware of her scrutiny, he opened his eyes and immediately reached for her, his hand seeking and finding her naked breasts.

‘Behave!' Fon said in mock anger. ‘Don't you ever think of anything else?'

‘Not often,' Jamie agreed, drawing her close. She felt the heavy weight of him against her and smiled happily, knowing he was aroused as always by her nearness. One thing she could be certain of, Jamie's desire for her was total and undiminished by the familiarity brought about by the closeness of their marriage.

‘I've got you a lovely present,' Fon said dreamily. ‘I'm sure you'll love it; I can't wait for you to open it.'

He nuzzled her neck. ‘I can give you yours right now, if you like,' he said, coaxingly.

‘Hush!' she said good-naturedly. ‘I can hear Patrick getting out of bed.'

She sat up, her breasts proud against the coldness of the morning. ‘He'll be so excited,' she said. ‘I can't wait to see his little face. Come on, Jamie, rouse yourself.'

He made a face at her, and she laughed at her own foolish choice of words.

‘All right, you cruel woman, I'll get out of bed, if you insist.'

He slipped from beneath the blankets, and Fon immediately felt the cold seeping into the bed. She looked at him, tall, his hair dark, with hints of red, and his manhood standing proud and him unashamed of it.

She sighed. ‘I regret being so hasty.'

Her voice was soft but he caught her words. The door sprang open and Patrick came into the room, clutching a brightly painted toy train.

‘Look what I got, Fonny!' He held it out to her. ‘Lovely puffa train.'

‘Daddy Christmas been, then?' Fon said, hugging the little boy. ‘Come on, get in bed with Fon. Your father can light the fire today as a treat for us.'

She sank back against the warmth of the pillows and watched as Patrick, well wrapped up in his flannel night-shirt, ran the train along the folds and dips of the patchwork quilt. She closed her eyes and must have dozed, because she heard Jamie's voice calling for her to come down.

In the kitchen, the fire was blazing cheerfully and the table was laid with a succulent dish of bacon and eggs surrounded by bread fried in the fat.

‘Starving,' Patrick said, and climbed up on to his chair.

Jamie poured the tea and sweetened it liberally with sugar. ‘Eddie and Tommy will be here soon.' Jamie sat at the table and began to eat, and Fon, watching his even, white teeth bite into the bread, felt love surge through her.

‘Aye, well, I've got each of them a small gift,' Fon said happily. ‘They're good boys, both of them.'

‘I have something for them too.' Jamie was smiling. ‘I've deliberately kept it back until today.'

‘What is it?' Fon asked. ‘You've paid them up to date, haven't you?'

‘Oh, aye, but I thought a little bonus might not go amiss.' He helped himself to more bacon. ‘As you say, they are good lads, and I intend to keep them.'

He leant big elbows on the table. ‘Now that the land is sold, we have enough money to buy in seed for the spring sowing. We'll put down more swedes this year, and a good couple of fields of potatoes.'

‘Is all the ploughing done, then?' Fon asked, drinking her tea, grateful for its warmth. She was glad that Tom had the task of milking the cows this morning and Eddie would see to the laying hens.

‘Most of it,' Jamie said. ‘And it's a good feeling to have money in hand again.' He smiled suddenly. ‘I can't forget the look on Bob Smale's face when he found out the road wasn't going through here at all.'

‘Serve him right,' Fon said feelingly. ‘He's an awful man; he deserved all he got.' She looked anxiously at Jamie. ‘But it won't end there, mind. Smale isn't the sort to forgive and forget; he'll be an even worse enemy from now on.'

‘I can handle him,' Jamie said easily, ‘but you must be extra vigilant. You must keep the farm door closed and the gun at the ready, just in case.'

‘I know,' Fon said softly. ‘I'll be all right, Jamie, don't you worry.'

The door opened on a rush of cold air. ‘Merry Christmas, boss!' Eddie entered the room, blowing on his reddened hands. ‘That's the milking all done, thank the Lord.'

‘Sit down and eat,' Fon said. ‘I'll throw more bacon into the pan. My husband seems to have a good appetite this morning.'

‘And why not?' Jamie said, smiling, his eyes warm as they rested on Fon. ‘I work hard enough, don't I? I think I deserve a good hearty breakfast.'

‘All right' – Fon held up her hand in mock surrender – ‘I was only saying, mind.'

It was half-way through the morning when Eddie handed Fon a parcel, wrapped in plain brown paper but with Eddie's scrawled handwriting wishing her compliments of the season.

‘What's this?' Fon asked. ‘You affording presents, Eddie – how did you do it?'

He winked. ‘Open it and you'll see.' He sank into the chair nearest the fire and pulled off his cap; his hair seemed frosted with silver from the cold.

Fon opened the paper quickly and held up a pocket of linen that exuded the sweet scent of dried lavender. She held it to her face and breathed in deeply.

‘That's lovely,' she said. ‘The smell of summer on a cold winter's day! You are clever, Eddie.' She turned the pocket over. ‘But how did you manage the sewing? These stitches are beautiful.'

‘I was going to be a doctor, remember,' Eddie said. ‘I've done a bit of stitching, believe me.'

Fon rose and took a gift from under the tree. ‘Mine isn't nearly as imaginative,' she said, ‘but it's given with good heart and in gratitude for all you've done for us.'

Eddie's face lit up. He tore the parcel open with almost childlike delight, and a brightly coloured scarf fell into his lap.

Laughing, he wrapped it around his neck. ‘It's splendid!' he said. ‘I don't think I've ever had anything made especially for me before. It was good of you, Fon.'

‘It's nothing,' she said shyly. ‘I've made Tommy the same thing – couldn't manage anything more elaborate.'

‘No need for anything elaborate!' Eddie said quickly. ‘This has been one of the best Christmases I've known for a long time; it's been lovely except . . .'

‘Except that you haven't been able to see Arian.' Fon finished his sentence for him.

‘No,' he sighed. ‘That father of hers is keeping her well hidden. Indeed, I'm more than a little worried. I'm going up there, this evening; I
must
assure myself that she's all right.'

‘I'm sure she is.' Fon spoke comfortingly, but she wasn't sure at all; with a man like Bob Smale as a father, anything might happen.

‘I'd better get some work done, then.' Eddie rose to his feet. ‘I'll mend that fence up on the top field; might as well get it all done before spring.'

Fon smiled. ‘You're turning into a real farmer, Eddie. I'm proud of you.' She moved to the door behind him. ‘I'll see you later, and we'll have a big dinner, with plum pudding to follow; we'll be together like a real family.'

On an impulse, Eddie bent and kissed her cheek. ‘You and Jamie are a very happy couple,' he said. ‘Anyone with half an eye could see that. And if I could have anything in the world I wanted, I would choose marriage like yours to the woman I love.'

Then, as though embarrassed by the expression of his innermost thoughts, Eddie hurried away across the windswept yard, pulling his scarf around his neck.

Watching him, Fon smiled. He was right; she and Jamie were close and very happy. And yet, now and again, the ghost of Katherine came to haunt them, especially now, near the Christmas time, for it was then that Katherine had died.

Quietly, Fon closed the door and went inside. It was time she started the evening meal; there was plenty to do without wasting her time delving into the past. Anyway, she told herself, she must count her blessings, be happy with all that she had.

‘Thank you, whoever is up there,' she whispered and moved purposefully towards the pantry.

The wait for the doctor seemed endless. Anxiously, Will kept vigil in the window, his heart leaping with every cry from the room above.

At last, the doctor's carriage pulled up outside the door, and even before he had alighted into the street Will was dragging at the latch, anxious to let him inside.

‘She's in a great deal of pain, doctor.' He took the man's coat, shaking it free of snow before hanging it on the latch behind the door.

‘Women in childbirth usually are in pain,' the doctor said dryly, hoisting his bag into a more comfortable position in preparation for climbing the stairs.

Will noticed, irrelevantly, how shabby was the worn lino on the treads, how it cracked and groaned beneath the combined weights of the doctor and himself.

‘The first room on top of the landing,' Will directed, wincing as Gwyneth's cry, nearer now and filled with anguish, rang out, seeming to surround him, to fill him with despair.

‘Go back to the kitchen,' the doctor advised. ‘You'll only be a hindrance; boil up some water, make tea, anything to keep yourself occupied and out of my way.'

The door was opened briefly and Will saw Gwyneth, her knuckles white as she clutched the bed posts above her head. Her face was screwed up, almost unrecognizable in her pain, and then, mercifully, the strong wood of the panelled door was closed, shutting him away from the harrowing scene of the childbed.

He returned to the kitchen and pushed the kettle on to the flames. The tea in the pot had grown cold and stewed, and he made fresh, not caring that it too would doubtless be wasted.

The screams continued, for what seemed to Will to be endless hours. Finally, his wife's voice seemed spent, and the only sounds emanating from the bedroom were soft, hoarse moans.

‘Christ almighty!' He hammered his fist against the scrubbed boards of the table. ‘Is it never going to end?'

Into the suddenness of his silence came another silence. Will realized that the sounds from the bedroom had ceased. It was, for a moment, as if time stood still. Then, with a dipping of his heart, he heard the soft, pitiful sounds of a woman weeping.

Will pushed himself upright, brushed back his hair and made for the stairs. Something was wrong, terribly wrong. Tentatively, he opened the door to the bedroom. The first person he saw was Nina, and she was holding a shawled bundle in her arms.

Behind her, the doctor and midwife worked over his wife, and Will realized that the weeping was hers; the sound, low and despairing, tore at him.

Nina looked up. Her eyes were dry but full of anguish. ‘All for nothing,' she whispered brokenly. ‘All that pain for nothing.'

Will moved forward and stared at the child in her arms – a perfect child, with waxen features and closed eyes. The baby was still, too still, and Will felt the breath leave his body as the truth dawned on him.

‘Your son was stillborn.' Nina spoke with difficulty, her mouth trembling as she fought to bring out the words. ‘It was a difficult birth, and it was all too much for the little mite.'

She held the baby towards Will, and he took the child, staring down into the small face, not believing that the baby could have died so easily.

‘Think of a name for him,' Nina urged. ‘Give him a little bit of dignity.'

Will's mind was blank. He could not think rationally; he stared down at the child, so light and insubstantial in his arms, and felt despair wash over him.

From the bed came Gwyneth's voice, shocking in its weakness. ‘I want him called Kevin, after my father, please, Will.'

‘Yes, we'll call him Kevin.' Gently Will returned the child to Nina, as if even now the baby was a precious thing that could be hurt.

‘Gwyneth!' He looked to where the doctor was bent over his wife. The man turned, and his eyes, meeting Will's, were full of sympathy. He shook his head. Will, uncomprehending, went to his wife's side.

‘There's sorry I am to let you down, Will.' Gwyneth's hand, frail and white, was resting in his own.

Will controlled his tears, smiling down at her with difficulty. ‘You didn't let me down, Gwyneth,' he said, forcing himself to speak. ‘You worked hard, you did your best; it was fate, that's what it was.'

‘But why
my
baby?' Gwyneth said, her voice thread-like. ‘I wanted him so much.'

‘You are young' – Will rushed out the words, wanting to comfort – ‘you can have plenty more babies.'

He looked to Nina for support, but she did not meet his eyes. As if drawn, he turned towards the doctor, and the man gestured for him to come outside.

‘I won't be a minute, love,' Will said, tucking the bedclothes around Gwyneth, as though the warmth could ease her pain. ‘I think the doctor deserves a cup of tea, or maybe something stronger.'

Outside on the landing, the doctor took a deep breath. ‘Your wife is sick,' he said, ‘very sick.'