Maggie's Child (4 page)

‘Oh Jacob, it is beautiful. What a glorious meadow. I can see the river -- look.’ She pointed and called out to Jacob, but he either ignored her or did not hear. He marched on, and disappeared down the other side of the hill. Maggie skipped and jumped her way across the meadow towards him.

‘Wait for me, husband. Wait for me.’

On the other side of the hill was a different view. She watched Jacob stride downward towards her new home. All joy drained from her body. Walking slowly down the hillside, she saw a dismal side to the farm.

A large, dark grey two storey building with a grey slate roof sat central to several outbuildings. Grimy windows with ragged lace glared back in defiance at the new bride. The yard was unkempt, and Maggie knew from that moment her work was going to be hard. Probably harder than the life she had just left. She gave herself a moment to absorb the scene before her.
It’s your new home - your responsibility. Maggie Sawbury – wife. You can bring it alive. Make it as beautiful as the meadow. Pull yourself together, there’s work to be done.

Not wanting tears on her wedding day, she scraped back her hair into place, retied the ribbon, and inhaled a deep, lingering breath, before exhaling, marching down, and catching up with Jacob.

Chapter 3

Monday 2
^nd
June 1851

Large hands pulled her shoulders. Jacob roughly manoeuvred her in front of him, and pushed her inside the building. Her new husband showed no tenderness, and fear tremored through her body, and set off a bout of trembling nerves. Maggie stared around the filthy kitchen they had stepped into and shuddered. Jacob pushed her to one side and

‘Stop your gawking, woman, and do what I paid for, you cost me a fair coin and I intend to get my worth. Get this place decent. I ‘ain’t had time. Not a farmer’s job. If you cannot see it, I don’t own it. So none of your pesky questions. I will need feeding a decent meal after sundown, but leave me a lunch pail in the milking barn at mid-day. There’s a leg o’mutton for the evening meal hanging back there. Make it last the week. I do not tolerate waste.’

With that, her husband waved towards an area she assumed was the larder, turned heel and stomped out of the building, creating a swirl of dust as he went.

Left to her own devices, and relieved Jacob had left, Maggie laid her goods in a cleaner corner of the room and rolled up her sleeves. She opted to view upstairs first. Climbing the stairs she grimaced at the clods of mud dried on every one, the majority of which had the likeness of cow dung.

Pushing open each door she came to, she could do nothing but stare at the clutter and mess facing her. A large airless room appeared to be Jacob’s bedroom. However, Maggie convinced herself he housed many an animal there at times. It was filthy and smelled stale. In truth, it stank. She opened the window and watched particles dance in the sunrays. She turned and shuddered when she saw the large straw mattress she assumed she would be expected to sleep on with her new husband. The linen was black and grimy, not one corner indicated the original colour. She could see no other coverings in the room, but Maggie knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep in such filth.

How could he sleep with the smell? What a disgusting man. Never mind, this wife will change his habits.

While the sunshine and breeze were in full swing, Maggie ensured she wasted no time. Stripping the sheets away from the thick mattress, Maggie took them into the yard. She dragged the large tin bath from off a hook beside the kitchen door and over to the water pump. She then threw in the bedding, and pumped out water with as much energy as she could muster. The water forced dirt away from the material but they still looked grimy. Maggie took off her boots and trampled over the grey sheets to release more of the dirt, and noted the linen had once been ivory in colour. She jumped harder and harder, determined to bring out the cleaner shade, she would opt for light grey rather than the blackened mess she had been confronted with earlier. For some unknown reason the jumping action made her want to sing. She added a lively tune to the first words that came to her and jumped around in water.

‘Tra la la fiddle de de it’s the farmer’s life for me’. Suddenly she felt self-conscious and foolish. Not knowing who might be around and watching, she stopped singing, stepped out of the bath and dried her feet.

She found a bar of green hard soap in the kitchen, and rubbed it over the washing as hard as she could. Again, the water pump did its job. Prior to starting her chores, she had found – to her great joy -- a battered mangle to squeeze out the excess water. It leant beside a barn and to Maggie’s delight both rollers were in good condition and the handle turned with ease. She pulled it across the yard and placed it by the bath. Her small body ached as she hauled the wet linen through the machine, but she was determined to get the job done.

‘Jacob Sawbury will never sleep on dirty sheets again.’ she muttered as she worked.

There was a long length of twine attached to the house, running across the yard to a large Acorn tree. Maggie threw the bedding across the line and the summer breeze did the rest.

Every corner of the farmhouse was in need of a good clean. Maggie spent her wedding day airing and beating rugs, washing walls and making the house a home. While she cut chunks of cheese and bread for her husband’s lunch pail, she made a mental note of chores she would have to complete before winter set in on the farm. Her summer was to be a busy one inside and out. There was no love in her heart for the man she had married, but she fell in love with her home within a matter of hours, despite its gloomy exterior.

She carried the lunch pail to the milking sheds and Maggie sensed a moment of disappointment she had met no one on the way, or inside the vast room. Suddenly she felt alone and deserted, and the tears threatened to spill.

Maggie girl, stop your nonsense. There is no one bossing you around, be grateful for small mercies.

A sudden urge to bake something tasty to impress Jacob took over, and the tears abated. Maybe something sweet and tasty would make him smile. and relax a little more. Leaving the pail in a prominent place, she stepped outside and took in the scene before her.

The chicken pen stood large and rundown opposite the kitchen window. Maggie watched the hens peck at the ground earlier, while she washed at the sink and made a mental note to consider the repairs required to keep the hens from fox attacks. She glanced over towards the back of the farmhouse and beyond the barn, she could see the edge of another building. It looked in need of repair but so did the farmhouse and that was occupied. There was a chance this one might be too, and curiosity got the better of her. It took a lot of energy to push open a heavy wooden door, and Maggie found to her delight the dairy room, making the effort worthwhile. Strong-smelling cheeses wrapped in muslin cloth sat on a shelf. Blue and white jugs of cream, and generous sized mounds, that on investigation proved to be pats of butter, were covered in the same cloth on another. Maggie found ingredients ideal for her menu, but felt nervous about taking from the room. After a brief spell of contemplating finding someone to ask if she could take the items, she reminded herself she was now mistress of the house and it was her right. She lifted down an empty pitcher, filled it with creamy milk, and cut a block of butter from a large mound. It was freshly churned and ideal for pastry. As instructed by Jacob, a mutton leg was to be on the menu and she discovered a pail of fresh vegetables by the back door. In the orchard, Maggie found a few windfall apples and with the precious blackberries she had picked on their walk from the village, it was enough to produce a perfect dessert. Maggie salivated at the thought of the sweet pie for their wedding supper. Further investigation produced a jar of clotted cream, and she placed it into her apron pocket.

‘What d’ you think you are doing pray tell?’ A female voice with an extremely broad, local accent cut through the silence of the room. Maggie slopped the milk over the top of her jug and turned around to face the voice. A large bosomed girl about her age glared back at her, and she stood stern faced with her hands on her hips.

‘I-I,’ Maggie stammered back, a warm flush rose through her neck, the girl sent a wave of guilt through her.

You have a right Maggie. Tell her who you are. Stand your ground. Fresh start. No bullies...remember?

She pulled herself to full height and retorted back in a voice loaded with indignation.

‘I suppose you could say I am the owner of this milk, and jug, and do not have to justify myself. You, I assume, are the dairy maid? She put down the jug and held out her hand. ‘I am Mrs Sawbury. Wife of the owner. My husband and I married this morning.’

The girl laughed. ‘So you are the poor gal that’s got herself trapped up with that great ...’ Maggie watched the girl’s face flush. There was something awkward in her manner when she stopped mid-sentence. The smile went from her face as if Maggie slapped it, her voice softened, ‘I-um-wish you happiness on your wedding day, Mrs Sawbury.’ Frostiness reappeared in the voice she used to ask her next question. ‘Do you need anything else? Some cheese mayhap?’

 ‘You could start by telling me your name.’ Maggie lost the haughty tone she had used when the girl challenged her. She needed to start afresh; both of them were battling for no reason.

‘Lizzie.’ The fight appeared to have gone from the girl and she spoke with humble responses. ‘Plain Lizzie, madam.’

Maggie held out her hand. ‘How do you do, Lizzie? Please call me Maggie. I fear we may have gotten off with the wrong footing. Friends?’

‘Oh, yes, friends is far better than fighting I always say.’ Lizzie held out her plump hand, withdrew it again and wiped it down her pinafore, then she shook Maggie’s own slim one. ‘You caught me unawares see, and I thought you might be a field worker, stealing like, and the boss, well he don’t take kindly.’

‘I understand, and apologise for not finding you to see what I could remove to the kitchen. I assume most of this produce is for market?’

‘It is, but you come and take whatever you need, whenever you need it, you’re the missus after all.’

The two women exchanged chatter for a few moments and Maggie left the dairy knowing she had made a firm friend for life. The girl had intimated she was relieved her boss had married. Maggie sensed no love lost between her husband and his dairy maid.

 After preparing the meal, Maggie collected eggs, laughing and shooing the chickens from underneath her skirts. Her wedding day had been unusual but Maggie had loved every moment of finding her way around the kitchen cupboards. Each pan she found, she scrubbed until it gleamed. Her frustrations with her parents gave her the elbow grease she required. The kitchen was her domain. No sour-faced mother issuing orders, no father coughing and spluttering in the corner. Nothing could take away the joy she had found in preparing her home that day.

***

The wedding feast Maggie ate that day was heartier than the one she nibbled at now, and meeting Lizzie was by far the better memory of her wedding day. Her wedding night was most certainly a memory she would rather forget.

Jacob gave her no warning. While she sat brushing her hair, he strode over, grabbed her wrist and dragged her to the bed. Maggie was too shocked to speak. He stripped off her flimsy cotton nightgown with not one endearing word. He pushed her onto the bed and turned her onto her face, and then he penetrated her without words. He rode her like a horse and grunted like a pig. No gentle caress from his hands touched her body and no loving words left his salivating lips. He was cruel, cold and unforgiving. There had been no respect for her virginity, and he ridiculed her tears. In a pompous torrent of how lucky she had been, he also boasted his right to take her whenever he felt the urge.

The memory was painful and Maggie bit hard onto the bread crust she was chewing. His regular bedding ritual led to her first pregnancy before she was sixteen years of age. The joy of knowing she was to have his child was not evident, nor had it kept him away from her for eight months. A few days after she had been delivered of a stillborn daughter, he forced her into submission again. The pain she suffered gave her sleepless nights and she was relieved when she realised she was pregnant again. In her naivety, she had hoped it would keep him away from her for a few months. Sadly, Maggie endured the pain repeatedly, but now he was becoming heavy with his fists. She hid the bruises as best she could. During their summer together, Nathaniel’s father - the Squire’s son - noticed the odd scar and fading bruise. His gentle kisses soothed the ache away, but that was before he inflicted his own version of pain- before he broke her heart.

Jacob gave her no time to continue her walk down memory lane. He pushed his bowl to one side and belched. He startled her from her daydream.

‘What I have done to deserve you as a wife, I do not know. Your mother lied. You are a no cook. You ruin the perfect meat I provide.’

 Maggie suffered his insults every mealtime. She shrugged her shoulders as her only acknowledgement, and set about clearing the table. He never left a scrap on his plate, for all his complaining.

He went to the fire and spat into the grate, then turned to speak to her but she turned her back. She sensed his eyes watching her every move. The tension in her shoulders made her neck ache. Her body never relaxed when he was in the house.

‘I need to wash that pigswill down with a draft of ale. Losing another child should earn me a few free quarts down at the Cross Keys. Do not worry about keeping the bed warm, I will not be in it tonight.’

Maggie turned to share a look of disapproval. With a laugh and a sneer across his cruel mouth, he looked older than his years, and she saw into the future. A senile old man with spite in his heart. It did not worry her he was sleeping elsewhere, she knew he bedded Lizzie when he could, but Maggie had become crafty. She had learned the look of distaste she threw him, made him determined to carry out his threat. It meant she got an undisturbed night of sleep. He fell for it every time. Lizzie had often hinted that he slept with another woman in the village when he visited the tavern, so she did not always suffer his lustful ways either. Maggie hoped tonight that both she and Lizzie would be left in peace. She gave a loud huff as she picked up dirty crockery.