Red Sky in the Morning (18 page)

‘Can we take it into the house to feed, Mam?’ she had asked.

Anna had smiled. ‘No, darling. This mother can feed her lamb herself. It’s only when the mother can’t feed her young for one reason or another that we have to do
that.’

The child was disappointed, yet glad that the lamb would have its own mother. She wouldn’t like to be without hers.

Now, swinging on the gate, she looked across to the large barn in front of her. She could hear the sound of sheep coming from inside. She knew that Mr Eddie, as she called him, took as many of
the sheep as he could down to the farm when they were lambing. But he had too many to house them all. He never tired of telling her that she had been born in the cottage alongside several
lambs.

Her glance swivelled to the back door of the farmhouse. She ran her tongue round her lips, jumped from the gate and pushed it open. She skipped through it and across the yard. She hesitated only
a moment before she raised her small fist and banged on the back door. A few moments elapsed before she heard a shuffling on the other side and then the door swung open and she was looking up into
the unsmiling face of the large woman standing there.

Unfazed, Maisie looked her up and down then she smiled her most winning smile. Her dark brown eyes lit up and a dimple appeared in each cheek.

‘Hello. I’m Maisie. I live over the hill in the cottage. Who are you?’

The woman gasped and blinked her small eyes rapidly. ‘Well, I never did!’ was all she could say.

‘What did you never did?’ the child asked innocently and completely unabashed.

‘It’s you.’

The child nodded. ‘Yes, it’s me. But who are you?’

‘Who am I?’ the woman repeated, rather stupidly it seemed even to the four-year-old girl. ‘I’m Mrs Appleyard.’

‘That’s Mr Eddie’s name. Are you his wife?’

Her mouth dropping open, Bertha merely nodded, dumbfounded.

‘What’s your first name?’

‘Bertha,’ the woman murmured, as if in a trance.

Maisie beamed. ‘I’ll call you Mrs Bertha then. I like that. It’s a nice name. Mrs Bertha.’ She nodded as if satisfied by the sound of it. ‘Can I come in?’

Wordlessly, Bertha stood back and opened the door wider, her gaze following the child as if she were utterly mesmerized by her small visitor.

‘Ooh, it does smell nice in here. Have you been baking?’ The child sniffed the air appreciatively as she stepped into Bertha’s farmhouse kitchen.

‘Er – well – yes,’ Bertha said, waddling after Maisie. Already the child had hitched herself onto a tall stool near the table and was looking longingly at the scones laid
out on a wire cooling tray.

To her astonishment, Bertha found herself saying, ‘Would you like one?’

‘Ooh, yes please. And please may I have some raspberry jam on it? I like raspberry jam best.’

Bertha cut open a scone, spread it thickly with butter and jam on each half. ‘Wait a moment,’ she said, bustling to the pantry. ‘I’ve some cream here . . .’

A minute later she stood watching as Maisie bit into the warm scone, leaving a smear of jam and cream on her upper lip. ‘Mmm, it’s lovely, Mrs Bertha. Thank you.’

‘You’re welcome,’ Bertha murmured. She sat down, her gaze fixed on the child. So this was that girl’s child. The girl that Eddie had brought home four years ago and taken
up the hill to live in his cottage near the wood. She stared hard at Maisie, trying to see any likeness to her husband in the child’s face. She had brown eyes like his, but there any
resemblance ended. Her hair was copper-coloured, almost ginger, and her features were nothing like Eddie’s.

Of course, she probably took after her mother. Bertha screwed up her eyes, visualizing the girl. She’d had black hair and unusual eyes – a deep blue, violet almost, Bertha
remembered.

That meant nothing. This child could still be Eddie’s.

Maisie had finished her scone and was licking her finger and picking up all the crumbs on the plate. She smiled widely at Bertha, the line of jam and cream still on her lip. ‘Are you
Tony’s mam?’

Bertha nodded.

‘He’s nice, isn’t he? But he doesn’t come to play with me very often. I ’spect he’s too busy. My mam says he is. Doing his homework and helping his dad and
you on the farm.’ She paused and leant across the table. ‘I’m going to school next year. I’ll be five then.’

‘So you will,’ Bertha murmured absently, her gaze never leaving the child’s face, her thoughts in a turmoil.

Maisie jumped down from the high stool and came around the table to stand near Bertha. ‘I’d better go home. I’m not supposed to come over the hill. I ’spect Mam’ll
be ever so cross.’

She smiled as if the thought didn’t worry her too much.

Then she put her arms around Bertha as far as she could reach and puckered up her mouth. Bewildered, Bertha found herself lowering her face towards the child to receive a jammy kiss. She was
still sitting at the kitchen table, gazing after her as Maisie skipped out of the back door and across the yard.

‘Well,’ Bertha murmured, ‘I never did.’

‘Where can she be?’

Anna was almost wild with panic and Tony couldn’t calm her down. ‘Don’t worry. She’ll have wandered into the woods. We built a den in there last summer. I bet
she’s—’

‘She’s not allowed to go into the woods on her own,’ Anna snapped. ‘There’s poachers’ snares in there. Anything might happen. She knows that.’

Tony glanced up the slope again, frowning. ‘What’s the matter with Buster? He’s never moved. I’d’ve thought he’d have come to us.’

‘Buster,’ Anna called. ‘Here, boy.’

The dog rose reluctantly and came towards them, head down, tail between his legs.

‘There’s something wrong,’ Anna said, her anxiety spiralling. ‘Something’s happened. I know it.’

Tony fondled the dog’s head. ‘What is it, boy? Eh?’ he murmured. ‘You’d tell us if you could, wouldn’t you?’ He knelt in front of the animal and held
the dog’s head between his hands. ‘Where is she, Buster? Where’s Maisie?’

The dog barked, pulled himself free of Tony’s hold and began to run up the hill. A little way off, he stopped and looked back, then ran on again. Tony and Anna glanced at each other.

‘I bet she’s gone up there,’ Tony said. ‘He’s trying to make us follow him.’

Anna’s hand fluttered to her mouth. ‘Oh no! She would never go up there. I’ve forbidden her. Someone – someone must have got her.’

Tony frowned. ‘Got her? What do you mean?’

Anna did not answer. She was already running up the hill. Tony followed, his long legs loping easily after her. They arrived at the top together. At once they saw Maisie skipping merrily up the
track towards them as if she hadn’t a care in the world.

Anna ran towards her daughter, almost tumbling in her haste to reach her. ‘Where on earth have you been?’ She grasped Maisie’s arm roughly.

‘Mam – you’re hurting.’

‘I’ll hurt you, you naughty girl.’ Anna bent and slapped Maisie’s bare legs so hard that red imprints of her hand marked the child’s calves. Maisie opened her mouth
wide and yelled.

Watching, Tony winced as if he, too, felt the little girl’s pain. Anna was still incensed, shaking the girl and shouting, ‘Where have you been? Tell me where you’ve
been.’ But Maisie only wailed louder.

Tony moved forward and tried to prise her from her mother’s grasp but Anna held on tightly. ‘No, leave this to me. Come on . . .’ She began to drag the screaming child up the
track and over the hill. Maisie, tears running down her cheeks, looked back at Tony, whose tender heart twisted at the sight of her pitiful face. When they disappeared he turned and walked slowly
down the hill towards the farm.

He must find his dad.

In the cottage, Anna stood Maisie on a chair in the kitchen, their faces on a level. ‘Now, you will tell me where you’ve been or I’ll smack you
again.’

The child’s wails had subsided to a hiccuping sob. ‘To see Mrs Bertha.’

‘Bertha?’ For a moment Anna thought Maisie must be lying, but then she noticed the smear of jam on the child’s mouth. ‘You’ve been to the farm?’ she asked
incredulously. ‘You’ve been inside the house?’

Maisie nodded. ‘To see Mrs Bertha. She’s Tony’s mam. She gave me a lovely scone with jam and cream.’

The surprise was deflating Anna’s anger. Whilst the child had deliberately disobeyed her, Anna knew Maisie could not be expected to understand
why
she should not go to the
farm.

‘Was she – was she nice to you?’

In a strangely adult manner, Maisie wrinkled her brow thoughtfully and then nodded. ‘She didn’t say a lot. I think she was surprised to see me.’

‘I bet she was,’ Anna murmured, lost for words herself. Then she pulled herself out of her stunned reverie to say, ‘I’m not going to smack you again, but you’ve got
to promise me that you will never go there again. If you do,’ she warned, ‘I will punish you very severely. Do you understand me, Maisie?’

The child had stopped crying, but her tears streaked her grubby face. ‘Why can’t I go and see Mrs Bertha again?
She
didn’t say I couldn’t.’

Anna sighed, unable to find a plausible explanation to make the young child understand. So she resorted to the age-old decree of all parents at one time or another. ‘Because I say
so.’

It was later that evening when Maisie was in bed in one of the upstairs rooms that Eddie knocked on the side door of the cottage. He stepped into the kitchen and without even
greeting her, he demanded, ‘What’s been going on?’ He was frowning and his tone held a note of censure. ‘Tony told me you’d smacked Maisie.’

‘Huh! I’d’ve thought you’d’ve heard all about it from Bertha.’

Eddie shook his head. ‘Bertha’s said nothing.’

‘Maisie went to the farm. If she’ll do that, she might take it into her head to go anywhere. She’ll be going to the village before I know it.’

‘She’ll have to soon enough when she goes to school.’

‘Oh no!’ Anna shook her head. ‘We’re leaving before she has to go to school. In fact, I’ve made up my mind. I’ll help you with the lambing and then
we’re going.’

‘And where do you intend to go, might I ask?’

‘Anywhere as long as it’s far enough away from – from here, so that no one knows us.’ Her voice dropped as she muttered, ‘There’s a few too many folks around
here know us already.’

‘Meaning?’

Anna ticked them off on her fingers. ‘You, Tony, Bertha, Pat Jessop, Joe Wainwright and the other fellers who come at shearing and harvest. The doctor in town and the registrar, to say
nothing of folks in shops when I’ve been forced to go into them. Specially the one in Wintersby. The gossip was rife in the village when I first came here. Mr Wainwright told me
so.’

Eddie’s tone softened. He could hear the panic in her voice. ‘You can’t live on a desert island, love. Wherever you go, you’ll meet other people. And Maisie will have to
go to school next year. I know you’re bothered about her birth certificate, but they’ll ask to see it wherever you go.’

‘I’ll say I’ve lost it.’

‘They’ll only get you to send to the authorities for another.’

Anna stared at him. She hadn’t realized that copies could be obtained so easily. She sat down heavily on a chair and, resting her elbows on the table, covered her face with her hands.

‘Why can’t you stay here? I don’t know who or what it is you’re so afraid of. You’ve never told me.’ There was a hint of reproach in Eddie’s tone.
‘But no one’s ever bothered you, have they? Not in four years. Surely, you can stay?’

Slowly, Anna dropped her hands and stared into his face. Even though the thought of having to leave this haven and set off into the unknown frightened her, she shook her head sadly and
whispered, ‘I’m sorry, Eddie, but I daren’t stay here. Not now. Not any longer. Not if Maisie’s going to do what she did today.’

Lambing was almost over. Only two more ewes left to give birth.

‘You’ll manage now, Eddie. You’ve been lucky this year. No motherless lambs for me to rear by hand in the cottage.’ She smiled. ‘Maisie’s quite disappointed.
She likes feeding them with a bottle.’

Eddie’s eyes were anxious. ‘You really mean you’re going?’

‘I’m sorry, Eddie,’ Anna said huskily, ‘but we must. I – I don’t know how to thank you for all you’ve done for me. For us—’

‘You could thank me by staying and making this your home,’ he said gruffly. ‘I’ll even give you the cottage – and the bit of land round it – if it’ll
make any difference.’

‘Oh, Eddie—’

‘I mean it.’

She could see he did and tears filled her eyes. ‘I couldn’t possibly let you do such a thing. What would your wife say? And then there’s Tony. It’ll be his one
day.’

Avoiding a direct answer about Bertha, Eddie said, ‘Tony’d agree. I know he would. He doesn’t want you to go any more’n I do.’

Anna touched his arm. ‘You’re such a kind man. I – I didn’t know such kindness from strangers still existed until I came here—’ She broke off and turned away
as if she was afraid of saying too much. ‘We’re going tomorrow,’ she said with a finality that brooked no argument.

They were all packed, ready for the morning, their belongings in neat bundles and loaded onto Maisie’s old pram.

‘You’ll be able to sit on the top if you get tired,’ Anna told her, trying to make it sound like an adventure. But tears spilled down Maisie’s cheeks. She cried silently,
making no word of complaint, no screams of protest, but her anguish at leaving the only home she had ever known was evident on her small face.

‘Come on, up to bed with you. We’ve got a long way to go tomorrow.’

‘Where are we going?’

‘You’ll see,’ Anna said brightly, making it sound as if their destination would be a lovely surprise, but in truth she had no idea herself where they were going.

They would just set off and see where they ended up, but after four years of comparative safety, even Anna was a little afraid.

It was completely different from the last time she had run away. Then she had not cared what became of her or of her unborn child.

Now, she did care. Eddie had taught her to care again.

In the middle of the night, Anna awoke to a dreadful noise. Buster was barking frantically and scratching at the front door to be let out. And from outside the cottage came the
noise of barking dogs and the terrified bleating of sheep.