The Journey (15 page)

Joanne quietened her. “He’s fine,” she said. “If you want, I’ll ask Barney to go over and bring him to you, but for now, he’s safe with Tillie, isn’t he? She’s taking good care of him.”

Subdued, Lucy cast her mind back to when she fell. “I was running …” she tried to explain. “Frank … he …” She raised her head a short distance from the pillow and dropped it again as though it was too heavy for her shoulders. “He was behind me when I fell.” She tried to look into the room. “Where is he?”

Joanne had no idea who this Frank was. She had never been told the name of Jamie’s father. “I don’t know,” she replied kindly. “I expect he won’t be far away.”

Lucy despaired. “He’s gone, hasn’t he?” she whispered sadly. “He’s gone—and he’s never coming back.” In her deepest heart she had always known he would be gone at the first opportunity, but she had so much wanted to be wrong. Her heart and her head had been at odds about Frankie from the day he had set his sights on her. It was so hard to give up hope, to see things as they really were.

“I can’t answer that,” Joanne answered softly. “We’ll find your Frank, I’m sure, the minute Barney comes back.”

However kindly her intention, Joanne’s assurances gave Lucy small comfort. Desolate, she closed her eyes and let the sleep roll over her. He was gone. Frank was gone; and it had all been too good to be true. He hadn’t even seen their son.

When Dr. Lucas arrived he gave Lucy a swift yet thorough examination. “There doesn’t seem to be any lasting damage,” he concluded, “though I would prefer her not to be too active, for at least a week.”

He handed Joanne a bottle of dark brown liquid. “Bathe the wound in this morning and night, but it must not be covered … fresh air is the best thing. Light food, and little exercise, but she must rest. A week of that, and I expect her to be good as new.” Having given his diagnosis and delivered the prescription, he bade them goodbye. “You know where I am if you should need me,” he declared, in that abrupt manner of any good doctor.

Afterward, while Joanne went downstairs to put the kettle on, Barney told Lucy what the doctor had said. “It might be best if you stay here with us for the week,” he suggested, and Lucy thanked him. “If it isn’t too much trouble?” she said tearfully.

“No trouble at all,” he promised. With a smile he added, “With three offspring and a yon Jess, I can’t deny we’re a noisy family at times, but I’ll make sure you’re not too disturbed. One of us’ll nip over to the Squire’s tomorrow morning and let ’em know you’ve had a little accident so they won’t expect to see you again for a few days, all right?”

Lucy thanked him again, and when he left her to rest, she cried until she thought her heart would break. Frank was gone, and with him, her own chance of a proper family. Her son would never know his father, and she would never experience the true happiness that she had witnessed between Barney and his Joanne.

Those two had something beautiful, a very special belonging that she could never even hope for.

I
t was one of the happiest weeks Lucy had ever known. Having worked at the Squire’s house for some time now, she had come to know the countryside well, but she had never lived as close to nature as she had done this past week. She loved it all: the sound of the pigeons cooing at early morning, the dew glistening on the grass and the sun coming up over the hill, sending out warmth and light, and making the heart feel good. After a couple of days, her concussion had passed, but the kindly doctor advised her to stay where she was. Bridget and Tillie had brought Jamie up to Overhill Farm and enjoyed some country hospitality. Out here, the shortages and hardships of the townfolk had, to some extent, been kept at bay.

In the evening she could see the lake in the distance, shimmering and twinkling under the moonlight. It was all a new and wonderful experience and she found herself walking earlier than she had ever done. At 5 a.m. she would run to the window where she would see Barney’s familiar figure as he went away to check his flock, the dog beside him and his master’s merry whistle echoing through the quiet morning air.

Later, when she was pushing Jamie on the old swing in the orchard, it was a pleasure to see Barney and his sons as they worked the fields, always with the dog running behind, and the lovely Joanne, busy all the day long, collecting eggs, tending her washing, cleaning house and baking treats for her large, loving family; ever busy, ever noisy, just as Barney had promised.

Barney and Joanne had three children. Thomas, at seventeen, was a serious and hardworking young man. Like the others he was devoted to his father who, in his eyes, could do no wrong. A handsome fellow, with sincere eyes and dark hair, he burned with ambitions of one day owning his own farm, unlike Barney who managed Overhill Farm for the wealthy local landowner Leonard Maitland, who lived at The Manse, down in the village.

Along with his brother Ronnie, Tom helped Barney run the farm; the two sons did all the basic tasks, like feeding the many animals, collecting food from the supplier, taking produce to market and chopping trees, selling some wood and logging the rest for the home fires. In addition it was their responsibility to generally maintain the house and buildings.

Winter or summer, there was always work to be done, and come harvest it was all hands that could be spared.

At fifteen, Ronnie was two years younger than his brother. With wild fair hair and his father’s blue eyes, he was accident-prone, fun-loving, sensitive, sincere and fiercely loyal. When he flirted outrageously, which was often, the girls fell at his feet. Though he loved his mother dearly, he was devoted to Barney, attempting to emulate him in everything he did.

Quiet and thoughtful, Susie was the only girl. Thirteen years of age and looking like a smaller replica of her mother, she adored her parents—especially Barney, who called her his “little angel.”

Susie loved to do things for her daddy. She would polish his Sunday shoes before they all went to church; make daisy chains for him when they were picnicking, run and meet him when he came home of an evening. She would scold him when she thought he was not looking after himself and, except for when she was learning the art of hat-making under the scrutiny of an old eccentric by the name of Doris Dandy, over in Everton, she was never far from her daddy’s side.

“I’d rather farm than make hats,” she told him once, and because he wanted her to acquire a regular skill that would stand her in good stead for the rest of her life, he would hear no more of such talk.

Lately, having become increasingly curious about the deeper things of the heart, Susie would often corner her daddy to discuss the mysteries and meaning of life. Sometimes out of his depth, Barney would talk and listen, and they would each learn from the other.

As for Lucy, in the short week she had lived under their roof, she had come to care deeply for Barney’s family. Everyone who knew them had a good word to say for them. The love and support they all gave each other was wonderful to see; even when brothers and sister argued, that bond of togetherness never broke.

Witnessing family life at first hand made her own loss and disappointment all the more poignant. If only Frank had stayed, instead of running away again she thought, maybe they could have had the same close family life. Yet in all her regrets, she did not hate him, though God knows she had tried hard enough to do so. She was bitter though; bitter and resentful of the fact that he could casually show up after all this time, only to turn her life upside down yet again. Thank goodness that the shock of the accident had brought on her monthly bleeding a week early. To have allowed Frank to make her pregnant
again
would have been a disaster.

Today was Lucy’s last day with the Davidsons. While she got herself and her son ready, Joanne and her family were downstairs waiting for her to join them for the evening meal. “I wish we could stay,” Lucy told the child as she fastened his blue jacket. “It’s been so lovely here. I’ll miss it all so much.”

In reply, Jamie ran his little wooden engine over the floor making train sounds. He loved being read to and petted by the older children in Barney’s family; in turn, they all adored the little chap and had spent many happy hours showing him all the farm animals. Like his mother, Jamie would miss all of this.

Lucy had been strong with every disappointment that life sent her way; Frank going off to sea; the discovery that she was with child, and having to tell her parents the truth; then her parents splitting up after weeks of rowing and fighting, and afterward finding herself out on the streets.

And only a week ago, when Frank had come home, her hopes had soared only to be shattered again; and as though to add insult to injury he had run off and left her lying hurt, leaving Barney to take care of her. That was a cowardly thing he had done.

Through all of these events she had been strong. But now, as she prepared to leave Overhill Farm and the Davidsons, she felt so sad. It was one disappointment too many.

Now her stay was over, and when the meal was finished, Barney would take her back to Bridget’s and life would resume exactly as it was before. She would rise early, leave her son in the care of little Tillie, and trudge through the fields to the Squire’s house, where she would work a hard day before trudging back again. She had never been afraid of work, but it was a lonely kind of life, and she missed her son. He was growing fast and she was losing out on his development.

No home of her own, working every hour God sent, and no man to stand by her. Lucy thought it was not much of a life to look forward to. But that was the life she had been given and it was up to her to do the best she could with it. And she would, for what other choice did she have? She knew she should never have given into Frank’s wiles, should have kept herself pure for marriage, but somehow she’d never met the right man when all her schoolfriends did, and in her mid-twenties had felt like an elderly spinster. And oh—how Frankie’s caresses had thrilled her, and made her lose her head, heart, and virginity too. Oh well. It was true, the old saying that there was no use in crying over spilled milk—that was for sure. And now it was very unlikely that she would ever find a decent man who was willing to take both her and Jamie off …

As she walked into the homely kitchen, Lucy was astonished to see the family standing round the table, waiting for her; Ronnie, she noticed, had taken time to tame his unruly hair, Thomas gave her a welcoming wink, and Susie was quietly smiling.

Barney and his wife were standing together, he with his arm round her and she so content beside him. “Come in, my love!” She ran to greet Lucy, and as she led her and Jamie across the room, she said, “Look. I’ve made the table pretty for you.”

Overawed by what they had done, Lucy looked at the table and wiped away a tear. It was laid as if for a banquet. Normally the table was simply laid, with the meals already served on the plates. There was never any fuss or ceremony. Over dinner, everyone would get together, tuck into Joanne’s home-cooking and talk about the day’s events.

This evening, though, was extra special to all of them. There was an air of excitement which Lucy could not understand; especially when they knew she was unhappy about having to leave.

It was almost as though they were pleased at the prospect of having the house back to themselves. Yet even while the unfortunate thought crossed her mind, Lucy could not believe it. This past week, Barney and his family had done everything they could to make her feel like one of them, so why would they be relieved to see her go? No! She was wrong. All this fuss and excitement was their way of trying to make her feel better about it. That was it. This was their going-away present to her. They wanted her to leave on a good note. And, for their sake, she would smile and laugh, and they would never really know how wretched she felt.

“Well, Lucy?” Joanne nudged her elbow. “What do you think to my table? They wouldn’t let me do it on my own. Everybody helped and even then, we were worried we might not get it all finished before you came down.”

Draped in a long, flowing tablecloth of crimson, the big old table was set like Lucy had never seen it. There were candles in pretty holders; glasses with long stems and a twirl of napkin in each one. In the center of the table stood platters laid with all manner of meats; there were bowls of steaming vegetables and a long dish of small crisply roasted potatoes—Lucy’s favorites; there was also a wicker dish filled with freshly-baked rolls, whose aroma filled the room, and right in the middle, two bottles of Barney’s homemade elderberry wine.