The Oyster Catchers (45 page)

‘I was just going to have something to eat,’ Eline said matter of factly, ‘I hope you’ll share some with me,
Carys, because Penny here thinks she’s working for a family of ten!’

The girl at the stove turned around, her face beaming. ‘Mind,’ she said, ‘Mrs Harries lets me take the leftovers home with me, tells me to make too much, she does.’

Suddenly, without any warning, Carys found herself on the verge of tears knowing that there was no job – Eline had found someone else to clean for her and who could blame her?

‘Good God, Eline, there’s enough soup there to feed half the village,’ Carys said, gulping at the lump in her throat, ‘they’d give their eye teeth for the chance of such a feast.’ She couldn’t now tell Eline why she had come.

Eline sighed. ‘Are things really that bad?’ she said ladling out a bowlful of the steaming soup and putting it on the table before Carys.

‘They couldn’t be worse, that’s for sure.’ Carys took up her spoon and looked longingly at the plate of thick crusty bread.

Eline seated opposite her, pushed the bread across the table before picking up her own spoon and beginning to eat.

Carys felt she had never tasted anything so wonderful in all her life. The bread melted in her mouth and the hot soup seemed to hit her stomach with a feeling of warmth.

Eline watched her; Carys knew she was staring even though Eline kept looking discreetly away and not catching her eye.

‘You’ve given me an idea,’ Eline said at last, ‘what if I have some soup taken to the church hall? The villagers can come there to eat whenever they want.’

She rose to her feet, obviously impatient to put her plans into action. ‘I’ll get on to everyone who I think has influence and we can all help to pay for the food.’

‘Oh, Eline,’ Carys said, ‘it would save our lives if you did that.’

Carys finished her soup and rested for a moment against the back of her chair, feeling a renewed sense of energy sweep through her. ‘I must get back,’ she said, ‘Sam is starving and the baby isn’t well but thank you for the soup, it was lovely.’ She hesitated, not wanting to ask for charity but Eline read her mind.

‘Look, I’ll put out a few jugs full of soup and we’ll take it down the road to your place, it won’t take a minute. We can spare it, there’s plenty here.’

Within minutes, Carys found herself out in the roadway with Eline at her side. She felt elated, her belly was full and now Sam would eat too.

‘Why did you come to see me, Carys?’ Eline asked softly and Carys looked at her doubtfully before answering.

‘Oh, I was just passing, like, and I felt a bit bad so I came inside, I hope you don’t mind.’

‘You came for your job back, didn’t you?’ Eline didn’t wait for a reply. ‘And thank goodness you did. I’m going to need another pair of hands, believe me, I’m so busy I don’t know if I’m coming or going.’

‘What would I be doing?’ Carys asked gripping the jug close to her, imagining how Sam would relish the thick vegetable and meat soup.

‘Well, I’d like you to serve the teas to the visitors,’ Eline said quickly. ‘Penny is good at cooking but not so good with people, she gets very nervous when there are ladies in fine dresses around. Would you like the job?’

Carys smiled widely. ‘When shall I start?’ she said cheerfully.

Sam was upstairs when Carys led the way into the kitchen. Carys put down the soup feeling a sudden sense of forboding.

‘The baby,’ she said, her breathing suddenly restricted, fear running through her like wine. She hurried up the stairs unaware that Eline was behind her and burst into the bedroom to see Sam bending over the bed.

‘Thank God you’ve come,’ Sam said and he was white to his lips. ‘The baby …’

Carys pushed him aside and leaned over her son listening for the breathing that had become faint and ragged.

‘Go for the doctor, Sam,’ Eline was saying, softly. ‘Tell him Mrs Harries wants him to come at once.’

Carys, looking at the pallid face of her child, knew that it was too late for doctors, weeks of near starvation had taken their toll and her baby was too weak to fight the racking cough any more.

As though in a daze, Carys was aware that the doctor had come and was ministering to her child but she sat motionless in the chair, staring at anything but the face of the baby.

‘His chest is very badly congested,’ the doctor said and Carys, looking up at him, saw him shake his head.

She rose and went to the bed and picked up her son feeling the small head fall heavily against her breast. He was so beautiful, so perfect, and Carys had waited so long for him, it wasn’t fair that he should be taken away from her.

The baby sighed softly, just once and became heavier in Carys’s arms. ‘He’s gone,’ Carys said tonelessly, ‘my baby’s gone from me,’ she looked up at Sam, ‘and it’s all because of stupid pride.’ The bitterness in her voice hung heavily in the silent room.

Carys spoke again, her voice low. ‘If I hadn’t given in to the feeling in the village against Eline Harries, I’d have been earning money working in the gallery and this would never have happened.’

Her voice rose. ‘We’d have had food in plenty and my baby would be alive. I’ll never forgive myself for this, Sam, never.’

She felt Sam trying to take the baby from her arms but Carys held her child firmly. ‘No, leave me alone with my son,’ she said, ‘just leave me.’

The room was empty then and that’s how it should be, Carys knew that, no one could share in this moment of desolation, she had to endure the pain alone.

She bent her head over the child and kissed the still-warm skin and her eyes burned with hot tears that she would not, could not, shed.

It took Eline only a day to organize the distribution of the soup in the church hall. She had won the support of many of the councillors and prominent citizens of the area and now, as she stood before the haphazard assortment of tables, with the cauldrons of soup waiting, she clasped her hands together, praying the people would come.

The vicar and his helpers from the village church stood anxiously waiting to serve the food and Eline stared around her in desperation. Why was the hall still empty?

She went to the door and looked outside, the street was deserted, the doors closed and with a sense of despair, she knew that the people were too proud or too hostile to take the food she was offering.

She returned inside. ‘It’s no good,’ she said, ‘I don’t think anyone is going to come.’

‘Well, more fool them.’ Penny was at her side, her young head lifted in indignation. ‘It’s good food I’ve cooked and plenty of it and if I’ve wasted my time I’ll never forgive the lot of ’em here in this village. We wouldn’t behave like that in Swansea, mind.’

‘But the villagers are strong and independent,’ Eline said defensively, ‘they have never had to ask for anything before and it’s not easy for them to swallow their pride.’

‘Well,’ Penny said, ‘I’d listen to my empty belly before my pride any day.’

The door swung open and a stooped figure, swathed in black, stood there for a moment before walking
determinedly into the hall. Eline looked up, her heart thumping with hope, someone at least had come to accept her food.

‘Good God,’ Penny said, ‘it’s Mrs Carys Morgan, the poor soul that’s just lost her baby, there’s brave, isn’t she?’

Carys came up the table and picked up a bowl, her face was white and her eyes, though red-rimmed, were clear.

‘I’ll have some of that soup, Penny,’ she said, her voice hoarse, ‘it seems Eline Harries is the only one in the village with some sense in her head and me, I’ve no pride left, see.’ She turned to the vicar. ‘I’ve found that pride is an empty thing.’

She took the bowl and moved to the door and stood outside in full view of the villagers who now were looking from behind closed curtains watching as Carys unashamedly ate the soup.

The vicar took up a bowl and stood with Carys in the roadway and after a few moments, Penny hurried forward to stand on tiptoe and peer over their shoulders. She came back to Eline and she was smiling.

‘They’re coming out of their houses,’ she said as though it was something of a personal triumph. ‘The villagers are following Mrs Morgan’s lead, they’re coming to eat our soup.’

It was Sam Morgan who came through the door first, his hand resting for a moment on his wife’s thin shoulder. There was pride in his eyes and the glint of tears on his weather-beaten cheeks.

Behind him came a straggle of villagers, hesitating uncertainly in the doorway. Sam led the way, looking grey and sick, but he held out his bowl towards Eline with a steady hand.

‘You are a good woman,’ he said, loudly, ‘and I for one am grateful to you.’ He touched his cap and moved away and stood beside his wife. They exchanged a loving
look but neither of them could speak, words were unnecessary.

Eline took a deep breath as she saw Gwyneth Parks stand sheepishly in the doorway for a moment and then, drawn by hunger, move to the end of the queue.

Skipper George, his eyes warm with admiration, spoke out clearly as he accepted his food.

‘Eline Harries deserves our respect as well as our gratitude,’ he said loudly, ‘none of us has been very neighbourly to her and yet she has turned out to be more of a good Samaritan and more generous than any of us have ever been.’

Eline found herself choked with emotion at his words, and her eyes blurred with tears. But soon, she was too busy filling bowls and jugs with hot soup to think of anything else. The ladle hung heavily in her hand, her arm ached with lifting but she kept dipping into the cauldron and filling vessels until her back hurt.

‘So, it’s you giving out charity, is it?’ the voice of Nina Parks was unmistakable and, as though by a command, the chattering of voices and the clinking of spoons against china fell silent. All eyes were turned on the two women who seemed to stand isolated in a gap in the crowd.

‘Well, we have never been friends and never will be,’ Nina continued, ‘but I’ll say this by here in front of everyone, you are all right, Eline Harries, you are one of us.’

She held out a bowl and Eline filled it to the brim, swallowing hard, and, as she held out a plate of bread, Nina took a hunk of the crusty loaf, inclining her head in thanks. And then she was walking away, her piece said.

The chattering voices rose to a crescendo, folk were smiling again. Villagers crowded around Eline congratulating
her, thanking her and, with red cheeks, Eline protested that it wasn’t she but the rest of the townfolk of Swansea who had worked the miracle.

Eline leaned against the table, her shoulders weary, her arms aching but she was happier than she’d been for a long time. She felt a hand warm on her shoulder and turned to see Will standing beside her. A shock ran through her as she looked into his eyes and saw love reflected there.

‘I’ve been so pig-headed, so damn intolerant.’ He spoke quietly. ‘I love you, Eline, and I know you love me.’

Eline swallowed her tears, searching vainly for the right words to say to this man who meant more than anything in the world to her.

Will spoke again, this time more loudly. ‘I’m proud of you, Eline,’ he said, his clear voice carrying across the crowded hall. ‘You are a fine, generous woman and I want you to be my wife.’

‘William,’ her voice broke as she stood quite still, the tears now unchecked, running into her mouth.

‘Come here.’ He held out his arms and after a moment, Eline went into them. She closed her eyes, breathing in the scent of him, listened to the sound of Will’s heart beating so close that it might have been within her own breast.

It was time now for new beginnings. Joe would have wanted things this way, Eline knew that as clearly as if he’d spoken to her.

‘Go on, marry the man, you are meant for each other!’ Nina Parks called across the hall. And it was Nina who began the clapping that warmed Eline’s heart with happiness.

Someone cheered and as the sound of hands and voices rose and filled the church hall, rising high into the rafters, Eline clung to William, her mouth turned up to his.

‘Of course I’ll marry you,’ she whispered, ‘I love you more than life itself.’ And as their lips met, Eline knew that with William, she had found her destiny, she had come home.

Iris Gower was born in Swansea, where she still lives. The mother of four grown-up children, she has written over twenty bestselling novels. She received an Honorary Fellowship from the University of Wales Swansea in 1999 and has been awarded an MA in Creative Writing from the University of Cardiff.