Winter in Thrush Green (25 page)

' "He told our reporter," ' read Albert laboriously, ' "that he was lying in a wolter of blood." Trunk of that!' said Albert ghoulishly. ' "A wolter of blood." ' He began to pick a back tooth with a black finger-nad, his eyes still fixed upon the print.

'It'll be quite a step every day from Lulling Woods,' went on Nelly, delicately approaching her objective. 'I'm supposed to go in first thing in the mornings too, to light the stoves and dust round.'

'Oh ah?' repeated Albert absently. He withdrew a wet
forefinger from his mouth and replaced it damply on a line of print. ' "He was detained in hospital with a suspected skull fracture and injuries to the right eye." '

'I wish you'd listen,' said Nelly, exasperation giving an edge to her tones. 'I got something to tell you.'

Albert stopped reading aloud, but his eyes continued to follow his moving forefinger.

'Don't you think the time's come, Albert,' wheedled Nelly, 'when we thought of setting up here together? I mean, we've known each other since we was girl and boy, and we seem to hit it all right, don't we?'

A close observer might have noticed a slight stiffening of Albert's back, but otherwise he gave no sign of hearing. Only his finger moved a little more slowly along the line.

'You've said yourself continued Nelly, in cooing tones, 'how nice I cook, and keep the house to rights. You've been alone too long, Albert. What you wants is a bit of home comfort. What about it?'

A slight flush had crept over Albert's unlovely countenance, but still his eyes remained lowered.

' "It is feared," ' Albert read, in an embarrassed mutter, ' "that 'is brain 'as suffered damage." '

'And so will yours, my boy!' Nelly burst out, rising swiftly. She lifted Albert's arms from the table, sat herself promptly down on the newspaper in front of Albert and let his arms fall on each side of her. She put one plump hand under his bristly chin and turned his face up to confront her.

'Now then,' said Nelly, giving him a dark melting glance. 'What about it?'

'What about what?' asked Albert weakly. It was quite apparent that he knew he was a doomed man. At last he was cornered, at last he was caught, but still he struggled feebly.

'You heard what I said,' murmured Nelly seductively,
patting his check. 'Now I've got the job here, it'd all fit in so nice.'

Albert gazed at her mutely. His eyes were slightly glazed, but there was a certain softening around his drooping mouth.

'You'd have a clean warm house to live in,' went on his temptress, 'and a good hot meal midday, and ad your washin' done.'

Albert's eyes brightened a little, but he still said nothing. Nelly put her head provocatively on one side.

'And me here for company, Albert,' she continued, a little breathlessly. Could it be that Albert's eyes dulled a little? She put her plump arms round his shoulders and gazed at him closely.

'Wouldn't you like a good wife?' asked Nelly beseechingly.

Albert gave a great gusty sigh-a farewell, half-sad and half-glad, to all his lonely years–and capitulated.

'All right,' said he. 'But get orf the paper, gal!'

***

By the end of the week Albert was accepting congratulations from ad Thrush Green, with a sheepish grin. The rector was delighted to hear the news when Albert came one evening, twisting his greasy cap round and round in his hands, to mumble that he wanted to put up the banns.

'You're a very lucky fellow,' he told him. 'I've heard nothing but praise about the lady.'

'You'll have to find one for yourself,' answered Albert, emboldened by his master's approbation.

'I really think I shad,' agreed the rector, smiling.

'One thing,' said Ella to Dimity when she heard the news, 'Nelly Tilling will make that cottage smell a bit sweeter -and Albert too, I hope.'

'And what a good thing for Piggott's poor little cat!' exclaimed Dimity. 'It was such a waif always. Nelly Tilling's bound to fatten it up.'

'Isn't it fortunate?' said Miss Watson to Miss Fogerty. 'To think that she thought of settling in Thrush Green so soon after getting the job!'

'She may, perhaps, have thought of it before,' pointed out Miss Fogerty, with unusual perception.

'Molly Piggott–I mean Curdle–will be pleased,' said Joan Young to her husband Edward. 'It means she won't have to worry too much about the old man while she's so far away.'

'If you ask me,' said Ted Allen to his wife Bessie, sad at the loss of such a good worker at 'The Drover's Arms,' 'she's plain barmy to marry that man!'

'Ah!' breathed Bessie, 'there's no gainsaying Love. Hearts rule heads every time!' She had always been romantic from a girl.

As the month wore on the weather improved, and tempers with it. The workmen, who had been unable to do much in
the rain, now returned much refreshed from their rest, and the base of Nathaniel's statue was fast nearing completion. Edward Young brought glowing reports of the progress of the young sculptor and it really seemed as if Thrush Green would be punctual for once and have everything in apple-pie order for the missionary's anniversary on March the fifteenth.

The mild weather allowed the schoolchildren to play outside, much to their teachers' relief. The new school cleaner, whose doughty right arm had scrubbed and polished with considerable effect, also welcomed the dry spell, and the good people of Thrush Green, so long winter-bound, pottered about their gardens, admiring the silver and gold of snowdrops and aconites, and watching the daffodils push their buds above ground.

One sunny afternoon, Ruth Lovell wheeled her infant daughter's pram along the road to Thrush Green. It was wonderful to feel a warm breeze lifting one's hair, and to feel light and strong again. Ruth's spirits rose as she saw the buds on the lilac bushes as fat and plump as green peas. On the other side of the road some willow bushes grew beside a shadow ditch. Already, Ruth could see, the brown buds were showing a fringe of silvery fur, soon to turn to yellow fluff, honey-scented and droning with bees.

But it was the great sticky buds of the horse-chestnut trees which formed the avenue outside her old home on Thrush Green that caused Ruth's heart to stir most strongly. She looked with affection at the sight which had given her joy all her life.

She paused under the trees, her sleeping baby before her, and let her eyes rest upon the familiar scene. On her right, behind the white palings, the children were at play, their distant voices competing with a blackbird's as he trilled and whistled from the Baileys' gate-post on her left. Above her stretched the strong interlacing branches of the chestnut avenue,
and higher still a blue and white sky of infinite freshness.

Before her lay the thick green sward upon which her own daughter would be crawling before the summer ended, and there, some fifty yards away, the workmen clanged their tools and whistled, preparing for the great day.

Soon, thought Ruth, joyfully, it would be spring-time again, a time of hope and new life. Before long Mrs Curdles fair would be assembled on Thrush Green again, and though the old lady would no longer dominate her little world, yet her spirit must surely be with Ben and the great-grandson she had never seen as the fair filled Thrush Green with music and fun on the first day of May.

As she watched the bright scene before her she heard the clang of a distant gate, and saw Eda's sturdy figure emerge from her garden and set off across the green, past St Andrew's, to the alley-way which led to Dotty Harmer's. She was swinging a basket merrily and did not see the motionless figure under the chestnut trees.

'Egg-day!' thought Ruth to herself, and rejoiced at the pleasantness of country life which was so familiar and intimate. 'She'd probably have tea with Dotty, and take great care in choosing her food!'

She watched Ella with affection as she stumped out of sight between 'The Two Pheasants' and Albert's cottage. Unconsciously echoing Mrs Curdle's words on her last visit to Thrush Green, she addressed her sleeping daughter.

'I always feel better for seeing Thrush Green.'

She sighed happily, thinking of the comfort it had brought her through many weeks of misery. It had never failed her. No matter how sore her wounds, the balm of Thrush Green had always soothed them.

She began to push the pram slowly along beneath the trees, over the road which was bumpy with massive roots just below
the chequered shade on its surface. As she arrived at Joan's gate she took one last look at the spring sunshine on the green, and caught sight of the rector in the distance.

He was walking purposefully towards Ella and Dimity's house, and in his hand was a large bunch of flowers.

T
HE
rector, as he had intended, found Dimity alone at the house, for he too had observed Ella striding towards Lulling Woods, basket in hand, and had remembered that this was the day on which the eggs were collected.

'Why, Charles!' cried Dimity. 'How lovely to see you! I didn't know you were allowed out yet.'

'This is my first walk,' admitted the rector. 'But I wanted to come and thank you properly for ad that you have done.' How convenient, at times, thought the rector, was the English use of the second person plural!

'Ella's out, I'm afraid,' said Dimity, leading the way to the sitting-room. 'But I don't think she'd be very long.'

The rector felt a little inner agitation at this news, but did his best to look disappointed at Ella's temporary absence. He handed Dimity the flowers with a smile and a small bow.

'Freesias!' breathed Dimity with rapture, thinking how dreadfully extravagant dear Charles had been, and yet how delicious it was to have such treasures brought to her. 'How very, very kind, Charles. They are easily our favourite flowers.'

The rector murmured politely while Dimity unwrapped them. Their fragrance nungled with the faint smell of wood smoke that lingered in the room and the rector thought, yet
again, how warm and full of life this small room was. Ella's book lay face downward on the arm of a chair, her spectacles lodged across it. Dimity's knitting had been hastily put aside when she answered the door, and decorated a low table near the fire. The clock ticked merrily, the fire whispered and crackled, the cat purred upon the window-sill, sitting foursquare and smug after its midday meal.

A feeling of great peace descended upon the rector despite the preoccupations of the errand in hand. Could he ever hope, he wondered, to have such comfort in his own home?

'Do sit down,' said Dimity, 'while I arrange these.'

I'll come with you,' said Charles, with a glance at the clock. Ella must have reached Dotty's by now.

He followed Dimity into the small kitchen which smelt deliriously of gingerbread.

'There!' gasped Dimity, 'I'd forgotten my cakes in the excitement.'

She put down the flowers and opened the oven door.

'Could you pass that skewer, Charles?' she asked, intent on the oven's contents. Obediently, the rector passed it over.

'Harold is coming to tea tomorrow,' said Dimity, 'and he adores gingerbread." She poked busily at the concoctions, withdrew the tins from the oven and put them on the scrubbed wooden table to cool.

The rector leant against the dresser and watched her as she fetched vases and arranged the freesias. His intentions were clear enough in his own mind, but it was decidedly difficult to make a beginning, particularly when Dimity was so busy.

'I must show vou our broad beans," chattered Dimity, quite unconscious of the turmoil in her old friend's heart. 'They are quite three inches high. Harold gave us some wonderful stuff to keep the slugs off.'

Fond as the rector was of Harold Shoosmith, he found himself disliking his intrusion into the present conversation. Also the subject of slugs, he felt, was not one which made an easy stepping-stone to such delicate matters as he himself had in mind. The kitchen clock reminded him sharply of the passage of time, and urgency lent cunning to the rector's stratagems.

'I should love to see them sometime,' said Charles, 'but I wonder if I might sit down for a little? My legs are uncommonly feeble after this flu.'

Dimity was smitten with remorse.

'You poor dear! How thoughtless of me, Charles! Let's take the freesias into the sitting-room and you must have a rest.'

She fluttered ahead, pouring out a little flow of sympathy and self-reproach which fell like music upon the rector's ears.

'Have a cushion behind your head,' said Dimity, when the rector had lowered himself into an armchair. She plumped it up with her thin hands and held it out invitingly. The rector began to feel quite guilty, and refused it firmly.

'Harold says it's the final refinement of relaxation,' said Dimity, and noticed a wince of pain pass over the rector's cherubic face. 'Oh dear, I'm sure you're over-tired! You really shouldn't have ventured so far,' she protested.

'Dimity,' said Charles, taking a deep breath. 'I want to ask you something. Something very important.'

'Yes, Charles?' said Dimity, picking up her knitting busily, and starting to count stitches with her forefinger. The rector, having made a beginning, stuck to his guns manfully.