A Dinner Of Herbs (97 page)

“How about you?”

“What do you mean, how about me?”

“You know what I mean. You know my position and I know yours.”

“Well, there might be some hope for you, Maggie, but there’s none for me.”

“Don’t say that, John. I ... I’m not going to let them ruin my life.”

She put her hand out and gripped his arm.

“We all need love. I found it and I’m going to hang onto it, come what may. And you

should do the

same.”

“With some one I could have fathered?”

“Don’t be daft.” She shook his arm.

“It happens every day, a young lass and an older man. And she’s not a young lass inside.

We both

found out.”

“Well, it’s over, Maggie. There’s no need to worry about me. In her last letter she said she would write

no more.”

“Have you answered her letters?”

“No.”

“Oh, John. And she actually said that, she’d write no more?”

“Yes, she did. So that’s one problem solved. But you look to yours. I don’t know how

things are

going to work out for you, only be careful.”

He nodded at her and as he turned from her she said, “Until I can be careful no longer.”

He was looking at her again, staring into her face.

“You’re not? You haven’t?”

“I’m not sure, but it doesn’t matter. I hope I am. I long to be able to say I am.”

“Oh, Maggie. Maggie.”

“Don’t worry about me, John. I’m happier than I’ve ever been in my life before. I’m

living, for the first

time I’m living. And if you were wise, you would too.”

“We can’t all be wise, Maggie. No, we can’t.” Now he turned from her and went out.

And she,

standing straight, put her hands on her stomach and looked down towards it, and, closing her eyes for a

moment, she said, “Please God, let it be there.”

It was the beginning of April when Maggie knew with absolute certainty that she was

carrying a child.

The monthly do’s, as Mary Ellen referred to this quirk of nature, had always been erratic in Maggie’s

case, but for the past three days her condition had been confirmed when she awoke in the morning with a

feeling of nausea and the reluctance to rise from her bed at half-past five.

It was four nights now since she had last visited Willy, and as yet he knew nothing about her condition.

The uncertainty of it, together with a feeling of shyness, and also the fact that he might not receive her

news in the same way as it was affecting herself, had stopped her from hinting at it during the spasmodic

conversations they were able to indulge in during the day.

The reason she hadn’t been to the cottage was not on account of the weather and the last heavy fall of

snow, but the fact that her mother had taken to staying up late. It had been half-past ten when she had

gone upstairs these past three nights, and it was an understood thing between her and

Willy that he had

not to expect her after eleven o’clock at night.

Anyway, she had made up her mind, if it was twelve o’clock tonight, she was going to

see Willy.

It was a quarter to eleven when she left her room. Her mother had come upstairs rather earlier. John

had been in his room this last hour. As she passed her parents’ bedroom door, she heard her father’s

snoring end on a snort. She did not need a light to find the bolt. Her hand went

immediately to it, but as

she began to withdraw it, she gave a violent start when a light illuminated the passage, and there, coming

out of the store-room, was her mother.

A lamp between them, they stared at each other, both their faces white with suppressed anger.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“Why ask the road you know?” Maggie’s voice was a low hiss, and her mother’s was

equally low as

she now said, “You’re a slut, that’s what you are, a slut. A cowman! You’ve got no

shame.”

Maggie was gulping in her throat now and she had to force the words through her teeth as she said,

“Then I take after me mother, don’t I?

You should know all about it. “

When Mary Ellen’s hand came upwards, Maggie’s voice rose as she cried, “You dare!

Main. Just you

dare, and I’ll walk out of here the morrow, and him with me. Think on that, him with me.

Because not

even three Ozzie Taylors and another one can make up for what Willy does. And inside

the house you’d

need a couple of maids. Aye, and you’d have to get your hand in more than you do now

to keep things

spruce as you want them. So be careful, Mam, don’t attempt to hit me, because although I won’t give

you blow for blow, I’ll hit you where it hurts most, your pockets, because you’re as bad as Dad in that

way. Now if you’ll move aside I’ll be on me way across to the cottage where I’ve been

going this many

a week.”

“You bitch! You dirty bitch!”

“Be careful, Mam. I mightn’t even wait for the blow. Just be careful.

Remember what I said, I take after you. “

“If ... if you go out that door, you won’t get back.”

“Well, I’ll leave that to you. If I don’t get back I stay in the cottage just long enough to get me things

together, then we’ll both go off. Think on it. I’ll be gone about an hour, just think on it.”

With that she

shot the bolt back none too quietly and went out, leaving the door wide behind her,

knowing that her

mother’s infuriated gaze was on her.

She was shaking from head to foot when she reached the cottage. Willy jumped up from

his seat beside

the fire and came towards her. But as soon as he saw her face he said, “What is it, love?

What is it?”

She fell against him, muttering incoherently.

When he raised her head sharply upwards, he demanded, “What happened?

What happened? “

“She ... she caught me coming out, and ... and said things, called me names, and... and I called them

back. Oh, Willy, Willy.”

He took off her coat and shawl and led her to a chair and, pulling another towards her, he sat by her

side, holding her hands tightly, as he said, “Well, it would have had to come out

sometime. Better now

than later. I’ll know where I stand and what I’m to do. I’ll have a talk with the Rector on Sunday,

although I want no church wedding. And neither do you. But he’s a wise and kindly man, he’ll direct

me. And lass don’t look so down. Look at me.”

She raised her head and he smiled now as he said, “I haven’t let the grass grow under me feet these past

few weeks. I’d heard about a little place as soon as it came on the market. Tis over near Corbridge in

the valley there, and the ground is lush. There’s twenty acres and a good little house, three byres, two

stables, and a loft. I never mentioned it afore because I didn’t want to jump the gun, but now I can go

ahead. The price will likely be around fifty or sixty pounds because the house has been let go. The old

man’s been on his own and past it for years. I hear he’s going to live with his daughter. If I could get it

for that, I have a little bit to start the stock, and I know who’d give me a helping hand if I asked him, and

that’s Mr. Hamilton. He asked me a while ago why I didn’t think of starting up on me

own. Funny, it

was shortly after that your dad gave me a shilling rise. I wondered if he had had anything to do about it.”

“No, no.” She shook her head.

“That was John.”

“Aye, of course, it would be. He’s a good fellow, John. He’s not happy, you know that, lass, don’t

you? He misses the little French lass. Funny, isn’t it? Well, that’s not the right word, you know what I

mean.”

“Willy.”

“Yes, my love?” He now moved closer and put his arms about her.

“I...

I’ve got something to tell you. “

“Aye, well, I’m listenin’, and always will be, ready for your words.”

She stared into his face while her eyes became moist, and the sight brought a fear to him.

And now his

hold tightened on her as he said, “You’re not going to go back on me?”

She actually put her head back and laughed, saying, “Aw, Willy!” Then looking at him

again, she said

quietly, “I’m carrying.”

“You’re ... carrying? You mean?”

“Yes.” She made a deep obeisance with her head, then found herself pulled roughly

upwards. And

now he was waltzing her round the narrow space between the fire, the chairs, and the

small table. And

when they fell against the table, he took her face between his hands and kissed her eyes, her nose, her

cheeks. Then of a sudden, becoming still, his voice gentle, he said, “You happy,

Maggie?”

“So happy, Willy, nothing matters, only you and me, and it.” She patted her stomach.

And he placed

his hand on top of hers, and now, his voice serious, he said, “You’re not afraid?”

“Afraid?” She pulled in her chin and screwed up her eyes and repeated, “Afraid?” And

her voice firm,

she said, “No, no, Willy. I am not afraid. I’m strong and healthy. I know it might be the wrong age, but

I’ll have your child if it’s the last thing....”

His hand came tight across her mouth as he said, “Don’t finish that.

Don’t say, if it’s the last thing you do, because if it’s the child or you, it’s you. Always you. Know that,

will you? Know that, lass. I want you. If we have a hairn, well and good. If we don’t, still well and

good, as long as I have you. “

“Willy! Willy!” The tears were raining down her face

now, and gently he held her while her crying mounted and he became concerned. But

then taking her by

the shoulders, he shook her gently, saying, “Look, lass, it’s too soon for the waters to break.” And at

this she spluttered and her tears turned to laughter that rang through the cottage, and all she could say

now was, “Oh! Willy, Willy. Willy, Willy.”

An hour later when she mounted the back stairs she found the door open and, locking it, she quickly

made her way to her room, and when she got into bed she took a pillow and, hugging it to her, she

buried her face in it and went to sleep.

Mary Ellen was seething. She did not speak to Maggie the following morning, nor even

look at her, but

she was aware of her every movement, and she told herself that she couldn’t stand this.

Nothing, she

imagined, could upset her more than she was at this moment. The thought of a daughter

of hers lying with

a cowman like Willy was nauseating, and for that daughter to say she was a pattern of

herself had

aroused an anger in her that was still raging. Her own mistake had occurred through one incident only;

and then she had the excuse of having been a young lass with the fires of curiosity and need posing under

the name of love. But in their Maggie’s case, this dirty underhand business must have

been going on for

God knew how long.

It was towards dinner-time that she decided she would have to talk to someone, and the last person she

could open her heart to about this thing was Hal. So she would go and tell Kate. She was forgetting that

Kate had once visited a man week after week, going in all weathers into the hills,

supposedly to exchange

books with him. It was two o’clock in the afternoon, dressed in her second-best bonnet and a similar

coat, that she mounted the trap and took the reins from John’s hand, saying, “See your father gets his

three o’clock tea, won’t you?”

He did not say, “Maggie always sees to that, doesn’t she?” because he had already

guessed there was

a storm raging between them. What he said was, “Enjoy your ride, but get back before

it’s dark if you

can.”

“Light or dark, the road’s no stranger to me. You should know that.”

She put her horse into a trot and he stood watching after her until she turned it out into the road before

he moved away and went in search of Maggie. He found her crossing the hall from the

direction of the

sitting room. She had an empty coal bucket in one hand and a wood skip in the other. He turned with

her and re-entered the kitchen. He had not taken his boots off and she looked down at his feet as she

said, “You took a risk, didn’t you?”

“She’s gone.”

“She could have popped back just to see what I was up to. I suppose you know all about it?”

“I know nothing. She hasn’t opened her mouth to me. What is it, anyway?”

Maggie opened the kitchen door and put the bucket and the skip outside. Then closing the door again,

she went to the sink and washed her hands, and as she dried them she turned and leant her buttocks

against the stone, saying, “She caught me going down the back stairs last night to visit Willy.”

He made no reply, just stared at her, and she went on, “It wasn’t the first time and it won’t be the last,

as long as I’m here. We’re going to find a place of our own. Has he said anything to

you ... Willy?”

“Yes. He said he’s got his eye on a place. He’s thinking of going and taking you with

him.”

“Surprised?”

“No, not at all.”

“I mean that I should leave and go with him?”

“I said, no, not at all. Can I tell you something? I wish it was me.”

“Oh, John.” She threw down the towel and went to the table and, sitting down, she looked up at him.

He now pulled a chair forward and he too sat down, and when she said, “Somehow, I

couldn’t imagine

you being any place else but here, you love the farm,” he broke in, “That shows, Maggie, how little you

know of me. Where have I been in my life? How far have I been, I ask you? To