For a Mother's Sins (20 page)

‘You’ve been busy. I think I’ve got all I need so we’ll head home on the next tram. The day’s worsening and I want to get home while it’s still light, stoke
the fire up and put this ham on to boil.’ Molly stopped talking as the young lass came back with their dinners, nervously placing the plates in front of Molly as if waiting for a caustic
comment. ‘Well, it looks all right, so let’s get it eaten. It makes a right good change to have something made for you that you’ve not done anything with yourself.’

Lizzie grinned as her mother tucked into her dinner. She’d never eaten pie like it, the taste was so good. Then again, it was her first time in an eating house with her mother, and that
was the biggest thrill.

‘We’ve only just made it back in time, Liz. Look at that water – any deeper and we’d not have made it through.’ Molly peered from under the canvas
covers at the waters of the River Doe lapping at the wheels and rails of the tram. ‘And look up there – that’s a new waterfall coming out of that cave’s mouth. That’ll
be all the melted snow.’

Lizzie peered through the lacing of the wagon at the many gushing streams turning into waterfalls as they cascaded down the sides of Whernside and Ingleborough.

‘There’ll be some damage done if this keeps this up.’ Molly shook her head and held on tight as the wagon lurched. ‘I’m blinking glad to see that viaduct and
journey’s end.’

The tram jolted to a halt and the relieved passengers clambered out with their shopping and ran to their homes to find refuge from the rain.

‘Put the kettle on, Liz, I’m fair parched. That pie must have had a lot of salt in it. I suppose it was to disguise the old meat.’ Molly grinned, she knew damn well that the
pie had been excellent, but she needed a ruse to get Lizzie out of the way while she hid her precious parcel of cloth. ‘You’ll have to go and fill the kettle from the water butt
outside.’

Lizzie slung her shawl over her head and scowled as she grabbed the kettle off the top of the stove and went out into the wet again. While the kettle was filling she happened to glance up. What
she saw made her drop the kettle and let out a scream.

Molly flew out of the door in a panic. ‘What’s up? What are you screaming for?’ She threw her arms around her daughter, anxiously looking around to see the cause.

‘Mam, the lines are moving – all the banking is sliding down.’

Both women stood mesmerized as with a huge rumble the newly formed banks of spoil disintegrated. Within minutes the line had completely disappeared, taking trees, scaffolding and men with
it.

The two women stood trembling and holding each other.

‘Another few minutes and we’d have been under that, Lizzie. That would have been the end of us. Thank God we’re safe – we must be being kept safe for something, me and
you.’ She kissed her daughter on the head and squeezed her tight.

Others were emerging from their shanties to see what the noise was, and as they registered what had happened and the scale of the disaster, navvies began running through the shanties, shouting
for wagons and carts to be brought. Oblivious to the danger and the raging elements, they raced towards the mudslide. The race was on to save those who were trapped underneath it.

‘I’d better go to the hospital, Lizzie. There’s bound to be lots of casualties coming in after this.’ Molly ducked into the hut and grabbed her shawl. ‘Will you be
all right on your own, pet?’

‘Course I will, Mam.’ Lizzie smiled bravely. ‘And, Mam, I love you.’

‘I love you too, pet.’ Molly brushed a tear from her cheek. At long last she had won her daughter back.

The smell of the cooking ham had filled the hut all Christmas Eve and now it lay on a plate ready to take over to Doctor Thistlethwaite’s.

‘It smells good, Mam.’ Lizzie picked a little loose bit from the side of the resting ham before her mother slapped her hand.

‘You can stop picking at it, Lizzie Mason. There’s little enough to go round, without you chewing your way through it.’ Molly stoked the stove and grinned at her daughter.
‘I don’t know what to expect in the morning. I’ve never had Christmas dinner outside my own family. I hope it’s not too posh, like. It can’t be, can it? He’s
only in a hut like us.’ Molly pulled her long hair back before pulling her nightclothes over her head. ‘Time to get to bed now, else Father Christmas won’t come,’ she
laughed.

‘Mam, I’m too old for Father Christmas. There’s no such person and you know it.’ Lizzie nearly jumped out of her skin as her words were followed by a knock on the
door.

‘See, you were wrong – he’s come early!’ Molly joked as she picked up the candle and moved to open the door in her long nightdress. She opened it slightly and shouted out
into the night, asking who was there.

A quiet voice answered. ‘Sorry, Moll. I thought you were both still up – I saw a light and I just wanted to wish you a happy Christmas.’ John was standing on the steps to the
hut, a Christmas card in his hand and his face glowing by the light of the storm lantern he was holding.

Molly fell silent. At the sound of his voice her heart missed a beat. No matter how hard she had tried, she couldn’t forget the affection and the passion that they had felt for each other.
‘Aye, well, you’ve said it. Now we’re away to our beds.’ She tried to close the door, but John’s foot jammed it open, making her slam it against his foot.

‘Please, Molly, it’s Christmas. I only want to give you this card and tell you how much I miss you.’ John leaned against the door and pleaded with her.

Inside the hut, Lizzie watched her mother leaning against the wooden boards of the door, candle in hand, obviously battling with her feelings.

‘Let him in, Ma,’ she urged. ‘I want to say happy Christmas. It wasn’t John’s fault what Bob did.’ Lizzie wasn’t just asking for herself. She wanted to
get her mother’s feelings out in the open. ‘It’s Christmas, Ma. Please.’

Molly stepped away from the door and stood quiet as John entered the room.

‘Happy Christmas, Lizzie.’ He walked over and gave her his Christmas card as she sat on the edge of her bed. ‘Happy Christmas, Molly. I miss you. Can’t you forgive me?
Please.’ He strode over to Molly, who didn’t flinch as he laid his hand on her arm. He looked into her eyes and saw that she was not going to give him quarter. Then he bowed his head
and left.

Molly quietly closed the door after him and said nothing as she blew the candle out and climbed into bed.

‘I like John, Ma,’ Lizzie whispered into the darkness.

Molly didn’t say anything to her daughter but her heart was beating fast. She closed her eyes and thought of his blue eyes and the soft blond hair and the loving smile. She liked him too,
but it was her pride that was the problem. Molly had her principles, she’d said what had to be said, and there was no going back. She stared into the darkness of the hut. From outside came
the faint sound of carols being sung. Tomorrow would be Christmas Day. This time last year, she had been a happily married woman with a good future to look forward to. Now she didn’t know
what life held from one day to the next. Fate had been cruel to her, but it was up to her to put things right – and she’d do that for her lass, no matter what.

The rain had finally stopped as Molly and Lizzie made their way to Doctor Thistlethwaite’s hut. It stood on the far side of the stream from the workers’ shanties,
in a little enclave of huts constructed for foremen and other staff deemed important by the Midland Railway, though most of those who could afford to preferred to rent lodgings in the dale. Smoke
was rising out of the chimney as the two women knocked shyly on the door, not knowing what to expect.

‘Merry Christmas!’ Roger Thistlethwaite opened his door and urged them to come in out of the bitter weather. ‘Please, sit down, make yourselves comfortable. Here, let me take
your shawls.’

Molly and Lizzie smiled at one another as he fussed over them, trying to put them at their ease.

‘May I say what a beautiful brooch that is, Molly.’ Roger Thistlethwaite admired the little black kitten with paws hanging over a silver horseshoe adorned with white heather as he
helped her out of her shawl.

‘Lizzie gave me it for Christmas. It’s supposed to bring me luck.’ Molly smiled and sat down next to the stove, quietly admiring the table that he had laid for dinner.

‘Ma got me some material for a new dress. She’s going to make it for me – it’s purple and lovely.’ Lizzie couldn’t wait. ‘And I’ve got you this
– ’ She handed her precious gift of tobacco to him. ‘I know you smoke it because I’ve seen you in the hospital.’

‘Why thank you, Lizzie, that’s very kind. And thank you, Molly, for the cooked ham – it looks delicious. I’m afraid today I’ve cheated. You can’t really cook
in these huts, so Mrs Parker is bringing me all the trimmings that make Christmas from the alehouse. You can see I’ve managed the goose, but for the rest I’m afraid I’m just a
useless man, so I had to rely on someone else’s time and expertise.’

Molly and Lizzie looked at the goose. That alone would have been enough for them, so they couldn’t imagine what else Mrs Parker might be bringing. The poor woman, carrying things down the
wet path to the doctor’s. You’d have thought she’d have enough to do, without cooking dinner for them.

‘Now, let me see, I think I have a little something for you both.’ Roger Thistlethwaite handed Lizzie a package and watched as she ripped it open. ‘For my little bookworm, a
book. I’m sure you’ll enjoy
Wuthering Heights.
It’s set in the fells, tells of a heartbreaking love affair.’ Roger watched as Lizzie flicked to the first page after
caressing the leather-bound edition with love. ‘And for my new nurse, a small present with my utmost gratitude for all her help.’

Molly opened the thin box to reveal some white embroidered handkerchiefs with the initial M delicately embroidered on them.

‘I can’t . . . I can’t accept these. They must have cost the earth!’ Molly held them in her hand and looked at Roger Thistlethwaite.

‘My dear, you must. You are worth so much more to me. Besides, it’s just a token at Christmas.’ He patted her hand gently. ‘A gift from a lonely old man who’s glad
of the company.’ He rose and started to pour out two glasses of sherry. ‘Is Lizzie allowed one?’ he asked, reaching for a third glass.

Molly looked up from admiring the fine hankies. ‘Yes, a small one. It’s Christmas, after all.’ She smiled fondly at Lizzie, whose nose was buried in her book already.
‘Not that she’ll notice. Look at her!’

‘There’s nothing like a good book,’ said Roger. ‘Reading’s to be encouraged.’ He sat down and relaxed as the sherry warmed his throat and the view of Molly
and her daughter warmed his heart. This was what Christmas was about, sharing it with the people you cared for.

A knock on the door broke the silence that had descended. A moment later Mrs Parker came bustling in with steaming dishes of potatoes and carrots, and to round it all off a huge figgy pudding
with sherry sauce. Having placed everything on the table, she thanked the doctor for his payment and hurried away, pulling her damp skirts up around her ankles as she went down the hut steps.

‘She’s a good woman, is Helen Parker. Pity her husband doesn’t realize it. The times she’s told me she’s bumped into something, when I know he’s used her as a
punch bag. He’s nothing but a brute. One day he’ll get his comeuppance.’ Doctor Thistlethwaite turned away from the window and waved his guests to take a seat at the table. Then
he picked up the carving knife and began slicing the goose as Lizzie and Molly looked on in wonder at all the festive fare laid out in front of them.

‘He hits Florrie as well,’ said Lizzie. ‘I’ve seen her with a black eye. And he broke her tooth.’ Lizzie held her plate out for a slice of goose.

‘If it weren’t for Helen, nothing would get done. It’s her that keeps the Welcome Inn going. She’s a good cook and folk like her. Henry’s too busy being
cock-of-the-midden, handing out pay to the navvies only to take it off them in his bar.’ Molly tried not to drool as she helped herself to roast potatoes.

‘Mr Ashwell doesn’t like him. He reckons he’s up to something. I heard him saying so to Fred that works on the plans.’ Lizzie added her four-penn’orth, helping
herself to pickled cabbage as she did so.

‘Now, Lizzie, you shouldn’t repeat what goes on at work. It’s none of our business.’ Molly stopped her in her tracks, not wanting the doctor to think they gossiped.

‘It’ll not go any further than these four walls, so don’t you worry, Lizzie. Mr Ashwell is a good judge of character, and he’s probably right about Henry Parker.’
Roger Thistlethwaite refilled Molly’s glass and smiled. ‘But Mrs Parker has done us proud and is to be congratulated.’ He lifted his glass up. ‘To Mrs Parker and my clever
new nurse, Molly.’ He smiled as Molly blushed and Lizzie giggled. It was so good to spend Christmas with a family he would dearly like to make his own.

The New Year blasted its way in with icy winds from the north and biting sleet that stung the cheeks with its icy fingers.

Between the squalling showers workmen for the Midland had been busy all week erecting a new hut for the Bradford missionaries to come and show the heathen navvies the error of their unholy
ways.

‘Bye, they look half-frozen.’ Molly watched the workmen through the frosted windows of the hospital. ‘We must be badly in need of some religion for the Midland to be building a
hut in this weather.’

‘Some of us might be,’ Starchy Drawers commented as she walked past with bandages. ‘Have you seen to Mr Bibby? He needs his bandages changing.’

The thaw in her attitude towards Molly had not lasted long. The news that Roger and his new nurse had dined together on Christmas Day had not gone down well.

‘Yes, and I’ve emptied the pee-pots, so you needn’t ask me to do that.’ Molly folded her arms and glared at her would-be rival. ‘Look, madam, I told you when I
first came: I’m not interested in the doctor. He’s too old and I’m not clever enough for the likes of him. He’s a nice man, but I don’t want a man in my life.
I’m happy as I am, independent.’