The Colour of Milk (7 page)

she held up the last one what was the size of a baby. and then she laid them all out on the bed.

i had another small one, she said, only i used that.

she put her hand in to the box and brought out a piece of paper what was folded. she unfolded it and inside there was a cutting of hair. and it was a curl. and where she held it up to the flame i could see it was blonde.

i had a baby, she said, only i was on my own when he was born and there was a cord around his neck. and he never breathed.

she folded the paper back up and put it in the box.

after he died, she said, i was sent here to work. and i been here ever since.

where did you live before? i asked.

over that way. two miles or so. i don’t see them, she said.

how old are you? i asked.

thirty two.

you been here years.

that’s right, she said. she folded up the shrouds and put them back in the box then laid the blanket over them. she put the lid down and put it back under the bed.

i get cold here, she said. and alone.

she put her hand out and touched my arm. her hand stayed there for a bit then she took it back.

i never meaned to hit you, she said.

it’s all right.

i was scared you would show me up.

it don’t matter, i said.

it does. i ought to be glad of the company.

she got in to her bed and i got in to mine and we lay there not moving and i said nothing and she said nothing and then i heard her start to cry and i put the pillow over my head.

a woman called at the door and edna told me to tell mr graham she was asking for the vicar. i went in to the dining room where he was sat finishing his breakfast. and he was sat at the table in his suit made of wool what was brown and he had a notebook and was writing in it and doing some drawings.

what are you drawing? i asked.

just some birds.

o.

i like to study birds. see how they nest, listen to their cries.

why?

he looked at me. because i find them interesting, he said.

o.

he put his knife and fork down on the plate.

you eaten as much, i said, as our pig does in a morning.

he smiled. mary, he said, allow me to give you some advice. don’t compare your employer to a pig.

o, i said. i wasn’t meaning to be rude. we all like our pig.

even so, in the hierarchy of life your employer should be above the pig.

he wiped his mouth with his napkin.

humans and animals, he said, are quite different.

ain’t that different to me, i said. there’s things they both do that’s the same.

he put up his hand. enough, he said. i don’t think we should continue this conversation.

right, i said. but there’s summat else, sir.

what?

i just remembered why i come in. edna said to tell you there’s a woman to see you, i said.

there’s always someone to see me, he said. tell edna to show her in to my study.

she already has. the woman’s there now.

right. well, she’ll wait for me.

he watched me as i cleared away the plates and knives what was used and put them on the tray to go to the kitchen.

you don’t look
un
happy, he said.

ah, but you didn’t say i look happy, i said.

maybe. but you are doing really well here. my wife is eating and seems a lot more cheerful. edna seems to have settled down and says you are a real help. and all that means i can get on with my work and concentrate on the church and the parishioners. he rubbed his chin and closed his notebook.

is there anything we can do, he asked, to make you happier here?

no.

there must be something. don’t be scared to ask.

i ain’t scared of nothing, i said.

but is there anything at all you need?

i got food and summat to drink. i got a bed and clean clothes.

but i take it you would like to see your family?

why you asking questions when you know the answer to them?

he laughed. you are a sharp little thing.

knives is sharp, i said.

if they have been sharpened upon your tongue they would be. i can see why my wife likes you being here. look, she and i have spoken and thought you should have the morning off. go on, go back to the farm. it’ll do you good.

i can go home? i started ripping off my apron.

slow down. i mean when you have finished clearing away, and just for the morning. you must be back after luncheon.

i will, i said.

tell edna to bring tea for the woman in my study. and send your father my regards.

i will.

my hand is hurting and so i stop.

i look out of the window.

it is raining as i write this. the water falls down the glass of my window and there is a mist and i can not see to the end of the fields.

i have to stop to blot the pages.

i shake my hand for it hurts where i am writing so fast.

my hair is the colour of milk.

i am mary.

m. a. r. y.

the sun was warm that day as i went over the hill and down the other side. the yard was empty and i went on in to the house through the scullery and past the pails of milk and the churns and the butter pats. i went on in to the kitchen what was empty. i walked through in to grandfather’s room but he wasn’t there neither.

i went across and opened the door in to the apple room. the boxes was piled high but between them there was the bed and on the bed there he was.

he must’ve heard me coming cos he was smiling. look who’s here, he said. well bugger i, didn’t expect to be seeing you today.

hello, grandfather.

what you doing here?

they let me come to see you all.

i sat down on the box by his bed. he looked thin and his cheeks was sinking in to his face like as if a bad swede does.

what you doing still in bed? i asked.

they all gone out to the ten acre. the lot of them’s out there.

so why ain’t you up?

they’re busy. got a lot of work on.

they could’ve got you up before they went.

don’t fuss on.

ain’t fussing. come on.

i put my hands under his arms and got him up. i took him out the room and in to the other and then i got him on his chair.

you need a wash, i said.

had one yesterday.

yesterday? i said. more like last year. you stink.

i went and got some water from the kettle what was still warm and a rag and i washed him and found him his other long johns and trousers and shirt and put them on him.

you eaten? i asked.

ate yesterday.

your guts ain’t gonna remember yesterday.

i went and got him bread and apple scrape. and i made him some tea.

i sat with him and watched him eat. he dipped the bread in the tea, sucked the crusts.

so you gonna tell me what it’s like up there? he asked. they good to you?

don’t care.

you would if they wasn’t no good.

spose.

so? come on. what’s it like?

i dunno, i said. ain’t like here. they fuss on and it’s all got to be done fancy ways.

that’s fancy folk for you.

i stood up and walked to the window and looked out over the home field. where’s the cow?

there somewhere.

can’t see her.

mary, he said.

what?

there ain’t been no changes just cos you gone.

i turned back to look at him. i wanna come home.

you ain’t missing nothing.

i am.

what?

you.

you’re a soft bugger.

i know. can’t help it.

i looked out of the window again.

father out there? i asked.

yeh.

so he’s still alive then?

he is.

shame.

grandfather started to laugh. you’re a wicked one, you are. wicked.

they were all out there. father. mother. violet. beatrice. hope. i could see them right at the end of the ten acre so i walked round the edge so not to step on the crop. they was working together in a line yet it didn’t look like they had hoes.

i got closer and could see they was digging up the blackthorn hedge between the ten acre and the five acre.

father turned and watched me till i got close.

what you done wrong? he asked.

ain’t done nothing wrong, i said. he told me i could come back for the morning.

what for?

to see you all.

violet was staring. look at you, she said. it don’t look like you.

it is me, i said.

your dress, beatrice said. that all new?

i nodded.

and why you got your hair like that? she asked.

i touched my hair. i got to for work.

those new boots? mother asked.

yeh.

i ain’t got none like that, hope said.

you been all right? mother asked.

course she has, father said. you been working hard?

i have, i said. they say they’re pleased.

better be, father said.

ain’t right, hope said, look at her in them boots.

father clipped hope round the ear and she cried out. get to it, he said. ain’t got time to be standing staring.

hope stood on the spade and started digging.

what you doing? i asked.

taking the hedge out, mother said.

why’d you wanna do that?

more growing room, father said. more money to be made. gonna get the machine in to thresh it this year.

thought you hated machines, i said.

i do.

then why you gonna get them in?

cos it’s faster. faster than if you were sons and done it. and doing it fast means more money.

while you’re busy making money, i said, grandfather was still in bed.

no one said nothing and it went silent for a minute while we waited for father to blow.

so, he said, his voice hard like the spade in his hands. reckon you come back to tell us how to do things?

she ain’t telling you, mother said.

i ain’t thick, father said.

anyway, beatrice took him tea, mother said.

i never.

so who did?

i did, i said. i took him tea and bread. i washed him. i changed him. you ain’t been getting him up.

father hit out at me and caught the side of my head. that’s enough, he said. carry on like that and you won’t never be coming back again.

upstairs in my bedroom nothing had changed. the bible was on the floor by beatrice’s side and the blanket was still on the window.

i lay down on the bed and felt my shape still there.

it was like i wasn’t never gone away.

like nothing had happened.

i went round the home field and found the cow tucked out of sight by the hedge. i stroked her and then i got the bucket and stool and sat by her. i leaned hard in to her flanks and smelled her and then i got some milk out. and then violet come up to me.

she pointed at the bucket. she’s already been milked.

i know. and i know it’s gone milking time.

then what you doing?

nothing. i stopped and the cow wandered off.

we didn’t say nothing for a bit then she said, you ever see ralph there? up at the house?

course i do, i said. he lives there so why you ask?

nothing, she said. only wondered.

you want me to give him a message?

why’d i want you to do that? course i don’t. stupid thing to say.

she kicked the bucket and the small bit of milk poured on to the grass and sank down in to the soil.

she walked away.

i stayed there a bit but the sun was moving over the sky and my guts was starting to make a sound so i knew it was time to go back up there. i went in to see grandfather and told him i’d be going.

come back soon as you can, he said.

i will.

make sure they look after you right. tell them if they don’t they’ll have me to reckon with. an old man what can’t walk. he laughed. go on, he said. get on then.

i went on out and said goodbye to mother and to my sisters what’d come in for some food. they was sat eating bread and cheese in the shade on the doorstep of the scullery. and then i walked through the yard. and i walked back up the lane. and i could feel them watching me and then i turned the corner and they could see me no more.

i was polishing the dining room when ralph come and stood in the doorway.

what d’you want? i asked.

you’re the maid and i live here. do i have to explain what i want?

i know you want something. everyone always wants something.

do they? he come in to the room and leaned on the sideboard. your boots are muddy, he said. they’re your new ones.

boots get muddy.

how was the farm?

still there.

and how are they managing without you? have the cows all lain down and died? have the crops wilted and the milk turned sour?

no.

were your family happy to see you?

i stared at him. what is it you want?

you were late back, he said. it was all the talk at luncheon.

i don’t care.

that’s very rebellious of you.

is it?

what did you do down there?

farm stuff.

you’re so informative. so expansive.

i opened the tin of wax. i have a message for you, i said.

for me?

yes for you, i said. from violet. she says hello.

why ever would she do that?

i dunno, i said. maybe you can go away and think about it. i spec you’ll come up with a reason why.

very funny.

he watched me as i put the wax on the wood of the table and rubbed it in.

talk to me, farm girl.

i ain’t sposed to be no farm girl no more, i said.

you’re a house girl.

that what i am now, is it?

yes. look at you.

i ain’t no different, no matter what i wear. no matter how my hair’s pinned. i ain’t changing so don’t think i am.

no airs and graces? are we not rubbing off on you?

no.

i started waxing the side cupboard and pushed him off it where he was leaning on the wood.

look after your mother when i was gone, did you? i asked. she eat anything?