The Fleethaven Trilogy (42 page)

‘I’ll ’elp you carry it, missus,’ Danny said, taking charge. Turning back he leant towards Matthew with a gesture of solicitude that was strangely touching in one so young. Watching, Esther marvelled that the boy, instead of ignoring the sick man and directing his questions to Esther to answer for her husband as so many of the adults had done, actually addressed Matthew.

‘Can you stand up, mester? Lean on my shoulder . . .’ and as Matthew struggled to his feet, ‘that’s it, lean on me. Kate, fetch us a chair out of the house for yar dad to sit on whilst we move the bench.’

Kate, ever Danny’s willing slave, scuttled off to do his bidding.

Esther stood by as Matthew shuffled across the yard, his hand on the boy’s shoulder. She wondered if Matthew had realized who Danny was. It was difficult to guess just how aware he was, for although he made sounds sometimes, since those first words of greeting in the hospital when he had imagined her to be Beth he had not uttered a word. She had no idea if he understood what was being said to him or if he recognized the people around him, even those he had known all his life.

Danny settled Matthew into the chair which Kate had brought out and then, with Esther lifting one end and Danny the other, they carried the bench seat to a place beside the pond.

‘There, that’s better. Now there’s something for you to look at, Matthew. The willow tree and look, there’s still a few snowdrops round the pond and soon there’ll be the crocuses and daffs.’

‘And the ducks,’ Danny added, grinning as two ducks waddled towards the pond and splashed into the water. Now the two children stood back looking at Matthew. Slowly, Matthew turned his head and looked directly at them. His gaze, now obviously intent upon them as if he were really seeing them, went from one to the other. His head still moved in that awful nodding tic, yet at the moment it didn’t seem quite so bad. A tentative smile flickered on his mouth and his fluttering hands reached towards them.

‘I think he wants you to go and sit beside him,’ Esther said quietly. The two children glanced up at her, as if for permission, and when she nodded, they went and sat on the bench, one either side of him.

Esther watched as Matthew looked down at them, first to one side and then the other. Then she heard a deep sigh escape his lips, as he leant back against the seat. She could almost see his tortured limbs relax and the shaking lessened visibly. Before her eyes she was witnessing the beginning of Matthew’s recovery.

She was truthful enough to admit that it was down to Danny Eland.

Once the healing had begun, each day saw an improvement, so much so that on Will’s very next visit, he remarked upon the change. ‘He looks better, lass. That awful nodding’s not so bad and I reckon his hands aren’t shaking so much.’

Esther told him what had happened the day Danny had come. ‘The lad’s come every day since, Will.’

Will eyed her sharply. ‘Dun’t you mind, Esther?’

She shrugged her shoulders. ‘How can I if it’s helping Matthew to get better? I’m not
that
spiteful or petty-minded!’

‘Does Matthew – er – ever see . . . ?’ Will made a gesture with his head towards the Point, towards the Elands’ boat home.

‘Beth, you mean?’ Esther said quietly.

‘Aye.’

‘To be honest – I don’t know. Danny and Kate have started taking him for little walks now. You know, a little further each day. They’ve got him as far as the pub . . .’ she paused and gave a grimace, ‘though I’m not sure that’s such a good idea,’ she added with a tartness in her tone. Then she shrugged, smiled and said, ‘Ah well, if it helps, why not?’

‘I dun’t expect landlord’ll let harm come to him – y’know, let him tek too much.’

‘No, you’re right, of course. Matthew sits outside when it’s warm enough and watches the children play on the grassland near the pub and the cottages . . .’ She stopped and did not add ‘and the Elands’ boat’.

There was a triangular piece of grassland which lay between the Seagull and the cottages and on the third side ran the river bank where the boat was moored. From the deck of their boat home the Elands had a clear view of the cottages and the pub and beyond them across the marshes towards the sea.

‘Of course, all the fellers come and talk to him,’ Esther made herself chatter on. ‘They’re getting a little less embarrassed now.’ She smiled musingly, ‘Funny, isn’t it, Will, how those two bairns weren’t afraid or awkward around him, and yet some of the grown-ups – they couldn’t get away fast enough when they first saw him.’

‘It was a shock for us to see him in such a state, Esther, remembering how he used to be afore he went to war. A fine strapping lad, brought down like that.’ He shook his head in disbelief. ‘It’s wicked, that’s what it is. I must admit,’ he added, a little shamefacedly, ‘I didn’t quite know what to do or say that first time.’

There was silence between them and then Esther, struggling with an inner conflict that she could still not quell, said haltingly, ‘How’s – how’s me aunt, then?’

‘No change, lass, no change. George – poor chap – he’s wearing himself out.’

Again there was a long pause, then Will said softly, ‘Won’t you go and see them, lass? Even if only for George’s sake. He’s always asking after you – has done ever since you left. Won’t you go?’

Esther, wrestling with her conscience, pressed her lips together, and shook her head. ‘I can’t, Will, I just can’t.’

Matthew made rapid progress. Soon he could walk unaided. Then, hesitantly at first, he began to speak again. Just one word and then two or three, like a child learning to talk for the first time.

Esther would shake her head, a small smile on her mouth as she watched the three of them together. The two children, one on either side of him, skipping and dancing, chattering, glancing up at him, Kate slipping her hand into his, and Matthew placing his hand on Danny’s shoulder, not so much now for support as just in affection. Esther watched and smiled and in her heart she was glad. Glad for Matthew, compassionate enough to rejoice that he had perhaps, after all, some sort of life ahead of him. She was still a little fearful of the closeness between Kate and Danny. Yet what harm could it do while they were so young?

So some of her burden eased, at least some of the physical hardship, now that Matthew did not need quite so much help. Yet the farm work still lay fully on her shoulders. Matthew made no effort to do even the simplest tasks. He just wanted to spend his days with the children, and when they were at school, he would sit by the range or near the pond and gaze into nothingness.

Although Esther gave thanks for Matthew’s steady recovery, in her innermost heart Jonathan was never far from her thoughts.

She still slipped away to stand on the end of the Spit, to put her face up to the sky and the wind, to close her eyes and let the peace of the place surround her. This time of solitude she allowed herself was her only way of renewing her strength of purpose. Her iron resolve would not let her do any other than what she had vowed to herself to do; to turn her back on dreams and face reality. She would care for her sick husband and she would not let her longing for Jonathan eat away at her and destroy her. Her pledge renewed, she would turn away from the place where the sea and the sky and the land seemed to meet and once more take up the burden of caring for Matthew and Kate and running the farm single-handed.

With the coming of spring came a surprise for Esther. Suddenly, there were willing hands to help with the late ploughing and the spring sowing. Labourers from neighbouring farms appeared unasked and unheralded, sheepish grins on their faces. ‘Thought you could use a hand, missus, just till yar man’s well again, like.’

Esther held back the bitter retort that she had desperately needed their help during Matthew’s absence, but she knew that the reason they had stayed away towards the end of the war was solely because of her association with Jonathan. Now they had come back and she was far too sensible to turn away their help, however much her prickly pride might have liked to do so. Maybe they had talked it over amongst themselves, or maybe they’d just drifted back automatically now that her husband was home and the soldier gone. She had no way of knowing and she was certainly not going to ask.

Matthew made no effort to help, not even with light jobs that in Esther’s opinion he could have managed now. He sat in the spring sunshine or outside the pub on a bench and watched the rest of his little world at work or at play, apparently apathetic, locked in his own private existence.

Then something happened which gave him a new interest. At first Esther was gratified to see a spark of enthusiasm for anything, but as time went on she was to rue the day that the squire brought his brand new motor car down the lane to Brumbys’ Farm.

This strange chugging noise came nearer and nearer. Esther, in the process of stabling the horses she had on loan from the squire, had a job to calm the younger one. His eyes dilated with fear and he stamped and whinnied and backed away from his stable as if he thought the sound was coming from in there, and then just as suddenly, as if realizing his stable offered refuge from the noise, he shot forward almost knocking Esther over.

The chugging grew louder and Esther stared up the lane towards the town. Coming round the bend she saw a motor car bowling along the narrow lane and to her surprise turning in at her gate. She stood back against the wall of the cowshed, her hands spread against the brickwork behind her, staring wide-eyed as the vehicle, puthering smoke, came to a juddering halt in front of her. She saw the squire lean forward and then the engine died.

He climbed out of the vehicle. ‘Good morning, my dear. I hope you don’t mind, I thought I’d take Matthew for a little drive in my new acquisition. I thought it might – well, you know – perk him up a bit.’

Esther glanced towards the seat near the pond and saw that Matthew had already risen and was moving, with that peculiar, shambling gait, towards the motor car.

‘That was kind of you, Squire,’ Esther said.

Matthew was now standing near the motor car, his gaze roaming over it, his hands reaching out to touch the shiny metal.

‘If you’ll excuse me, Squire,’ Esther murmured.

‘Surely, my dear, surely. You have no objections to Matthew taking a spin with me?’

‘Of course not, Squire, it’s very kind of you to think of him,’ she repeated. And it was. It was kind of him and unusual for a man in the squire’s position to concern himself so with Matthew’s welfare. Perhaps, Esther thought intuitively, looking after another victim of the war is helping to ease the loss of his own son.

From the pantry she heard the car start up again and winced as the loud throbbing once more shattered the peace. Gradually the sound died away as the squire drove down the lane towards the town.

There he goes, she thought of Matthew not without a little bitterness, her lips pursing in disapproval. Gallivanting off with the squire, riding in a grand motor car and not even trying to lift a finger to do a few simple jobs. She sat down suddenly on the cold slab of the gantry.

‘Esther Hilton,’ she said aloud to the empty house. ‘You’ll become bitter and sharp-tongued just like your Aunt Hannah if you dun’t watch yourself!’

She remained sitting where she was for some time, finding herself in a strangely pensive mood. Maybe, she thought reflectively, it had been the responsibility of her family and the sheer drudgery of her life in caring for them that had made her aunt as she had been. For, despite the fact that her uncle had been a gentle, good-natured lump of a man, Esther could see now that he had never taken responsibility upon himself. He had worked hard but it had been her aunt who had made decisions, she who had carried the burden of bringing up the family.

Maybe I’m more like her than I care to admit, Esther thought ruefully, and tried to imagine what her aunt must be like now, struck down by a paralysing seizure. And her uncle, how would he cope? Hannah had ruled her family and organized their daily routine. Without her hand on the plough, the furrows of their lives would be crooked and uneven.

Again Esther wrestled with her conscience, but still the festering resentment clouded her vision and her emotions. She could not forget – nor yet forgive – the sharp tongue and the feel of the rough hand. Never a word of affection or encouragement had come her way.

The cold of the stone gantry struck through her clothing and reminded her that she had been sitting idling away her time. What would Aunt Hannah have said to that? she thought wryly. As she pulled herself upright and went about her work her feeling of guilt could not so easily be dismissed.

Not yet, I can’t go yet, she answered her nagging conscience. Maybe one day . . .

When the squire left Matthew at the farm gate and drove away, Esther came out of the back door to see her husband standing staring after the receding vehicle. Drying her hands on her apron she moved towards him across the yard. ‘Well, did you enjoy that?’

When he turned to look at her, she could see that his eyes were shining. He pointed with ringers that no longer shook, after the car. ‘It’s a Ford, the latest model,’ he told her and there was no denying the excitement in his voice. And, Esther realized with a shock, he had put together a proper sentence for the first time since he had come home.

‘Very nice,’ Esther agreed, forcing herself to be thankful for the obvious pleasure the ride had given Matthew, and for its undoubted beneficial effect. She pushed away uncharitable thoughts of how she carried the burden of the farm work alone. How strange it was, she thought, that such a simple thing could lift him out of his despondency and bring about such an immediate improvement.

The squire came every Friday to take Matthew into the town to the market. The first week, Matthew just got up from the bench seat by the pond and climbed into the vehicle and off they went, but the second week, Esther found him in the bedroom pulling on his Sunday best suit. She opened her mouth to say sharply, ‘And where do you think you’re off to in that, m’lad?’ then pursed her mouth against the sharp rebuke. Aunt Hannah was surfacing again, she reminded herself. Her fleeting resentment against his ‘gallivanting’, as she termed it within her own mind, died when she saw how unshapely his best suit was now. It hung on his emaciated, stooping frame, a pathetic reminder of his suffering and a reprimand to her uncharitableness.