The Healing Stream (3 page)

Youth came to her rescue as they boarded the ferry that took them on the first stage of their journey, from Yarmouth to Lymington. Once on the mainland they set out westward.

‘Keep your eyes open for a pub or even a roadside café where we can get a bite to eat a bit later on,’ Richard said as they left the New Forest behind. ‘We mustn’t waste too long on a meal but we shall need something.’

‘Yes, all right,’ Tessa answered automatically, craning her neck to take a last glimpse of a group of ponies standing together just off the road. ‘Gran and I used to come this way when we went to Bournemouth. It was longer, but the forest is so special.’ Then, remembering her resolve to try to behave as her grandmother would have wanted, ‘What time do you think we shall get to your farm?’

‘Home? Later than I’d like, I expect. I wanted to be back in time to see to the late-afternoon milking. You’ll understand when you’ve been at the farm for a while just how impossible it was for us to get away. With a shop you can put a sign on the door and lock up, but a herd of cows live to a strict timetable, Christmas Day, Good Friday, hell or high water.’

‘Yes, Gran always said that’s why you could never get to see us. It was a shame – but she understood. And she used to come to the farm quite often when I was at school, didn’t she? She used to talk to me about it.’

And so the drive to Chagleigh Farm progressed. It was a few miles from Dorchester when they saw an inn with a car park sufficiently full to hint that meals were being prepared.

‘What about there?’ she suggested, aware that despite all her inner misery she was hungry and eating out was a treat.

‘Looks promising,’ he agreed, turning in to park alongside the cars already there. And promising it certainly was. They found a table and turned their concentration to the menu chalked on a board.

‘I’ll have steak pie. What about you? And what to drink?’

‘I’d like the same, please – and cider.’ Consciously she kept a pleasant tone in her voice, frightened that if she let the facade of friendliness slip her control would be lost.

The order given, Richard came back from the bar with her cider and his beer.

‘I hope they’re not going to be long,’ he said, as much to himself as to her.

‘I expect you’re fed up having to waste your time on me like this. You needn’t have, you know. I’m not stupid.’ Careful, she told herself, wishing she hadn’t spoken her thoughts, but it was too late. ‘When Gran wrote all that, I was only a school kid. I’m grown up now and quite capable of making my own living. She said she’d talked about it to you and Aunt Naomi, but that was ages ago. Even now you could dump me off. With that four pounds a month I could get a room and still have enough until I found a job. You live in the sticks, so how am I going to get work there? Much better you drop me off in town somewhere. I haven’t even got a car to drive now Gran’s has gone so I’ll be stuck.’

Putting down his tankard he looked at her very directly, somehow making it impossible for her to avoid his gaze.

‘Tessa, Mother and I talked about this when she was last with us at the farm – you remember, she visited while you were holidaying with a friend. Even if Naomi and I had ever looked on the idea as an inconvenience we should have agreed. But, believe me, we don’t see it that way. We don’t know you; you don’t know us. But surely we can all give each other the benefit of the doubt and try and believe we shall get along.’ Then, with a sudden smile that transformed his stern face, ‘I promise you, I have never considered myself to be your gaoler.’

‘That was rude and horrid of me. Gran would have been ashamed. But you
must
see, I don’t need to be taken care of. Gran and I looked after each other; we were sort of equals. She was the boss, of course, but I was fitter, quicker – well, of course I was – and between the two of us we were a good team.’

He could see her eyes were looking threateningly pink and reached across the small table to take her hand. ‘We have one thing in common, all three of us: we all loved Mother. Two things in common, in fact: she loved each of us.’

Tessa nodded. ‘I know.’

Then the man from behind the bar shouted, ‘Number sixteen, ready,’ and Richard got up to collect their food.

‘Do you reckon she can see us here?’ said Tessa.

‘Perhaps. One thing is certain, whether or not she knows it, she is pretty close.’ Then, embarrassed by what he’d said, he hurried to the bar to collect their tray.

The food looked good and he attacked it without further ado. If his words hung between them, they pretended not to be aware.

‘Do you want pudding?’ he asked as she put her knife and fork together on her empty plate.

‘No, thanks. We’d better get on the road, I expect.’

‘Good girl. I shall be glad to get home. There’s too much there for one person.’

So they continued their journey. Whether they’d come closer to knowing each other neither was sure, but the tension between them eased. Tessa had never known a moment’s shyness and in her effort to be agreeable she made herself sound genuinely interested as she questioned him about the farm. But, after a moment’s silence he surprised her by saying, ‘You’ll be no good at Chagleigh in those stilts you seem able to walk on. Why girls do it I can’t think. By the time you’re sixty your feet will be fit for nothing. Naomi says she thinks it’s a reaction from wartime; years of sensible, long-lasting brogues.’ Then he surprised her with a sudden laugh. ‘My poor love – not even a pair of sensible walking shoes for her unless it’s when she goes off sometimes for eight o’clock church on a Sunday morning. No, from the moment she steps outside the door each day till she comes in to start cooking the main meal around teatime, she’s in wellies the same as I am – and you will be too, young Tessa, if you’re to be one of the team.’

Such an idea had never entered Tessa’s head. ‘What? Work on the farm, you mean? I’ve never even visited one until today. I’d be useless. I’ve been working for two years and you won’t find I’m long getting a job. I’ve learnt a lot about hotel work. And you know I can drive. Gran taught me; I didn’t have a single lesson from anyone else. You know, I never thought of her as being old. There’s more to age than years, don’t you think? She was bright as a shining button. But I was telling you about what experience of work I’ve had. The day I left school, Gran picked me up and drove us down to Bournemouth for a few days. It was our first jaunt – with me grown up and not on school holiday, I mean. We had such a gorgeous time, she enjoyed it as much as I did, buying me proper smart grown-up clothes. After we got back to the island we put our heads together about what sort of work I might do. I was pretty average, not stupid but not the sort to stay on at school with the idea of going to university or training for a proper career. Then, in stepped Fate. It usually does, don’t you think? In the local paper was an advertisement for a trainee manager at a small hotel about a mile from the house. I wrote and applied, not thinking I had a chance because I’d never had a job before and it sounded very grand. But, there you go! Fate again. Of course it wasn’t as highfalutin as it sounded in the advertisement and I expect no one with experience could have applied. The hotel was small, only fifteen bedrooms and run by the owner and his wife – with daily staff to help, of course. To start with I was just a general run-about; but like Gran said, if you don’t get a good firm foothold on the first rung of the ladder you can’t climb. Anyway, I got taught things. For the last year I looked after the wages, got the cheques all ready to be signed to pay the bills, took bookings, did the typing – self-taught, but I go really fast using four fingers. Even then, though, I still had to turn my hand to anything else that needed to be done whether it was clearing up in the kitchen, arranging flowers, rushing out for anything that had been forgotten. I did all sorts of odd jobs.’

‘I ought to have let you speak to the owner yourself. I suppose the truth is that I suspected you would be against doing what Mother wanted and thought it better to make your resignation a
fait accompli.
’

‘I shall write to Mr and Mrs Briggs, the owners. But Uncle Richard, I expect you did what you thought was best. And, I feel ashamed about yesterday. I know I was rude and . . . and . . . obnoxious. I felt sort of trapped. But like Gran always said: if things aren’t plain sailing that’s because life is giving you a challenge.’

Turning to look at her, Richard thought how pretty she was and how delightfully honest. Give her a few weeks at Chagleigh and she’ll be a real asset, he decided. Time Naomi had a break. His expression softened as he imagined her. By this time she would be well on with the milking, sitting there on the stool with the side of her face pressed against the animal’s warm flank, probably singing softly under her breath or talking coaxingly, while her strong, gentle hands encircled the animal’s teat as she worked with firm pressure so that the milk spurted into the pail with a steady rhythm.

‘It seems warm to me,’ he commented. ‘I’ll pull in and we’ll fold the roof back. Not too windy for you if we have the top down? I know what women can be like about their hair.’

‘Yes, let’s. Gran’s didn’t have an open top and we often said we wished it had. She never worried about her hair; it always looked lovely but she never fussed over it. We used to walk on the cliffs when we could hardly stand up in the wind.’

He drew to a halt and together they opened the hood.

‘That’s better!’ she said as she settled back in her seat. ‘Uncle Richard, it must have been a bit of a blow for you and Aunt Naomi when you were told Gran wanted you to be lumbered with a niece you’d hardly ever seen. I wouldn’t want you to think I don’t appreciate that it’s as bad for you as for me. But I promise I’ll soon get work. And even if it’s in town somewhere, once you get to know me you’ll see I’m quite capable of taking care of myself.’

‘My dear child, of course you will make your home with us. And as for looking for a job, you’ll be kept so busy you won’t have time to think about it. Naomi and I keep very fit, but she has far too much to do. She’s one in a million, always busy, never complains that she’s tired, but it’ll be a relief to me to know you’re helping. She’ll teach you the dairy work. Then there are the chickens, the geese, a flock of rare-breed sheep, cattle – and the pigs. We have no arable land, but animals make a damn sight more work than wheat. But, bless her, she’s always been the same, no job too much for her. By the time we get home she’ll be putting the afternoon’s milk through the cooler and getting it in the churns. They have to be taken to the gate on the lane so that when the lorry comes this evening they’re ready for collection. Too heavy for her – but if I’m not back she’ll grit her teeth and get them on to the trailer and take them to the gate herself. She won’t let anything beat her.’

Without warning Tessa’s hard-fought-for acceptance was stripped from her. It took every ounce of courage to keep her face from giving away the misery that filled her. A fortnight ago there had been nothing to suggest the changes in store. Staring straight ahead it wasn’t the distant open country that held her mind but the moment when she’d found her grandmother lying where she’d fallen, the teapot in fragments on the tiled floor, the spreading puddle already cold. She must have been lying there helplessly for hours. Amelia had been the one stable factor in Tessa’s life. But, more than that, they had been kindred spirits, sharing the same sense of fun, the same outlook on life.

‘Nearly home.’ Richard’s voice cut through her thoughts. ‘The gate’s just along the lane we’re coming to here on the left. There! What did I say? She’s managed to get the churns down to the gate on her own.’ Tessa heard pride in his tone, pride that his wife was such a workhorse. She had a vague memory of her Aunt Naomi, but it didn’t fit with the image he was portraying. ‘Here we are, then. Your new home. And there’s your aunt waiting to greet you.’ Did she imagine his over-cheerful words were forced? She wished she were anywhere but here. Why had Gran written in her will that she entrusted ‘my dear son Richard to take my granddaughter Tessa into his home in the event of my death before she reaches the age of twenty-one’? Twenty-one was nearly two years away . . . two years to be spent in the middle of nowhere surrounded by mud, smelly cattle, pigs, chickens – probably rats and spiders. She wished she could get out of the car and run, just run as fast as she could to find freedom anywhere, anywhere but here. And they couldn’t possibly want her; she was here because they’d been asked to give her a home. Could that woman coming to meet them be Aunt Naomi? Tessa only had a vague memory of meeting her, but she had pictured her as being smart, not a mixture between gypsy and tramp. If I stay here they’ll expect me to get like that, she thought. Well, I won’t! I’m
me
, and I’m going to stay
me.

‘Tessa, welcome to Chagleigh.’ Naomi Pilbeam greeted her, opening the passenger door as the car stopped. ‘Come away in. You’ll want to get out of your tidy things, Richard. Food will be ready by the time you’ve changed and Tessa has got acquainted with her room.’

As she talked she led the way through an outer lobby hung with an array of old coats and mackintoshes, with wellington boots in a neat row beneath, then, opening the latch door, ushered Tessa into the kitchen.

‘This is nice.’ Expecting the room to be in keeping with her aunt’s appearance Tessa spoke without thinking, letting her surprise be heard.

Naomi laughed. ‘What did you expect?’

‘To be truthful, I don’t know. I’ve never been to a farm before.’

Naomi led the way upstairs, followed by Richard and Tessa carrying the trunk. As they turned into the spare room Richard dragged it to the foot of the bed, then went to change into his working clothes and hang away his charcoal-grey suit. Looking around the room that was to be her sanctuary Tessa caught a glimpse of herself in the wardrobe mirror with Naomi, who seemed utterly content in the isolation of the farm and the barns, cowsheds, chicken houses – and mud, everywhere there was mud. To be fair that was mainly due to the night of thunderstorms but, as Tessa had heard nothing of them in the Isle of Wight, she assumed that mud was a normal part of existence at Chagleigh. The contrast of Naomi’s reflection and her own couldn’t have been more pronounced. Naomi’s glance met hers in the mirror.