The Lost Days of Summer (38 page)

Kath looked at him wonderingly; how blind men can be, she thought. Every glance the old woman had shot at her, every word she had spoken, had convinced Kath that the idea of friendship between them was merely wishful thinking. All that existed was a truce, and that would only remain in force while Owain was present. If she took the pony trap down to the Swtan and offered to give Nain a lift into town, or to the Thursday market at Llangefni, then she was sure the old lady would find some excuse not to accompany her. She did not voice these thoughts aloud, however, but merely said, as they reached the long hard stretch of sand left by the receding tide, that she hoped Owain was right. ‘By the way, I seem to remember you saying you were going to get a pony and trap for your grandparents, so that they could have some independence,’ she reminded him. ‘Wouldn’t that be easier than making them reliant on us?’

‘It would, but they’ve nowhere to house either a pony or a trap, and it would just be an added expense,’ Owain said. He grinned at his wife’s expression. ‘And now let’s get plenty of cockles, so that we can leave a bucketful with the old ’uns as well as taking home enough for our supper tonight.’

March 1924

Kath was deeply asleep after a hard day’s work lambing when someone touched her shoulder gently and then sat down on the bed, which creaked a protest loud enough, Kath thought crossly, to wake the dead. ‘Go away,’ she mumbled. ‘I’m flaming well asleep.’

Someone laughed gently and a hand smoothed her hair before tugging the covers, which she had hunched round her ears, down to her waist. Kath moaned and tried to follow them, but stopped as the remains of sleep cleared from her mind and a voice she knew and loved spoke in her ear.

‘I’m so sorry to wake you, my darling Kath, but we need you desperately in the big barn. We want your small hands to get inside a ewe and turn a lamb so it can be born,’ Owain said softly.

Kath scrambled out of bed and flung on her working clothes; no time to wash the sleep from her eyes, or gulp a cup of tea, for Owain had said the situation was already desperate. Swaying with weariness, she followed him to the stairs and clattered down them, across the calm, firelit kitchen and out into the windy dark.

She gasped as the cold wind battered her and the rain lashed across her face, so that she was grateful when Owain’s large hand enclosed her small one and hauled her into the lamplit barn. He had shouted something to her as they crossed the yard, but so violent was the wind that she had not heard a word.

‘The ewe is an old one, no novice to lambing, which means there really is something wrong, else I’d not have woken you,’ he repeated. They were inside the barn now and Owain was pointing, though even in her slightly befuddled state Kath would have known which of the ewes was in trouble. The poor animal stood there, head hanging low, her heavy fleece trembling with every panting breath. It was obvious that Owain had left it until the last possible moment before rousing his wife, knowing that she had had an exhausting day, had not gone to bed until near on midnight. It could not be more than three or four in the morning, and here she was again.

Nevertheless, as she approached the ewe, Kath threw Owain a reproachful look. ‘You should have got me earlier. I just hope it’s not too late,’ she said as she knelt by the stricken beast.

‘I know I should, but I kept hoping she’d manage without help,’ Owain mumbled. ‘I did my best, but my hands are too bloody big; I’m all right when the cows are calving, but sheep are a different matter.’ He came to stand beside Kath, idly scratching the ewe’s woolly head. ‘Do you think you can . . . aah!’

Kath, laying the first little lamb next to its mother so that the ewe could clean it, smiled triumphantly, but remained kneeling. ‘There’s another one in there, though I doubt it will need any help. I felt the head and a foreleg, so it should come . . .’ Even as she spoke, the ewe strained and a second little lamb was neatly fielded by Kath. ‘I knew it must be twins . . .’ she was beginning when the ewe strained again and instead of the afterbirth, which Kath had been expecting, another lamb was born. Kath gave a squeak of surprise, picked up the tiny animal and put it by its mother, then turned a gleeful smile upon Owain and saw that he was smiling too.

‘Another job for you, Kath,’ he said, as the ewe began to clean up this small, surprised packet. ‘She can’t possibly manage three, so this ’un will have to go in the bottle-rearing pen with the other lambs whose mothers can’t, or won’t, feed them.’ He looked affectionately at the ewe. ‘She’s a grand lass. The old ’uns always make the best mothers, but three is too much for anyone. Here, give me your hands.’ He pulled Kath to her feet and gave her a kiss. ‘You’re worth your weight in gold, Kath Jones! I suppose you know you’ve saved four lives today? Another half-hour of struggle and the old ewe would have died, and the three lambs with her.’

‘Thank you, kind sir, but you’d have done the job yourself if you’d had smaller hands,’ Kath said, feeling her cheeks grow hot with pleasure at Owain’s praise nevertheless. ‘Gosh, I could do with a paned right now. We’ll leave her to clean up whilst we do likewise.’

Owain hooked his gunmetal watch out of his pocket and examined it, tilting it so that the lamp’s glow fell on its face. ‘Goodness, it’s five o’clock! Well, I suppose you could go back to bed for a couple of hours, but I don’t reckon you will. Eifion will come up from his cottage at seven to do the next shift in the lambing shed and you and I will start our normal day’s work.’ He grinned at her, slinging a careless arm about her waist and dropping a kiss somewhere in the region of her left ear. ‘What a good little wife you are. And you aren’t the only one longing for a cup of tea.’

Owain opened the barn door with considerable caution and Kath realised that the storm had grown even more violent whilst they had been dealing with the birth of the triplets. The big old walnut tree screamed and moaned as the wind tore at its branches and Kath was glad of Owain’s strong arm round her waist as they struggled across the farmyard and into the warmth and stillness of the kitchen.

‘God help all sailors on a night like this,’ Kath gasped, sinking into a chair and watching as Owain opened the fire grate and pulled the kettle over the flame. ‘I’ll make some toast, shall I?’

They were sitting at the kitchen table, drinking the promised cup of tea and eating thick slices of toast, and Kath was just thinking, smugly, how nice it was to hear the gale battering at the stout old walls of Ty Hen, which had weathered many such storms, when the back door burst open. She glanced towards it, expecting to see Eifion or one of the other farmhands, but instead it was Nain, wild-eyed and white-faced. She did not come right into the kitchen, but spoke in a high, trembling voice, ignoring Kath and addressing her grandson. ‘Owain, you must come. Taid took the
Valma
out – I told him not to, forbade him to in fact – but he
would
go. He took no heed of the weather warnings . . .’

‘Taid took the boat out?’ Kath said blankly. ‘But it’s night-time . . .’

‘He would have gone out before the storm started,’ Owain said quickly. He turned to his grandmother. ‘What weather warnings? What are you talking about, Nain? Have you been sleep-walking?’

His grandmother clenched her bony hands and stepped right into the room. She had left the door open behind her, but the wind seized it and slammed it shut with enough force to make the plates on the dresser rattle. Still ignoring Kath, the old woman crossed the room and, grabbing Owain by the shoulders, shook him feebly. ‘Fool, fool! There was no storm last night, but the signs of it were in the sky for anyone to read, and the sea was too still, too calm. But he wouldn’t listen; said it was weeks since we’d had fresh fish and he were that sick of salt herring . . . Owain, you must come, you must!’

Owain got to his feet, but only to unbutton his grandmother’s long black mackintosh, hang it on the hook by the door and push her into a chair, whilst Kath, obeying his gesture, topped up the teapot and poured the old lady a fresh cup. ‘Drink that, Nain, while I toast you a round of bread,’ she said. ‘When you’re feeling a little calmer, perhaps you can tell Owain what you want him to do.’

The old woman had been leaning back in her chair, both thin hands curled around the hot cup, and Kath saw that her hair, which had at some stage been confined by a headscarf, was wet with rain and hanging round her face in straggly elf-locks. Her coat was done up on the wrong buttons and the slippers on her feet were thick with mud, as were her bare legs. For the first time, Kath felt deep and sincere pity for the poor little woman and tried to take her hand as she placed the plateful of toast on the table in front of her.

On feeling her touch, Nain’s eyes snapped open and she cringed away from Kath as though the younger woman had hit her. Owain, his back to the table, was fetching out his stout boots and did not notice his grandmother’s immediate rejection, nor the fact that she had stood down her tea in order to push the toast away, lip curling with distaste.

Kath shrugged and returned to her seat. She sipped her tea, telling herself that the old woman was too distressed to know what she was doing. ‘What do you want Owain to do?’ she repeated. ‘You know he’d do anything in his power to help Taid, but in a storm like this . . .’

‘He must saddle up his best horse and ride into Holyhead to call out the lifeboat,’ Nain said. ‘They’ll know what to do.’

Owain had donned his oilskins, and now he turned and gave his grandmother’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. ‘I’ll do whatever’s possible,’ he said. He beckoned to Kath. ‘Come with me; you can help me saddle up.’ As Kath slid into her coat and tied a scarf over her hair he turned back to his grandmother once more. ‘Stay here till I return; don’t attempt to go out in this awful weather,’ he commanded. For the first time he noticed the untouched toast, and jabbed a finger at it. And eat your toast; I’ll not leave this room until you’ve started it. Cut it into fingers and dip it in your tea, that will make it easier to swallow. And do as Kath tells you for once! Tell yourself you’re doing it for Taid’s sake.’

The old woman mumbled something but obeyed his command, and as she began to eat he and Kath left the room and headed across the yard to the stable. ‘I’ll take Prince,’ Owain said, picking up the lantern which stood by the window embrasure. ‘Jed’s a grand fellow, but Prince will get me to my destination in half the time.’

Owain had bought Prince only six weeks before at a farm sale, liking the look of him and telling Kath that it would be useful to have a horse broken to riding as well as to the cart and plough. As he lifted the heavy saddle off its peg, Kath adjusted the blanket on the broad black back, then turned to her husband. ‘What do you have to tell me that you don’t want your gran to hear?’ she demanded bluntly. ‘You’re perfectly capable of saddling up without any help, so you might as well spill the beans.’

‘I wanted to say that I heard the maroons go up some time back, which must mean that the lifeboat is already out. Taid might have raised the alarm, firing off a rocket to let them know he’s in trouble, or it may be some other craft needing help. But whichever it is, there’s no point in my riding hell for leather to Holyhead. I’m going to make my way as fast as I can to Church Bay. Once I get to the cliff top, I should be able to see if there’s a boat in the vicinity. If there is, at least I could light up the approach with my lantern, perhaps show him a safe way in. I feel I’d be more use there than in Holyhead. But don’t say anything to Nain, there’s a good girl.’

‘I won’t say a word,’ Kath promised. ‘Oh, I wish I could go with you. Don’t forget how slippery the rocks are in rainy weather . . . promise me you’ll take no unnecessary risks.’

Owain laughed but promised, and with the tacking up of Prince complete they led the enormous animal out of the stable. He flinched and snorted as the wind and rain lashed him, but stood obediently still whilst Owain swung himself into the saddle. Kath, hanging on to the bridle near the bit, let go and stepped back as Owain turned his mount in the direction of the lane. ‘Take care, dearest,’ she shouted. As the big horse turned right along the lane, something made Kath run after them. ‘Owain, I love you and need you,’ she shrieked above the howl of the gale. ‘Please, for all our sakes, don’t do anything rash.’

She saw the white disc of her husband’s face turn towards her, saw his broad grin break out, and knew he had heard, though his reply was carried away by the wind. Kath waited until he was out of sight, then turned and headed back to the farm. She pushed open the kitchen door and went in, relieved to be out of the storm. Nain had disappeared, and for a moment Kath thought she must have gone to her old room in search of dry clothing, or perhaps to the ty bach at the end of the garden. Then she noticed that Nain’s mackintosh no longer hung from its hook and her headscarf, which Kath had laid to one side of the stove to dry out, was also missing. Heart thumping, Kath surveyed the room and saw, kicked carelessly amongst the boots which stood close to the door, a pair of tiny, mud-splattered slippers. Kath groaned as she realised that there was a gap in the row of boots; her own were still there, but a pair that one of the farmhands had left behind was missing from its usual place. She tried to tell herself that Nain must have put them on to visit the ty bach, that she would return presently to finish her tea and eat the rest of her toast, but it was no use. She was not convinced.

Hastily, she kicked off her shoes, pushed her feet into her gumboots, tied a scarf round her hair and, with a last wistful look round the warm, well-lit kitchen, set off to investigate the ty bach, though she was already sure she would find it unoccupied. She did, and returned at top speed to the kitchen, cursing Nain beneath her breath and telling herself that no one could blame her if she simply went back to bed. You stupid old woman, she told Nain inside her head. You’d rather die of exposure than spend a few hours with me! Well, though he did not say so, Owain expects me to take care of you, so I’ll have to see if I can find where you’ve gone. Would it be left to Holyhead or right to Church Bay? Which way, which way? She felt like Alice in Wonderland when faced with a similar dilemma; if she ate the right side of the mushroom would she grow smaller or larger?