The Loving Spirit (6 page)

‘I hate to be leavin’ you, dear, the first Christmas Eve I’ve done so since we was wed.’

‘’Twill be better so, all the same. I can’t be sick tomorrow, with the folk comin’ an’ all.’

So it was arranged, and when the bells called softly through the air from Lanoc beyond the fields, Thomas went alone, his lantern in his hand, while Janet watched him climb the hill from the shelter of the porch, the holly cross creaking and sighing above her head. The neighbour, whose presence was no longer needed, bade her good night and a happy Christmas, and went her way. Janet was now alone in the house with the two children, who were sleeping soundly in the room above. She prepared some hot broth for her husband when he should return from the church, cold and hungry from his prayers and his walk.

She wrapped her shawl about her shoulders and leant from the window. A faint film of snow still lay upon the ground.

The moon was high in the sky, and there was no sound but the moan of the still water lapping the rocks beyond the harbour. Suddenly she knew that she must go to the cliffs, and follow the call of her heart.

She hid the key of the door in her bodice and left the house. It seemed to her that there were wings to her body that bore her swiftly away from home and the sleeping children, away up the steep, narrow street of Plyn, to the white-frosted hills and the silent sky.

She leant against the Castle ruins with the sea at her feet, and the light of the moon on her face. Then she closed her eyes, and the jumbled thoughts fled from her mind, her tired body seemed to slip away from her, and she was possessed with the strange power and clarity of the moon itself. When she opened her eyes for a moment there was a mist about her, and when it dissolved she saw kneeling beside the cliff with his head bowed in his hands, the figure of a man. She knew that he was filled with wild despair and bitterness, and that his poor lost soul was calling to her for comfort.

She went and knelt beside him, and held his head to her breast, while she stroked his grey hair with her hand.

Then he looked up at her, his wild brown eyes crazy with fear at himself.

And she knew him to belong to the future, when she was dead and in her grave, but she recognized him as her own.

‘Hush, my sweet love, hush, and cast away your fear. I’m beside you always, always, an’ there’s none who’ll harm you.’

‘Why didn’t you come before?’ he whispered, holding her close. ‘They’ve been trying to take me away from you, and the whole world is black and filled with devils. There’s no truth, dearest, no path for me to take. You’ll help me, won’t you?’

‘We’ll suffer and love together,’ she told him. ‘Every joy, and sorrow in your mind an’ body is mine too. A path will show itself soon, then the shadows clear away from your spirit.’

‘I’ve heard your whispers often, and hearkened to your blessed words of comfort. We’ve talked with one another too, alone in the silence of the sea, on the decks of the ship that is part of you. Why have you never come before, to hold me like this, and to feel my head beside your heart?’

‘I don’t understand,’ she said. ‘I don’t know where we come from, nor how the mist was broken for me to get to you; I heard you callin’, and there’s nothing kept me back.’

‘They’ve been long weary days since you went from me, an’ I’ve not heeded your counsel, nor deserved your trust in me,’ he told her. ‘See how I’m old now, with the grey hairs in my head and beard, and you younger than I ever knew you, with your pale girl’s face and your tender unworn hands.’

‘I have no reckoning in my mind of what is past, nor that which is to be,’ said she, ‘but all I know is there’s no space of time here, nor in our world, nor any world hereafter. There be no separation for us, no beginnin’ and no end - we’m cleft together you an’ I, like the stars to the sky.’Then he said: ‘They whisper amongst themselves I’m mad, my love, my reason’s gone and there’s danger in my eyes. I can feel the blackness creepin’ on me, and when it comes for good, I’ll neither see you nor feel you - and there’ll be nothin’ left here but desolation and despair.’

He shuddered and trembled as a cloud passed over the face of the moon, and it seemed to her he was a child in her arms crying for comfort.

‘Never fear, when the black fit seizes you, I’ll hold you as I hold you now,’ she soothed him. ‘When you can neither see nor hear, and you’re fightin’ with yourself, I’ll be at your side and strivin’ for you.’

He threw back his head and watched her as she stood, white against the sky with a smile on her lips.

‘You’re an angel tonight,’ he said, ‘standing at the gates of Heaven before the birth of Christ. It’s Christmas, and they’re singing the hymn in Lanoc Church.’

‘Fifty years or a thousand years, it’s all the same,’ said Janet. ‘Our comin’ here together is the proof of it.’

‘You’ll never leave me again, then?’ he asked.

‘Never no more.’

He knelt and kissed her foot-prints in the snow.

‘Tell me, is there a God?’

He looked into her eyes and read the truth.

They stood for a minute and gazed at each other, seeing themselves as they never would on earth. She saw a man, bent and worn, with wild unkempt hair and weary eyes; he saw a girl, young and fearless, with the moonlight on her face.

‘Good night, my mother, my beauty, my sweet.’

‘Good night, my love, my baby, my son.’

Then the mist came between them, and hid them from one another.

 

 

Janet stood by the Castle ruin, the sea lapped the rocks beneath her, and across the water stretched a path of silver. Nothing had stirred nor moved, nothing had changed. A second maybe had passed since she had stood there, but no more.

Yet she had travelled half a century, out of the world into space, into another time. She neither wondered nor feared, she was only filled with a great love and thankfulness.

Then she turned away from the sea, and made her way from the cliffs down the steep hillside to Plyn. It was past midnight, and Christmas day had come. She paused to listen for a moment and across the air came the faint sound of voices, as they sang the last hymn in Lanoc Church. The song came sweet and low, the voices of simple people who brought glad tidings to the world.

The church tower was lighted with a streak of gold.

Hark! the Herald Angels sing
Glory to the new-born King,
Peace on earth and mercy mild,
God and sinners reconciled.
Joyful all ye nations rise,
Join the triumph of the skies,
With the Angelic Host proclaim
Christ is born in Bethlehem.
Hark! the Herald Angels sing
Glory to the new-born King.

And Janet smiled, and looked to the east, where high in the sky shone a star like the star of Bethlehem.

6

 

 

E
arly in the new year Thomas Coombe took Janet for a visit to Plymouth. He had been well paid for the turning out of a smart cutter in November, and pleased with his work and the money in his pocket, he considered there would be no harm in spending part of it on a holiday for himself and his wife. In those days it was quite a journey, especially in winter, and they were obliged to make their way by carrier’s cart to Carne, and put up there for the night, going on to Plymouth next morning by coach - arriving there in the afternoon.

The two children were left in the care of Janet’s mother. Janet had never in her life been away from Plyn before, and she was nearly dumbfounded at the big town. Thomas was delighted at her astonishment, and took much pleasure in showing her all there was to be seen, and professing himself the best guide in the world. He liked to show his familiarity with the names of the streets and the shops, though it was a good few years since he himself had been there.

‘Why, mercy, Thomas,’ she would say, ‘how ever is it that you can recollect so many names, when all the streets look so alike, an’ us never losin’ ourselves at all.’

‘’Tes quite simple, Janie,’ he boasted. ‘It don’t take a man like me long to get the hang of a place. I dare say it seems difficult for you, comin’ from Plyn with no knowledge of anythin’ bigger.’

‘Well, I don’t know about that,’ says Janet, her chin in the air, ‘an’ it’s terrible high an’ mighty you’m considerin’ yourself, all said an’ done. Anyway, I knows the cliffs an’ the woods round Plyn better’n you ever will, I reckon. If there’s ever a bit of a mist, you’ll be goin’ round an’ round in a circle, an’ me home hours ago, layin’ the supper.’

Thomas remained silent, for by now he had learnt Janet would ever have the last say in a matter. Nevertheless she was awed by the shops, and approved of Thomas’s choice of a warm grey cape for her, and the pretty trim bonnet to match.

‘Fancy the price,’ she whispered in his ear, ‘why ’tis no less than highway robbery.’

‘I like you to have the best, my dear,’ he said, as proud and lofty as Squire Trelawny himself. Many a man turned to look at her in the streets, as she walked with her arm in his.

She was a good-looker, was Janet, with her thick dark hair, her wide far-seeing eyes, and the determined mouth and chin. She carried herself like a queen. Thomas was aware of the glances cast at her by the many sailors about Plymouth, and he looked to see how she would take it. Generally she would walk beside him unaware, but once some fellow, probably the worse for drink, lurched purposely against her, and brushed her new cape with his dirty fingers.

Thomas wanted to interfere, but Janet took the matter into her own hands, and the sailor, expecting her to shrink back with a cry of fear, had a taste of her temper instead.

‘You’ve forgotten your manners, my man,’ she said swiftly. ‘In Cornwall ‘tes polite to take off your hat when you walk into a lady,’ and before the man had time to reply she had seized his cap from his head, and flung it into the dirty water of the harbour. ‘That’ll clean the cobwebs for you,’ she told him, and gathering her skirts in her hand, she made her way along the street, with Thomas behind her blushing and a little ill at ease.

‘’Twas my place to have done that, Janie,’ he reproved her. ‘I admire you for your pluck, but ’twas scarcely a womanly action.’

‘Would you have me leavin’ his dirty paw on my new cape?’ said she, in a proper fury, yet smiling in spite of herself at his red face. ‘If you don’t keep quiet I’ll be sendin’ your hat over to join his!’ And Thomas knew that she’d keep her word, and care not a jot for his discomfort.

Nearly five days they were in Plymouth, and then time was up for them to be back.

Thomas placed their two bundles ready for leaving, when Janet, who had been looking out of the window in silence, suddenly spoke.

‘’Tes really fine an’ glorious weather for the time of the year,’ she said in a careless tone.

Thomas agreed, little realizing that he was falling into a trap.

‘It’s as calm on the water as if it were summer, I’m sure,’ she went on. ‘With a fine breeze we’d be in Plyn before night-fall, where as it is we’m obliged to delay in Carne for the evenin’, till the cart comes for us tomorrow forenoon.’

‘Aye, the waste of it. In summer there’s boats go to and fro this part o’ the coast, but o’ course there’s none this time of the year,’ he told her.

‘Ah! that’s where you’re wrong,’ said Janet. ‘There’s a boat goes today. While you were fiddlin’ in here, I went outside and spoke to the captain. The boat sails at noon, an’ we’d be in Plyn by this evenin’ for certain.’

Thomas rubbed his chin doubtfully. Janet had her chin in the air, and a glint in her eye he knew well.

‘Supposin’ it came on to blow hard?’ he said weakly.

‘Well, what if it did. I’m not afeard, are you?’

He made a last effort to withstand her.

‘There’d be no room for us, Janie, we’d be i’ the way.’

‘Oh! no, there’s no use in sayin’ that, Thomas; it happens I’ve arranged it all with the captain, he’ll take us willing.’ And with that she seized the two bundles in her hands, bade a smiling good-bye to the lodging-keeper, and stepped from the house across the road, calling to him over her shoulder.

They made their way towards that part of the harbour where their boat was moored alongside the quay. Thomas had expected that Janet would have pleaded for one more glance at the shops before they turned their steps in this direction, but he was mistaken. His wife was not going to waste her time over ribbons and stuffs when there were ships to be seen.

She lingered about the quays, admiring the forest of tall spars stretching to the sky, and surprised him with her knowledge of the names of the spars, and various parts of the rigging.

‘You thought I spent my time learnin’ to sew an’ to cook, did you,’ she said scornfully, ‘an’ me playin’ truant all the while, an’ running to the beach, with nothin’ in my mind but to learn all I could about a ship.’

‘It’s a queer thing how you ever came to be the woman you are, Janie,’ marvelled her husband.

She laughed and slipped her hand in his.

‘I’m not so much changed, for all that,’ she said softly.

At length they came to the ship
Watersprite
, and climbed aboard.

The captain made as if to help Janet, but she shook her head indignantly, and seizing her skirts in one hand and the rope in the other, she mounted the rough ladder that was hanging over the side. Once on deck she looked about her in interest, instead of descending at once to the cabin, which, as Thomas whispered to her, was the proper place for a woman. He himself fell to criticizing the lines and the build of the little ship, though he was careful to say nothing aloud.

In spite of what the captain had assured them, it was well two hours before they were under way, and nearly five in the afternoon.

‘We shan’t be home before midnight if we’re home at all,’ said Thomas, and he glanced uneasily at the sky where the clouds were gathering fast from the south-west.

‘Looks like a change in the weather,’ he said to the captain.