War Baby (12 page)

Ruby waited for the words of condemnation:
you had no business doing this; you should have asked Dad; I don't think I can possibly wear it.

‘It's beautiful.' Mary's voice was like a soft breeze, hardly noticeable but very welcome.

The words were like honey in Ruby's ears, but Ruby knew very well that there'd be a price to pay. Nerves getting the better of her – at least temporarily – she bit her bottom lip.

‘I know I should really have asked Dad, but the more I put it off the harder it got. And you know what he's been like of late …'

Mary barely heard her. ‘It's beautiful,' she said again, running her fingers over the bodice that Ruby had altered to fit closely to her body.

‘I think our mother would have wanted you to wear it. Under different circumstances, I think Dad would have wanted you to wear it too. But since our Charlie …'

Mary nodded slowly. She couldn't deny that it had been her dream to wear her mother's wedding dress, not just because it was beautiful, but simply because it had been worn by her mother on her wedding day.

‘You've altered it beautifully.'

‘It was a bit old-fashioned. But even after all these years, the material is so good.'

‘I wonder what he'll say. Dad's been so …'

Their eyes met in mutual concern. Before Charlie's death their father would have been amenable to what Ruby had done. In the aftermath of their brother's death there had been no smiles, laughter or cracking of jokes. He even frowned at anyone who laughed too loud. Ruby had once remarked that it was sometimes like living in a funeral parlour, not a bakery.

Ruby shook her head. Her gaze moved overhead to the dormer window. Through it she could see puffball clouds rolling across the sky. ‘Such a waste not to use it. I'm sure Mum would have loved the idea.'

Although neither of them had known their mother, they were in agreement. Any mother would love the idea that their dress would be handed on to their daughters.

Ruby picked up a folded piece of material from a pile beside the sewing machine. ‘This is so soft.'

She unfolded it and shook it out.

Mary could see it was a piece of silk about three feet long and a foot wide.

‘I've got pieces left over for baby clothes, even a christening gown.' Ruby refolded the piece and put it back on the pile.

‘A baby! Goodness!'

Although she should feel grateful, Mary eyed the remnant with misgiving. Oddly enough she hadn't really thought about having a baby – not actually
having
it, giving birth to it – until this moment when Ruby had shown her the piece of silk. She knew how it happened, knew what a mother went through when the baby was coming, though only by word of mouth. She'd also seen the animals in the fields around them. Up until this moment she hadn't visualised the actuality and faced up to the pain her body would be subjected to. The wedding night scared her most of all. She wasn't too sure how it all came together. The best person to ask was her sister. Ruby seemed to know everything there was to know about men. But not now, she said to herself. She couldn't bring herself to talk to her about it just yet. There's plenty of time, she told herself. Plenty of time.

‘What will you tell him?'

Ruby knew very well that her twin sister was referring to their father. ‘I'll think of something. Don't worry. I've got it all in hand.'

She didn't have it all in hand, but wasn't about to get her sister as worried as she was. It had all seemed so straightforward. Carried away on a magic carpet of excitement, she hadn't been too concerned that she had not asked his permission. Now though, after the event, the enormity of what she'd done finally hit her.

‘I think I should be there when you tell him. After all, I'm the one you did it for. Thank you, Ruby. Thank you very much.'

‘Somebody had to.' She waved her hand as though it really was of no consequence when in fact it was far from it. ‘But don't worry about it. You don't need to be with me when I tell him. After all, it wasn't your idea. You knew nothing about it. Yet again Ruby Sweet was her usual impetuous self! You don't have to hold my hand when I tell him, though you can if you like. I reckon he'll be fine if we stand together. If that's what you want to do.'

‘It's me that's going to wear it – I hope.'

Mary would keep to her promise. Obviously it would have been better if Ruby hadn't touched the dress, though she had to admit to herself that the white dress was beautiful, a proper bridal gown and far superior to the simple blue one Ruby had made. She presumed that now there was a dress available, Ruby would become a second bridesmaid. It might have helped if Ruby had told her what she'd planned, but that was her sister. She'd always been headstrong.

Ruby pointed out how many clothing coupons it cost to buy a wedding dress. ‘I don't mind taking the blame. I know I shouldn't have done it without telling you, but I couldn't help it. I don't regret it. Honest I don't.'

It wasn't exactly the whole truth. Only now had it finally hit her just what she'd done. The consequences they could only guess at.

Stan Sweet breezed in the back door of the building that was both his home and business premises with a spring in his step that he hadn't had for ages.

With the letter from the adoption society in his hand, and bursting to tell everyone the news, he was slightly disappointed to see only Frances in the kitchen.

‘Where's our Ruby and Mary?'

Frances had decided to maintain her pouting lips and soulful eyes, a tried-and-tested method of getting her own way – most of the time. ‘I don't know. Don't care either.'

Stan Sweet was old enough and knew his niece well enough to realise that she'd had a telling off.

‘So what have you done? Go on. Tell me.'

Frances pouted her lips so hard that it almost hurt and sniffed – just enough to make it sound as though she'd been sobbing.

‘Mary won't let me out to pl— Meet my friends.' She'd tripped over the word ‘play'. She wasn't a child. She was quite adamant about that.

‘So go on. Tell me. What have you done?'

She told him about showing her friends her bridesmaid's dress.

‘You showed it to them? Then what happened?'

Frances fiddled with a lock of hair, twiddling it and folding it across her lips as she looked away. ‘I had to try it on to show them. I had to let them see it floating around me, but …'

Stan raised his eyebrows. Sometimes Frances amused him with her excuses, but sometimes she reminded him of Mildred, her mother. Though Mildred had never amused him. He'd never forgiven her for abandoning her daughter. Not that he'd regretted taking Frances into his home. One more youngster to bring up was neither here nor there seeing as he'd been left a widower to raise his own.

‘But?' He raised one eyebrow as was his habit when he wanted an answer.

Frances pouted. ‘When I twirled it got snagged on Charlie's rose bush,' she said.

Stan fixed her with the sort of look that made her wither away from half-baked excuses.

‘I didn't mean to.'

‘So. You got it caught on Charlie's rose bush.' His voice caught in his throat, not so much with sadness as a hint of surprise. He put the letter from the adoption society in his coat pocket. His hand lingered there, his fingers remaining on it in an effort to reassure himself that it was real, that it existed and was not merely a trick of the imagination. Even now the feel of the letter sent a thrill of electric current up his arm.

Frances noticed that her uncle was no longer frowning at her and seemed suddenly distracted, his gaze having wandered to the photo of Charlie on the mantelpiece. The photo had been taken on the quayside just before he'd embarked on his last voyage. It had arrived with the last letter he'd sent before going to sea.

‘Never mind.' He smiled the sadness in his eyes tinged by something else.

‘Can I go out now?'

He thought about it. ‘I think you need to stay. There's something I need to tell you all. Something quite wonderful.'

Frances looked puzzled and was only a little disappointed that she couldn't go out to meet her friends. If he had something important to say and she was included, then she needed to be here.

Stan patted the pocket into which he had placed the letter. He didn't regard himself as a superstitious type of bloke, but the letter, the rose bush … one very big thing, one very small: perhaps someone was trying to tell him something.

He was suddenly overwhelmed with a great longing to walk down to the churchyard and tell Sarah all about it. Perhaps he should do that first. Good Lord, he thought, I feel that confused and excited, like a kid at Christmas!

In the process of setting his hat back on his head, he heard the sound of footsteps coming down the stairs out in the hallway.

Probably Ruby or Mary coming down to prepare supper. It was best that they were told first.

‘Uncle Stan?'

Frances's voice.

‘Huh?'

‘You've got your hat on back to front.'

He chuckled as he shook his head at the same time as taking off his hat and his coat, hanging them back up and preparing himself to tell everyone the wonderful news.

‘Can you keep a secret, Frances?' He was positively beaming.

Frances nodded. Her face was bright with curiosity.

Stan gave her the letter to read. ‘Shhh!' he said once she'd finished it. ‘Not a word. Promise?'

Frances, her face shining with joy, nodded. ‘Cross my heart and hope to die,' she whispered. She sucked in her breath. ‘A baby? Charlie's baby?'

‘Shhh!' her uncle said again, placing a finger in front of his mouth.

After that he found himself straightening his tie and pulling down his pullover so it sat better over his waistband. He was even in half a mind to polish the toe of each shoe against the back of his trousers. The announcement he was about to make was extremely important and somehow his appearance had to reflect that.

Standing upright, like a newly conscripted and slightly nervous army recruit about to face his sergeant major for the first time, he took a deep breath. This was it. He was about to make the announcement. He was so excited that his breath caught in his throat. He cleared it swiftly before the door between the kitchen and the hallway opened and Ruby appeared.

Her lovely face was wreathed in smiles. Her cheeks were pink and there was something a little pensive about her expression.

‘Dad. We thought we heard you. I've got something to tell you … Me and Mary have got something to tell, well, show you.'

Although he was bursting to tell all of them the news, something in her expression stopped him. Her eyes were bright and her heart-shaped face looked a little taut, almost as though she had something to fear.

The other thing he noticed about her was that the hair on both sides of her head was tucked behind her ears. He hoped the style would be permanent because it would mean she had at last stopped being so touchy about her birthmark, the one feature that set her apart from her sister. Whatever was on her mind had caused her to forget her self-consciousness.

‘Never mind that. I've got something to tell—'

It was all he had time to say before Ruby stepped to one side as she pushed the door open. ‘Dad. I hope you won't be angry.'

Stan's jaw dropped.

A vision in a white wedding dress stood framed in the doorway. On her head she wore a confection of satin bows, tulle and lace.

His hand flew to his chest. His breath caught in his throat. Sarah, he thought, though of course it can't be.

‘Dad?'

Mary stepped forward, which meant he could see her more clearly.

She'd argued with Ruby about doing this, but her sister had been adamant.

‘He has to see you. He has to see that we've done the right thing.'

It was hard to judge. On seeing the look of astonishment on his face, Mary wondered if it might have been better for the pair of them to tell him rather than show what Ruby had done.

Mary sucked in her breath. She loved wearing the dress but still, she dreaded his reaction whatever it might be.

‘He'll be speechless,' Ruby had said. ‘And anyway, even if he does rant and rave, it's too late for me to sew it all back together.'

In the absence of any ideas of her own, Mary had gone along with Ruby's plan. Now she was standing here with her legs turned to jelly.

‘Dad? You're not mad are you?'

It was hard to read his expression, partly because it kept changing, his mouth hanging open as he attempted to put what he felt into words.

Seeing her sister's nervousness, Ruby decided it was down to her to apologise, to explain and to try and persuade him that it was the right thing to do.

Her stance was adamant, her back stiff, her face open and her eyes glowing with courage.

‘Dad, we can't waste this dress. I'm sure Mum would want Mary to wear it down the aisle. If she was here, she'd want to see her daughter looking lovely on her wedding day. None of the bits I've cut off will be wasted. They'll do very well for baby clothes – even a christening robe – once there's a baby to make clothes for, of course.'

At the mention of baby clothes, Stan blinked. He felt as though he'd been hit on the head with a sledgehammer. His eyes went back to Mary, looking so beautiful in her mother's wedding dress. For the second time that day he felt like crying. Not just that, he felt as though the wife lying in St Anne's graveyard and the son lost at sea were very close, whispering in his ear that life is a banquet of changing courses. He certainly believed it now.

‘I want to speak to you both. Best you go off upstairs and take that dress off, Mary. One ruined dress is enough for one day.' He glanced at Frances and winked. Frances grinned. Her eyes sparkled.