Authors: Yelena Kopylova
would be such a good match. Oh, a very good match. You know that yourself, Kate. And
he’s a very
nice fellow.”
“Who’s saying he’s not, Mam? Get to the point.”
Mary Ellen had never had occasion to chastise her daughter for being sharp-tongued;
Kate had always
been so amenable, even as a child. But of late, since the church business, Kate had
altered, which was
to be expected she supposed. So she kept her tone level as she said, “Well, the point is, lass, he sat
chatting over a cup of tea in the sitting-room, and he happened to say if he could persuade his American
friend to come to the ball, it would be nice. He meant for him. Well, you know Maggie.
She
immediately started to ask questions about the man. And at that he said, “ Oh, well, your sister could tell
you more than I can, because from what I gather they are great friends. “ That’s what he said. Well, you
can imagine, it was only natural, we were all surprised.” And Mary Ellen remarked to
herself. That was
putting it mildly. Amazed would have been a better description for their reactions. And now she went
on, “Well, he seemed to think we knew about it, so nobody said anything, and the
conversation went on
to something else. Well, and then you came into the yard. So, if you’re fair, you can’t blame us
altogether, lass, for being surprised.”
“No, I suppose not, Mam, but you can’t blame me either for acting as I did, knowing
what reactions
would be if I brought him home: What were his intentions? Was he going to marry me?
Oh, I know, I
know what it would have been. After his first visit he would have been scared to come
back.” She
stopped herself from adding, “Unless it was to see Maggie,” because Maggie would have
undoubtedly
used her wiles on him.
Oh yes, she knew Maggie.
“Don’t you think he might have thought it odd that you haven’t asked him to come
home?”
“No, I don’t. He’s not one for company.”
“Oh.” Mary Ellen got up quickly from the bed.
“From what we learned from Mr. Bentley he’s very much at home with company. Goes
round all the
villages chatting to this one and that, gathering information, and keeps some people
amused in the inns
with his tales of his country. So I wouldn’t say that he doesn’t get about. He’s not a man of mystery.
Perhaps you never asked him. “
“That’s right, Mam, perhaps I never asked him.”
He’s not a man of mystery, caused a barrage of questions to attack her mind, all leading to one thought.
What did she really know about him?
He had never mentioned his family to her. The one time she had tried to open up that
subject he had
adroitly closed it. He was very skilful at that kind of thing, answering a question by asking another. And
hadn’t he said that his staying or going would largely depend upon her? What facets of friendship were
strong enough to hold a man or send him on his way? She didn’t know, nor had she the
vaguest idea of
what would shed light on the matter.
Mary Ellen said now, “Your dad will have something to say about this, you know.”
“Doubtless.”
Mary Ellen drew in a sharp breath and hurried from the room.
Doubtless, she had said, doubtless. And in that tone of voice. Oh, Kate had changed, and out of all
recognition.
At the evening meal Kate knew that her father had already been put in the picture. The conversation
would have been strained had he not taken it upon himself to regale them with the
impending doom of the
crops should this dry weather continue: Flour was now at three shillings a stone and he could see it
jumping by sixpence towards the end of the year; in fact, the miller had said it could reach four shillings.
And potatoes, why, some were already charging one and a penny a stone. Beef and
mutton were still
sixpence a pound, but couldn’t stay at that. He looked at his sons and said, “It’ll pay us to stock barley
because the price it will bring later on will be hair-raisin’. It’s sixteen shillings a boll now, but I’d like to
bet by the turn of the year it’ll go up to eighteen or twenty. Yes, we’ll stock every grain of it.” Then he
had looked round the table with a grin on his face, adding, “And when things get really tight, you’ll all
have to pull your belts in, two notches at least, because I’ll cut down on your oats then.”
They all laughed or smiled with the exception of Maggie who had been sullen all
throughout the meal.
Then just before they rose from the table he looked at Florrie, saying, “And what’s this I hear, consent
being given to your gallivantin’, without my knowledge? Going to the balls now, is it?
Oh, we’ll have to
nip that in the bud.”
Florrie smiled tenderly at him now, saying dutifully, “Yes, Dad, I think you’d better. But before you do
it I’d like to have a suitable cloak to wear a week come Saturday.”
Again there was laughter, the twins saying almost simultaneously as was usual, “Good
for you, Florrie.
That’s it, get something out of him. We can’t.”
Hal now rose from the table, shaking his head and saying, “My God! Get something out
of him. That’s
what you get for bringin’ a family up. Well, you two, let me get something’ out of you.
Come on with you! There’s a heifer we’ve got to get something out of the night, and if we’re not careful
an’ she gets no better, she’ll never live to be a cow. “
All now left the dining room except Kate and Florrie; it was their turn to clear the dishes.
But Hal had
not been gone more than a few minutes before he returned and, without saying a word, he took Kate by
the arm, led her down the room, through a door at the far end, along the corridor and into his office, and
there, pushing her into a chair, he bent towards her, saying, “Now come on, open up to the old man.”
She watched him perch himself on the edge of his desk before she said, “There’s nothing to open up
about. You’ll have heard it all.”
“What I’ve heard is you’ve been seem’ this American fellow on the quiet, and I’d like to know why, I
mean, keepin’ your meetings quiet.”
“I told Mam why, and she’s already likely told you. The answer is evident: I did it just to prevent what
is happening now. Questions.
Questions. And then ideas:
Was there anything in it? What were his intentions? And I ask you, you’ve seen him,
what would a man
as presentable as he is want with me other than as a friend, one who is interested in
reading? “
“Aye, what?” He poked his face towards her.
“He might want to marry you.”
“Oh, Dad.”
He thrust out his hand and none too gently pushed her back into the chair as she had
made to rise,
saying, “Keep your seat a minute. As I told you afore, you’ve got the wrong idea about yourself, and
naturally you’re thinking as a woman all the time, you can’t think otherwise. I remember saying this to
you a few months gone. A man doesn’t always go for someone who looks like Maggie, or
then again
Florrie. He’s attracted by something else, as I was to your mother: a bit of fire in the guts, a partner, a
mate, someone who could rough it with him an’ doesn’t want to be dollied up all the
time. We leave that
for the gentry and so-called ladies with their fancy men on the side. No, what an honest man wants is
something in a woman that can’t be put into words. But he recognizes it when he sees it, in her manner,
in her eyes, in her tongue. Oh aye, in her tongue. Like I did with your mother. It’s
something, if you like,
that isn’t in the flesh, yet is. Oh, I’m not a man with words. I stopped readin’ books years ago, the only
readin’ I do now, as you know, is cattle pamphlets or the newspapers, an’ generally only the headin’s.
But in here’—he thumped his chest “I’ve got a knowledge that no words can put a name
to. I’ve
sometimes thought about it and likened it to what cattle must feel. They go mostly by the smell. And you
know, ‘tis the same with human beings, we’ve each got our different smells. Don’t screw your face up
like that.” He smiled at her now.
“What I’m sayin’ is true. I sometimes think that a man unknown to himself, is attracted to a woman by
what she gives off in her sweat.
Oh no’—he now pulled a long face ‘women don’t sweat, do they? they perspire. “
“Oh, Dad.” She closed her eyes and lowered her head while she smiled and said softly,
“Perhaps
you’re right. But... but in this case your... well, your instincts don’t apply. And I can say this, I think he’s
got as much idea of marrying me as he would have of marrying one of the Indian natives called squaws he
has spoken about in his own country.”
Hal now slid off the end of the table and, taking his doubled fist, he rubbed it from one side to the other
of his jaw, and when it came to rest under his lower lip, he held it there for a moment, saying, “Do one
thing for me, will you, lass?”
“If I can. Dad.”
“Invite him down to a meal. By what I hear he’s not above eating in inns, and we can
provide as good a
table as an inn, can’t we now?”
She turned her head away and thought for a moment. She couldn’t say she’d already
asked him and
he’d refused because that would certainly raise a barrage of questions:
aren’t we good enough? And so on. So she said, “All right. Yes, all right.”
Hal now put his arm round her shoulder and drew her to her feet, saying gently, “You
know how I feel
about you, Kate, don’t you?” And she answered as gently, “Yes, I know. Dad, and I feel the same way
about you.”
“Well, I’m going to say something to you now, which I suppose I shouldn’t. I fathered
tother two
females and if they’re happy, or not so happy, it doesn’t seem to bother me. God forgive me, I shouldn’t
say that. But what happens to you, Kate, does. Now, now, now. I didn’t say that to make you cry.
Come on, come on, wipe your eyes.” He took a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed
clumsily at
her face, the while saying, “You go in there bubbling and she’ll think I’ve been getting’
at you, an’ then
she’ll get at me, and I’ve had a very tirin’ day and a more tirin’ night ahead of me if that silly little bitch
doesn’t calve. Come on. Come on.”
She blinked her eyes and, smiling at him now, she said, “To the byres with you, Mr.
Roystan.” And as if
they were sharing a joke, he pulled at his thinning forelock, saying, “Yes, ma’am. Yes, ma’am. Indeed
ma’am, that’s where I should be. And I’ll be away now, ma’am. Right now, ma’am, as I
know me
place.” And on this he pushed her playfully before turning from her and going from the room.
She bit tightly down on her lip to stop the tears starting once more, blew her nose, and sniffed, then
stood with her eyes closed in an endeavour to compose herself before making her way to the kitchen,
there to do her part in the evening chores of washing up and setting the table for the morrow’s breakfast,
but mostly to prepare herself against the spate of questioning looks that would be directed against her.
The following week, she knew they were all waiting for her to ride out, so she didn’t. On the morning of
the day she could have done so, she offered to join her mother and Florrie on the long journey to
Hexham in order to help choose a cloak for Florrie to wear at the coming ball. Whatever each member
of the family thought of this, no one said anything.
It wasn’t until the following Monday when the mail van stopped at the farm gate and the driver handed a
letter to Hal, and he, bringing it into the house exclaimed, “I have a letter here, and would you believe it,
by the postmark it was posted in Newcastle on Thursday afternoon, and here’s almost
five days gone.
That’s the newfangled penny post for you. A few years ago that would have been in
Hexham the next
morning and you could have gone to the office and picked it up. But now, will they hand over your own
property to you at the office? No, it’s got to be delivered to the house stated on the envelope.... “ Tis for
you, Kate. “
She had been about to go out of the far door and into the hall, and she turned and said,
“For me?” then
advanced towards him, took the letter from him, looked at the envelope and said,
“Thanks.”
“See what I mean about the date?”
She again looked at the envelope and said, “Yes. Yes, I do.” But she didn’t attempt to open the letter,
but again said, “Thanks,” and turned away.
She had been on her way to the dining-room to do some polishing, as it was Monday and
her turn to
help indoors this particular day while Annie, Maggie, and Florrie were at the washing, and her mother
was doing the cooking.
She had no sooner closed the dining-room door behind her than she once again looked at the envelope.
She wasn’t in the habit of getting letters, and this certainly wasn’t from Harry Baker, because he had
been no hand at writing. Whoever had written the address had studied penmanship. She
held the
envelope tightly between her two hands before opening it. Then she unfolded a single
sheet of paper and
looked at the one line written there. It said, very simply,
I have missed you. Ben.
She put her hand to her throat; her mind was again in a turmoil trying to understand how a man would