‘Let go of him or I’ll shoot, I swear it.’
The young frightened voice stopped the men in their tracks. At some point Joe must have got the shotgun. Jake shook his head, desperately trying to clear his mind. Joe didn’t know how to use a gun, he’d never even held one before as far as he knew. He wanted to say, ‘Get away, Joe, now, while you can. Go and get help, they won’t come after you with you having the gun.’ But he couldn’t. He still couldn’t get air into his lungs after the punch to his stomach.
‘He’s nowt but a lad.’ The man who was holding Jake spoke disparagingly. ‘He won’t do anything. Get him, Art.’
Joe raised the gun higher. ‘Stay where you are.’
The man called Art was clearly hesitating. Seizing the opportunity, Jake attempted to wrench himself free from the second poacher, causing them both to stagger forward. Whether it was this that made the first man lunge at Joe or whether he would have done so anyway was not clear. Nor could Jake determine whether the gun went off by accident or because Joe had pulled the trigger.
By now Isaac Mallard’s whippets were raising hell in the end cottage, along with the three farm dogs Jake had shut in one of the barns earlier in case they got in the way of things. As he grappled with the bigger man, Jake saw the other poacher struggling with Joe. He couldn’t tell whether the poacher was injured or not but the man still had the strength to tear the gun off Joe and smash him over the head with the butt. As the slight figure crumpled to the ground, there were shouts from the direction of the cottages and lights waving. This seemed to panic the man holding the gun. He went berserk, swinging the weapon at Jake and screaming at the top of his voice. The blow to Jake’s shoulder wasn’t enough for him to loosen his hold on his attacker who was now attempting to get away, but it knocked him off balance and he fell over Daniel who was still lying unconscious. By the time Jake got to his feet, the two poachers were running back the way they had come but they had dropped the gun, he could see it lying against the wall of the shed.
His main concern being for Joe and Daniel; Jake let them go. Daniel was beginning to groan but Joe was ominously silent. He knelt down, bending over the inert figure. ‘Joe, Joe, man. Wake up. Joe.’
Jake could see a dark stain of blood covering Joe’s collar and shirt. He shook Joe’s arm, saying his name over and over until Daniel crawled over to them.
‘What happened?’ Daniel asked groggily. ‘I thought you told him to stay put.’
‘One of them hit him over the head with the shotgun. Joe got hold of it, he was trying to save me. Damn it, Joe.’ He shook his arm again. ‘Wake up.’
Frank was the first to reach them, closely followed by Daniel’s father and then Isaac. ‘I need to get him into the house.’ Jake lifted Joe into his arms but when he tried to stand up, he nearly dropped him, slight though his brother’s body was.
‘Here.’ Frank took Joe off him. ‘The lad’s not the only one who’s had a bang on the head by the look of you. Jack, you and Isaac get Daniel home. John, you help Jake.’
Daniel’s brother had now joined them but when he went to support Jake with his arm, Jake shook him off. ‘I’m all right,’ he said thickly, swaying where he stood. ‘See to Daniel. And you others,’ he spoke to Daniel’s mother and Neville and Sybil Kirby who had come running up, ‘get yourselves home. And can someone let those blasted dogs out so we can hear ourselves think.’
‘Jake, I think we’re going to need a doctor.’ Frank’s voice was quiet but his tone brought everyone’s eyes to him. ‘The lad’s in a bad way.’
Joe was in a bad way, the worst way. His pulse was so feeble it was barely there. Hannah met them at the kitchen door, she’d had her work cut out preventing Seamus from getting out of bed to see what was happening. Her face ashen, she watched as Frank laid Joe in one of the big armchairs. Both Jake and Joe were covered in blood but beyond telling her that Daniel’s brother had taken the horse and trap to fetch the doctor, Jake said nothing. He knelt by the side of Joe’s chair and when Hannah tried to bathe the ugly gash on Joe’s head, he brushed her aside and began to do it himself. When the gash was clean, he wound a piece of clean linen round Joe’s forehead but again he would let no one touch the unconscious man but himself.
Frank went to let Seamus know what was what. When he reappeared in the kitchen, Hannah was standing by the kitchen table gnawing at her thumb, watching Jake stroke the hair back from Joe’s forehead, saying over and over, ‘Joe, Joe, come on. Come on, Joe. Please.’
She raised agonised eyes to Frank.
He walked over to Jake and, bending down, said quietly, ‘Shall I carry him upstairs so we can lie him flat?’ Surreptitiously he felt for a pulse. But even before he confirmed there was none, he had known.The lolling head and complete lack of movement had told him.
He stood up, looked at Hannah and shook his head. She stared back at him, her eyes wide, unable to believe what he was inferring. Leaning on the table for support, she watched as Frank knelt down by Jake. ‘Jake, lad, come and sit down a minute, I’ll see to Joe.’
‘No.’ Jake’s voice was thick. ‘No, don’t touch him.’
‘He’s resting, lad. You can’t do anything more until the doctor gets here and there’s a deep cut on your head needs seeing to.’
‘No.’
Frank straightened, casting Hannah a helpless glance.
She thought for a moment, trying to bring reason to mind through the whirling horror in her head. She left the room, ran upstairs and fetched a blanket. Back in the kitchen she walked across to the armchair and draped the blanket over Joe so that only his head was visible, saying, ‘There, there, he’s more comfortable now. Let him sleep, Jake. Come and sit down and I’ll see to your head.’ She could see various cuts and scrapes and his lip was split, but above his ear on the damaged side of his face the flesh had opened to reveal a two-inch gash which was oozing blood.
He looked up at her. ‘He’s just asleep.’
‘Aye, yes, he’s just asleep.’
‘He shouldn’t have been there. It was supposed to be just me an’ Dan. I told him . . .’
She nodded but the pleading tone in his voice caused her to press her fingers tightly against her lip before she could say, ‘Let me see to your head now, eh? Please, Jake.’
For a moment she didn’t think he had heard her and then he straightened. Hannah led him to one of the hard-backed chairs at the kitchen table as though he was a child, pushing him gently into the seat. She began to clean the cut while Frank looked on, his weather-beaten face creased with concern.
Jake was feeling muzzy-headed, sick, faint, but mainly frightened, very frightened. Of what he wouldn’t let himself think, he only knew there was a terrible something pressing down on him but if he didn’t acknowledge it, if he gave it no room in his head, everything would be all right. Joe was sleeping, that was all, and who wouldn’t after a crack on the head like that? But the doctor would be here soon, and say what you like about the fees he charged, he was a good doctor, was old Stefford. He’d been Seamus’s doctor for donkey’s years and he didn’t beat about the bush. He liked that about Stefford. He liked straight talking.
Round and round his thoughts ran while Hannah silently bathed his head. Then she made a pot of tea and added a good measure of whisky to his. She was a good lass, Hannah. Older than her years. She didn’t seem too keen on Daniel, poor devil, but lately he had thought her and Joe might get together now Joe had begun to cut the ties with Adam. Joe liked her, he was sure of it, and if it had to be anyone, he’d like it to be Joe. If nothing else, it would put paid to the secret dream that had begun to plague him. Damn it, why didn’t Joe stir? But Clara always said sleep was the best medicine. Aye, that’s what Clara said and she was a wise old biddy.
Frank went up to speak to Seamus once more but apart from that the three of them sat quietly waiting for the doctor in the kitchen, the soft glow from the fire in the range and the steady ticking of the clock on the mantelpiece belying the desperate circumstances.
When they heard the horse and trap, Frank went outside and met the doctor in the farmyard. Dr Stefford was a big man, robust and hearty with a booming voice, but when he came into the kitchen it was quietly and it was not to the figure draped in the blanket he looked but Jake. His voice calm and matter-of-fact, he said, ‘Hear you’ve had trouble with poachers again then.
Cunning so-an’-sos, the lot of them. Let’s have a look at you, shall we?’
‘Not me. It’s Joe.’
‘Aye, I know, I know, but we’ll see to the walking wounded first.’
‘No, you don’t understand.’
‘Aye, I do, lad.’ The doctor’s voice was soothing and he glanced at Hannah as he said, ‘Concussion, and we’ll need to stitch the cut above his ear.’ Turning again to Jake as he delved into his big black leather bag, he said, ‘I want you to take these pills while I look at young Joe there. All right?’
He nodded at Hannah, who had fetched a glass of water, and watched as she got Jake to take the pills and swallow from the glass several times. ‘Nasty business, Jake,’ he said softly. ‘Did you get a good look at them?’
Jake stared at him.Why wasn’t he seeing to Joe? He’d brought him here to see to Joe.
When Jake did not reply, Dr Stefford looked at him a few moments more and then turned to the slight body swathed in the blanket. After no more than thirty seconds he straightened. His tone as soft as before, he said, ‘You know he’s gone, Jake.’
‘No.’ Jake looked as though he himself was facing death. Suddenly he swung his arm violently, sending the glass and cups on the table crashing to the floor. ‘No, he’s sleeping,’ he repeated, getting to his feet.
‘Sit down before you fall down, man. Those pills I gave you would knock out an elephant.’
In spite of the doctor’s words, it took both Frank and himself to force Jake down into the seat again. The tears had welled up in Hannah’s eyes and were trickling down her cheeks, but she didn’t know who she was crying for the most, Joe or Jake.
‘He’s gone, Jake,’ Dr Stefford said again. ‘There’s nothing you or I or anyone else can do about it. I don’t quite understand why because his injury doesn’t look that bad, but believe me, he has gone.’
‘It was one blow to the head, that’s all. Just one blow.’ Jake’s voice was becoming increasingly slurred. ‘Perhaps - perhaps he’s in a coma.’
‘It’s no coma.’And at Hannah’s involuntary movement of protest, Dr Stefford turned to her, saying, ‘He has to face it now, lass, hard though it is. In a minute or two those pills will take effect and it’s important he understands. I’m sorry, I’m sorry to the heart of me because I know he thought a bit of the lad but there it is.’
‘It’s my fault.’
‘What?’ The doctor screwed up his face. ‘Don’t be daft, man. Frank here tells me you didn’t intend for the lad to be there.’
‘It’s my fault. I brought him here. To - to the farm.’
‘Because he couldn’t face another day in the mine,’ Hannah put in swiftly. ‘He was desperate, you know he was, Jake. If it hadn’t been here it would have been somewhere else.’
‘No.’ His eyes were blinking as he tried to keep them open. ‘No, he wouldn’t have left the mine and Adam but for me. You - you said so yourself.’
‘This is not down to you, Jake. Get that clear in your head once and for all.’ Dr Stefford walked across and gently pulled the blanket over Joe’s face before turning and saying, ‘Jake?’
Jake’s chin was resting on his collarbone, his eyes closed. The pills had done their work. Without further ado, Dr Stefford stitched the wound above his ear, after which he helped Frank carry Jake to his room. Leaving Frank to take Jake’s boots off and undress him, the doctor spent a few minutes with Seamus who was greatly distressed by the night’s happenings.
It was some ten minutes later before he returned to the kitchen. He found Hannah alone, Frank having gone home to break the news to Clara. Hannah knew the little woman would take it hard, she and Frank had been very fond of Joe.
‘I’m very sorry.’ Dr Stefford looked at the young girl he had come to know and like in the last twelve months since she had come to work for Seamus. ‘It’s a tragedy for all concerned.’
‘He’ll blame himself for ever.’
‘No, not once he’s had time to think it over. He’s an intelligent man, is Jake. That’s what sets him apart from most of the fellows on the farm. Oh, they’re good enough, don’t get me wrong, salt of the earth and all that, but Jake’s different.’