We only wanted to get some food. Ma told them she’d work for it - do anything, just for some food, we were hungry”.
“Well, some people are just like that, but not all folk are bad”, Amos said.
“No, there was one old lady gave us some bread and some biscuits even though she didn’t want us to do any work”, Ruth replied, “At another place we cleared some rubbish for a lady, and carried some buckets of coal. It was only at that place they were so nasty. They threatened to set the dogs on us”.
It had been like this on the day of Sarah’s arrest. It had been some time since they had eaten anything and then Sarah had given Ruth most of what they had. It had been mostly stale bread that had been intended for a pig trough; hardly nourishing food, but sure to take the ache from her belly. As they moved from cottage to cottage there suddenly appeared about four or five men confronting them and two took hold of Sarah’s arms. Another tried to grab at Ruth but she ducked under his outstretched arms, evading his grasp, and ran. She ran, too afraid to look back, her flight fuelled by fear, and didn’t stop until she was well out of reach. Her tattered canvas shoes almost lost in the flight.
Peering from behind a bush she looked back and could see no sign of the men and her fears then were for her mother’s safety. She began to creep back to where the men had pounced, and careful not to be seen, she stealthily emerged near the cobbles of the market square. Her heart beating like a drum, she saw the same group of men gathered around a black horsedrawn cart and caught just a momentary sight of her mother being bundled into the cart and locked inside.
There was no escape for her mother and Ruth felt totally helpless and began to sob, not knowing what to do. She watched for a while from her hiding place and it seemed that the men were looking about – probably for her. As the cart moved away she was desolate and so afraid; what could she do? She withdrew from her hidden vantage point and made her way back towards the barn where they had spent the previous night. Probably, if her mother could get away she would return there to find her. She ran, still careful not to be seen, crossed over the cart track and quickly climbed the gritstone wall into the field beyond. The grass was high and offered good protection from searching eyes and she carefully made her way through that field, then the next and the next.
From a concealed spot behind a large sycamore the distraught child stood to survey the route back to the town. She could see nothing of her pursuers, no-one. She watched for a while and then, deciding that it was safe, she climbed back onto the cart track where it was easier to walk. She finally came to the stone built barn where she had spent the previous night and fell exhausted into the hay. Her fear held sleep at bay and every small sound that she heard made her spring to her feet and peer from the doorway lest someone should surprise her and catch her.
Night came very slowly and gradually her heart stopped it’s pounding in her chest, but she remained tearful and still alert. She was so used to sleeping outdoors and normally the regular sounds of the night held no particular fear for her. The owls, rats, badgers and the like were no threat to her whilst she had her mother’s protection, but now, alone, the shadows held daemons and the wind bore ghosts. She lay opposite the open doorway where she could see the light of the night sky and she hugged herself, as much for reassurance as for warmth.
Meanwhile, Sarah in the confines of the prison, sat on the hard wooden bed and pulled the blanket tighter about her. She sobbed quietly to herself. She had quickly learned that the other women around her could be hard and unfeeling and didn’t have much capacity for sympathy. This place had that affect on those who spent much time here. She thanked her lucky stars that the magistrate hadn’t imposed a harsh sentence upon her but her misery wasn’t self -pity, it was more in the worry of what had happened to her child. Where was she? Had she been caught? Had she been dragged off screaming to some other place of detention? Was she starving? Sarah thought of the orphanage that was all she’d known as a child and the cruelty she’d endured. It all seemed to have set her on a course for a lifetime of down-trodden destitution and she could see no end to it, even when she was released from this incarceration.
Religion was something that had been forced upon her at the orphanage and even that seemed to have been an instrument to instil discipline. Oh, she had prayed, how she had prayed for some release from this eternal poverty, but she had practically lost all hope. It was now, more than ever before that she needed someone or something to succour her. It was at this point that she suddenly became aware of the old woman sitting beside her on her bed. She was certainly no angel or fairy-godmother, in fact she had all the appearance of a hag, a witch, or at least someone who in other circumstances she would have gone to lengths to avoid.
The old woman spoke kindly to her.
“What ails you lass?”
Sarah tried to control her sobbing and blew her nose on the remnant of cloth she kept in her sleeve, but before she could answer the old woman continued,
“I’ve watched you and you aren’t eating or sleeping and your crying’s bringing you down. Look here, I’m Kathleen. I’ve been here a long time and I know the ropes. If I can help you then tell me.”
Sarah began to stutter her story to her but it was hard to relate without starting the floods of tears again.
“They threw me in here for begging but I’m not upset for myself. I’ve a young daughter, only eight, and when they arrested me, she ran away. I don’t know what’s happened to her, whether they caught her, whether she’s dying of hunger or whether someone has stolen her”.
Kathleen took hold of Sarah’s hand and gave a gentle squeeze.
“I want you to listen to what I’ve got to say”, she said in a quiet, but somehow commanding manner. “Your daughter’s safe. She’s well and she’s being cared for by someone. You must believe me. I’ve the power to see these things. You’ve no need to worry and, yes, you will find her”.
Sarah wasn’t prepared for such a meeting and although not altogether a sceptic, her experiences of life hitherto hadn’t filled her with optimism, but she so wanted to believe. Oh, how desperately she wanted to believe. The old woman helped her to lie back on the bed and covered her with the blanket. Sarah lay back in a daze, her head swimming in thoughts of her child and she tried to convince herself that she was being cared for. Perhaps it was the uncontrollable sobbing that had weakened her, perhaps the optimism placed there by Kathleen or perhaps, just plain tiredness, but whatever, she fell into a sleep deeper than anything she had experienced for days.
True to his word, Amos busied himself with the menial little chores that would free him for the day so that he could help the child to search for an explanation of what had happened to her mother. The dawn chorus was still in full swing as he filled his bucket at the stream. He looked into the caravan just as Ruth emerged all bleary eyed from her little cocoon. He urged her to wash in the water he had just fetched, saying, “I want you to wash the sleep away, I need you as bright as a button, we’re going to find out where your Ma is and when she can come back to you, just as I promised”.
He handed her a wooden comb that he had so patiently whittled with his knife and she tried very hard to smarten herself. He could see that with some care and attention that tousled head could easily be transformed into lovely silken locks that had a natural curl. Swinging himself up he threw his leg over Maggie’s broad back and sat astride the mare, then reaching down he took hold of Ruth’s arm and hoisted her up to sit behind him. She had never sat a horse before and she was quite apprehensive so clung on tightly around Amos’s waist. She very quickly gained her confidence and found the broad back of the horse comfortable and reassuring. There was no particular hurry, the day had just begun, so Maggie was allowed to go along at her own speed, occasionally dropping her head to take a mouthful of grass from the roadside as she plodded on.
Slow
