In her mind’s eye she could see every word written there, all her secret thoughts: the sorrow she had suffered when her Granny Clare had sickened from consumption and died, nearly breaking her grandad’s heart; the wrenching sobs she and her family had wept at the tragic loss of her darling baby brother. Some tears trickled down her rosy cheeks as she remembered little Michael, so pale and still, wrapped in her own baby shawl that couldn’t warm him … Then her tears dried as bitter resentment took their place – hatred for the man who soon after had invaded their lives. She had written about her love for her mammy, and her grandad, and prayed for her daddy, wherever he was.
In fact, all her life as it was, had been entered in the pages of that little book.
More recently she had confided of her growing love for John; of her hopes for the future, and even a little prayer that Clem would go away and everything would be all right again, just like it used to be.
After a while, she laid the notebook on her lap and gingerly eased it open. She needed to reread the last entry – to make sure she had not been dreaming.
Suddenly, a small, shuffling sound startled her. What was that!
With fear licking at her insides, she laid the book face down and shrank into the background. Was there somebody else here? she thought worriedly. Did someone come in just now?
A ray of early-morning sunshine crept in from the one window high up in the barn, and shone down on the page. A gentle wind blew against the old barn-walls, which creaked and groaned as if alive. And she heard the faint splash of a coal-barge wending its way along the nearby canal.
She glanced about, satisfying herself that there was no one there. ‘You’re beginning to imagine things,’ she told herself, but then was it any wonder, if her nerves were on edge?
Pushing aside her two plaits, Emily roved her gaze over the previous day’s entry and began to read it aloud.
INSIDE THE FARMHOUSE, Thomas Isaac Ramsden waited for his daughter-in-law. He heard her come in through the back door, then a few minutes later he was relieved to see her enter the living room. ‘Here you are then, Dad.’ Aggie set the tray down on his lap. ‘There’s a nice cuppa tea in your favourite mug, and one of my raisin biscuits. You sit and enjoy that, while I go an’ hang out the washing.’
While she spoke she smiled down on him, the love shining in her blue eyes. ‘Later on, we’ll go for a gentle walk if you like?’ she offered. ‘It’s a beautiful day outside. The fresh air will do us both good.’
He nodded. ‘I can’t go far, lass,’ he reminded her. ‘Me old legs aren’t what they used to be.’ He carefully lifted his Coronation mug, which showed the new King, Edward VII, in his full-bearded glory, and took a grateful sup of the hot brew.
‘It’s all right, Dad,’ Aggie said. ‘We’ll just go as far as the orchard and back.’
He nodded appreciatively. ‘Happen once we’re there we can sit awhile on the bench.’ He took another long slurp of his tea.
‘That’ll be nice,’ she agreed. ‘Let’s do that then, shall we?’
‘Happen I can smoke me pipe?’
She smiled. ‘You allus do. To tell you the truth, Dad, I’ll be glad of a sit-down.’ She gave a low sigh. ‘Whatever we turn our hand to, me and Emily allus seem to be in a rush these days. There’s too much work, and not enough time to get it all done.’ Not so long ago, life had been so much easier, she thought. Her husband had still been here, and their new baby was growing in her womb. Potts End had been a joyful place then.
Lost in his own thoughts, Thomas merely nodded. ‘Where is Emily?’
‘Gone off by herself somewheres. You know what the lass is like – up at first light to do her chores, then away across the fields.’
‘She’ll be back though, won’t she?’ His eyes dimmed over. ‘She will be back?’
‘O’ course she will. Whatever meks you say a thing like that?’
‘Michael never came back, did he?’ He paused, then: ‘I miss him.’
‘We all miss him, Dad.’ Aggie’s voice dropped to a whisper. ‘But he’ll be back.’
Cupping his ear, he asked worriedly, ‘What’s that you say, lass?’
She gave him her cheeriest smile. ‘I said … Michael will be back. You’ll see … some bright day, in the not too distant future, he’ll walk through that door and we’ll all be together again.’
On her words he looked up and smiled. It was a sad smile. Though he didn’t want to dash her hopes, he believed there was little chance of his son ever coming home. His heart ached for Clare, and he lifted the mug to his lips again.
Aggie read his thoughts and a pang of loneliness stabbed her heart. ‘Will you be all right if I go outside now?’ she asked.
‘O’ course I will.’ He looked surprised. ‘I’m not in me second childhood yet, you know!’
She laughed at that. ‘Don’t I know it!’ Humouring him, she wagged a finger. ‘By! I’ve yet to see the day when anybody can get one over on you!’
The old man pointed to his half-eaten biscuit. ‘I don’t suppose there’s another one o’ them going, is there? Or mebbe even a couple?’
Prompted by an impulse of affection, she kissed the top of his head. ‘Oh, I dare say there might be a couple more hiding in the larder.’
He gave her a little push. ‘Go on then!’ He grinned, a wide, uplifting grin that showed his surprisingly even teeth, of which he was very proud. ‘A poor old man could starve afore he got any attention round ’ere.’
‘Give over!’ She feigned shock. ‘You get more attention than anybody and well you know it, you old devil.’
‘Mebbe. But it’s another biscuit I’m wanting … that’s if you’ve a mind to fetch me one?’
Straightening up, she sighed, ‘If it’s a biscuit you’re wanting, then it’s a biscuit you’ll get.’ With that she marched off, only to pause at the door and look back on him.
Her heart was full to overflowing as she took stock of that dear old man, his head bent as he lost himself in private thoughts of days gone by. She and her father-in-law had a special kind of relationship, and she was grateful to have him in her life.
Thomas Isaac had no idea she was taking stock of him. He was thinking of his home and his life, and his heart was warmed. Once a big strong farmhand, he had worked his way up, and put money by, until one proud day, he could buy his own little farm. Potts End wasn’t big by anyone else’s standards, but it had been his, lock, stock and barrel, until he had signed it over to Michael and Aggie, and he had good reason to be proud of his achievement. Nowadays, he was too old and tired to pick up a spade, but there were other consolations in life, such as the smell of dew on the morning air, the
