Chapter 2
It was raining, which seemed appropriate, given Bethany’s mood. Her thoughts were as gloomy as the grey skies which hung heavy overhead, as she drove carefully over the stone bridge across the River Skimmer and into the market town of Tuppenny Bridge.
Home.
Well, hardly. Officially, perhaps, she should call it her hometown, but it had been a long, long time since she’d thought of it that way. Honestly, she’d tried not to think of the place at all.
Sometimes it caught her unawares. A brief, golden memory of a happy moment during her childhood. Mostly when she’d been with her mother before she withdrew from the world entirely, which meant she must have been seven or younger at the time. Christmas was likely to remind her of those golden days if she allowed it. And sometimes her birthday.
Always though, the momentary pleasure was dimmed by the misery of later memories of those same events. Christmases and birthdays had never been perfect, but they’d become much worse after her mother died. She tried not to think about the better times at all really, because it only made all those bad times that much harder to bear.
Ahead of her she could see Green Lane, which would take her past the village green. She remembered many gatherings there: the carol concert each Christmas Eve; the bonfire night displays; the summer fair; even a May Day event complete with maypole when she was very little, although she recalled that had stopped when she was a teenager.
But she wasn’t going down Green Lane. It would take her to the market square, and to All Hallows Church, and that was the last place she wanted to see. Well, almost. No, she would drive past The Black Swan and turn down River Road. It was the most direct route and she’d be less likely to spot someone she knew.
Although, after over thirty years away from Tuppenny Bridge, she wondered how many people she would know. Places like this were struggling. Despite her personal feelings, she couldn’t deny that this was a beautiful little market town, and set as it was in the glorious Yorkshire Dales, she had no doubt that many of its properties had been turned into holiday homes. Maybe she wouldn’t know anyone. Could she possibly be that lucky?
She flicked on her left indicator.
Don’t do it. Don’t do it.
Even as she turned the steering wheel Bethany’s internal voice was screaming in protest. Why? Why put yourself through it? Yet, somehow, she couldn’t stop herself. Five minutes back in this town and already she was becoming weaker.
Market Street took her directly to All Hallows, which stood at the corner of Forge Lane, on the edge of the market square. She pulled over and stared at the beautiful Norman church, remembering the many times she’d come here with her mother.
She’d never understood why. Not then. Her mother would tell her they were going to the shops, but inevitably when they reached All Hallows, she’d squeeze Bethany’s hand and say, ‘Let’s just pop in here for a few minutes, shall we? Gather our thoughts.’
But she never went inside the church. Instead, she’d lead Bethany along the path around the side of the building to a bench by a tree, where she’d sit quietly, saying nothing.
Bethany would get bored. Back then she had little appreciation for the peace and tranquillity of a churchyard, nor the stunning views of the rolling hills in the distance, nor the glorious trees that provided shelter in the rain and shade in the sunshine, nor the bleating of the sheep she could hear in the distant paddock.
What Bethany saw then were all those creepy gravestones.
And her mother’s tears.
She’d grown to hate that churchyard. Her mother never told her why she sat there and cried. She never acknowledged her tears at all. And the funny thing was, she never made a sound. It wasn’t as if Bethany had been forced to endure her mother’s noisy sobbing. If Bethany hadn’t turned to say something to her she would never have known, but after that, she realised it was every single time, and gradually it dawned on her that her mother’s entire reason for visiting the churchyard was to cry. To release the pain and the sadness.
Bethany understood that now, but it didn’t make it any easier to deal with.
She sat quite still, her hands gripping the steering wheel even though the car was safely parked.
Just go. Leave. It’s too late now. It’s all too late.
Even as the words entered her head, she knew she was going to ignore them. It was as if some force was compelling her to move, although she knew it was going to make things harder for her. As if today wasn’t hard enough.
She shut the car door, pulled up the hood of her coat, and took a steadying breath.
A furtive glance around showed her there was no one in sight who she recognised. In fact, there were few people around at all. Even the market square looked empty. Was it the rain or was it because they were all at the church? How many of the townspeople had been invited, she wondered?
She forced herself to move, even though she hated herself for doing so. Across the road, through the gate, up the path…
She could see the church door ahead of her, but it was closed. Maybe everyone was inside. She rounded the building, following the familiar path, past the Garden of Ashes. She glanced at the bench where she used to sit with her mother, but it was too painful to linger there. She hurried on, her heart pounding in her chest as she turned the corner.
A gasp escaped her, and she pressed herself against the wall of the church, peering cautiously out across the grounds to where a group of people, dressed in black, were gathered around an open grave.
She didn’t recognise the vicar. This one seemed quite young, not like the one who’d been here when she was a resident of Tuppenny Bridge. She narrowed her eyes, not entirely certain but thinking perhaps she recognised Miss Lavender, and that the Pennyfeather sisters were likely standing close to her. Possibly. It was hard to be sure since everyone was wearing black, and most had their backs to her. There were, however, two shocking pink umbrellas visible above the crowd and if anyone would carry pink umbrellas to a funeral it would be those two.
No one was looking her way. They were all focused on what was happening in front of their eyes. Her hand flew to her mouth as she tried to stay calm.
So Joseph was being buried in the family plot. Why? She could hardly believe he would have chosen that, and yet, why not? Maybe he was more his father’s son than even she’d realised. Maybe, after she’d left, the two of them had reached an understanding. Maybe, with her out of the way, they’d settled into a more comfortable and happier life.
Well, if that was what Joseph wanted, so be it. Why should she care? All she knew for sure was, nothing and no one would bury her in that hole in the ground when her time came. She was going to be cremated, her ashes scattered to the wind. She would be free, not shackled to that family for eternity.
Had she ever really known Joseph at all?
Tears caught her unaware, and she tried to blink them away, but failed dismally. As they streamed down her cheeks she frantically swiped at them, furious with herself at her weakness. After all these years?
But that was her brother they were laying to rest. That was Joseph. The boy she’d loved and adored. The man she’d hated and had never forgiven.
The coffin was gently lowered into the ground, and even though she’d known what to expect by coming here today it didn’t stop her heart from shattering into a million pieces for the third time in her life.
Turning away, she stumbled blindly out of the churchyard and back to her car, where she sat for a few minutes, her head on the steering wheel, trying to calm her thoughts and control her emotions.
She should never have gone to All Hallows. She should never have come back to this town.
She lifted her head and dried her eyes, filled suddenly with a determination to regain the control she’d fought so hard for during the previous decades. She had a job to do, and she was going to do it. And as soon as she was done, she would leave here and never come back.
She and Tuppenny Bridge were finished.
Clive was quite glad it was raining, even though it was, as Joseph would have said, bucketing it down now. The rain, he hoped, camouflaged the tears that he simply couldn’t stop, no matter how hard he tried to be stoic and brave.
A part of him couldn’t help thinking that Joseph would have been shaking his head right now, his eyes wide with astonishment.
‘What the heck do you think you’re larking at, soft lad? Crying like a baby over me? Give over!’
Joseph, he knew, had never realised quite how much he meant to Clive. He wished he’d told him.
As the vicar, Zach Barrington, gave the blessing over the grave, Clive scanned the crowd gathered around. His heart went out to Summer Fletcher who was sobbing openly, as her boyfriend, Ben, tried to comfort her. Summer had worked for Joseph at the Whispering Willows Horse Sanctuary, and she’d adored him.
Not only was she going to miss Joseph from a personal point of view, but she now had the worry of what was going to happen to the residents of Whispering Willows. She wasn’t the only one. He’d been worrying about that himself.
He could only hope the new owner was a horse lover.
Ben met his gaze and a look of understanding passed between the two of them. Ben was also a vet, and worked for Clive at Stepping Stones Veterinary Surgery, which backed onto the village green.
The two of them had recently had several conversations about the future of the sanctuary. Ben was worried about Summer, and how she’d react if it didn’t continue. He confessed he was quite glad she was going to Australia with her father after all. The trip had been booked for months, but Summer had asked her dad to cancel her ticket because of Joseph’s illness. Unknown to her, her mum had secretly told her dad not to do that because there was a chance she’d still be able to make it.
With Joseph gone, Summer was definitely in need of a break, and when Clive had solemnly sworn to work at the sanctuary in her place, and their teenage volunteers, Maya and Lennox, had promised to help before and after school each day, she’d finally agreed to accompany her dad to visit her older sister, Billie, and brother-in-law, Arlo, in Melbourne.
Ben would miss her, but it would be better for Summer to be away while things were sorted out at Whispering Willows. He and Clive were concerned about the welfare of the horses, ponies and donkeys who lived there, and were hoping they could find alternative homes for them, should that become necessary, before Summer returned.
Clive’s gaze shifted to the Lavender Ladies, and he thought that Joseph would have been beside himself with glee to see Rita and Birdie Pennyfeather dressed all in black. Well, almost.
He smothered a grin as he noted the bright red wellingtons they were wearing, as well as the orange scarves around their necks, and the purple hairbands in their dyed red hair. Even their umbrellas were bright pink.
Miss Lavender might have nagged them into wearing black coats as a mark of respect, but you couldn’t keep the Pennyfeather sisters down for long.
His humour dimmed a little as he eyed Eugenie Lavender. She was standing stiffly, as elegant as always in a smart black coat and gloves, black boots, with a black trilby hat over her silver hair. Her great-nephew, Noah, was by her side, holding a black umbrella over the pair of them.
Clive wondered why Eugenie had turned up at all, given that she hadn’t spoken to Joseph in decades. It had always puzzled him, but if Joseph had known the reason why, he hadn’t shared it with him. He supposed she considered it her civic duty to be there, given that she had somehow decided that Tuppenny Bridge was her town, and her responsibility, even if that had never been officially acknowledged, other than the fact that she was a member of the parish council.
No sign of Noah’s wife, Isobel Lavender, which didn’t really surprise him. She’d told him she hated funerals, and although she’d happily taken the money to provide all the flowers for this one, she’d dropped plenty of hints that she wouldn’t be there in person. Not that it mattered. To his knowledge she’d had little to no contact with Joseph anyway.
All the people who mattered were here. Like Jonah. As a farrier, he’d visited Whispering Willows regularly, and had been fond of Joseph. He was clearly upset today, standing arm-in-arm with his partner, Kat Pennyfeather, great-niece of Rita and Birdie.
In fact, looking round, Clive could see that most of the people gathered here were visibly upset. Joseph’s work had touched many hearts, and they were keen to pay their respects to someone who’d dedicated his own life to doing good, even if he hadn’t mixed with them much.
His eyes narrowed. Where was Joseph’s sister, Bethany? What a shame his own flesh and blood couldn’t make the effort. Helena Marshall, who was the second wife of Bethany’s ex-husband, had confirmed that Bethany would soon be back in the country, and that she would pass on Clive’s contact details and his urgent message to her.
He’d heard nothing from her, though. Even when he’d contacted Helena again to tell her the sad news of Joseph’s death and given her the details of the funeral, there’d been no word.
Bethany had made no effort to be here at her own brother’s funeral. Whatever had happened to drive her out of Tuppenny Bridge, Clive thought long enough had passed now for her to put it all behind her. Joseph didn’t deserve such callous treatment.
It didn’t bode well for the future of the horse sanctuary. If Bethany Marshall, née Wilkinson, was so heartless, would she keep the place going? Personally, he couldn’t see it. All Joseph’s efforts would be for nothing. His legacy wiped out. It made his blood boil at the thought of it.
And yet, Joseph hadn’t had the foresight to leave a will. As his only living relative, his entire estate, including Whispering Willows, would pass to his sister. Why? If he’d known what she was like, why had he done nothing to prevent that?
He supposed, when it came down to it, blood must be thicker than water.
He could only hope Joseph’s faith in Bethany would be repaid.