Chapter Thirty-Five
September in Micklewell! All things bright and beautiful!
Kate couldn’t believe that she was really there.
Sorting through the plums with Dot to make plum jam, laying out the apples in straw in the shed, boiling up the marrows to make chutney.
Baby Ronnie and little Tilly, gurgling to each other lying on a shawl on the rug, feeling the swoosh of the women’s skirts as they brushed by, moving around the kitchen with a purpose.
Kate hummed hymns to herself as she chopped and sliced, bottled and boiled, heated and cooled. Occasionally Dot would join in and they would burst into song. They knew all the words by heart. All was indeed ‘safely gathered in’.
‘Will you come to the harvest festival at the church tomorrow?’ Dot asked. ‘The children from the school will be singing “We plough the fields” and they’re doing a little tableau. I’ve been practising with them for weeks.’
‘I’m not sure,’ Kate replied. She was still cautious about facing people and imagining how they might be gossiping about her.
‘You’ll have to show your face sometime,’ their mother said, as she entered the kitchen with a basket of plums.
‘People are asking after you, Kate,’ Dot said.
‘Like who?’ Kate replied.
‘Miss Clarence, at the school, for one, and Mary White. Mary says you’re welcome to go there with Ronnie any time. She has news of her sister, Elsie, to give you. You were good friends at school, weren’t you?’
‘People are just nosey,’ Kate said. ‘I know what they’re thinking.’
‘What does it matter what people think?’ Dot said.
‘You can’t afford to shut yourself away,’ her mother added. ‘You’ll need to find work.’
‘I know,’ Kate said, picking Ronnie up. ‘I just need a bit more time, is all.’
She carried him outside into the back yard and watched her father loading his gardening tools into his box trailer that he pulled behind his bike.
He called to Judy, his little black dog, and was making ready to wheel his bike out onto the lane.
When he saw Ronnie in Kate’s arms, he leaned his bike against the wall and pulled back the shawl to smile at his grandson.
‘You’re looking much stronger and brighter than when you first arrived, Kate,’ he said. ‘And how’s our little Ronnie this morning?’
‘I feel stronger and Ronnie is well too. It was the right thing to bring him back to the country; we’re both so happy to be here.’
‘And we’re happy to have you,’ he replied.
‘You’re not ashamed of me then?’ Kate asked.
‘How could we be ashamed of such a bonny lad and his lovely mother?’
‘Can I ask you something, Pa?’ Kate tentatively asked.
‘Ask away.’
Kate decided to ask the question that had been on her mind since arriving home. Her mother was right; she needed to think of the future.
‘Would you have married Mum if she already had a child?’
Jim Truscott stopped loading his tools and stood upright. He had been caught off guard. He beckoned to her to come and sit down on the garden bench with him.
‘I can’t answer that question, Kate,’ he said, ‘but what I can tell you is that you were on the way before we walked down the aisle.’
‘You mean?’
‘Yes, I do. There’s plenty of women out there who’ve found themselves in your predicament, Kate.’
She interrupted him. It was about time they knew.
They hadn’t pushed her on the question of Ronnie’s father and had left her to tell them in her own good time.
It was a miracle that Dot hadn’t pestered her to know.
She’d probably been warned by both her parents to leave her be and Kate was grateful for their patience.
‘He was a good man, Pa. He was killed in action, like Fred,’ she explained, her voice faltering. ‘I don’t want Ronnie to be without a father, but who would marry me now?’
‘Give yourself time, Kate,’ her father said. ‘There will be someone, I’m sure.’
He put his arm around her shoulders and she leaned her head against him.
She hoped he was right. After a short while he stood up and said, ‘Now, in the meanwhile, it’s time you had some fun.
There’s to be a harvest supper on the green next weekend, after church.
There’ll be music and dancing and plenty of good food.
We’ll all go together. It’s time we showed off our new additions to the family to the whole village, Tilly and Ronnie Truscott.
Now get in there and tell your sister that you’ll come to church and to the supper too. ’
‘You were listening to what we were saying in the kitchen! I didn’t take you for a snoop, Pa.’ Kate smiled.
‘Your mother says I only hear what I want to hear and you know your mother’s always right.
I needed to hear that you are ready to show off that lovely boy of yours and hold your head up high.
I know that you’ll discover the villagers are more on your side than you think they are.
They’ve all had their trials the last few years and welcoming a new life to the community can do nothing but good is what I say. ’
Kate took her father’s hand. ‘I love you, Dad,’ she said.
The church service didn’t turn out to be as much of a trial as she’d thought it would be.
The church was beautifully decorated with rosy-red apples all along the top of the rood screen, thirty in all, she counted them during the psalms which never were her favourite.
Either side of the steps leading up to the altar, there were the usual two wheatsheaves presented by Farmer Addison and everyone in the village had given the rest of the fruit and vegetables on show.
They brought shape and colour to the church.
Shards of light cut across the seated congregation, reds and blues playing across the wrinkled green cabbages and strings of long beans.
A sack of earthy potatoes spilled out over the chancel floor and baskets of yellow mirabelles and purple damsons, huge green Bramleys and furry-skinned Russets, stood beneath the choir stalls.
The sloping window ledges overflowed with rusty orange and warm yellow chrysanthemums, deep red crab apples still clinging to their branches and virginia creeper from the walls of the big houses. A tapestry of delights!
Ronnie slept through most of the service, until the rousing chorus of ‘Praise my Soul the King of Heaven’, when Matthew Bunce, who’d already sampled some of the cider for the harvest supper by the sound of him, roared over Kate’s shoulder and woke him.
When she turned and looked at Matthew, he just gave her back a toothy grin and winked.
She made a mental note to avoid him at the supper, for Matthew was well known for having one over the eight and swinging a girl’s arms off in the barn dancing.
Her father had been right, the villagers were, for the most part, very welcoming and cooed and sighed over Ronnie.
Once the Taylor sisters had come to speak with them, then Kate didn’t have a minute to herself.
If the sisters were publicly accepting of her, then everything was fine.
The young girls flocked around her and wanted to hold the baby and know all about London, but the young men kept their distance.
Most of the men of fighting age were serving their country, of course.
The ones that remained were either not fit or in reserved occupations, like the reverend and most of the farm owners.
Kate learned that many families had, like their own, lost someone but they’d all turned out for the festival to show thanks for what they had and to celebrate life.
The village green was alive with a higgledy-piggledy of tables and chairs carried from people’s kitchens.
A long trestle was set up for the food and families ferried pies and cheeses, bread and vats of soup until it was groaning under the weight of it all.
There wasn’t much left at the end but a few crumbs that were thrown to the birds and, as the evening light softened features and made cheeks glow, the musicians started to play.
‘Go on, Kate, you and Dot get up and show ’em how it’s done,’ Jim Truscott said to his daughters, holding his tankard of cider aloft. His leg was jiggling to the music.
‘How about you and Mum have a dance ?’ Kate said.
‘I’ve got to get these two home,’ Ada replied, lifting Tilly, and taking Henry’s hand.
‘Your dad will hold Ronnie and you and Dot can dance. When he’s finished his drink, he can bring Ronnie home for you and you stay for a bit,’ she said, flicking her head at her husband and throwing him a look that was more an instruction than a request.
Kate and Dot partnered each other for the Gay Gordons, and then joined in the Circassian Circle.
They giggled uncontrollably during Strip the Willow, when arms were flying and partners were lost in a muddle that no one really cared about.
All the conventions of the right steps were dropped in favour of the fun of the dance.
As they collapsed onto two straw bales and bent over double with breathlessness and laughter, they both declared that it was the best fun they’d had in years.
‘Some of those men have two left feet,’ Kate whispered.
‘And some of them think you’re a sack of potatoes the way they throw you around.’ Dot grinned. ‘I shouldn’t like to be kissed by any of them, should you? They’d probably hug the life out of you with their grubby paws and then plant a slobbery one right on your lips.’
They both dissolved into giggles again and gazed around to see what other entertainments were worth watching.
‘There’s someone over there keeps looking at you,’ Dot said.
‘More like he’s looking at you,’ Kate replied.
‘No, I’ve seen him give you the eye earlier on this evening,’ Dot insisted. ‘He’s a tall one and his shoulders look like they could carry more than a sack of potatoes. He’s probably strong enough to lift that anvil in the blacksmith’s, don’t you think?’
‘Stop staring at him, Dot. It’s rude to stare,’ Kate scolded her sister.
‘I’ve not noticed him about the village,’ Dot said. ‘Perhaps he’s an incomer?’ Then she gave a sudden gasp.
‘Ooo . . . watch out! He’s . . . he’s coming over,’ she stuttered.
‘Would you dance with me, miss?’ the stranger asked Kate. ‘It’s the Dashin’ White Sergeant, the only one I know.’
Kate looked up at him and felt as if she was peering up at a mountain of a man.
His chest swelled through his waistcoat and his broad hands swung on the ends of arms covered in dark hair.
His sleeves were rolled to his elbows and, around his thick neck, he wore a blue kerchief.
His face had a smudge of stubble around the chin and his hair was trimmed short about the ears.
It was his shy smile, though, that intrigued her most and his firm stance while he waited for her answer.
He was not what you’d call a handsome man, but there was something in the way he stood four square and a kindly confidence in his manner that made Kate say yes.
She extended her hand and he pulled her to her feet.
He held her in a firm but gentle hold and they danced, barely exchanging a word.
He was a good six foot tall and she was only five foot four, so he stooped a little to look at her.
When their eyes met, he let his gaze rove over her face and then looked away.
Kate noticed that one of his eyes was different.
Then, as they danced, she realized. He had a glass eye.
She took occasional glances at his face and saw that the hair grew less thickly on that side of his head and there were wrinkled scar marks.
He had been badly wounded. When the music stopped, he thanked her and turned to go.
‘My name’s Kate,’ she said.
‘Albert,’ he replied, ‘Albert Locock, pleased to meet you.’