The Day She Cradled Me Page 12

  ‘Please, Doctor. There must be more. She said she was doing well when I left her.’

  ‘This was fast approaching, Mr McCulloch. She didn’t want to cause worry.’

  ‘But she seemed much better.’

  ‘She is a patient woman. Indeed, it is her patience that has kept her alive.’

  ‘But —’

  Mother’s eyes open, and she screams. Doctor MacBride tries to calm her. ‘The end is near, Elizabeth. Soon the pain will be gone. You will be at peace at last.’

  I put my hands over Christina’s ears. We rock together while Mother twists and writhes, the intensity of her scream mounting until finally she can bear it no longer. ‘Come, Lord Jesus,’ Mother hollers, ‘come quickly.’

  And then, there is silence.

  It has been three months since Mother’s death. I hear my father’s footsteps and I freeze in fear as I have done every night since, hoping he returns in good spirits and I have done all that was required of me. The outside door slams shut and the sound of Father’s boots thud up the stairs. I wipe my hands on my apron and turn to greet him. Please, dear Lord, that he has had a pleasant journey …

  ‘Father …’ The words float away; my tongue is all but lost. He has a woman with him.

  ‘Williamina, Christina, Janet, Isabella.’ He clears his throat. ‘This is Elizabeth Ferguson. She will be your new mother.’ He hands me his hat and then his coat. ‘Bring us a plate of supper each, will you, girl? I’m half starved.’

  Father’s new wife leans forward and holds up a plump arm; her small eyes blink, and then I lose sight of them altogether as they disappear into the folds of her face. Across her forehead, strands of orange hair stick together in clumps, as though they’ve been arrested in flight. The remainder of it, wild and frizzy, she has attempted to contain by tying it back with a ribbon, although this too looks about to escape.

  ‘What have you got these inside for, I wonder?’ she says. The small chair beneath her squeaks as she rocks. ‘Cluttering up the sill as well as everywhere else. They bring bugs. I can’t bear bugs.’

  There is nothing I can do. Mother’s trinket box flies through the air and lands with a clunk on top of the pile. It cracks in half, and Mother’s few precious possessions — a ring, some glass beads — scatter across the floor.

  ‘They are Mother’s,’ I say, setting down little Isabella and rushing over.

  ‘I need someone to carry this carton to the road. Mr MacMillan’s coming to pick it up at half eleven.’

  The pawnbroker? I take a deep breath to keep from striking her, and scoop the box and trinkets up. I will take them to Mrs Todd for safe keeping.

  ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘That’s my business.’

  ‘How dare you speak to me like that, Williamina. I need you here, and here you shall stay.’

  ‘I won’t be gone long.’

  ‘Don’t be silly. It’s only a trinket box, and not a very pretty one at that.’

  ‘It’s my mother’s.’

  ‘Well, she certainly doesn’t need it any more. I won’t have ugly clutter in my residence. Moreover, I need you here to clean up this mess. There are visitors arriving for dinner, and I don’t want them to think I can’t keep a tidy house.’

  I know how angry Father will be if I disobey. I put the box beneath my pulley and go to fetch the broom.

  ‘And when you have finished, prepare us something to eat.’

  ‘I hate her.’

  ‘Come now, Minnie, she can’t be as bad.’

  ‘Freddie, you don’t know, you haven’t met her. She is that bad.’

  He squeezes my hand. ‘She’s only been with you a few weeks. Give her time.’

  ‘Actually, it’s been near four months.’ I pull my scarf around me and rub my arms. ‘It’s all I can do not to throw her out on the street for MacMillan’s.’

  He gently turns my chin so that I’m facing the water. ‘You don’t need to think about her now. Look at that view, will you?’

  ‘It’s a full moon.’

  ‘Aye, it is. Forget her awhile.’

  We sit leaning against a tree. Freddie drapes a rug across our knees. ‘Here.’ He passes me a bottle. ‘It’ll warm you up.’

  I put it to my lips; the sweet liquid slides hot down my throat. I take a long drink. Freddie’s face is lit by moonlight; his pale blue eyes are almost black.

  ‘Look, Minnie, look down there.’ I follow his gaze down the hill and out over the harbour to where a ship glides away from the dock. Candlelight shimmers across the water. ‘Sure is beautiful.’

  I close my eyes and lean against Freddie’s shoulder. I am starting to feel sleepy.

  ‘Here, steady on.’

  ‘I wonder where she’s going,’ I say.

  ‘Could be anywhere, I suppose.’ Freddie’s arm is round my shoulder; his breath smells of drink.

  ‘But don’t you think it would be grand? To sail to a completely different land, somewhere far away, where there’s no —’

  ‘I’m quite happy here. Right here. With you.’ We lie back on the grass and stare up at the stars. His kiss is warm. ‘Have you seen a shooting star, Minnie? They say it’s good luck.’ I laugh as he pulls me close. It is only the fourth time we have kissed, and the drink, the stars and the moonlight make my head giddy.

  ‘If only we could stay here like this forever,’ I say.

  He kisses my forehead and then the tip of my nose.

  He finds my mouth.

  And as the ship slowly rocks, the water sparkles and stars above us spin round and round, he pulls up my skirt.

  ‘Who was that I saw you with just now?’

  ‘No one.’

  ‘Don’t lie to me. I saw you.’

  I sigh. ‘It was no one.’

  ‘So who were you talking to in that bright green coat?’

  I am weary to my bones. I carry Isabella to the chair in front of the fire and sit down.

  ‘Ignoring me, are you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then who was it? As your mother, I demand to know.’

  ‘I said it was no one.’

  ‘Don’t you raise your voice to me, Williamina. I saw a boy. You were talking to a boy. And now you won’t even tell me his name and you are shouting at me. We will have to see what your father has to say, won’t we?’

  I look up. ‘It’s just a boy from school.’

  Father’s wife lifts her eyebrows. ‘And I suppose you expect me to believe that, do you?’

  ‘I really don’t care what you believe.’

  ‘Ah, the real Williamina presents herself. I was wondering if the solemn girl of the past few months would live up to her reputation one day.’

  I glare at the witch. ‘I met someone I recognised. We walked up the street. It was nothing. He was no one.’

  Father’s wife turns to Christina. ‘And I suppose you know nothing about this no one?’

  Christina shakes her head.

  ‘It shouldn’t be too difficult to find out. I don’t imagine there are too many boys who live round here and wear a coat like that.’ She narrows her eyes. ‘Come to think of it, haven’t I seen him at church? Yes, I have. I’m sure of it. Well, come Sunday we’ll put an end to this mystery. Won’t we?’

  I catch Christina’s eye and look away. Has it really been only months since she moved here?

  ‘Do you like it?’ Mrs Todd asks, dancing about the room.

  ‘Yes, it’s beautiful.’

  ‘Not overdone?’

  I shake my head. ‘The dress is lovely, Mrs Todd.’

  She twirls around one last time and disappears behind the curtain. ‘You know, perhaps I should sew a bonnet to match.’

  I stare out the window to the street.

  ‘Minnie?’

  A man with a barrow has not strapped his fruit; apples fall off and onto the ground.

  ‘Minnie? Is everything all right? You’re looking pale. Are you still ill?’

  I take a deep breath and s
igh. ‘No. Actually I feel much better.’

  ‘Ah, that’s good then.’ She steps out from behind the curtain and smiles. ‘Is something troubling you?’ I look at the floor. ‘I was wondering …’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I was wondering, Mrs Todd, if it means anything …’

  ‘Yes? I’m afraid you’ll have to say more than that.’

  ‘What is it … I mean to say … well, it’s my monthlies, and … Mrs Todd, what does it mean if the bleedings stop?’

  Freddie takes my hand, his eyes bright and excited. ‘They’re called Bounty Boats.’

  ‘Madness.’

  ‘No. Think about it. We go to Australia, passage paid. When I find work, we pay it back. Easy.’

  ‘Father will kill me.’

  ‘It’s the only way to keep it. Else he’ll kill you anyway.’

  ‘He’ll kill you first.’

  ‘We can do it, Min.’

  I want to believe it; I really want to believe it. ‘Do you think so?’

  ‘Why not? Who in Australia will know if or when we were married? We could be anybody we choose. Even change our names if we like.’

  ‘You’ve always said you hate the idea of ships and sea and travel.’

  ‘I know,’ he says, bringing my hand to his lips, ‘but things have changed. There’s the three of us now. I can do it. We can do it.’

  ‘What has got into you, Williamina?’

  ‘I’m fine. But thank you for your concern.’

  ‘No need for sarcasm.’ Father’s wife puts down her newspaper. ‘If you carry on scrubbing that table in the same place you’ll put a hole in it.’

  I wipe my brow and say nothing.

  ‘Heard you retching earlier, so don’t go telling me all is fine when it ain’t.’

  I scrub at the table from the other side. ‘Just a stomach upset, that’s all. Nothing I’ll die of, if that’s your worry.’

  Father’s wife lifts her newspaper, then slowly lowers it again. ‘You know, you seem to be catching a lot of stomach bugs lately.’

  I continue to scrub. ‘Anything of note in the paper?’

  ‘You trying to change the subject?’

  ‘No. I’m just tired of being questioned all the time.’ I hold my breath.

  ‘Nothing of interest. Not so far.’ She picks up her paper and resumes reading.

  After the table is finished, I carry the pail out to the pump. The ground wavers, and I reach out to steady myself, only to find Father’s wife behind me. She stares intently.

  ‘It’s just struck me, Williamina, that with all your sickness of late, isn’t it surprising no one else has been ill?’

  My skin is hot and damp. Bile rises.

  ‘You would think we would all be heaving.’

  The ground turns, round and round, round and round …

  ‘If I didn’t know better —’

  I sink to my knees and deliver the foul-smelling contents of my stomach into the pail. Father’s wife gapes — there are no lines of concern etched on her brow. Her eyes glisten and the corners of her mouth twitch. ‘That’s it, isn’t it?’ She can barely contain herself. ‘Oh, dear Jesus, Williamina, what will your dear father say?’ She throws back her head and laughs. ‘To think, you already do nothing but bring shame to the family. Whatever will he do when he finds his daughter Williamina is pregnant with a bastard?’

  I stand in the doorway with my head against the wall and wait. Please, dear Lord, let her be home. I knock again, this time more loudly, and am relieved to hear the sound of footsteps coming from inside.

  ‘Minnie, come in. I was hoping you would call.’

  I follow Mrs Todd inside and reach round to close the door.

  ‘Minnie?’

  I nod and take a breath to calm my stomach.

  ‘Oh, my dear, you look awful. Is it … do you have …?’

  I nod.

  ‘Have you eaten?’

  I shake my head, feeling the nausea rise again.

  Mrs Todd takes a jar off the shelf, pulls out some dry biscuits and puts them on a plate in front of me. I shake my head, but she picks one up and passes it to me. ‘It’ll help,’ she says, ‘go on, try some. They’ll help make the sickness pass. But now. What are we going to do? Do you know of someone? It’s to be done soon, and by someone — well, someone who knows what to do.’

  I shake my head. ‘I can’t.’

  ‘Is it the money? Because, if it is, then perhaps I could —’

  ‘No, please, stop.’ The sick feeling has eased. ‘I think your biscuit is working.’ I force a smile. ‘I think it will be best for everyone if I just go away.’

  ‘No. You don’t need to do that. If it would help, I can try to find someone for you …’ Her voice fades. ‘I’m sorry. I’m not very good at this. Where would you go? Your father, surely he will wonder where you are. How will you survive by yourself?’

  I swallow and fight back tears. ‘I have a friend.’ My voice wavers. ‘We can leave together … sail … somewhere.’

  ‘Somewhere? Like where?’

  ‘Australia? There’s assisted passage to Tasmania.’

  Mrs Todd lays her hand on my arm. ‘Do you even know what Australia is like? Or where it is?’

  ‘Ships sail there all the time.’

  ‘That is true. Very true. But do you know how long the voyage lasts? Or what to do when you get there? Or how to get food and shelter for a newborn?’

  I stare at the floorboards. ‘We will be fine.’

  ‘Does your father know?’

  I shake my head, and remember, years ago, a beautiful girl upon a stool, Reverend McCulloch, his red face bulging, people screaming, stomping their feet …

  ‘You must get rid of it, Minnie.’

  ‘No, I can’t.’

  ‘And why not?’

  I can’t explain it. This is a baby, my baby, alive and inside me. It needs me. ‘I just can’t. I won’t.’

  Mrs Todd sits back in her chair. ‘So there is nothing more I can say to convince you?’

  I shake my head.

  ‘Well. We shall have to think what is best to do then.’ She sighs. ‘I have a cousin in Tasmania, a second cousin though, along with her husband and two daughters. Launceston. I know she is soon to have a third. Perhaps I can provide you with a letter of introduction. I can’t promise anything, but once the baby is born they may consider a governess?’

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Todd, but it won’t be necessary.’ My cheeks burn. ‘Freddie and I are to be married.’

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  ‘And he will find work.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘We will build a house, with a garden, and have lots of babies. They say the climate is so much better than here.’

  ‘I see you have it all worked out.’

  ‘I do. There’s much more opportunity. You can buy land and grow food.’

  ‘You do know a lot then.’

  ‘I know enough. And it’s near New Zealand.’

  ‘Oh, Minnie. Do you know what you’re doing? Sailing off round the world?’

  ‘I have family in New Zealand.’

  ‘You have family here.’

  I shake my head. ‘I’ve decided. I can’t stay here, not like this.’

  Mrs Todd’s eyes water as she takes my hand. ‘Then I wish you luck, Minnie. All the luck in the world.’ She picks up a pencil and writes something on a scrap of paper. ‘My cousin’s address, should you need her. For you — and your precious wee babe.’ She smiles gently and then puts her arms round me, pulling me close and squeezing me tight. ‘I will miss you.’

  ‘And I you.’

  ‘Goodbye, Minnie. And good luck.’

  I stand at the door to our close and try to capture it. Each crack, every chip of paint, the damp smell inside the doorway, the grooves in the stairs. If I close my eyes, Mother is up there preparing supper; if I run in now, Bella is laying the table, the covers of our cot are pulled …

  But no. It is not
so. And my heart aches again.

  When I am a million miles away, will I dream of this moment also, standing here at the bottom of the stairs? With my sisters mere yards away?

  I begin my ascent, noticing the smoothness of the railing, the creak of the boards, the faint scent of food as I near the top. Three small steps to reach them …

  Oh, dear Lord. Father’s boots.

  ‘Williamina? Come inside.’ Father’s wife has heard me. It is too late.

  I remove my bonnet and push open the door, leaving it ajar. The room is darkened; a single candle flickers across the table. Father sits on a chair, turned so his back is towards me, his body a hunched shadow.

  Father’s wife looks up. ‘Williamina, you are late.’

  I glance about the room. My three younger sisters are huddled together on the pulley. Christina’s eyes are round and pleading.

  ‘I … I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.’

  Father’s wife raises a hand to her lips. The shadow of a bruise sits across her cheek. She motions to the box by my feet. ‘I have retrieved your possessions. The contents, as I found them, are inside. As are your clothes, a blanket, a loaf of bread and some cheese. Take them now, leave this house and never return.’

  ‘But —’

  ‘There is nothing left to say. Goodbye, Williamina.’

  ‘You can’t. I live here. This is my home. Father?’

  ‘Mr McCulloch does not wish to speak of this any further.’

  ‘But where will I go?’

  ‘That is not our concern.’

  ‘Father, please don’t do this. I … I’m your daughter.’

  Father rises and crosses the room. ‘I cannot bear to look at you, you ungrateful little whore. Herein I have only four surviving children.’ Hot spit hits my face. ‘You are no daughter of mine.’

  ‘I have sisters,’ I whisper hoarsely. ‘Christina?’

  Father’s wife looks towards the figures on the bed. ‘Christina, what have you to say?’

  Christina pulls the two younger girls in close. ‘I have but three sisters,’ she says. ‘And that is all.’

  I bend and pick up the box, struck by its small size and weight. This is it. My last farewell.