A Sixpenny Christmas (13 page)

Flossy pulled a doubtful face. ‘I remember Mrs O’Mara telling me that her old feller got seasick, which was why he quit the sea and started in as a dockie. He can jump ship any time, can’t he?’

‘Oh aye, in theory,’ Alex agreed. ‘But the coaster he’s on plies mainly up and down North and South America and the West Indies, carrying timber. So if he does jump
ship, he’ll have the devil’s own job to get back to dear old Liverpool. Of course, it’s impossible to say for certain, but I’m hoping that Mrs O’Mara’s troubles are over.’ He looked down at Flossy’s smooth fair hair, pulled back from her face in a tight little bun. He liked her a lot, but they were both working shifts and their time off never seemed to coincide, so that what with her exams and his own they rarely met. But she was twinkling up at him and Alex suddenly decided to take the plunge. ‘I’m off duty tomorrow, and with a bit of luck this sunshine’s here to stay for a few days,’ he said. ‘Do you like walking? I’m going to catch a bus out to Moreton Shore, take a few sandwiches and spend the day out of doors; care to join me?’ He watched as a pink flush crept up her slim white neck and dyed her face a most becoming shade of rose. Then she grinned at him.

‘I thought you’d never ask,’ she said cheekily. ‘As it happens I’m off shift meself tomorrer so I’d be glad to come with you. Tell you what, I’ll make a couple of Cornish pasties – big ’uns – and bring some ginger beer. It’ll be grand to get out of the hospital and breathe some country air!’

Despite knowing he was acting foolishly, Sam could not resist strolling idly along Dryden Street, though he did not pause outside his old home; that would have been madness indeed. He deeply resented Constable Jamieson’s interest but told himself that once he was aboard the
Buds of May
he would do well to forget all about his wife and child.

Nevertheless, the fact that a mere woman had triumphed over him gnawed at Sam like the pain of a bad tooth, and he knew that the only thing which could
ease that pain would be paying Ellen back for her cruelty. He told himself that immediate revenge was not possible, but he decided that he would keep his eyes open when he was in Liverpool, and one of these days . . .

Once aboard his ship, however, he was too busy to dwell on the revenge for which he longed, but in his bunk at night he plotted how he could hurt Ellen without running into trouble himself. He decided his best bet would be through the child, because he guessed that Ellen would always be on the lookout for him whereas Lana would probably have forgotten what he looked like after a few more months; she was only five, after all. He decided that once she was in school he might hang around outside the gates when the children came out. He had no clear idea what he would do but told himself he would not harm the child. He would just take her off somewhere for long enough to terrify his wife; that would have to do, for the present at any rate.

Sam bunched up his pillow and began to look forward to his ship’s arrival in the South American port to which it was headed. There would be pretty girls, interesting food and a good deal of drink. Sam smacked his lips; perhaps Ellen had done him a good turn when she made a job on the docks impossible. Liverpool was not the only port in the world, nor was Ellen the only woman. Not that he intended to marry again, not he! But you never knew, he might settle down in some foreign port with a nice little dockside whore and make a home for himself there.

Sam was smiling as he fell asleep.

Chapter Five

‘
DADDY, WHY CAN’T
I go with you? You’re taking Chris and he’s only two years older than me. Is it because I’m a girl? If so it’s not fair!’

Rhys sighed. The family were in the kitchen having their breakfast and it was the first day of the summer holidays, which meant that Molly would be at home. She had worked, Rhys knew, every hour that God sent at her correspondence course, and had succeeded in obtaining a job as classroom assistant at the local school. She loved the work, particularly as it was a job share, which meant that she and Mrs Gladys Thomas took it in turns, three days on and two days off, on alternate weeks. Mrs Thomas had once been an uncertificated teacher at a school some ten miles from her own village, but now that she was in her fifties she found full-time work too much and was happy to share both the work and the money with the younger woman.

Rhys acknowledged ruefully that Molly was far too busy at Cefn Farm to take on a full-time job. When the time for the gathering of the flock for dipping, washing or shearing came round she was an essential part of the team, and he knew she found the hard physical work of handling the sheep and the fact that she was out of doors a pleasant change from her classroom duties. But now, with a blissful seven weeks of holiday ahead, she had
told him that she intended to treat her family to lots of home baking and delicious meals and some exciting outings too. He shook his head chidingly at the ten-year-old Nonny, spooning the last of her porridge into her mouth and gazing at him with pleading eyes.

‘Look, Nonny love, Chris, the dogs and myself will be having a long day out, checking the sheep, mending the fences and rounding up any strays. I know you think it’s great fun to be out and about and so it is; but tomorrow you’ll be off with Rhodri and Chris rounding up the Pritchards’ flock. Today your mum could do with a hand, and it’s about time you learned to bake.’

‘Oh, but Daddy, cooking’s easy. Anyone can do it, and besides it’s a warm day and once the oven gets going we’ll be sweating cobs, me and Mum, and I’ll be no use, honest to God I won’t, whereas if I’m with you and the dogs . . .’

Rhys interrupted her without compunction, recognising the hurt Nonny was inflicting, albeit unintentionally, upon her mother. ‘Rhiannon, if I’ve heard you say it once I’ve heard you say a hundred times that when you grow up you’re going to marry a hill farmer. If you can’t bake or cook, how are you and your husband to survive? Oh, I know some women buy shop bread and cakes, tins of stewing meat and boiled bacon at enormous prices, but surely you don’t intend to copy them? Why, even Chris knows how to do bits and pieces of cooking, but you’re so anxious to get out of housework that your mum told me the other day you don’t even bother to make your bed properly, but just pull the blankets up and hope no one will notice.’

His daughter’s lower lip stuck out, but she made no
more objections because she knew that when her father used her full name it meant he was serious. ‘All right, Dad; sorry,’ she mumbled, and then to Rhys’s pleasure she jumped up from her place at the table and ran round and gave her mother a hug. ‘I’m sorry I was so horrid, Mum,’ she said. ‘I know I really ought to learn to cook, it’s just that it’s the first day of the holidays and I do so love being out of doors.’

Chris collected the empty porridge dishes and carried them over to the sink, then spoke for the first time since the argument had begun. ‘Dad didn’t take me to round up the sheep when I was ten either, Nonny. In fact this will be my first time, so you’ve no need to get jealous. You’re being treated just as I was, girl or no girl.’

Rhys chuckled. ‘And remember, you’ve promised to go and help the Pritchards tomorrow,’ he reminded her. ‘If I remember the plan aright, you and Chris are meeting up with Rhodri and getting the sheep down from the heights because you young ’uns make nothing of scrambling up screes which would baffle Mr Pritchard. Rhodri will take good care of you and see you don’t go breaking a leg, so you can’t grumble over one little day spent helping your mum, can you? Not when you’ll have a whole day with Chris and Rhodri.’

Rhys was well aware that his daughter had a crush on their neighbours’ handsome son, despite the fact that he was ten years older than she, and laughed when he saw her blush, patting her cheek. ‘So no more grumbles, pet. Agreed?’

Chris plunged the dishes into the sink, seized the kettle and poured hot water into the bowl. As soon as the breakfast things were cleared away, Molly made a pack
of sandwiches and cake, added two bottles of cold tea, and flung open the back door, letting in the warm farmyard smells as well as the sunshine, then jerked her thumb towards the yard. ‘Off with you!’ she said gaily. ‘We shan’t expect to see you again until suppertime. If you aren’t back then I’ll milk Jessie, and of course Jacob will do any heavy work which Nonny and I can’t manage.’

Rhys laughed, lifted his wife off her feet and swirled her round, kissed the tip of her nose and stood her down. ‘Take care of yourselves,’ Molly said. ‘And if you find a sheep in trouble, for the Lord’s sake don’t go mountaineering, because that’s the way accidents happen.’

Chris assured his mother that with the dogs to help them they would have no need to go mountaineering. ‘Sheep are just about the silliest animals you can imagine but they hardly ever get stuck in awkward places,’ he reminded her. ‘Even in the harshest of winters most of them manage to survive.’ He grinned at Rhys. ‘I remember you telling me once that our flock were half sheep and half goat, because they can scramble up a sheer incline with no more fuss than if it was flat as a billiard table.’ He had taken the sandwiches Molly had prepared and now lifted a corner of the greaseproof paper. ‘What’s in mine, Mum? Not perishin’ Spam, I hope.’

‘Course not. It’s cold mutton,’ Nonny put in, and laughed at her brother’s crestfallen expression. ‘Oh, Chris, you’d believe anything! It’s your favourite – cheese and tomato and four of Mum’s big pickled onions. See you later!’

As soon as the men had disappeared, Molly began to plan her day, taking care to discuss everything with
Nonny, since she could scarcely expect the child to give help where it was most needed unless the need was first explained. So she sat Nonny down at the kitchen table and got out her old recipe book. Together, they discussed what they should bake, what ingredients were needed for each dish and how to divide the work about the house and the farmyard, which was now their responsibility for the day.

Rhys had managed to acquire a farm worker, though he had only done so because Jacob was, if not actually simple, at least extremely slow on the uptake, which meant that no one else was keen to employ him and he was willing to work for a wage that Rhys could afford. Jacob had been with them now for five years, and provided Molly – or Nonny for that matter – told him exactly what to do they could be sure their instructions would be followed to the letter. Molly, collecting her ingredients from the pantry, smiled to herself. Once, Jacob had been sent to the village to fetch the letters from the post office, since Mr Jones was at home nursing a summer cold. He had returned with a lettuce, and when the mistake had been explained to him he had laughed, called himself a fool and returned to the village to collect the mail. On another occasion, Molly had been gathering peas, and had filled her basket before she had picked all the ripe pods hanging from the vine. She had asked Jacob to go into the kitchen and fetch the colander, which he would find hanging on a wall hook with other such utensils, and he had returned with the calendar, saying in a puzzled voice as he handed it to Molly that he did not think she would manage to balance many pods upon its shiny surface. Once again, when Molly had explained,
he had laughed at his own stupidity, and to his credit he seldom made the same mistake twice. In fact he was an excellent worker, provided he was told exactly what to do and supervised throughout each task.

Rhys often thought that without Jacob’s help he would not now own two good hay meadows and three fields of grain, for though the vegetable garden had been in full production when they had bought the farm the elderly vendors had allowed the meadows and fields to lie barren for years. Although Rhys and Molly had worked like Trojans, Molly had concentrated mainly upon the production of vegetables and fruit and Rhys was initially too busy with the sheep to tackle the extra work of bringing the valley land back into good heart. But when Jacob joined them, the two men had ploughed, harrowed, manured and sown new seed and within two years were rewarded by good crops of both hay and grain. Delighted, Rhys had given Jacob a small rise in his wage and had been rewarded by Jacob’s almost dog-like devotion. Knowing himself to be a valued member of the Cefn Farm team, Jacob worked harder than ever and even felt able to make suggestions when appealed to.

Now, when someone rattled on the back door Molly guessed it was Jacob, come to get his instructions for the day, and even as she went towards the door it opened and Jacob’s long face appeared round it. ‘Mornin’, missus; mornin’, Nonny,’ he said in his slow, flat voice. He eyed the table appreciatively, for Jacob loved his food and was always first to come to the kitchen for his meals, though since he could not tell the time Molly often wondered how he did it. At last he dragged his gaze from the
evidence of baking to come and stared hopefully at her, clearly awaiting instructions. Molly told him to feed the pigs and poultry and then return to the kitchen, because by then she would have prepared their elevenses. Jacob nodded enthusiastically but lingered for a moment. ‘You going to make them nice little pancakes, missus?’ he asked hopefully. ‘The ones you spread with butter or honey?’

Molly laughed, then turned to her daughter. ‘Well, cariad, would you like to make some Welsh cakes for elevenses? Or would you rather make fruit scones?’

Nonny’s fair little face flushed with pleasure; clearly she was beginning to enjoy her involvement in the day’s work. ‘I’ll make the scones first and then do the Welsh cakes, so they’ll be lovely and hot and buttery in time for elevenses,’ she said eagerly, and waved goodbye to Jacob as he went back outside, smiling happily at the thought of the promised treat. ‘Oh, and you promised you’d show me how to make meringues and egg custard, because you said we’d need egg yolks for the custard, and egg whites for the meringues.’

‘Yes. Your daddy simply adores meringues, so since the hens are laying so extremely well I thought we’d make some as a surprise. As for egg custard, it would be a crime to waste the yolks. In fact it would be a nice gesture to make a custard especially for Jacob to take home. His mother can’t afford to do much fancy baking and last week Jacob told me that they’ve only got a couple of hens in lay, so I promised him next time we had a broody I’d make sure he got the chicks.’