Beyond a Misty Shore (25 page)

Sarah looked at her steadily and sighed. Maria had inherited a stubborn streak from her pa and it was obvious that she’d dug her heels in over this Hans Bonhoeffer. Well, she hoped she was a fair woman; she would meet him and judge for herself. She nodded. ‘I don’t suppose it will do any harm to meet the lad.’

Maria smiled with relief. ‘And can I ask you a big favour, Mam? I won’t be able to get over for Christmas so . . . so can Hans come here on Christmas Day, please? I don’t want him to spend the day in that old barn by himself, not after what he’s been through. I couldn’t stand it; it would break my heart.’

Sarah hadn’t even thought about Christmas but obviously Maria had. It was all happening too quickly for her, she thought. Sophie’s letter and the news that the lad was back. Maria’s hasty visit and the dawning realisation that Maria wouldn’t be turned from her determination to marry him. And now his impending visit. She hadn’t even met him yet and she might not take to him at all, but could she leave him alone in the Sayles’ barn on Christmas Day?

‘I’ll think about it, Maria. I . . . I’ll think about it all,’ she said and was rewarded by the smile of pure happiness and relief on her daughter’s face.

A
LL AFTERNOON
S
OPHIE’S MIND
was not on either her work or Bella’s increasingly urgent requests to write to Santa; her thoughts were with her sister wondering how she was getting on. Maria had been very quiet, thoughtful and a little tearful over the past few days and Sophie hoped she was finally coming to terms with the situation.

‘Mam, you’re not listening to me, are you?’ Bella complained petulantly as she sat at the table with a sheet of paper and a pencil. Sophie was finishing hemming a skirt for a customer, which was to be collected early on Monday morning.

‘I am, Bella. You’re asking Santa to bring you a dolls’ pram and a nice pram set to go with it. You’ll have to be very good because that will be expensive,’ Sophie replied, thinking she’d
better start looking out for a second-hand pram as well as the scooter for young Billy Quine. She could easily make the pram set herself. She glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece; it was almost four o’clock. Was Maria still with Hans or was she now at home with Sarah? And was her mother’s reasoning having the desired effect? All being well, her sister would be back late tomorrow afternoon.

‘I’m always good, Aunty Hetty says so.’ Bella chewed the end of the pencil and looked thoughtful. ‘Will I get presents from Aunty Hetty and Uncle Arthur too?’

Sophie raised her eyebrows and tried to look shocked. ‘Bella Teare, don’t be greedy and don’t you dare go asking them that! You are a very lucky little girl to get presents from Santa and Aunty Maria and me. Lots of children only get an apple and a new penny in their stockings.’

Bella shrugged but she hoped she would get something from them both this year; after all it was going to be better than last Christmas, her Mam said so. They were going to have a big tree and lots of decorations and a big lunch and she was to have a new dress too. She’d seen the material; it was royal blue velvet.

Sophie snapped off the thread and carefully folded the garment; it would need a final pressing but she’d do that later on. Bella was now absorbed in writing her note, Arthur was out in town at the library in William Brown Street and Hetty was dozing in her chair in front of the fire. She smiled as she looked affectionately at the old lady. The cold months affected Hetty’s rheumatism badly; she moved more slowly,
especially first thing in the morning, and some nights she didn’t sleep well, so she often dozed in the afternoons. Sophie sighed, getting to her feet; Arthur would be in soon and would be in need of a hot cup of tea. It was still cold and blustery although the ferocity of the wind had lessened, and it was almost time to start preparing the evening meal. As she got up and made to go to the kitchen she wondered would Maria be helping Mam prepare
their
evening meal?

She was startled by the sound of the front-door bell. She had no appointments and Arthur had a key so it wasn’t him, she thought as she went to open the door, pausing for a fraction of a second to smooth her hair in the mirror on the hallstand. Maybe it was a client calling on the off chance that she could see them.

Frank Ryan was standing on the step, muffled up against the cold and looking apprehensive. Sophie’s hand went to her throat but her heart turned over at the sight of him. ‘Frank!’

‘Sophie, I . . . I had to come to see you before I leave. It’s been so long since I last saw you, let alone had the chance of a few words . . . and I’ll be away for Christmas,’ he explained, praying she wouldn’t turn him away. No one knew he’d come here. He purposely hadn’t mentioned it to his mam for she wouldn’t have approved and would have tried to stop him.

Sophie hesitated, not knowing what to do for the best. Should she invite him in and thereby put all her resolutions in jeopardy or should she turn him away? But what he’d said was true, it had been such a long time since they’d had a conversation and he would be away for Christmas. Her
feelings got the better of her. ‘Come inside, Frank. It’s bitterly cold.’

He stepped into the hall and she closed the front door, hardly daring to look at him. ‘I . . . I knew you would be away, Aunty Lizzie told me when she was here last. Katie and Matt are getting engaged at Christmas; we’re all going up to Harebell Street for a bit of a get-together to celebrate.’

‘I know, Mam told me. At least they’ve
got
something to celebrate,’ he replied bitterly.

Sophie nodded, wondering what she should say next. She was having trouble keeping her emotions under control; she just wanted to throw her arms around him and hold him and tell him how much she loved him and missed him. ‘So, when do you sail?’ she finally asked.

‘Early tomorrow morning. Winter will be almost over by the time I get back. Oh, Sophie, I wish . . .’ He made to take her arm but she drew back.

‘Please don’t, Frank! You know how I feel about you but . . . but . . .’

‘Just a kiss, Sophie, please?’ he begged. ‘A kiss for Christmas and to say goodbye?’

She shook her head, backing away from him. If he reached out, if he kissed her she’d be lost. ‘Please, Frank! I can’t . . . I daren’t . . .’

He moved towards her but stopped and it was with lightheaded relief that she heard Arthur’s key in the lock.

‘Frank! Sophie?’ Arthur looked at her with concern but she smiled.

‘Frank just called to wish me a “Happy Christmas”. He’s sailing early in the morning.’

Frank nodded calmly at Arthur but inside he felt miserable and dejected. A few more seconds and he knew she would have capitulated. It was tearing him apart to be so close to her and yet be unable to hold her and kiss her.

‘Then it’s to be hoped the weather will have improved by then for you, Frank, and a calm crossing would certainly benefit Maria. She must have felt pretty awful on that ferry this morning.’ Arthur took off his coat and hat and hung them on the hallstand but then made no move to leave Frank and Sophie alone again.

‘She went home to Peel this morning; she had to go to see someone,’ Sophie enlightened him.

Frank nodded slowly. ‘I . . . I’d better go, Sophie. Mam is expecting me for a farewell meal and I’ve to pick up my uniform and stuff.’

Arthur opened the door. ‘Well, goodbye and safe trip, Frank.’

‘Take care of yourself, Frank and . . . and thank you for coming. I . . . we’ll be thinking of you at Christmas,’ Sophie added as with one last look of longing Frank turned and left.

‘He . . . he just turned up on the doorstep, Arthur, and I hadn’t the heart to turn him away, but I’m glad you arrived when you did,’ Sophie said, feeling a little shaky.

‘Sophie, you’ve no need to explain to me. I know you love him and I know how difficult that is for you to live with,’ he said gently.

She nodded, thinking he was right: it was so hard. Frank was still irrevocably tied to Nora but was she right to urge Maria to give up Hans? To make her suffer as she, Sophie, was suffering? They did have a chance of happiness together, no matter how slight or how impossible it seemed at the moment.

The room was warm and looked cosy, Maria thought as she helped her mother to set the table, and the delicious aroma of Sarah’s fish pie wafted from the oven in the range. The wind had virtually died and now a sea fret was drifting in over the village. She knew he would come, she didn’t doubt it at all and she wanted her mother to like him. If they had Sarah on their side then perhaps
something
could be worked out.

‘Put the kettle on, Maria. The lad will be chilled to the bone walking all the way down the hill in this mist,’ Sarah instructed as she checked on the pie. She was happy to have Maria home, even though the visit was brief, and she wished there was something stronger to drink than tea but there wasn’t. Her husband, John Kinnin, had been a member of the Temperance Society so there had never been alcohol in this house. Not that he objected to others taking a drink, but drink and ‘chasing the herring’ did not go well together, he’d always said; it was a dangerous occupation and you needed your wits about you.

‘He’ll take no harm from Manannán’s cloak, Mam,’ Maria said, smiling, feeling the joy bubbling up inside her. He’d be here in a few minutes.

Sarah laughed good naturedly. ‘That he won’t, but he’ll still need something to warm him,’ she replied. It was an old Manx belief that the Celtic sea god, Manannán mac Lir, protected the island from all dangers with his cloak of mist.

The tea was made and Maria left it to draw but before she had time to set out the cups she heard the greatly anticipated knock on the cottage door.

‘Well, go and open the door, Maria,’ Sarah instructed, wiping her hands on her apron.

Maria’s smile of welcome lit up her face as she ushered Hans into the room. ‘Mam, this is Hans.’

Sarah held out her hand in greeting, seeing a tall, fair young man whose thin features bore the mark of hardship and suffering. The old coat he wore was torn and stained but she could see he’d made an effort with his appearance. His collarless shirt was clean if unironed and his boots, although badly worn, had been buffed. The hand that gripped hers was rough and calloused from hard manual work. She liked him. ‘You are welcome, Hans.’

He smiled shyly and held out a neatly tied bundle of kindling. ‘I have much shame that this is all I have to bring you, Mrs Kinnin, but I chopped it and tied it myself.’

Her heart softened as she took it from him. ‘It is a very useful gift, lad, and it is the thought that counts, not the value of the gift.’

Maria took his coat and hung it up behind the door while Sarah handed him the tea. ‘It is cold out tonight but at least the wind has dropped. Come closer to the fire,’ she urged.

‘You have a very comfortable home,’ he commented, gazing around the small room with its colourful rag rugs, the dresser now almost devoid of dishes, which were set out on the small table, the brass candlesticks on the mantel above the range and the picture of St Patrick’s Isle that hung on the wall beside the door.

Sarah nodded, not missing the wistful note in his voice. ‘Sit down, the pie is ready,’ she instructed, bustling about and placing first a large dish of potatoes followed by the pie on the table. Nor did she miss the look of delight that crossed his face at the sight of the simple meal. He was starving, she thought, although she was sure Maude gave him at least one good meal a day.

‘Mam’s fish pie is the best in the whole parish,’ Maria said, beaming happily at him. Oh, how she had longed to see him sitting down with them for a meal!

He nodded his agreement, his mouth full of flaky pastry and the rich sauce full of large pieces of tasty fish. ‘It is very good,’ he agreed when he could speak. ‘Mrs Sayle, she is good, she gives me a hot dinner each day and bread and cheese for breakfast, but never have I had such a pie.’ He was trying his best not to cram the food into his mouth and appear bad mannered.

Maria relaxed as she watched him eat. If only he could stay here with Mam and go up to the farm to work each day. She would feel far better knowing he was being looked after and had a warm, dry bed at night, but she couldn’t ask her mother that. It was too soon and Sarah had said nothing further so far about Hans spending Christmas Day here.

She listened intently as her mother asked him about his home in Austria and his family. He spoke with affection of his parents and his sister Ingrid, whom she had known slightly. She learned of their home in the high pastures of the Tyrol, a wooden chalet farmhouse where the animals were kept in the basement during the long winter months. Of how deep the snow was during those months, so deep they were often cut off, and of how, when spring came, the pastures were carpeted with alpine flowers and of how hard life was now and of how much he had missed Maria.

‘So, I came back to the island where I was happy and where I met my Maria,’ he finished.

Sarah nodded. She could see by the way his eyes lit up each time he looked at her daughter that he loved her deeply. She got to her feet. ‘Leave the dishes in the sink in the scullery, Maria; we’ll do them in the morning. I’ll make up the fire and then I’m away to my bed.’