Longing (22 page)

Besides, she did not want to talk at all for a while. All the joy had gone out of her day.
I will not put my hand to you unless you force me to it.
She could not think of anything she would find more degrading than to be beaten by Owen, or any man. And yet if she forced him into it—or if he perceived that she had forced him—he would do it. She would have no recourse. He would be her husband in less than a month's time. He would have the right to discipline her in any way he saw fit.

Everyone was stopping on top of the mountain, as they had done in the morning, though not for a picnic this time. They were stopping for the traditional
gymanfa ganu
, the community singing that was always the windup to
eisteddfod
day. Glenys's harp would be set up, and everyone would sing in the moonlight until tiredness and good sense sent them trickling down the mountain in twos and threes and family groups toward their beds and sleep.

It was the part of the day Siân had looked forward to since her win. Now it was all spoiled. Now she wished she could just continue on down the hill. She disengaged herself from Owen's arm and went to sit with some of the women.

A
LEX
was sitting apart from everyone else and out of sight of them too, behind an outcropping of rock. He sat with his knees drawn up, his arms draped over them, looking down to the moonlit valley that had somehow come to feel like home. He had stolen some moments for himself, Verity having attached herself to a group of Sunday School children who were now sitting in a ring among the adults, singing with them.

He was not feeling lonely. Not really. Certainly not in any unpleasant way. In fact he was feeling remarkably happy. And at peace with himself and the world and quite ready to tackle the hard task facing him in the coming week. He had been privileged today, he felt, and more thankful than he could express that Verity had pressed him to come and that he had given in all too readily.

What was happening there on the mountaintop should be hilariously funny. Almost a whole town was camped out there in the moonlight when they could be tucked up cozily in their beds, singing in glorious harmony. Glenys Richards was seated in full state at her harp, its little cart standing close by under the guardianship of her husband. And the Reverend Llewellyn, still immaculate in clerical black, was conducting with his baton.

It should have been funny, but it was not. It was expressive of the whole warm and wonderful culture into which he had stepped quite unsuspectingly just a few weeks ago. The sounds of harp music and singing somehow blended with the wild landscape and the
moonlight. Man in tune with nature—despite the industry that was raping their valley down below.

The lives of these people were hard, he knew, and he was responsible for having made them harder than they need be. But even so they seemed to have the capacity to live and to love and to reach beyond themselves for what was permanent and beautiful. They were a people who had added a spiritual dimension to lives that might have been unutterably dreary. He was glad suddenly that he had it within his power to improve their daily lives. Soon. Starting next week, as soon as he had met with the other owners.

He looked up suddenly as someone came around the rock that shielded him from view. He expected to see Verity, but it was Siân. She stopped when she saw him but did not retreat. She appeared to be alone.

“Come and sit down,” he said, and was surprised when she did so, without saying a word. She sat down quite close to him and clasped her knees with her arms.

“You are not singing with everyone else?” he asked.

She shook her head.

“It has been a wonderful day,” he said. “There is a warm and strong sense of community in this part of the world.”

“Yes,” she said. “It means a great deal to be a part of it.”

“And yet there is a mingling of communities too,” he said with a smile. “I noticed that your brother-in-law was a great favorite with the girls from the other towns today. He was hand-in-hand with one of them before the day was out.”

“Iestyn?” she said. “Yes. There will doubtless be many treks over the mountain for him in the coming weeks. The girl will be fortunate who wins Iestyn's heart.”

“You are fond of him,” he said.

“He was just twelve years old when I married his brother,” she said. “He wanted so badly to go to school and to college. He wanted to be a minister. He used to try to learn what I remembered from school and taught him. But he never complains. He smiles his way through life.”

They were quiet for a while. Companionably quiet while music surrounded them.

“This is all so beautiful,” he said, indicating the valley with one arm. “Peaceful. It is well worth the climb.”

She nodded and lifted her face to the moonlight. Her eyes were closed, he saw.

“Has something happened?” he asked. “To send you away from everyone else, I mean?” He did not believe she had come seeking him.

She opened her eyes and looked at him. “No,” she said. “Nothing has happened. Just reaction to the excitement of the day, I think. I wanted to be alone.”

“And I had stolen your spot,” he said. “Do you want me to go away?”

She shook her head.

“It was a wonderful day for you,” he said. “I was very happy that you won.”

“Thank you,” she said, and grasped her knees more tightly so that she could rest her cheek on them.

She wanted quietness, he saw, and gave it to her. He leaned back against the rock so that he could watch her. It was hard to tell if she was tired or peaceful or unhappy. She had her eyes closed again. But she was not uncomfortable in his company, as he might have expected her to be. And her presence only added to his contentment. It was the icing on the cake of a happy day.

It was a dangerous realization. If he had felt desire for her or the temptation to touch her and make love to her, he would have understood the feelings and fought them off. They were what he would expect to feel. But he felt neither, only a quiet pleasure to be sitting close to her in companionable silence.

Yes, it was dangerous, suggesting as it did that she was becoming to him more than a beautiful woman whom he desired to bed.

“Would you ever beat a woman who was your wife?” she asked suddenly without opening her eyes.

“Good Lord, no,” he said, jolted by the sheer unexpectedness of the question. “I have never even laid a hand on my daughter.”

“You don't believe there is the need for discipline?” she asked.

“Yes, of course,” he said. “But there are other ways of disciplining apart from violence.”

“How would you discipline a wife, then?” she asked. Her eyes were open and she was looking at him, though she had not lifted her cheek from her knee.

“A wife?” He frowned. “I was talking about children. Unfortunately we need to discipline children because we have a responsibility to train them and they are never angels. I was not talking about a wife. A wife is a man's equal.”

“But what if she does not toe the line?” she asked.

“What line?” he said. “Whose line? What if he does not toe it? Marriage is not an easy business. We have both experienced it. We both know that. It is something that has to be worked hard at every single day. If one partner refuses to make the effort, then they have a problem and an unhappy marriage. But violence would not solve anything.”

“Is the husband not always right?” she asked. She spoke so quietly that he could not tell if there was bitterness in her voice. “Is he not the one who must enforce the toeing of his line?”

“Just because he is probably the physically stronger of the two?” he said. “It would seem a little unfair, would it not?”

“Life is not always fair,” she said. “Especially to women.”

“Do you know someone who is beating his wife?” he asked. “Is that what this is all about? If so, perhaps you had better tell me who he is. Perhaps I can bring pressure to bear on him.”

“By threatening his job?” she said. “No, it was just a question. I was curious.” She sat up suddenly, setting her hands flat on the grass on either side of her. “It has been a happy day. You were right. A wonderful day. And especially happy for me. I have always dreamed of winning a first at the
eisteddfod
, though I always persuaded myself that participating was the important thing. It was wonderful to win—for myself and for Cwmbran.”

He acted purely from instinct. He set his own hand flat on top of hers. “But you are not quite happy,” he said.

She turned her head to look at him “Yes, I am,” she said quickly. “A little tired. Suffering from some reaction. But happy. I will be very happy when I wake up tomorrow and remember.”

He wondered where Owen Parry was. The two of them were to be married soon. And there was a mountaintop to lose themselves on and moonlight in which to kiss, and a triumph to be celebrated. Why was she alone—and not altogether happy?

“I am happy,” she said very softly. “Just being here, quiet like this, after all the excitement. This is the happiest time of the day.”

He guessed that she acted with as little thought as he had when he had set his hand on top of hers. She turned her hand beneath his, leaving it spread, so that their palms and their fingers touched.

She seemed to remain unconscious of what she had done. They stayed silent for a long while until she sighed—a sound of contentment.

“I wish it could go on forever,” she said. “Don't you sometimes wish certain moments could be frozen in time?”

“Yes,” he said.

“But they can't.” She sighed again. “I had better go and find Owen. He will be wondering where I am. It is time to go home, I think.”

“Yes.” He did not move. She looked down at their hands as if she was seeing them for the first time. He lifted his away from hers. “Good night, Siân.”

“Good night—” Her voice stumbled over the absence of a name.

“Alexander,” he said. “It is my name. Alex.”

She looked into his face for a while before getting to her feet and brushing at her skirt. “Good night,” she said softly as she turned away.

He stayed where he was for a while, though he knew that soon he was going to have to go looking for Verity. He would doubtless have to carry her down the mountain. She had never been up so late.

Yes, very dangerous, he thought. He too had wanted the moment to be frozen in time. Just sitting together like that, in near silence, their hands touching. Nothing more. He had not desired her tonight.
This night and these surroundings were too magical for passion. It was a night for companionship and tenderness. He had wanted it to go on forever.

He could not put a name to his feelings for her, he thought. Or perhaps it was just that he would not put a name to them.

*   *   *

Angharad
had not really enjoyed the day. She was not with anyone in particular, and though no one shunned her, she felt lonely nonetheless. She had let her friendships lapse lately, she realized. A miner from Penybont had tried to flirt with her, and one or two other men would have done so with a little encouragement, but she had not been interested.

Emrys had had another woman on his arm all afternoon and had done a great deal of laughing with her.

The climb up the mountain in the evening was tedious. She was tired, Angharad thought. She wanted her bed. She wondered what it would be like to have a carriage to take her home and a grand house all of her own to be taken to. And a man who loved her waiting for her there. Not that love really mattered, of course. Love never got a person anywhere in this life.

Angharad stumbled awkwardly on a large boulder in the darkness and turned over on her ankle. Mrs. Bevan and Mrs. Davies clucked over her in some concern as she stopped to rub it, but it was a strong masculine hand that took her elbow in a firm clasp to steady her.

“Oh,” she said, looking up at Emrys Rhys, “it's all right. It's not hurt bad.”

The other ladies moved tactfully onward.

“But it's not easy to see where you are stepping in the darkness,” he said. “Hold to my arm, Angharad.”

“Are you missing the woman who was holding it this afternoon?” she asked him tartly. “She was very pretty, I am sure.”

“Very,” he said. “You
are
jealous.”

“Hm.” Angharad injected a world of scorn into the single syllable.

Her ankle was not very sore and it was not very dark. But they climbed slowly upward and fell far behind everyone else. They could hear Glenys's harp, and the singing was starting when they drew level with a small, sheltered hollow, almost a cave, well below the summit.

Angharad did not resist when Emrys drew her into it and backed her against the rock face. They had not spoken a word in ten minutes. They did not speak now. She lifted her face to him as her arms came about his neck and he wrapped his about her waist.

He kissed her long and deep.

“Are you willing, then, Angharad Lewis?” he asked against her mouth.

Sometimes nothing mattered except the needs of one's heart. “I am willing, Emrys Rhys,” she whispered.

She lay down on the sparse grass, his coat beneath her head and shoulders, and lifted her skirt while he unbuttoned his trousers. She spread her legs for him when he came down to her. But being Emrys, he did not immediately come inside for his pleasure. He kissed her and caressed her and murmured to her, and then came in when she too was ready for pleasure. He took his own and gave her hers without hurry.

She had forgotten, Angharad thought when it was over. She had forgotten what she had given up. And now at this precise moment she could scarcely remember why.

They were singing in full harmony on top of the mountain.

Emrys spoke finally, after they had lain quietly side by side for several minutes. “We will make this honest, then, Angharad?” he said. “I will talk with the Reverend Llewellyn and I will step inside the chapel again at last—for a wedding.”

Angharad closed her eyes and stayed silent. She tried to remember why she had finished stepping out with Emrys. She tried to picture the lodge cottage inside Glanrhyd Park and the happiness she felt there, making it comfortable and dreaming that it was hers. She tried to remember Josiah Barnes starting to look at her and touch her. And then telling her one day, when she had not flinched from
having her breasts fondled, to go upstairs and undress and lie down on the bed. And the sudden hope of a dream come true. But sometimes dreams did not seem so attractive when they started to come true.