The Jarrow Lass (27 page)

‘I'll carry him.' Elizabeth was at her side immediately, taking the baby from her shaking hands. She bore him over to her mother like a piece of precious china and delivered him safely into her arms. Rose smiled gratefully as she put Jack to her breast once more.

Sarah returned with a pailful of dross and threw it on to the fire. At once the flames were smothered and plunged the kitchen in darkness. Smoke billowed out, making them choke. Jack spluttered at Rose's breast and lost his hold.

‘Sarah!' the women scolded in chorus.

‘You said a bucketful,' she cried. ‘There's no proper coal left.'

‘She's right, Mam,' Kate came to her sister's defence, ‘there's just dust.'

Rose's eyes smarted in the smoke, but she said quickly, ‘It won't spoil. Might as well bank up the fire for the night, hinny. Pour a bit water on and the fire'll still be in come the morrow.'

‘One of you girls will have to marry a pitman,' Mrs McMullen cackled as she groped for her shawl, ‘then there'll be plenty coal for all of us.'

‘Not me,' protested Sarah.

‘Never!' Kate giggled. ‘They're all dirty and the wives are washing clothes all the time.'

Rose laughed drily. ‘Your father would never allow it, any road. Doesn't think much to pitmen.'

‘Doesn't think much to a lot of folk,' John's mother snorted. ‘But no one should be looked down on for working hard, whether it's under the earth or over it. Long as it puts bread and potatoes on the table.' She peered at Rose in the dark. ‘How come there's money for John to go wettin' the baby's head, but not for coal?'

Rose was glad of the darkness to cover her blushing. ‘We just forgot to get some in - this all happened so sudden. Don't fret yourself.' But the old woman tutted.

Then Kate piped up, ‘Father took the coal money from the mug, didn't he, Mam?'

‘Is that true, Rose Ann?' Mrs McMullen demanded.

Rose's heart sank. ‘Just the once - but he paid it back when he started at the carrying.'

John's mother sucked in her breath. ‘It's gone, hasn't it, the money?'

‘Aye,' Rose admitted. ‘But we'll manage.'

‘Don't let him drink it all away,' her mother-in-law warned. ‘Fight him for his wages if you have to - it was like that with his father till the boys were old enough to help out.'

Rose was indignant. ‘John's not like that - not any more. His wild days are over. He's got responsibilities and bairns.'

The older woman quickly put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. ‘Aye, maybe he's changed. You're good for him, Rose Ann, I'll give you that. I've never known him so happy. But you were always a good girl.'

Rose felt suddenly tearful to be spoken to so affectionately and as if she were still a young lass. ‘Ta, Mrs McMullen.'

Just then, they heard the sound of singing growing louder in the back lane. Rose's insides lurched as she recognised John's voice belting out across the yard. But his mother acted swiftly.

‘Elizabeth, light the gas lamp. Sarah and Kate, get yourselves up to bed and stay there. Go on, the pair of you!'

They scrambled for the door and thudded up the dark stairs, galvanised by the sense of panic in the room. The gas flame flared just as John banged in the back door, singing at the top of his voice:

‘Sing us an Irish Comaylia

sing us an Irish tune,

for Patsy Burke has buggered his work,

all by the light of the moon!

‘Where's me lad? Where's me little Jack? Scoffing at his mother's tittie! Lucky Jack!' John staggered across the room and bumped into the table.

‘Sit yourself down,' his mother ordered, taking him by the arm and steering him to the large wooden chair by the fire. To Rose's amazement he did as he was told. ‘Elizabeth, get your father a piece of bread and dripping to soak up the drink in his belly.'

‘Bring me a beer!' John shouted, collapsing into the chair.

‘You've drunk enough to fill the Irish Sea, by the look of it,' his mother declared. ‘There'll be no more beer drunk the night.'

John tried to struggle out of the chair. ‘Rose! Bring him over here and let me look at the little darlin'.'

‘You leave them alone.' His mother was firm. ‘He needs his feed and she needs to rest.'

‘I need a drink an' all.' John leered drunkenly at his wife. ‘Rose, have you got a little bit for me?' He laughed until his mother smacked him sharply across the head.

‘None of your dirty talk! You'll get that food down you, then off to bed.'

He rubbed his head and sank back in a sulk. ‘Bloody women,' he muttered, snatching the crust that Elizabeth cautiously held out to him. This provoked another cuff from Mrs McMullen.

Rose watched them in silence, thankful that her mother-in-law was there to handle her husband. She had never had to deal with much drunkenness. Her father had only imbibed at weddings and funerals, and William had hardly touched a drop. True, she had witnessed plenty drunken brawling in the streets, even among women, but had walked away rather than intervene. Yet she knew enough to know that it was a fine line between a happy drunk and a fighting, swearing one. What tipped them over was anyone's guess. So she watched warily, her pulse quicker than was comfortable, and tried not to disturb Jack's attempts at sucking.

Distracted by the food, John slumped into a reverie and stared at the smoking fire.

Rose said quietly, ‘Elizabeth hinny, you walk Granny McMullen up the end of the street. It might be icy out.'

But the old woman shook her head and murmured, ‘I'll see him to his bed first - then I'll know you'll get a good night's sleep.'

‘Ta,' Rose said gratefully.

She felt a wave of fondness for this brave, kind woman, bent and scraggy as an old crow, yet full of wisdom and generosity. Glancing at her husband, almost comatose by the fire, she thought she would do well to learn whatever her mother-in-law could teach her on handling a McMullen. Jack nipped at her breast and she winced in pain. In a rush of realisation it came to Rose that she now had two McMullens on her hands.

Chapter 31

It was only through exhaustion that Rose slept at all on the hard, ungiving wooden settle. She was hardly aware of the baby nuzzling during the night, but by her soreness in the morning, she knew that he had been. When she woke, Elizabeth was already up and moving about the room, stoking up the spitting fire with some damp wood she had found in the scullery, left over from John's attempts at making shelves.

Her daughter lifted Jack gently from her side and, wrinkling up her nose, said, ‘By, this one smells ripe.'

‘I'll change him in a minute,' Rose said wearily, closing her eyes again.

‘I can do it,' the girl answered brightly. ‘I've seen Aunt Maggie cleaning baby Margaret - and I used to help with our Mary, remember?'

Rose looked at her. No, she did not remember. But then she had been worried sick with William's illness when Mary was a baby and she had blotted out the memory of those anxious days. She supposed Elizabeth must have helped her, or helped Margaret. The thought gave her a guilty pang about Mary. She certainly could not cope with the child at the moment.

As if her daughter could read her mind, Elizabeth said, ‘I'll go up and tell Aunt Maggie the day, shall I?'

‘There's no hurry,' Rose said quickly. ‘She'll not be expectin' such news. A day or two won't make much difference.'

Elizabeth glanced up from where she was unwrapping Jack by the hearth. ‘Don't you want Aunt Maggie to come and help you?'

‘She's got enough troubles of her own to cope with,' Rose sighed.

‘What about Aunt Lizzie?'

‘It's a long way for her to travel at this time of year - and she's still working at the castle - can't drop everything just for us.'

Rose did not know why she was so reluctant to call in the family to help. Perhaps it was because she still felt so beholden to Maggie and Danny for saving them from the workhouse after William's death and for keeping Mary. This time she wanted to show everyone that she could manage without their charity. She and John and their young family would manage together.

Rose smiled over at her daughter. ‘Anyways, I've got you, hinny. You're being a grand help - thank you, lass.'

Elizabeth smiled with pleasure and set to work cleaning and changing her baby brother. Afterwards she went upstairs to chase her sisters out of bed and knock timidly on the door of her stepfather's bedroom as her mother had bidden her. When he did not reply she hammered louder and called out his name. Eventually he stirred, emerging unshaven and red-eyed, reeking of stale beer.

Downstairs he snapped at Rose to pour him some tea while he dowsed his head in cold water in the scullery. No one told him the basin of water had just been used in the cleaning of his son's soiled bottom and he did not seem to notice.

Elizabeth dealt with him calmly. ‘Here's your tea, Father. And there's bread and dripping on the table.'

John grimaced. ‘I'm not hungry. By, the beer at The Railway must've been bad.' He clutched his stomach but gulped at the tea thirstily. Rose wondered if he had forgotten all about the birth of his son.

He drew back his chair. ‘I'll be off.'

‘Don't you want a hold of your lad before you go?' Rose asked reproachfully. She pulled aside her shawl to show him the sleeping baby.

He looked alarmed. ‘Me?'

‘Aye, you,' Rose smiled. ‘You are his father. Gan on,' she encouraged.

He came over cautiously and stood looking down at them, his large rough hands hanging limp at his sides. Rose held the baby out to him.

‘Here, put him in the crook of your arm. That's it. See how snug he fits.'

John's furrowed brow relaxed into a look of amazement. ‘He's no weight at all, is he? Light as a feather.' He stood stock-still as if to attention, his arms frozen in position.

Rose could see the wonderment on his face at the feel of something so small and delicate and alive in his hold.

‘Me own flesh and blood,' he murmured in awe. His look met Rose's and for the first time she could recall, she saw tears well in his eyes.

‘Feels grand, doesn't it?' she asked softly. He simply nodded, unable to say anything for the sudden lump lodged in his throat like a boiled sweet. Rose did not know how long he might have stood there, if she hadn't said, ‘Don't be late for work, John man. We need your wages more than ever.'

Abruptly, he handed the baby back.

‘I'll take him,' Sarah cried.

‘It's my turn!' Kate insisted.

‘You two get yourselves off to school this minute,' Rose ordered, holding out her arms for Jack.

There were howls of protest at which John growled, ‘Do what your mam says or I'll smack you. The bairn's not a toy.'

‘Elizabeth gets to hold him all the time,' Kate continued the protest.

“Cos she's a sensible lass and you two are as giddy as foals,' John derided. ‘Now off with you.' He raised a hand in mock threat and the girls grabbed their jackets from the nails halfway down the back door. He laughed at them and chased them out of the back door with a shout to Rose of, ‘See you the night!'

Rose sighed thankfully as peace descended on the house. She planned a quiet day getting used to dealing with a baby again and sending Elizabeth out on errands.

‘See if you can get a bag of coal on tick from Henderson's - tell him about the baby,' she instructed. ‘Say John's in work again and he'll be paid Friday. We'll need to put a wash on an' all if we get the coal.'

But the day did not go as Rose planned. The baby tried frantically to feed, but the more he tried, the more he slipped off her nipple. By the end of the day he was exhausted and crotchety and she was sore and tearful. That night she stayed downstairs, but suffered more of the same. The next two days were no better. By the fourth day she was snapping at the girls, achingly tired and her breasts were swelling painfully as they filled with milk. More alarmingly, Jack seemed to have given up the fight to feed and lay sleeping for hours on end, sometimes lying so still that Rose shook him awake in alarm and set him mewling like a kitten.

The following evening, both she and John were at their wits' end. Worried by his wife's weepy state, John went round for his mother.

‘St Theresa! The bairn's not gettin' enough to eat,' she fussed. ‘He's a tiddler to start with; he can't go missing meal times.'

‘But he's not interested!' Rose wailed. ‘I've never had trouble feedin' before - but this little devil...'

Mrs McMullen studied the baby closely, nudging her little finger into his tiny mouth. Then she pulled back Rose's bodice and looked at her engorged breasts. They were painfully swollen with milk, the skin stretched tight as a drum and the nipples cracked and inflamed.

‘He's too small to latch on to the size of them,' she exclaimed. ‘Rose Ann, they're as hard as cabbages! Put a pin to them and they'll burst.'

Rose flushed at her frankness, only too aware of John hovering close and staring at her. She pulled her shawl about her, feeling her neck and face burning with embarrassment. The girls, sitting at the table, had stopped drawing on John's newspaper to listen and gawp.

‘Not in front of the lasses,' Rose hissed.

Mrs McMullen made an impatient sound. ‘They'll all have to go through this soon enough. It won't kill them to know.'

‘Please!' Rose said, tears springing to her eyes.

Her mother-in-law turned to the girls and said briskly, ‘Away and play in the lane for a few minutes.'

Kate, who had looked on in horrified fascination, complained, ‘But it's dark and cold outside.'

‘Play under the gas lamp,' she replied. ‘Or go upstairs to bed.'

Kate and Sarah scrambled for the outside door. Elizabeth followed reluctantly to keep an eye on her boisterous sisters.

When they had gone, Rose asked in desperation, ‘What shall I do? The bairn's not going to die, is he?'

‘Not if he gets fed,' her mother-in-law reassured. ‘But we need to get the swelling down, so his wee mouth can suck again.'

‘I'm that sore,' Rose whimpered.

‘Rub your milk around the cracks when we get some out and they'll soon mend. The more you feed the more you'll toughen up. Don't you remember all this?' The older woman gave a wry smile.

Rose shook her head. ‘It was never this bad.'

‘That's ‘cos he's so small, no doubt,' she nodded, ‘and you're too big for him.'

‘So what do I do?' Rose asked, sniffing away her tears.

Mrs McMullen said nothing for a moment. She looked round at John and seemed to be considering something. Rose thought she was going to banish him from the room too and felt relief. Most men would have left them to their women's worries long before. But not John. She couldn't believe he was enjoying her discomfort, but he made her edgy standing there silently staring.

‘John will have to do it,' his mother decreed.

Rose's heart thumped in alarm. ‘Do what?'

‘Suck the milk from you, of course!' Mrs McMullen said as if she was dull-witted. ‘He's got a mouth for suppin', that's for sure.'

Rose was appalled. ‘You can't mean—'

‘Why ever not? He's your husband. It's no time to be shy, Rose Ann.' She was blunt. ‘That baby needs your milk if you don't want to be burying him next week instead of christening him.'

‘Mother,' John spoke for the first time, ‘is there no other way?'

Rose glanced at him and saw that he was as flustered by the idea as she was. His neck was scarlet under his open shirt and he scratched his head in a sign of embarrassment.

His mother put her hands on her hips with impatience at them both. ‘Aye, I could go and get Dr Forbes or Dr McKay to do it instead. But likely you wouldn't want another man to do such a thing to your wife?' she ridiculed. She turned and hobbled towards the door.

‘Don't go for the doctor!' John cried. ‘I'll do it.'

She nodded. ‘I'll stand outside with the girls for five minutes. That's all you'll need. So get on with it.'

She went, leaving Rose and John blushing furiously at each other. Between them Jack murmured and whimpered like a forlorn, unhappy puppy. Why was she so upset by the idea? She had lain with this man and done the most intimate of acts countless times. Even through her pregnancy his lust had not dimmed. That was it, she thought. This to John would be an act of lust, a taking of forbidden fruit, a mother's milk. Whereas she now saw her body only in terms of providing nourishment for her precious baby, she knew he would gain sensual enjoyment from it. He was that sort of man.

But what did it matter? Rose thought wearily. She was at the end of her tether, lying in a sweat of agony and fear. All she cared was that her son lived. Rose closed her eyes against the indignity.

‘Haway and get it over with,' she hissed at him.

For a moment he did not move. Then she heard him kneeling in front of her, his breathing growing more rapid. She flinched when he touched the first of her swollen breasts, his hand tightening around it while his lips fixed around the nipple. He sucked. Nothing happened. He opened his mouth wider and pulled more of her in.

She cried out in pain, but he held on and squeezed as if it were a cow's udder. Suddenly she felt small jets burst from her nipple as the milk found a release. The mixture of pain and relief was exquisite.

‘Oh, thank God!' she shuddered.

John grunted in surprise as his mouth filled with the warm liquid. He gulped and sucked harder, kneading her breast rhythmically, intoxicated by the experience. He felt triumphant, better than being drunk. He had never felt so close to Rose as at that moment. He loved her, desired her, cherished her, and would never let another man touch her in all his life!

She pushed his head away. ‘That's enough,' she said sharply, ‘they'll be nowt left for Jack.'

John sat back and wiped the drips of milk from his moustache. Rose swiftly reached for Jack and shoved him on to her breast. The baby searched for a moment, aroused by the scent and taste of milk on her skin, then latched on.

Rose felt joy and relief flood through her at the sound of his slurping.

‘He's taking it!' she cried.

‘By heck, so he is,' John grinned. ‘Just like his father.'

Rose felt uncomfortable at the comparison. ‘Ta for your help,' she said awkwardly.

John studied her. ‘I've the other to do yet. Haway and let's get on with it.'

Rose gritted her teeth while he bent to the task again. It was like feeding twins, she thought as the two of them pulled on her hungrily. The relief that it brought was indescribable. Once the first sharp pain had passed, she was astonished to find herself almost enjoying it. She would never admit it to her husband, but the feeling was not unpleasant. She felt bountiful and content and, for a moment, powerful, to have them sucking at her breasts together.