Thrush Green (5 page)

He had called to her when she emerged to go shopping for old Mr. Piggott's dinner with her basket on her arm. He was squatting down in the wet grass, his hair upswept in the wind, looking intently at something on the ground.

"Come and see," he invited, giving her a crooked smile, his head on one side. Molly had crossed the road and gone to look. A young frog, speckled and yellow, crouched between Ben's shoes, its throat pulsing, its starfish front feet turned in. For a dreadful moment Molly feared that he might kill it, as she had seen other stupid country boys do when they were displaying their manly bravado before the girls, but with relief and pleasure she watched him gather it in his grimy hands. He rose in one graceful movement and crossed to the railings of the churchyard where the grass grew tallest. He deposited the reptile there and returned to Molly, wiping his hands down his black corduroy trousers.

"Coming to the fair?" he asked.

Molly nodded, her face alight with mischief.

"And bringing a boy," she quipped. Ben's face clouded and Molly was unaccountably stirred.

"Only a little one," she said, laughing. "Lives over there." She nodded across to the Bassetts' house, hitched her basket farther up her arm and set off for the butcher's shop.

"See you later then," Ben called after her; and Molly had trotted away, conscious of his eyes upon her back.

That afternoon Joan had asked her to collect some eggs from Dotty Harmer's and Molly had joyfully accepted the basket and the money, for the way lay close to the coconut shies.

Dotty Harmer was an eccentric old maid who lived alone in a ramshackle cottage in one of the meadows which bordered the path to Lulling Woods. Her father had been a history master at the local grammar school and Dotty had kept house for the old man until his death, when she sold their home, bringing some of the furniture, all the books, four cats, two dogs and a collection of medicinal herbs to her new abode. The herbs flourished in her tiny garden, with roses, peonies, lilies and carnations which were the envy of all the gardeners in Lulling.

Dotty concocted alarming potions from the herbs and these she pressed upon her unwilling neighbors and friends if they were unwary enough to admit to any slight ailment in her presence. So far, she had killed no one, but the vicar of Saint Andrew's had once had to call in Dr. Bailey as he was in agony with severe stomach pains, and had to admit that he had taken tea and sandwiches with a peculiar and pungent filling at Dotty Harmer's a few hours before. The doctor had dismissed his troubles airily, diagnosing, "Dotty's Collywobbles," a fairly common Lulling complaint, and had warned him about accepting further hospitality at that lady's hands.

As well as herbs and flowers Dotty reared some fine chickens and sold eggs to a few favored friends. Molly often called there and enjoyed the old lady's garrulity.

That afternoon, as she had hoped, the dark young man was loitering by the coconut shies, as she approached.

"You busy?" he asked.

"Only going to get some eggs. It's not far," she replied. There was a pause. Molly did not like to stop for she felt that she might be seen from the windows of the Bassetts' house. Her father, too, might catch sight of her. He was in the churchyard, clipping the edges of the grass paths, but she was afraid that he might rise from the sack on which he knelt and shout at her if he caught her talking to this stranger.

"Can I come?" said Ben suddenly.

"Can't stop you, can I?" said Molly, swinging her basket and smiling at him. "Come on then. We go this way."

Between "The Two Pheasants" and the Piggotts' house was a narrow path which led gently downhill to the meadow where Dotty Harmer lived. Ahead, to the right, could be seen the massive leafy slopes of Lulling Woods, and the rushing of the wind in the turbulent branches could be clearly heard.

As they emerged from the passageway between the buildings and dropped down the sandy path through the field they were suddenly sheltered from the tormenting wind.

"Peaceful, ain't it?" said young Ben, stopping still and looking at the view spread before him. "Let's sit down."

They sat on the cropped grass at the side of the path and talked slowly and shyly. Molly told him of her job at the Bassetts,' about Paul, about her father and about her daily round. He listened attentively, chewing a piece of grass, and nodding occasionally.

"But what do you do?" asked Molly. "My word, you've got some luck, going about, seeing all these different places!"

"I like it right enough," agreed the young man, "but it wouldn't suit everybody."

"It'd suit me," said Molly forthrightly, then blushed as she thought of the construction Ben might put upon these bold words. She need not have worried. Ben answered her gravely.

"It's a rough life," he said candidly, and he went on to tell her of the hardships and the discomforts and, finally, of old Mrs. Curdle who ruled them all so firmly.

"But she's a grand ol' gal," he asserted. "She says sometimes she'll take me in as a partner. Ah, I'd like that—but there, you mustn't count your chickens."

Molly rose and took up her basket.

"Chickens reminds me," she said, and together they wandered across the meadow to the distant cottage, oblivious of the cold wind that whipped their hair, and very contented in each other's company.

The children were streaming out of school when they returned to Thrush Green, and Paul flew across to her.

"That your young man?" asked Ben, looking at Molly with that engaging crooked smile.

Molly nodded.

"Reckon I shan't be jealous of 'ee!" said Ben. A harsh voice came floating upon the wind from a nearby caravan. It was Mrs. Curdle's. She loomed, large and impressive, in the doorway of her home.

"See you tonight," promised young Ben and hurried back to his duties.

Joan and Molly had taken the excited Paul to the fair as soon as it opened after tea. His bedtime was postponed time and time again at his own urgent pleading, but at last St. Andrew's clock struck seven. Paul was led home, protesting still, by his mother, and Molly walked to the cottage which was her home.

She had spoken again to Ben, but only briefly, and he had whispered to her urgently:

"You coming back? On your own?"

"When I've give my dad his supper," she promised him swiftly. "He goes off to pub soon as he's had it and I'll slip over again."

She had been as good as her word and by half past eight, she was back, her curly hair brushed into a dark cloud and her eyes shining. The blue and white frock which she had worn at their first meeting had been changed during the day for a yellow one, spotted with white, and she looked even more gypsy-like.

Ben put a young cousin in charge of the coconut shies and took Molly around all the side shows of the fair. Molly had never had an evening like this before. They had turns on the swing boats, roundabouts, switch-backs, dodgem cars and helter-skelters, without pause, and Molly was dizzy not only with exhilarating motion but with the exciting companionship of this amazing young man.

At ten-thirty the fair began to die down, much to the relief of those residents on Thrush Green who were hoping for an early night. As the stalls began to pack up and the crowds started to thin out, Ben took Molly to a little jewelry stall close by the roundabout. A few people were having a last long ride and the raucous music blared out a sentimental ballad.

"Choose what you like," said Ben to Molly, nodding at the dazzle displayed on the stall. There were necklaces, bracelets, earrings and cufflinks, all cheap and tawdry in the cold light of day, but under the electric light and the flashing of the revolving mirrors of the roundabout nearby everything seemed exquisite to young Molly, dazed and bedazzled by a hundred sensations.

She chose a modest brooch in the form of a cornflower and Ben pinned it solemnly at the neck of the yellow spotted frock. The noise of the roundabout was deafening, but Molly saw Ben's lips move and thought she heard him say, "Can you be true?" and she had nodded and smiled.

In the months that followed she often wondered about that half-heard question. Had he really said that? And, if so, had he meant to ask for her loyalty to him, or was he merely asking the silly sort of question that needed no answer, and which the voice from the roundabout was shouting too? Or had he said: "Can
it
be true?" or had she misheard him altogether? Those four words were to puzzle and torment poor Molly for a whole year.

"I must get back to my dad. He'll be kicking up a fuss!" said Molly breathlessly. Ben had ambled at her side, past the stalls which were now packing up, to the cottage on the green.

They stood on the red-brick doorstep which the girl had scrubbed that morning.

"We're off first thing, so I'll say goodby now," said Ben. "Had a good time?"

"Lovely," breathed Molly. There was so much to say and somehow no words to say it. They stood in embarrassed silence for two long minutes, while the lights of the fair dimmed.

"Might get over if I can," said Ben at last. "Depends, though."

"There's always the post," suggested Molly.

Ben kicked moodily at the bricks.

"I ain't much of a fist at letter-writing," he muttered.

From inside the cottage they could hear the scrape of chair legs on a stone floor.

"My dad!" whispered Molly in alarm. "Goodby, Ben. It's all been lovely."

She reached up and gave his cheek a hasty peck. Then she turned the door handle and slipped inside the cottage before he could answer.

Bemused, young Ben wandered back to his caravan beneath the rustling lime tree; while, upstairs in the cottage, Molly, in her petticoat, put away the cornflower brooch in a shell-encrusted box and prepared for bed with a singing heart.

But circumstances had combined against poor Ben. An alteration in the fair's accustomed route and his grandmother's ill-health had prevented him from getting within visiting distance of Thrush Green. To his deep shame he could not write, for he had had very little schooling, and apart from signing his name he could do little. He had mastered the technique of reading, and though he was slow, he enjoyed browsing through the newspaper and an occasional paperbacked thriller.

His pride forbade his asking a friend to write to Molly for him, and in any case he could not have put into words the deep feelings which rent him. To ask for help in expressing such emotions was unthinkable.

And so Ben suffered throughout the months that followed. Would he see her next May? Would she still be at Thrush Green? She might have got another job and gone away. Supposing another man had found her? This thought was so appalling that Ben's mind shied away from it only to be confronted by a worse horror.

Suppose she was dead? Killed, say, on the roads? Hundreds of people were each week. Or crippled? Or beaten by her horrible old dad? Thus Ben tortured himself and roamed, restless and distraught, about his duties until it was no wonder that old Mrs. Curdle, herself a prey to morbid fears, lost patience with her mooning grandson and compared him, more and more unfavorably, with that adored son buried in France. Ah, if only he had been alive, she told herself, throughout that worrying year, she would never have to think of giving up the fair, for there would have been a man—a real man—to carry on for her.

And now, a year later, Ben stood on Thrush Green once more. He had learned that Molly still lived at the cottage, but not for all the week. Part of the time she was to be found at "The Drovers' Arms" on the heights of Lulling Woods where she was now employed for four days a week.

Ben had made his inquiries cautiously of the milkman. He had called at the cottage the night before but no one was there. He had asked a postman, going home from late duty, if he knew where she was, and he had not known. After that Ben had not dared to ask anyone too closely connected with Thrush Green, for he feared that old Mr. Piggott might hear of his inquiries and vent his annoyance on Molly. He had gone to bed much troubled, but was determined to track her down as early as possible next day.

The milkman had been most forthcoming.

"Ah! Up Lulling Woods, me boy. Helps in the house and then the bar Tuesdays to Fridays. Some chap takes over weekends and Molly gets back then. Yes, still does a bit at Bassetts' now and again."

He started up his ancient van with a roar, and shouted above the racket.

"You'll find her, me boy! Up Lulling Woods! She'll be in the bar till two, but free till six, I knows that 'cos I sometimes gives her a lift into the town from there. You'll find her all right!"

He rattled off, the milk bottles clashing and clattering in the metal crates, as the van shuddered its way down the hill to the town.

And thus it was that at half-past seven one May Day young Ben Curdle found the moon and stars joining the morning sun in a crazy heart-bursting dance over an enchanted Thrush Green.

4. Thrush Green Astir

B
Y NINE O'CLOCK
the sun was shining strongly from a cloudless sky. The light mists that had spread a gauze over the water meadows of the river Pleshy had now dispersed. As the dew dried in the gardens of Lulling the scent of narcissuses and hyacinths began to perfume the warm air.