Wait For the Dawn (48 page)

‘Davie’s all right, is he?’ her father said.

‘Yes. He’ll be well asleep. He was sleeping so soundly when I left him earlier. The journey made him tired, for one thing.’ She yawned. ‘I’m tired too. I think I’ll go up. D’you mind?’

‘Of course not.’ He stirred, stretched. ‘I don’t think you’ll be going to church in the morning, will you?’

‘No. I want to go and see Evie before we start back.’

‘Right you are.’ He went on then to tell her that he would
not be needing any dinner immediately after church, as he planned to leave right away for Hurstleigh to see someone on the matter of a prayer meeting. He would eat a piece of bread and cheese on the way, he said. Lydia replied that in that case she would leave him something for his supper, for when he got back in the evening, and that she and Davie would set off early to return to Merinville.

Now, the arrangements made, Lydia got up, reached out and pressed her father’s arm. ‘Goodnight, Father.’

‘Goodnight.’

Upstairs she changed into her nightdress – she always kept one there in the chest – and blew out the candle. As she got into bed, Davie stirred briefly and murmured something unintelligible. She stroked his hair and said, ‘It’s all right, my love. Go on back to sleep. Mammy’s here.’

Darkness had fallen now. Lying on her back with Davie nestling warm against her, she could see the moon’s light breaking between the thin curtains and filtering through the fabric. Turning her head she looked down at the shape beside her in the bed, and saw how the faint light touched the boy’s crown. She wanted to reach out and stroke his hair again, but she held back for fear of waking him.

Turning her head she looked again at the sliver of moon visible through the crack in the curtains.

Though the heart be still as loving,
And the moon be still as bright
.

Into her mind came a picture of Guy. He seemed never to be far away these days – he was on her mind more and more. She had heard nothing from him on the occasion of Alfred’s death, though he must have known about it, for his own newspaper had printed a notice of the sad event. And there had been nothing from him since, but indeed, she had
not expected there to be, for he would have observed the protocol of mourning and would not have been so indelicate as to intrude during such a time. In any case, at the time of Alfred’s death he would have received Lydia’s letter – her very final letter – telling him that they could never meet again. Clearly, then, regardless of any observation of her mourning, he had respected her words. No doubt, she now thought, he was building a new life for himself, as she had urged him to do. She must not think about him, she said to herself; he was a part of the past, and it was time for her too to think about the future.

Then into her mind came the little picture that she had received that morning at the shop. Was the handwriting Guy’s? She had long since destroyed the one brief letter he had written to her, asking her to meet him all those years ago, and now she could no longer be sure. In any event, what did the picture mean, what did it signify? No, surely it could not have come from him, from Guy – but then – who had sent it?

The next morning she got breakfast for all three of them, and when her father had set off for church she and Davie left the house to go and call on Evie. Lydia had written to her early in the week, so her friend was expecting her.

On her arrival at the cottage she found that Hennie was out with her grandmother, and that Evie’s young son Jonathan, nine months old now, was sleeping soundly in his crib. Jack, Evie’s husband, a tall, fair, strongly-built young man, murmured to Evie that she should go off out for a stroll with Lydia, and make the most of her respite. The baby, he added, would be perfectly all right while she was gone.

So, Evie, Lydia and Davie set off along the lane and out of the village, taking the path that the two women had used so often as girls. For a few moments it seemed in some strange way to Lydia as if she had never been away, but it
was only a fleeting sensation. She looked about her with nostalgia. The spring flowers had long gone, and the verges were almost totally green; just the odd spot of colour could be seen apart from the white of the cow parsley and elderflowers and the trumpets of the bindweed. Over on the hill the mustard field, once a vibrant yellow, was a pale, dull ochre. Now that the flowers of spring had gone it looked almost as if nature were taking a rest.

They walked on and ended up in the little copse in the clearing, sitting on the massive form of the fallen tree. Davie was at once eager to amuse himself and wander off and explore. ‘Don’t go too far,’ Lydia said to him. ‘Don’t wander out of my sight.’ He piped back, ‘All right,’ and scampered away, but quickly returned and contented himself with clambering over and among the branches of the tree on which they sat. Lydia kept an eye on him as she and Evie talked of this and that. As they chatted, Evie brought Lydia up to date on the local news and gossip and also on her own life. Lydia was so glad to see Evie continuing contented, and she sat there, happy to listen as Evie spoke of her husband and the baby.

Evie finished relating some anecdote concerning herself and Jack, then looked at Lydia and said, ‘And what about you?’

‘Me? What about me?’

‘Are you happier now? It’s been well over a year since Alfred’s death.’

‘Over thirteen months.’

‘Yes, and I see now you’re out of mourning.’

‘That seems to be what everyone notices.’ Lydia smiled. ‘I must say it makes a refreshing change to be able to put on a nice dress again, and to add a colourful scarf once in a while.’

‘So – what are you going to do now?’

‘What
can
I do? Look after Davie and look after the shop.’

‘Is that it? Just that?’

‘Well – what else is there?’

‘But – what do you see for the future?’

‘The future. Oh, Evie, how can I think about the future?’ Lydia fell silent for a moment, then said, ‘I remember you saying to me – it’s possible to love more than once.’

Evie nodded. ‘Yes, I did say that, and it’s true. Look at Jack and me.’

‘Yes, and perhaps you’re right where you’re concerned.’

‘You don’t think it’s true for you?’

‘No, I don’t think I do.’

At this point Davie’s voice came to them from two or three yards away. ‘Look at me! Mammy, look at me!’ and Lydia turned to him where he hung half upside down from one of the branches. ‘Yes, darling. Very good. Very clever.’

‘Look, Mammy – I’m a monkey!’

‘Yes, you
are
a monkey. A very clever little monkey.’

She continued to watch him for a moment or two in silence, then turned back to Evie.

Evie said, ‘When you talk about loving someone – you’re not talking about – about Alfred, are you?’

‘No.’ Lydia shook her head again.

‘I thought not.’

‘I loved Alfred,’ Lydia said. ‘I truly did – but in a certain way. Not in the way that I have loved – and still do love.’ She put her hands to her face. She had never spoken like this before, and was amazed at her own daring, that she could voice such thoughts, such feelings.

A little silence between them was broken only by the sounds of Davie’s exertions as he clambered about. Then Evie said, ‘Have you heard any word from – from him? From Guy?’

‘No. But I wouldn’t have expected any word. After all, I’ve been in mourning. He wouldn’t be so – improper as to intrude at such a time.’

‘But it’s over a year now.’

‘I know that, but what does that change?’

‘Well – you might – hear from him. Now that a year’s gone by.’

‘I – I don’t think so.’

‘But you’re free.’

‘Yes, I am.’

‘And he knows that.’

Lydia shrugged. After a moment she said, ‘I wrote to him. Right after he came to meet me in Pershall Dean that day, and it was just after my letter was posted that Alfred had his – his attack.’

‘Oh? And what did you say in your letter?’

‘I asked him never to contact me again.’ Lydia found it almost painful to voice the words. ‘I said that it was all over between us. I ended it. For ever. It was very final.’

Evie thought about this, then said, ‘Even so – events change things. You might still hear from him.’

Lydia frowned. ‘No. No.’ But even as she spoke she thought of the little picture in her bag – but no, that was some foolish thing, something that could have no meaning for her. ‘It’s over,’ she said.

‘Not necessarily,’ Evie replied. She gave a deep sigh and added, as if impatiently, ‘Oh, why is it always up to the man to make the first move? Why does the woman have to just sit by and wait for things to happen?’

Lydia said nothing.

‘Who knows,’ Evie said, ‘you might hear from him yet. He might write to you after a time.’

‘It would be a miracle.’

‘Yes, but miracles do happen. Though sometimes they need a little help.’

Lydia shook her head.

‘You could write to him,’ Evie said. ‘Have you thought of that?’

‘Oh, I couldn’t. Of course I couldn’t do that.’

‘No, I suppose not.’

‘I couldn’t be so forward, and in any case, he’ll be getting on with his life. I told him that that is what he must do – and a lot can happen in a year.’

‘Then what will you do?’

Lydia gave a little smile, without humour. ‘I don’t know,’ she said wearily. ‘Nothing. Nothing.’

‘I don’t know when I ever saw you quite like this before,’ Evie said. ‘Quite so lost like this.’

Guy had said something about being lost. Lydia could remember his words, spoken on that day when they had met. She nodded. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘That’s it. I suppose I am.’

Distantly, from across the village, came on the breeze the sound of the church clock. Lydia stirred. ‘I must go in a minute. Father will be getting home. I want to prepare his supper for this evening, and then Davie and I must start back to Merinville. I don’t like to rush.’ As she spoke she had been thinking again of the little picture that had come in the post, and she drew her bag towards her, dipped into it and drew out the envelope. In the same moment Evie looked up at the sky, and said, ‘You’ve had good weather for your little trip.’

‘Oh, it’s been beautiful.’ Lydia glanced around at the green trees, the crops growing in the fields. ‘I love the midsummer days.’ She drew out the picture from the envelope. At the same time she called to the boy, ‘Come on, Davie, we must think about starting back. I’ve got to prepare Grandpa’s supper.’

‘I love midsummer too,’ Evie said, a little dreamily, ‘and of course it’s the longest day today.’

Davie had left his perch on the tree branch and now came towards his mother, brushing the dust from his hands. ‘What’s that you’ve got there, Mammy?’ he said as he came to Lydia’s side and saw the little picture in her hand.

Curious, Davie took the paper from her fingers as she turned to Evie. ‘What did you say?’ Lydia said. ‘The longest day? Today is the longest day?’

‘Yes, it’s the twenty-first.’

‘The twenty-first,’ Lydia breathed. ‘The longest day. Of course.’

‘Oh, they’re lost, look.’

The words had come from Davie as he stood beside his mother’s knee, looking at the picture. Lydia turned to him at once. ‘What was that?’

‘The children in the picture . . .’ He pointed to them.

‘No – something else you said.’

‘I said they’re lost. It’s a picture of them when they’re lost. Like Hansel and Gretel.’

Lydia gave a slow nod. ‘
Lost
. Of course.’ She breathed the words as she took the piece of paper from him. ‘Of
course
.’ She turned the paper over and looked at the words scrawled there:
We too?

It was so obvious, she thought. The answer was there all the time, and it took a child to find it.

‘What’s the matter?’ said Evie, watching as Lydia rose up from her seat on the tree trunk. ‘What’s up?’

Lydia looked distracted. ‘This picture – and something – something someone said. Something –
he
said.’

Evie got up beside her. ‘What are you talking about? I don’t understand.’

‘This little picture that came in the post this morning . . .’ She held it out and Evie took it from her hand. ‘It was a message. I see it now. You see –’ she gestured to the drawing, ‘they’re lost.’

‘Yes,’ Evie said, looking at the picture. ‘Yes, I see. Hansel and Gretel probably – or the Babes in the Wood.’

‘Yes.’ Lydia murmured the word. ‘It goes along with something he said to me – when we met – and it was the same as today: the longest day.’ She took a step away. ‘I’ve
got to go. Now. Evie, I’ve got to go.’ She reached out her hand and took the drawing and pushed it back into her bag. Then again she reached out, now to Davie. ‘Davie, come on, we’re going. We’ll get Grandpa his supper and then go and get the coach.’

The two women and the child started back along the lane, Lydia stepping out smartly and setting the pace. The swift exodus had taken Evie unprepared, and she laughed and exclaimed at their hurrying. ‘Why are we rushing like this, Lyddy?’ she said. ‘What’s the hurry?’

‘I told you,’ Lydia said, ‘we’ve got to get back.’ Suddenly she could feel her heart beating and she felt slightly breathless. ‘I’m sorry, Evie, but we’ve got to go.’

On returning to her father’s house, Lydia found that he had just returned, and was in the kitchen cutting bread and cheese. She left him to it and quickly peeled some potatoes and prepared some greens for when he returned for his evening meal. She had also left for him a chicken pie that she had brought with her from Merinville. It was already cooked, she said, and he could eat it cold. She did all the work conscious of almost every second that passed, and wishing she could leave.

Then, at last, she and Davie were ready, and they said their goodbyes to her father, himself anxious to get off on his errand. She kissed him briefly on the cheek, and he kissed and embraced Davie, and they were on their way.

When they got off the coach outside the railway station at Merinville, Lydia led Davie by the hand into the station itself. ‘Where are we going, Mammy?’ Davie asked. ‘Are we going on the train?’

‘Yes, we are, darling.’