While We're Apart (21 page)

Cyril Fielding is not from this parish, but as a successful travelling salesman who likes to keep up his faith, he attends my services when he can, for he most kindly told me he loves listening to my sermons. On the occasions over the past months when I have met and talked to him, he seems to be a very pleasant, rather earnest young man who is as generous in spirit as in his donations to the church.

I have to confess I was extremely shocked by Fielding's story, but to err is human, and at least he was doing his best to atone for his sin in trying to put things right for everyone concerned. The poor man was quite beside himself as he told me about the brief affair he'd had with a girl he'd met in Cliffehaven on his sales round. He'd brought the affair to an end when he realised how much hurt it would cause his beloved wife and children if they found out. But a few months later he was back in Cliffehaven, and was confronted by the girl who was about to give birth to their child.

He admitted to me in shame that at first he'd denied being the father, but his innate sense of justice wouldn't allow him to deny patrimony once the baby was born. Although he couldn't offer her marriage, he was willing to set the girl up comfortably in a small flat in Cliffehaven and pay a regular sum of money to ensure that she and the baby didn't go without. But within days of settling in, she left him minding their daughter so she could go shopping, and never returned.

He was wild with anxiety and desperate to find her, but there was absolutely no trace of her anywhere. The poor man was in such torment as he told me his tragic tale that he broke down in tears, and it was quite some time before I could calm him. My heart ached as he told me of his own nightmare childhood experiences in an orphanage, and I could fully understand why he was so desperate not to abandon his precious baby to the same fate. I admired him for his courage in facing his wife with his sorry tale, and was saddened but not really surprised that she'd refused to contemplate raising his illegitimate child – and had in fact threatened to divorce him and take away his other children should he keep the baby.

He was a wreck of a man, totally bewildered and unable to decide which way to turn. He understood that he'd committed a terrible sin by being unfaithful, and was tortured by the thought that his innocent baby would be the one to suffer. As he wept and prayed for an answer to his dilemma, I became aware of God's presence in my heart and knew what I must do. The babe could not be abandoned, and Emmaline and I have so much love to give, of course we would take her in.

Cyril was embarrassingly grateful. He fell to his knees and kissed my hands as he cried in relief, and I hardly knew how to deal with him, for I have never witnessed a man in such a wild state before. But once he'd calmed down enough to talk properly, he came to see that he couldn't just hand the child over to me and Emmaline – there had to be some sort of binding, written agreement between us so that the child was secure in our care.

So, with the sweet little baby asleep in her blanket on my study sofa, we worked out a document between us. We both signed it, and I sealed it, promising him I would not open it again or show it to the child until she had reached twenty-one. He left shortly afterwards, and now I sit with the baby in my arms, waiting for Emmaline to come home.

I have decided she will be called Mary – Flora isn't suitable, and it would always be a reminder of her unfortunate beginnings. This child will be the greatest gift I can bestow on my darling Emmaline, for I am convinced that in His wise and mysterious way, she has come into our home and our hearts from God.

Mary blinked back the tears. ‘Oh, Daddy,' she whispered. ‘What a wonderful, kind-hearted, loving man you were. I was blessed when you rescued me, truly I was.'

She sat in the pool of light from the bedside lamp as the old farmhouse creaked and groaned and the room slowly took on the chill of the night. She clambered into bed and pulled the eiderdown up to her chin as her thoughts and emotions whirled.

Her father had truly believed she'd been a gift from God – a precious gift that would bring joy to his sad, bereaved wife. But how had Emmaline reacted? And what of the man who'd given her away – and the mother who'd abandoned her? Were they still alive – and if so, did they regret giving her away – or even think about her?

Most of the questions seemed to be unanswerable, and Mary took a deep breath as she picked up the diary again. At least now she could begin to understand the reason for Emmaline's lack of affection and the cruelty of her scathing tongue, for she'd been forced – through Gideon's misguided devotion and faith – to take on a child that was not her own, and one with a far from respectable background. To a proud woman like Emmaline, it must have been the ultimate shame.

October 30th 1924

My darling Emmaline couldn't hide her shock and dismay when she returned home last evening to discover me trying to change Mary's nappy. She quickly recovered and took over my rather ham-fisted efforts with an ease and efficiency that gladdened my heart. She is a natural mother, and my joy is overwhelming, for at last, at last we are a proper family.

As she warmed a bottle and fed our little one, she of course bombarded me with many questions. I have to confess that she has serious doubts as to the wisdom of taking in an unwanted, illegitimate child, and was worried that Mary's unfortunate parentage would show itself in later life and bring only shame and disgrace to our door. I was surprised, and rather hurt by this, for I've always thought my Emmaline to be the most gentle, charitable woman – but I suppose she was still reeling from the shock.

As this day dawned and we adjusted to having Mary in our family, it seems Emmaline is at last content, and as she sits by the fire in my study on this last night in Carmine Bay, with the baby asleep in a cradle beside her, I see a little mother finally fulfilled. I give thanks to God, and pray that He will continue to watch over us as we begin our new life in Harebridge Green.

Mary went on reading through the night. It was patently clear that Gideon adored her, and as the little family settled here in Harebridge Green and became an intrinsic part of the community, he was blind to the fact that Emmaline simply wasn't able to feel the same way.

And yet the signs were there, for as time went on he'd begun to worry about Emmaline's willingness to leave Mary with the Boniface family for longer and longer periods – and her strange lack of interest in her school reports and minor childhood triumphs. He wrote that he couldn't understand why she preferred him to read the bedtime stories, or kiss and cuddle their sweet girl. And as Mary had grown into a beautiful young woman, he'd even had a sneaking, rather guilty suspicion that Emmaline had been jealous of her.

His doubts had increased over the years, making him wonder if his act of kindness and love had been rash and misguided – and if he should have consulted Emmaline before he'd taken Mary in. And yet he still saw Mary as a gift from God, and refused to believe that his darling wife was incapable of loving her. He'd finally accepted her maternal shortcomings, seeing them as only natural for a woman with a large house to run and a busy life, and gladly took over the fatherly duties of guidance, love and interest.

Mary continued to read in the hope there would be another mention of Cyril Fielding, for he must have known through his conversation with Gideon that they were moving to Harebridge Green – and having proclaimed his love for his daughter, surely he'd have been anxious to know that she was well and happy.

But his name never cropped up again, and there was no sudden appearance of anyone claiming to be her mother either. And, as her eighteenth birthday approached, her father wrote that he was dreading the time when she turned twenty-one and he would have to tell Mary the truth. He'd even contemplated burning the letter, but had realised it wasn't really his to destroy, for it was her only link to her true parentage, and one day she might decide to try and find them.

Mary was so deeply immersed in the diary that when the door creaked open she gave a start of fright.

‘What on earth are you doing reading at this hour?' asked a bewildered and sleepy-eyed Barbara. ‘It's four in the morning.'

Mary hastily smeared the tears from her face. ‘Oh, Auntie Barbara,' she gasped. ‘I'm so sorry. I didn't wake you, did I?'

Barbara shook her head. ‘I needed the bathroom and saw the light under your door.' She came into the room, her expression concerned. ‘Whatever's the matter, Mary? Why are you crying?'

As Barbara perched on the side of the bed and took her hand, Mary had to fight to hold back more tears. ‘It's Daddy's diaries,' she managed. ‘They've shaken me up a bit.'

‘You look rather more than just shaken up,' said Barbara as she smoothed Mary's long hair away from her tear-stained face. ‘I've always worried that they would upset you. And it seems I'm right.'

Mary stilled her hand as she tried to collect the diaries to put them away. ‘I found out that Daddy did something a long time ago – and although it explains a good deal about Mother's strange behaviour towards me, it's rocked the very foundations of everything I knew and believed in.'

Barbara frowned as Mary's tears streamed down her face. ‘Goodness me,' she said anxiously as she found her a handkerchief. ‘But your father was such a good man – how could he have done anything so wrong to upset you like this?'

Mary struggled to control her emotions and, once she had stopped crying, handed her the letter. ‘You'd better read this, and then I'll explain the rest,' she told her.

Barbara regarded the letter and the seal, her troubled expression deepening as she read the contents. ‘Oh, Mary,' she said brokenly. ‘This can't be right – not right at all.'

‘It's probably not legal, and there's no sign of any formal adoption papers or even my birth certificate. Neither is there any mention of my mother's name. I don't know who I am, Auntie Barbara,' Mary said calmly. The time for tears was over and she needed to think clearly.

Barbara's eyes widened as Mary told her all she'd learnt from the diaries, and when she'd finished they sat holding hands, each stunned by the revelation and unable to absorb the enormity of its consequences.

Barbara was the first to break the silence. ‘It's an awful thing to discover,' she said, ‘but it certainly explains why Emmaline was the way she was with you.'

Mary nodded. ‘Poor Daddy, he'd thought I was the answer to his prayers, but he should have talked to Mother first.' She sighed deeply. ‘I actually feel very sorry for her,' she admitted softly. ‘She must have been shocked to the core to come home and find me there, and to be forced to take me – an illegitimate baby with a dubious background – into her care.' She gave Barbara a wry smile. ‘I got the feeling from Daddy's diaries that Emmaline had played the part of a bereaved, helpless, childless woman to the hilt – and because of that she was completely undermined by his act of love.'

‘In other words,' said Barbara flatly, ‘she got her comeuppance.'

Mary nodded. ‘It's no wonder she resented me, and of course it fully explains why she was always calling me sinful and no better than I should be.'

Barbara's lips tweaked in disgust. ‘She should have been honest about how she felt right from the start, and arranged for you to be adopted or fostered with another family. Joseph and I would have taken you in like a shot. No question.'

‘And that would have been wonderful,' sighed Mary. ‘But we can't change what happened, and at least I had Daddy. I'll always feel blessed because of that.'

Barbara was silent with her thoughts for a moment. ‘This has come as a shock to me, and I can barely imagine how deeply it must have affected you,' she said finally. ‘I'm sure your head is spinning with it all – I know mine is – but you mustn't do anything hasty, Mary.'

‘There isn't much I can do about anything,' she replied wistfully. ‘But I think I might try and get hold of my birth certificate.'

‘Oh, love,' sighed Barbara. ‘Don't hold out much hope of doing that. Your mother would have been registered under her maiden name, and in the circumstances I doubt very much if she'd put Fielding down as your father. And then there's the question over your actual date of birth – there's nothing in that document to prove it. In fact it doesn't help at all really.'

Mary knew she was right, yet was unable just to turn her back on everything and get on with her life as if she'd never found that beastly document. ‘But I have to try, don't you think?'

Barbara didn't reply immediately, for she was deep in thought. ‘I suppose you do,' she said eventually, ‘but even if you're successful, what would you gain from it? There's very little chance of tracing either of your parents after all this time. People move away, get married, change their names – and with the war on, who knows where they might be – or even if they're still alive?'

‘If I can't get hold of my birth certificate, then I think I'd like to go to Cliffehaven and see if I can find anyone who knew Cyril,' replied Mary thoughtfully. ‘I know it seems a silly sort of thing to do, but I feel as if my life has become a sort of jigsaw puzzle, with lots of missing pieces. And I need to find those missing bits, Auntie Barbara. Really I do.'

‘I can understand that,' said Barbara as she put her arm round her and held her close. ‘But even if you find one or another of them, it might not be a pleasant experience. After all – and I'm sorry to have to say this – they more or less abandoned you and haven't made the slightest effort to stay in touch these past eighteen years. You could be badly hurt, Mary – and I don't want that.'

‘That's a risk I'll have to take if I'm to find out who I really am,' Mary replied with a stoic determination that belied the fear fluttering in the pit of her stomach.