Читать книгу Sarah’s Story: An emotional family saga that you won’t be able to put down - Lynne Francis - Страница 14

By the time Ada reappeared it was late afternoon and Sarah was in a fever of worry, trying to imagine what might have happened. Three times she herself had put on her bonnet and got as far as the garden gate before retreating inside. She was mindful of Ada’s words and fearful of angering her even more, should she return to find the house unattended.

How would her grandmother locate Joe? she wondered. And when she did, what would she say to him? Her thoughts flitted from one possible scenario to another and, when Ada finally appeared at the gate, Sarah could have sunk to the floor in a mixture of fear, apprehension and relief. Instead, she hurried to set the kettle on the hob. When Ada opened the door and was blown in on a flurry of leaves, whipped up by the stormy weather brewing outside, Sarah was ready, solicitous. She helped Ada remove her bonnet and shawl, meeting no resistance this time, and pulled up a chair close to the warmth of the range.

Her grandmother looked grey-faced with exhaustion and Sarah noticed how her fingers trembled slightly as she raised her teacup to her lips. Sarah busied herself with the tea and setting out slices of her grandmother’s fruitcake, feeling sure that she would be in need of sustenance.

Then she asked her, ‘Did you … did you … find Joe?’

Ada gazed unseeing through the window, where the wind was lifting the autumn leaves from the trees so that they rained down in fluttering flashes of orange, red and yellow.

‘Yes, I did,’ she said, after a lengthy pause. ‘It seems that there are folk around here who know more than I do about what my own granddaughter has been up to.’

Sarah winced at the barbed comment, feeling a flush rise to her cheeks even as her heart sank. She had hoped that she and Joe had been discreet in their meetings, conducting them as far as possible from any prying eyes in the neighbourhood.

‘Your precious Joe, it seems, likes a drink just like your father did.’ Ada had colour back in her cheeks now, but her expression was stern. ‘And, just as in the past with your father, I had to go into The Old Bell to fetch him out to make an account of himself.’

Sarah’s hand flew to her mouth as she stifled a gasp. Had Ada really gone into The Old Bell? Had she faced down the stares and the remarks of the men who drank there in order to find Joe? Sarah was filled with a mixture of admiration for her grandmother’s fearlessness and spirit, and embarrassment for Joe. Surely he would have been humiliated in the eyes of the other men? How would this make him react at the mention of marriage?

Ada registered Sarah’s reaction. ‘Oh, as I said, it’s not the first time I’ve ventured through those doors, you can be sure. Your father’s fondness for drink meant that I’ve fetched him from there more than once to stop him spending the last farthings that your mother needed to feed you all. And I’ve spread the word of the Methodist faith both inside and outside those doors. There’s men in there who’d do better to spend their time by their own firesides, rather than The Old Bell’s.’

Sarah wished for a moment that she could have witnessed Ada, the indomitable widow, as she berated the men in the safe haven that they had created for themselves away from their wives and families. But her feelings were short-lived.

‘A pretty piece of work the pair of you have made,’ Ada said. ‘And what a time it has taken me to set it half to rights.’

She was looking angry now and Sarah, barely understanding what she meant, quietly poured her more tea. The windows rattled as the rain gusted harder and the rain came on, splattering against the panes with such force it was as though handfuls of gravel were being thrown against them. Sarah shivered, despite the warmth of the room.

‘So, I’ve spoken with the minister and it is agreed. As a favour to me there will be a quiet ceremony in the chapel on Wednesday afternoon. I’ll write to your mother to let her know, but you’re not to expect her or your father to give up a day or more’s wages to make the journey here. Nor will you have your sisters as bridesmaids.’

Sarah, who hadn’t even considered the latter as a possibility, was suddenly tormented by the thought. How Jane and Ellen would have loved it: bridesmaids, in their Sunday-best frocks with flowers in their hair.

Ada went on, ‘Joe tells me that he can furnish a best man and we’ll find someone from the chapel to give you away. There’ll be no wedding breakfast though: your new husband has to be away to work that very afternoon.’

Sarah was struggling to comprehend the extent of the planning and arrangements that had taken place in Ada’s few hours of absence.

‘So Joe …’ she faltered, struggling to express herself without revealing the fears that she was starting to feel.

‘Joe will be there,’ Ada said firmly. ‘He has met with the minister and provided an account of himself.’ She paused and frowned. ‘He’s a sight older than I expected. He must have ten years on you. I left him in no doubt as to how I feel about the situation, and about how he has exploited you.’

Sarah was moved to protest, ‘It wasn’t like that …’ but Ada cut her off.

‘I don’t wish to know how it was. I thought your upbringing had prepared you for better than this. But what’s done is done and we must make the best of it. I suggest that you see that your best dress is in a fit state to be worn. And take a look at the fit of it.’ She cast a critical eye over Sarah’s figure. ‘It won’t do to make it too obvious why there is a necessity for such a haste to be wed.’ She stood up. ‘Now, I’m going to take a rest and I’ll thank you for not disturbing me until suppertime.’

She climbed the stairs slowly and Sarah heard her close the bedroom door, then the creak of the floorboards as she moved about overhead before settling on the bed. For the next hour, both women were fully occupied with their own fears, hopes and imaginings for the future, thoughts that took them down very different paths.