Читать книгу Sarah’s Story: An emotional family saga that you won’t be able to put down - Lynne Francis - Страница 19

While Ada was away a spell of damp, cold weather swept in. It brought with it a morning fog that frequently lingered until midday unless there was any autumn sunshine to burn it away. Darkness seemed to arrive each day by five o’clock, and on some days it felt as though it barely got light at all.

The change in the weather also brought a steady stream of visitors, all looking for Ada. Mostly elderly, they were out of breath by the time they had climbed the hill out of the village to reach Hill Farm Cottage. At first, Sarah wondered whether their appearance was due to curiosity at the state of affairs surrounding her marriage, but she quickly realised that in all cases the visit was prompted by a need for a consultation with her grandmother, caused by a flare-up of rheumatism or the onset of a troubling cough.

Sarah invited in each arrival and, when they had regained their breath and offered their congratulations on her newly married state, they had (without exception) turned querulous over Ada’s unexpected absence. Sarah could only reassure them that she was expected back any day now and offer to pass on a message about the nature of their illness to her grandmother as soon as she returned.

It wasn’t long before Sarah was regretting, yet again, her lack of literacy. If she had only paid attention to her letters she could have written down the name of everyone who called, as well as the nature of their business. As it was, she was reduced to memorising the details and forcing herself to recite them out loud each morning on waking.

The arrival of the week’s end found Sarah in a state of anxiety. She had expected her grandmother’s return by now, but there was no sign of her and no word from her. Once again, Sarah had cause to regret her inability to read and write. Otherwise Ada might, perhaps, have sent her a note of explanation. But she knew only too well that her granddaughter would be unable to read it.

Sarah took to imagining what might be happening in Manchester. She convinced herself that Ada must have felt the need to stay on to nurse her daughter and granddaughters back to health. Surely there could be no other explanation? But as a new week began, her conviction was sorely tested. She found it hard to put on a brave face for the trickle of visitors who continued to arrive and her assertion that she expected her grandmother’s return any day now sounded, even to her, as though it had a hollow ring to it.

She tried not to dwell too much on the fact that, although she was married now, it had made no difference at all to the way she lived her life. She was lonely by day, with Ada away, and lonely at night, when her thoughts turned to Joe. How cruel it was that her new husband was forced to be away from her at this time, when she had need of him! Her vision of how contented they would be in their domestic routine remained untested; indeed, her own routine fell to pieces with no structure to her days and too much time to spend in wild imaginings.

By the time Ada did come home, one week and a day after her departure, Sarah was frantic with worry over what might have happened to her family. She had also become consumed with anxiety as to how she would be able to pay the rent or afford food and household necessities should her grandmother fail to reappear.

One look at Ada’s face, however, was enough to make the angry words that had rushed to Sarah’s lips die there. Her grandmother was in no fit state to be on the receiving end of Sarah’s distress at being left without news for so long. Ada’s face was grey with fatigue and her eyes were sunken hollows, suggesting that she had struggled to get enough sleep while she had been away. She had lost weight; as Sarah helped remove her travelling shawl she could feel the sharpness of her grandmother’s collarbones beneath her hands and, on giving her a wordless hug of welcome, she was startled by how frail Ada felt.

‘Come and sit by the range. You look worn out by your journey. The kettle has not long boiled. I’ll make some fresh tea.’

Sarah bustled about, filling her grandmother’s silence with a pointless running commentary on mundane domestic things. She was desperate to ask about her sisters and her mother but Ada’s continued silence didn’t encourage questions. Finally, with tea set down in front of her grandmother, along with a slice of bread and butter on her favourite plate, Sarah felt she could wait no longer.

‘How are they?’ she asked tentatively. ‘You were gone so long I became worried. Were they very sick?’

Ada sighed deeply. Sarah was sure that she must be thirsty after her journey but she hadn’t even reached for her cup.

‘Yes, they were,’ she said.

Sarah waited expectantly.

‘Yes, very sick,’ Ada repeated. ‘Daniel was quite right to come and fetch me, although he was clever enough to make it appear that Mary had asked him to come. In fact, from what I could gather, she had done no such thing.’

Ada paused and finally reached for her cup. Sarah noticed that her hands were trembling so that the cup rattled against its saucer before she raised it to her lips. Her wedding ring, still worn in memory of her husband Harry, was too big now, slipping along her finger and barely kept in place by her knuckle.

Ada rested the cup on her lap, gazing at the range before speaking again.

‘I do not know how they came to be in such a sorry state. Although it’s easy to guess.’ There was a sudden flash of anger. ‘William Gibson had cleared off and left them, sharing one small room, nay, even reduced to sharing one bed in their lodging house. It’s not surprising that they fell ill one after the other. Too sick to work, they had run out of food by the time I arrived and what little bit of coal they had to heat the room must have come from Daniel. If it wasn’t for the kindness of the neighbours, sharing a bit of soup with them of an evening, I don’t know what they would have done.’

Ada sat on, staring at the range as if she saw something there other than an austere black-leaded stove, its fire safely housed within. Sarah shifted in her seat, waiting for her grandmother to speak again. She was conscious of the wind gusting outside and she shivered involuntarily. She hoped no one was struggling up the hill in expectation of finding Ada at home. Her grandmother did not look well enough to be listening to someone else describe their ailments; in fact, she looked as though she might be sickening for something herself.

‘Would you like to go up to bed?’ Sarah asked gently. ‘I can light the fire in your room. You look worn out. Perhaps a rest would see you right.’

‘It will take more than a rest.’ The edge in her grandmother’s voice made Sarah start back in her chair. Ada noticed her reaction.

‘I’m sorry, Sarah,’ she said. ‘I didn’t intend that to sound as it did.’ She shook her head slowly from side to side.

‘So how are they now?’ Sarah asked. ‘Were they well when you left? Were you able to heal their sickness?’

Ada turned an uncomprehending look on Sarah before she shook her head again.

‘I’m so sorry. It feels as though I have been away a lifetime. Of course, why would you know what has been going on?’

She stopped and Sarah waited, frowning. Her grandmother was talking in riddles.

‘Sarah, they’ve gone.’ Ada’s voice caught on a sob.

It was Sarah’s turn to look baffled. Gone where? What did she mean? Had they moved somewhere else to find work?

‘Sarah, they’re dead. They lasted barely two days after I arrived. First Mary, for she must have fallen sick first, then Jane, then Ellen. Daniel and I took it in turns to sit up with them through the night but there was nothing to be done. They were too weak when I got there. If that useless wastrel of a father of yours had only thought to get in touch, perhaps I would have got there earlier and things might have been different. But he was too concerned with protecting himself. He scarpered at the first sign of illness. Went off to his fancy woman on the other side of town, by all accounts.’

Ada’s voice was scornful, then her tone softened. ‘I thought Daniel’s heart would break when Ellen left us. Turned out he was sweet on her even though she’s –’ Ada paused and corrected herself ‘– she was but fifteen years old.’

Sarah had sat in numbed silence throughout. Was she hearing aright? Had she really lost her mother and sisters for ever? She swallowed hard and tried to find her voice, but it came out as a croak.

‘Where … How … Are they …?’ She couldn’t put into words what she wanted to ask.

‘They’re buried,’ Ada said. ‘I was able to save them from a pauper’s grave, at least. They’re in the churchyard at St Faith’s. It turns out that Mary had been known to go there on occasion. It seems she felt more of a welcome there than at the Methodist chapel, on account of her drinking.’ Ada’s mouth had twisted into a grimace.

‘All buried?’ Sarah’s voice was little more than a whisper. She couldn’t believe that she would never see Ellen or Jane again. She could see her sisters as clear as day, just as they were the last time she had seen them as she was waving them off to start their new lives in Manchester. They were surrounded by sunlight and waving and blowing kisses from the back of the cart, promising to come and visit soon, telling her to come and see them as soon as they were settled.

‘Yesterday,’ Ada said. ‘I’m sorry that there was no time to send word.’ She spoke flatly; the last few days had drained her of all emotion.

Sarah got up slowly, went over to her grandmother and wrapped her arms around her.

‘Was it terrible?’ she asked.

‘Yes. Indeed it was.’

Ada clung to her granddaughter, who stayed there, awkwardly bent over her. Neither of them shed a tear but both of them were staring into their own personal abyss of horror, Ada’s consisting of what she had witnessed, Sarah’s of what she imagined.