Читать книгу Sarah’s Story: An emotional family saga that you won’t be able to put down - Lynne Francis - Страница 20

That night Ada, exhausted by her journey and the emotion of the last few days, slept well. Sarah, in the bedroom next door, paced the floor and wept. The fire in the bedroom grate cast a welcome glow around the room, which only served to remind Sarah of how her siblings had ended their days. Starved of food and heat, and so stricken by poverty they were huddled together in the same bed in the one room they had to call their own. How had they arrived at such a state?

She felt a surge of hatred towards her father, whose callous behaviour had surely made a bad situation much, much worse. Other than him, Sarah wasn’t sure where next to direct her anger. Towards the mill-owners? She felt sure they had overworked her sisters and her mother until they were exhausted, their health damaged to such an extent that they were unable to fight off the sickness that afflicted them. Towards her mother? Why had she failed to protect her family? Towards her grandmother? Why had she not thought to visit and to check on her daughter and granddaughters?

Finally, Sarah chastised herself. Why had she not gone to see the family in all the time that they had been in Manchester? She’d sent messages in the letters that her grandmother wrote and she’d often thought about Jane and Ellen as she’d gone about her daily business. A walk over the fields on a hot day had reminded her of the time when she and her sisters had set about picking every flower in that particular field that they could find. When they’d arrived home with armfuls of blooms, most of them wilted beyond help, they’d been roundly scolded by Ada. She had explained to them that their actions might prevent the same flowers growing in the field in future years because they’d robbed them of the chance to set seed.

Whenever Sarah passed that way in the summer now she would automatically check, with a sense of anxiety, how many flowers she could see. She would mentally tick them off: yellow rattle, field scabious, hedge parsley, creeping buttercup, ox-eye daisy, meadow saxifrage, tufted vetch.

She could visualise the scene on that day now, as if she was watching it from above with herself within it. Three young girls, dressed in faded pinafores and summer blouses, their hair different shades of brown and pulled back into pigtails and a little unruly, with curls escaping and sticking damply to their foreheads and necks under the heat of the sun. She could hear their squeals and giggles as they darted here and there, in search of new varieties to add to their flower bunches, batting away the bees that followed them, puzzled by the constantly moving sources of pollen.

Ellen, who had something of the artist in her, had contrived a bunch in which the different shapes and colours of the flowers somehow seemed to complement each other, and she’d surrounded the bunch with feathery grasses picked from the edge of the field. Jane and Sarah had simply greedily grabbed everything they could find and the result was a mishmash of colour, quickly spoilt by the tightness of the grip of their small hands.

It was Sarah, as the eldest, who had got into the most trouble for their actions that day. Now, nearly ten years on, she was pierced by a terrible sense of failure. As the eldest, why hadn’t she made it her business to know what was going on in her sisters’ lives? If she’d imagined their life in the city at all she’d thought it must be better than her own, had assumed that they were earning enough money to live reasonably well.

Now she wondered why some sixth sense hadn’t told her what was happening. She’d been disappointed that they had been unable to come to her wedding and now … now, she was faced with the knowledge of what they had been going through in their own lives while she’d been oblivious to it, selfishly focused on herself. When she finally climbed into bed she tossed and turned, racked with guilt. Why was she still alive while they were dead?

Dead – she found it hard to even contemplate the idea, the fact that she would never see them again. She was alone in the world now, or so it felt. Her father was still alive, but what part had he played in her upbringing? None that she could recall. He was as good as a stranger to her. So now she just had her grandmother.

With a sense of shock, Sarah recalled that she was a married woman now. She had a husband, and soon she would have a child. The memory surfaced of how she had felt over the past few days, while her grandmother was away. She remembered the sense of desperation she had experienced, of not knowing how to provide for herself. Drifting into a fitful sleep as the grey fingers of dawn edged around the curtains, she resolved that she could not be reliant on her grandmother or on Joe. She needed to be sure that she could take care of herself.

It seemed that Ada had been prey to much the same thoughts. When Sarah came down to a late breakfast, her eyes gritty from lack of sleep, she found Ada already at the table with a sheet of paper set before her, a list written on it in her neat copperplate hand.

‘How did you sleep?’ Ada gave her a concerned look.

‘Not well.’ Sarah rubbed her eyes hard with the heel of her palm. ‘There was a lot to think about. And many questions I want to ask. But first, you ought to know that we had a lot of visitors while you were away, all in need of your help.’

She cast a glance out of the window, where a clear, cold blue sky promised a much brighter day than of late. ‘I’m sure that some of them will be back now that the weather has improved. But these are the ones who came,’ and she reeled off the list that she had memorised.

‘Goodness!’ Ada seemed quite taken aback. ‘Let me have the names again, but more slowly this time so that I can write them down.’

Once she had finished she looked over the list, and shook her head. ‘It will be a lot of work,’ she said, clearly thinking of all the remedies that would be required. Then she looked at Sarah. ‘This brings me to something that I have been wanting to say to you.’

Sarah had cut herself a slice of bread and was about to butter it but laid down her knife at the seriousness of Ada’s tone.

‘Don’t look so worried. There’s nothing to fear.’ Ada paused. ‘Now, I know you have just got married and so you can expect your husband to provide.’ She hesitated. ‘I don’t wish to speak out of turn but, since your husband’s work will take him away a great deal your income may, perhaps, be … unreliable.’

It was clear to Sarah that her grandmother was picking her words with unusual care.

‘And if, God forbid, an accident should befall him, well … in a few months’ time you will have an extra mouth to feed. And I won’t be here for ever.’

Ada held up her hand as Sarah started to protest. ‘No, I’m not as spry as I used to be and, after what has befallen the family in the last week, well, it has made me think how important it is for you to learn some skills, so that you are able to earn money and look after yourself in the future, should the need arise.’

Sarah interrupted her. ‘I had been thinking much the same thing. While you were away I was so worried. What if you never came back? And it made me cross with myself that I had never learned to read and write. I had no way of making contact with you. I could have made that list for you –’ she gestured at the piece of paper ‘– if only I had learnt my letters. But, apart from learning how to read and write now, what else can I do?’

‘Well, I have a plan.’ Ada drew towards her the piece of paper that had been on the table when Sarah came down for breakfast and outlined the idea that she had formulated during her long hours of vigil over her daughter and granddaughters.

‘I will teach you how to read and write. And I will instruct you in the art of herbalism. I won’t be able to do what I do for ever and someone must take over from me when I am gone. There is much to learn but I am sure that you will be up to the task.’

Ada made the last declaration in the manner of someone who was trying to convince herself.

‘But do you really think I can?’ Sarah was doubtful. She knew that her grandmother was disappointed in the lack of interest that she had shown in her profession; collecting herbs as instructed and decanting remedies into bottles made up the extent of her knowledge to date.

‘I don’t think there’s an alternative, do you?’ Ada said, after a short pause. ‘Not with a baby on the way.’

They were both silent, considering her words. Then Sarah spoke.

‘We must make a start today. Letters each morning, herbal instruction in the afternoon. Does this sound possible?’

‘Indeed it does.’ Ada managed a small smile, the first one since her return from Manchester. ‘Now, let’s eat something. You’ll need a good breakfast inside you before we make a start.’