Читать книгу The Tarnished Necklace - Trish Inc. Duffin - Страница 5

Grief has a strange way of making the sufferer numb. The sun comes up, the chores are tended to, and the sun goes down. Such was the case for Peter. The cow was always milked, the chickens fed, the land tended to. Yet he couldn’t have told you whether the sun shone or the day was filled with rain. Andrew came over each day with an offer of help on the farm and a batch of fresh baking in his hands. Each day he saw a young man who clearly hadn’t slept and was merely going through the motions demanded of him. Each day Andrew returned, his offer of help politely rejected and the food accepted but probably not touched.

“How was Peter this morning?” enquired Susan as Andrew returned yet again only twenty minutes after departing.

“The same, he is just so numb. Why don’t we get him over for a meal? I doubt he is feeding himself.”

Susan agreed and later that morning she headed over to Peter’s place to invite him to come over. He refused. “No thanks Susan, I don’t want to impose on you. I’m fine, honest I am.”

She opened her mouth to say the offer was open anytime but found different words coming out of her mouth, while her hands perched themselves firmly on her hips. “Peter Matthews, you’re not fine. Anyone with eyes in their head can see that. I insist you come to our place for a meal tonight and I will not take no for an answer.”

The tone in her voice caused Peter to look at her in a different light. Instead of a tone of gentleness, which was her usual tone, this one was of authority, which took him by surprise. “Oh, er, I do apologise ma’am,” he stammered, then paused. “I will come. I will be there at six if that is appropriate?”

Susan smiled and rubbed his shoulder. “Sorry Peter, I look upon you as a son and spoke to you as if I was your mother. I do apologise. We miss you and we are worried about you.”

He nodded, “Thanks Susan, I appreciate it. I will see you later today.”

At that Susan scooped up her basket, gave him a small smile and headed back to her home.

Peter suddenly felt a small flicker of warmth ripple through his body and he walked over to the grave and sat down. “Chenoa, I’ve been invited over to the Scott’s place for dinner. I think they are worried about me.” He sat for a few minutes dwelling on Susan’s words and looking at the gravestone. He realised two weeks had passed and he had only functioned. Two weeks. At that he went into his house, looked into the mirror and realised why Susan had spoken as she had, as his reflection stunned him. He was gaunt, grey and clearly hadn’t looked after himself. With his back to the demands of his home, he tended to his own needs until he was clean, groomed and clad in fresh clothes. As the day continued he found himself constantly staring at the clock, convinced at one stage it was going backwards. He finally gave up when he realised he had been sitting staring at the clock for ten minutes. Closing the door he then checked on the hens, making sure all five were in their run and then walked over to the grave. He had finished making their gravestone. It simply read “Chenoa and Jack, forever in my heart, 7th June 1893”. He stood for a few minutes in silence before saying goodbye and walking over to the Scott’s house.

On his arrival he saw Andrew working in the barn and detoured in. Andrew glanced up at his arrival and smiled. “Peter, we are glad you came over.” He paused for a second, frowning a little. “We’ve been worried about you son, we all have.”

There was a moment of awkwardness, and then Peter took a deep breath. “Sorry Andrew...... I didn’t realise...... Thanks for coming over each day and........”

At that Andrew thumped Peter on the shoulder with a wry grin. “We just want you to know we care and I have four ladies in there who sent me over every day to make sure of that. Now let’s go in, I’m sick of working on this,” and he threw his thumb over his shoulder to point at the latest project, a chair. The men then ambled out and even before they got to the house Peter could smell the aroma of a rich stew wafting in the slight breeze.

The door flew open and two girls came flying out. Joanne, the twelve year old, bounced out with a big grin all over her face and threw her arms around his waist. “I missed you Peter,” she exclaimed before squeezing him hard.

He laughed and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, while holding out another arm to Alice. She was the quiet one and would never bounce like Joanne but there was a broad smile on her face as she accepted Peter’s offer to snuggle under his arm. Her ten year old arms failed to circle his waist, but that didn’t matter. The two girls had always wanted a big brother and considered Peter one almost from the moment he and Chenoa had first met them. There had been the occasional incident when he had dropped a worm down their necks and they always failed miserably in their attempts at retaliation. Grace, the youngest, was inside and when she saw Peter she jumped up, stood on the hem of her dress, tripped over and howled. Peter scooped her up in his arms, sat down on the rocking chair and cuddled Grace while checking her for any sign of injury. A bump was appearing on her forehead but her crying quickly calmed down to a hiccup and sniff. He held her close before turning to greet Susan and Maria.

“Good evening,” he said, now that everyone could talk and were no longer deafened by the crying.

Susan was crouched beside Grace checking her daughter’s head and smiled up at him. “Thanks for letting me boss you around,” she said quietly.

Maria looked at him and smiled as well, looking a little shy, which was unusual. “Hello,” she demurely said before turning back to the vegetables.

Grace snuggled into his arms and whispered in his ear, “I’m going to be five in forty days time.”

Peter grinned. “Five! Is there anything special you would like for your birthday?” Grace nodded and wiped a tear from her eye, before saying more than anything else she would like to have a crib for her baby doll with pretty pink ribbons on it. Also, she continued to whisper, she would like a toy horse. No sooner was that announced than she bounced off Peter’s knee and headed out the door with one finger on her head stroking the now large lump.

“May I make the toy horse for her? asked Peter. “I love whittling.”

Andrew agreed as it seemed he was in the middle of making the crib. Maria beckoned Peter and asked him to reach up high for a basket, which he did. Being 6 foot 2 inches meant that was a rather common request. He passed it down and Maria glanced out the door to make sure that Grace was safely away. She was crouched down in the yard with a hen on her lap feeding it some grain, she was safely out of sight. Maria opened up the basket. In it was a beautiful doll sized blanket with pink ribbons swirling through it. A grin crossed his face; he had seen that little blanket being stitched at his home. Obviously it was difficult to work on gifts with a busy little four year old in the same house. That memory brought a spasm of pain across his face as it also included a picture of Chenoa hemming a blanket for their baby. Maria noticed the flicker of memory but his smile quickly returned as he complimented her on the design. Clearly many secretive hours had gone into its construction.

He folded the blanket up and stored it back into the basket before returning it to its hiding place. Andrew and he then ambled out to the porch making small talk as the women continued preparing the meal in the kitchen. Joanne and Alice joined them, giggling about a shared joke.

The evening progressed in the same fashion: the girls giggling, the men discussing the crops and what needed to be done. At one point they were pressed by Susan and Maria to fetch water and chop wood. Susan’s meal was beautiful and Peter realised he had been neglecting himself when it came to meals. Maria produced a mouth-watering apple pie for dessert which ended the meal nicely.

Later on the men sat on the porch watching the sun set with colours of orange and red blazing across the sky. Andrew sighed. “Why does God do that?”

“Do what?” enquired Peter, thinking of a dozen whys.

“Why does he put so much trouble into making pretty sunsets?” replied Andrew staring up at the sky and the one, small, gold-tinged cloud.

Peter thought for a second before quietly replying, “He just loves beauty.”

It was going to be a dark night, with only a very new moon casting light, so Peter headed off before it got too dark. His stomach was full, but even better, he could feel the first bit of healing take place within his heart and some of the heaviness was gone. He had needed the space they had given, but felt ready to start being with his friends again.

His chores were done by the light of the lamp as he closed up the barn, checked on the few animals and drew some water for them. Before retiring he walked over to Chenoa’s grave and told her of the evening. It had been a difficult night not having her there. Normally she would be filling the room with her smile, using her broken English as much as possible and laughing. However the size of the Scott family helped fill in the awkward moments and there was a time when everyone openly spoke of Chenoa and baby Jack. He hadn’t realised just how much they were grieving the loss of his wife and baby and it was comforting to be surrounded by his friends.

As the days progressed Peter felt his grief start slipping away. Having the grave nearby started to be less painful and the time came when he sat by the grave without a choked throat. Usually he talked about what he had done over the day. Sometimes he even just sat there quietly whittling away on a small herd of ponies for a little girl about to turn five. There were frequent times he came back from working his land to find a loaf of home-made bread or a cake on the table. Once he spotted Maria making her way back home after her errand. Andrew came over every few days to offer a hand on his farm or invite him over for a meal. Peter increasingly found his legs tucked under their table and they even came to his place for a meal one night. It was a simple meal and there weren’t enough chairs for everyone. They made do and laughed when Joanne fell off the chair she was sharing with Alice. Gradually Peter got absorbed into the family. Chenoa had only been in his life for nine months. Within that time frame he had gone from being a lonely and single young man with no roots, to being a husband, an expectant father and then back to being single - this time with a farm, an unused crib and empty space in the bed beside him. Now, he was becoming part of a family, this was something he had barely experienced before and he loved it. Though no stranger to being on his own, he had started to become lonely in the year leading up to meeting Chenoa. His very short marriage of only five months had been a happy time, and he found the sudden jolt back to being a single man difficult and unwanted.

Andrew noticed this change as well. Though he loved being a father of four girls he would have loved to have a son work alongside him. The two men worked well together and they unconsciously took on the roles of father and son. Peter had little idea how to run a farm and was more than happy to work alongside Andrew, absorbing his wisdom and learning the necessary skills of farming.

Peter’s mother had died in childbirth and he had been cared for by a number of nannies as his father’s temperamental behaviour saw a steady turnover of employees. Susan’s warm heart soon won him over and Peter unconsciously started to regard her as a mother. Susan likewise took to looking on him more as a son than as a neighbour, a son that she never had but always wanted. She realised that was the case one day when he sat down at the table with dirty hands and she sent him out to wash up, realising once she had given the order that she had used her mother’s voice. Peter’s abashed look had made her laugh as he slunk out the door to obey her command. The fact that Joanne and Alice had teased him when he got told off made it all the more funny.

What was a real novelty for him was the growing feeling of having sisters. As an only child he had never enjoyed the company of siblings. The girls in return didn’t have a big brother so they too enjoyed his company, gentle teasing and tugged ponytails.

The only one that he didn’t tease was Maria. She was eighteen so instead he treated her with the respect that reflected her age. Until Chenoa’s death he hadn’t got to know her too well other than deeply appreciating the relationship that had developed between his wife and Maria. Chenoa had really struggled with being the only Indian woman in a white community. Maria’s warm and open friendship had meant a lot to both of them. Now he was realising why Chenoa had always appreciated her company. She was a quiet, calm person. She also had an inner confidence that showed both in the tilt of her chin and the way she expressed herself. They took to chatting and he quickly found that she had a keen mind. She also proved to be completely unbeatable in chess. It became a regular evening routine for him to lose a game before heading home.

He still struggled with the emptiness of his home though, and knew his grief was not going to go away immediately.