Author's note: Today, I realised that I made a mistake while writing this story. It was a tiny mistake, but perhaps some of you caught it. Remember back in the first chapter, when I wrote about Jeanette lying on her deathbed, surrounded by her four sisters, and recounting her vision of Francis' fetch...? Well, I had already planned for Rachel to die. But I wrote four sisters, when Rachel actually wouldn't be alive to surround Jeanette's deathbed. So sorry for the mistake. I must learn to edit better.
Thanks for all the lovely reviews I've gotten so far. I'm having great fun writing this. This chapter will be extra long, since there were some events I didn't want to separate into two chapters. I'm worried about the quality of this chapter, but I hope you like it! As always, constructive criticism is appreciated.
In addition to the framed wedding picture, I have only twelve photographs to my name. Some of them are quite old and faded. I keep them in a large yellow envelope along with a heavy stack of papers of varying size covered in rows of flowing cursive – letters from my sister from when she lived in Lytham St Annes that I've read and re-read so many times I can recite them by heart.
I rummaged in the envelope for the lovely portrait with pinked edges that Lydia and her husband, Victor Morgan, a chauffeur, had taken soon after announcing their engagement. I found the portrait and handed it to Sybille, reminding myself to find a frame for the portrait later. As important as that portrait is to me, I don't know why I haven't put it in a frame long before now.
''Is this your sister?'' Sybille guessed correctly.
''It is. We didn't look very much alike, did we?''
''No. Almost not at all.''
''Lyddie took after our mother, while I favoured our father.'' It was true. My sister and I bore no resemblence to one another with the exception of our tallness and build, the fairness of our skin, and the shape of our noses. How I used to envy Lydia's looks; her wavy hair, the colour of bronze, fell to her broad hips. Her brown eyes sparkled vivaciously, and her lips were red and alluring. On our uncle's farm, Lydia kept her hair in a tight braid hidden underneath her shawl, but during our time in Lochgilphead, she began to follow the latest fashions with hair, pinning it in a large roll on the crown of her head and teasing it for volume. That is, until our employers forbade her from such frivolities, and restricted Lydia to more modest coiffures. Of course, I had my own hair frizzled out in front and did my best to copy the winsome creatures on the pages of The Queen, and later, Vogue. But I lacked confidence enough to take as much pride in my appearance as Lyddie did in hers. Yes, I envied my sister her looks, but even more so, her unflappable confidence.
I'm sure that Victor loved by sister very much. But that didn't stop him from breaking Lydia's heart. Victor killed my sister without ever meaning to. The stupid, selfish man. He passed the disease to Lydia that ended up killing them both.
Another photograph slipped from the envelope, landing face down on the carpet. It was dated Christmas 1907. Sybille retrieved the photograph and flipped it over. ''Who is this? She's a beauty.''
''Oh, her. She most certainly was a beauty. Her name was Sybil Branson.''
Chapter Four: Alfred
There was nothing beneath Joe to break his fall; he landed on his back on the dusty floor of the barn and was knocked out cold. He lay there for two hours, and when the weather turned nasty, rain fell through the gaping hole in the barn roof and covered Joe with water which ran into his nose and eyes and open mouth and might have drowned him, had Elsie not been sent to find where Joe had disappeared to.
When Elsie saw him lying there, she thought he was dead and shrieked. Elisabeth, afraid that Elsie had stepped on a rusty nail, came running into the barn. Her eyes fell on Joseph, and she nearly collapsed. Gathering her wits, she rushed towards the boy, calling his name and slapping his cheeks.
''Is he dead? Is he dead?'' Elsie kept asking, her face white as a sheet.
''I don't know. Be quiet!'' Elisabeth put her ear against Joe's chest. She thought she could hear his heart beating faintly. ''Joseph, Joseph!'' she shouted.
She heard another sound. It was Alfred coming home from the village with the horse and cart. ''Elsie, stay with Joe!'' Elisabeth ordered. ''Try to wake him up, but don't hurt him!''
Elisabeth ran to the other side of the barn, where Alfred was unhitching the horse. She was so out of breath that she couldn't speak; Alfred spun around, almost in fright, noting her florid face and eyes wide with terror.
''What is the matter with you, woman? Have you seen the devil?''
''Alfred,'' Elisabeth gasped, ''Hitch the horse back up again. You must go bring the doctor. Joseph has fallen through the barn roof – I'm not able to wake him – and he may be about to die!''
Alfred's mouth fell open. He started to move towards where Joe had fallen, but Elisabeth stopped him. ''Please! Hitch the horse back up, you must bring the doctor right away! It's urgent! We cannot let the boy die! Think of Peter – ''
But Alfred was already hurrying to ready the cart again for a second trip into the village where the old Irish doctor resided.
''Joe, please wake up!'' Elsie pleaded. ''You can't die now.'' The girl looked up at the rain falling on the both of them, and tore off her apron so she would have something to cover Joe's face with until the doctor arrived.
The village was an hour's ride away; Alfred could have reached it sooner if he'd ridden the horse there without the cart. But he doubted that the old doctor could have managed an hour behind him on horseback.
Doctor Giles Fitzgerald lived in a modest two-story brick house on the edge of the village with a green-painted front door and large front windows hung with white curtains. It was past midday, and the doctor was sitting down for dinner. Alfred climbed from the cart and pounded on the green door. Presently, the middle-aged housekeeper, dressed in her customary somber blue gown and fringed lace shawl, opened the door and asked Alfred to state his business. Alfred told her what had happened. The housekeeper nodded and went to find the doctor. It seemed an eternity before Doctor Fitzgerald came to the door with the black leather bag of his profession.
''Please hurry, Doctor,'' Alfred pleaded. The doctor said nothing as he climbed up into the cart beside Alfred, who ordered his horse to fairly gallop home.
''Where did you say the boy was?''
''In the barn, Doctor. He fell through the roof.''
''I know that.''
By now Jeanette, Elisabeth, Elsie, Charlotte, and Lyddie were crowded around Joe, who had still not woken up.
''Is the lad bleeding from anywhere?'' Doctor Fitzgerald asked, stroking his short white beard.
''I haven't noticed any blood,'' Elisabeth answered.
''How long has he been unconscious?''
''We don't know. He went out to patch up the roof after breakfast. When he never came back, I sent my niece to search for him...''
The doctor bent to examine Joe. He forced one of the boy's eyes open, then the other, and said nothing. He peered into Joe's mouth to check for blood, but found not a trace of it. As he felt around Joe's skull, Joe jerked away, and the doctor smiled. ''That was the best sign I could have possibly hoped for. I don't believe the lad is suffering from internal bleeding. His skull does not seem to be fractured in any way. But we must move him to a bed. We can do it together. Go fetch a large sheet and I'll show you what to do.''
Elsie was sent for a sheet, which the doctor folded neatly in half on the ground beside Joe. He directed Alfred to take the upper part of Joe's body, Elisabeth to take his feet, and Elsie to support him under his back as they transferred Joe onto the sheet in one swift motion on the count of three. Then Doctor Fitzgerald, Alfred, Elisabeth, and Elsie grasped the sheet by each of its four corners and struggled with it into the house.
''Would you like a cup of tea or coffee, Doctor?'' Elsie asked politely when Joe was safely in bed, stripped to his undergarments beneath the covers.
''Why, thank you, child. Some coffee would be much appreciated.'' Doctor Fitzgerald turned to address Alfred and Elisabeth, who stood worriedly at the foot of Joe's bed. ''I'm afraid the lad has broken a few ribs. However, I can't hear any evidence that a piece of bone has perforated one of his lungs. Thank God for that. The breaks seem to be clean, and I've bandaged them to the best of my ability. They should heal within eight weeks. It's the concussion that bothers me. I'm afraid it's a rather serious one.''
In the kitchen, Elsie renewed the fire in the range and put a kettle of water on to boil. She ground up a double handful of coffee beans and put them into a tin coffee pot, listening intently all the while to everything Doctor Fitzgerald was saying. She couldn't tear her eyes away from Joe, who lay against his feather pillow as pale as death with strips of cloth wrapped tightly around his skull and jaw.
''Are you the lad's father?'' Doctor Fitzgerald asked Alfred.
''No, Doctor. Joseph lives on a farm near Lochgilphead. His father sent him and his sister here while he tends to the burial of his recently departed mother.''
''Oh, dear,'' the doctor said, crossing himself. ''When will his father be back?''
''It should be any time. He only wanted to be gone a few days.''
''I see.'' The doctor sat down on the chair Elisabeth had put near Joe's bed.
Elsie came with a wooden tray bearing a pot of coffee, a cup and saucer, a dish of sugar, and a small pitcher of fresh cream. She put the tray on the desk that Elisabeth occupied when figuring household accounts and began to pour the doctor a cup of coffee. Doctor Fitzgerald watched the girl's considerate and austere manner with interest. He didn't know Elsie; he didn't think that she could be more than nine or ten, though she was tall for her age, but she conducted herself like someone much older. She was a young lady who liked things to be done right.
Elsie handed the doctor a steaming cup of coffee and curtsied stiffly. ''Is there anything else I can get you, Doctor?''
The doctor stroked his beard thoughtfully. ''No, thank you, child. May I ask your name?''
''Elsie Hughes, Doctor.'' She curtsied again.
''Thank you for the coffee, Miss Hughes. It's very good. Are you friends with this boy?''
''He is my cousin, Doctor.''
''I see.''
''Will he – will he be all right, Doctor?''
''Yes, Elsie. I think he will be. I would say there is a good chance. But he must stay in bed until his ribs heal. His head wound is severe, but it won't take as long to get better as his ribs.''
Elsie heard Elisabeth clear her throat behind her. ''Doctor, may I speak to you for a moment?''
''Of course, Miss Baxter.''
Elsie, feeling herself dismissed, went into the parlour, where Charlotte and Lydia were playing with a rag doll.
''Look,'' Lyddie said, ''Dolly is in mourning for her mam.'' Elsie saw that the little girls had dressed the doll in scraps of black wool.
''Is Joe going to die?'' Charlotte asked.
Elsie smoothed the little girl's blonde hair. ''The doctor doesn't seem to think so. But who knows. Try not to worry about it, Charlotte. There's no use in worrying about things we have no power over.''
Jeanette held out her burned wrist so Doctor Fitzgerald could remove the new bandage Elisabeth had put on her earlier that day. The large blisters had burst, though Elisabeth had taken care not to tie the bandage too tightly, and a sticky, clear fluid seeped from the raw pink skin.
''What have you been treating this burn with, Miss Baxter?''
''Sheep's tallow, Doctor. I had always heard that it's good to put on burns. I wash and dry the burn every time I put a new bandage on.''
''And have you been boiling the bandages?''
''Yes, Doctor. I scrub the tallow out of the cloth, then boil it, and even iron it out before using it again, so it lies neatly against the skin.''
Doctor Fitzgerald regarded Elisabeth amusedly. ''Miss Baxter, you have done well in the treatment of this wound. But it has become infected anyway. Your sister is burning with fever, haven't you noticed?''
Elisabeth was astounded. She opened and closed her mouth several times before saying, ''Has she got a fever? No, I didn't notice. How could I just notice, with all the work I have to do? Jeanette, if you felt ill, why didn't you tell me?''
''I'm not ill,'' Jeanette whispered listlessly, staring at the floor while Doctor Fitzgerald prepared to re-bandage her wrist. He pulled a small bottle of amber glass from his black leather bag.
''What is that?''
''This, Miss Baxter, is phenol. Carbolic acid. Perhaps it can stop the infection in the burn. However, the vapours of this substance are corrosive to the skin, eyes, and lungs. It will cause your sister pain when you apply it to the burn, and it will hurt the affected skin before the infection is stopped and it can heal over.''
''How much will that medicine cost? And how much will I owe you for your other services today?''
The doctor named his price. Elisabeth nearly panicked. She couldn't believe it.
''That much, Doctor? Why, I haven't got that much money in the house! Isn't there anything else I could give you to pay the bill – something for your larder, perhaps? Cheeses, or some nice dried mutton?''
Doctor Fitzgerald gave a tight smile and shook his head. ''What would I do with cheeses or dried mutton, Miss Baxter?''
''Eat it, of course! Hasn't a doctor got to eat like anybody else?''
''No need to be surly, Miss Baxter. A doctor must be paid what he is owed. And you owe me money, not victuals. If you haven't the means, perhaps this young man's father can pay.'' He gave Elisabeth the bottle of carbolic acid.
Elisabeth took the bottle. She wanted to weep. There was no money in the house. None at all now. And Joseph's father had probably just spent his last few shillings on burying his wife and newborn son. Elisabeth knew that she need not pay the doctor today, but he would have to have the money brought to him soon. Or else he might call the police to the Hughes farm; and then where would they all be?
''I'll get you the money as soon as I am able, Doctor,'' Elisabeth stammered.
The doctor smiled again, all business and no heart. ''Of course you shall. You know where I live.''
Drinking his coffee, he went on to explain to Elisabeth the manner in which she should apply the carbolic acid to Jeanette's burn. Holding her breath against the corrosive vapours, she was to pour a small amount of the acid onto a piece of wool, and swab Jeanette's wrist well. The acid would cause the burn to sting. But stinging meant curing. After several applications of the acid, the infection in the burn should go away. If Jeanette's fever broke, everything was well. If red streaks appeared leading from the burn towards her heart, Elisabeth was to send for him again immediately.
''And, as always, keep washing and boiling those bandages,'' Doctor Fitzgerald recommended as he picked up his black bag and sauntered out the door, which Alfred was holding open for him. ''I thank you for the delicious coffee.''
Alfred stared almost menacingly at Elisabeth for several seconds before turning to follow the doctor outside so he could drive him back to the village.
Elisabeth felt weak at the knees. She lowered herself onto the end of Joseph's bed, and looked at the boy. With a start, Elisabeth realised that the doctor had never specified when Joseph might wake. He'd been out for hours now. When would he wake up? Would he ever wake up?
Elisabeth blamed herself. She would have remembered to ask Doctor Fitzgerald if he could tell how long Joseph would be sleeping; but she'd been preoccupied with remembering to get him to have a look at Jeanette's burned wrist. Elisabeth suddenly gave her sister a very hard look.
''Why didn't you tell me that you had a fever, Jeanette?''
The other woman could not, or perhaps would not, speak. She stared vacantly at the floor.
''Jeanette, do you hear me? Have you gone deaf?'' Cold anger blossomed in Elisabeth's breast as Jeanette refused to answer her.
''The sacrifices I have to make for you,'' Elisabeth mused. ''I go willingly into debt to get medicine so you don't die from infection. I spend my days running a farm almost single-handedly, and caring for a mad woman on top of that. I've got too much to handle. I turned down a marriage proposal from a good man so I could be here to see to you. And this is the thanks I get – your brainless silence?''
Elsie heard her aunt shouting, something she rarely heard. She left the girls in the parlour and crept towards Elisabeth, who did not see her. Jeanette sat on her chair, bent over like a crone. Her face was blank; Elsie wondered if her mother's soul had departed but somehow left breath in her lungs and her heart beating as ever.
Elisabeth sat stifling her sobs, turning the bottle of carbolic acid round and around in one hand. Suddenly, Elisabeth set the bottle aside and slapped Jeanette hard across the face. Just once. Then she couldn't stifle her sobs any longer, and collapsed at her sister's feet.
''Forgive me, Jeanette, forgive me,'' Elisabeth pleaded, pressing her tear-stained face into Jeanette's skirts. ''I'm so sorry – I just can't take it any more. We're out of money, we're not enough to run this farm, and I don't know how to fix these problems. Forgive me.''
Elsie realised she had been holding her breath. She let it all out in a big rush, and Elisabeth saw her standing there, and knew that Elsie had just witnesses her strike her mother. Before Elisabeth could say anything, Elsie came up to her where she was on the floor and held her gently. She kissed the top of Elisabeth's head. Then, remembering Jeanette, who was watching her from the corner of her eye, Elsie embraced her as well for the first time in years. Jeanette hesitantly returned the embrace, and Elisabeth, embarrassed, went outside to the chicken house to see if there were any eggs to collect. She needed to be alone for a moment, anyway.
The fresh, rain-washed air made Elisabeth feel a great deal better, but her head still buzzed with worry, shame, and distress. She found five new eggs in the chicken house and collected them in her apron. She stood breathing in the damp, hay-smelling air until she saw Alfred coming with the horse and cart. Mustering all her courage, she followed him into the barn where he was leaving the cart.
''What a day it's been,'' Alfred said stonily.
''Yes.''
''Why are you here? Do you have something to discuss with me?''
''I do. I must speak with you about how we're going to pay for the doctor's visit today. I also asked Fitzgerald to look at Jeanette's burn. He says it's infected, and gave me a bottle of phenol to treat her with.''
Alfred sighed impatiently. He really didn't want to be hearing this. ''And how much is that going to cost?''
Elisabeth told him.
''Well, have you got that much?''
''No, I don't. I was wondering if you did.''
Alfred laughed darkly. ''Not bloody likely. Besides why should I have to pay for your family's troubles? It's your fault we're in debt now. You're the one who wanted to call the doctor for Joseph, who was clumsy enough to fall through a roof – ''
''We had to call the doctor for him! He might have died!''
''He might still die. If he does, all your money wil be wasted.''
''You don't understand.''
''And that sister of yours. Why are you trying to save her? She lost her mind a long time ago. She's never been the same since Francis died. She's of absolutely no use to any of us here. She can't do her work, she never even talks.''
''Jeanette is my sister, Alfred. I am obligated to take care of her.''
''No, you're not,'' Alfred said. ''No, you're not. So, how are you going to pay off old Fitzgerald?''
''We can sell some of the animals.''
Alfred was taken aback. ''Oh, no. Sell the animals? They're the only thing of worth we have. No one's selling the animals.''
''Well, how else can we pay the doctor?''
''I don't know. It's up to you.''
Elisabeth was fairly shaking in her boots, speechless. How could Alfred be this cruel to her? Why didn't he understand the problem, and help her through it?
Elisabeth started to walk away, then stopped. ''Alfred,'' she said, ''Jeanette and Joseph aren't just my family. They're your family, too. Remember that.''
Some time after this, Alfred met Peter in the yard as he returned from Lochgilphead. ''There's been an accident,'' he said gravely, and walked Peter into the farmhouse, where his son lay prone and pained in bed.
Joe had woken from the trauma of his fall the same evening; Elsie had been the first to notice him flutter his eyelids. Joe had felt, and still felt, to some extent, that up was down and down was up. His head spun and made it impossible to see straight. ''Elsie,'' he groaned before leaning over to vomit until there was nothing left in his stomach. He continued to heave for a while afterwards. The torment the heaving caused his broken ribs was nearly enough to make him pass out again. But Joe held on. Elsie held onto one of his hands while Elisabeth got him cleaned up, deliriously happy that her nephew was finally awake and knew every person in the room. He would live, after all.
Peter said his son's name and was rewarded with Joseph's weak grin. ''How are you, my boy?'' He sat on Joe's bed and took his hands in his own, eyes brimming with tears.
''Da, you're back!'' Charlotte heard her father's voice and stopped scrubbing a kettle with coarse sand to get the black off. She ran to Peter, and he lifted the little girl up onto his knee.
''Where's that Lyddie?''
''I'll go find her,'' Elsie offered.
''What did the doctor say?'' Peter asked of Elisabeth, for Alfred had gone to hide in his cottage. He didn't like company; it would have suited him well if he could but snap his fingers and have Peter and the children back on their farm.
Elisabeth told Peter everything, leaving the part about how much the doctor's visit was going to cost until the very last.
''I don't know what to say, Elisabeth. I haven't got that kind of money at hand any more than you do.''
''I know.''
''Thank you anyway, Elisabeth. Thank you for calling the doctor to look after Joseph. If anything worse had happened to him...''
Elisabeth nodded. ''I told Alfred that the only way we can settle the debt with old Fitzgerald is to sell the animals. Not all, but a few. The best of our sheep and pigs, to fetch the best price. But Alfred wouldn't hear of it.''
''Who would buy the beasts from you?''
''My brothers, perhaps. You know Edward and Arthur. Their farms can support more livestock. I'm sure they would buy the sheep, at least, in order to help me in this situation. When I write them to explain the situation, that is.''
''And you don't think they could lend you the money?''
''I would be sore ashamed to ask.''
''I see. My God, we are between a rock and a hard place. But don't you worry, Elisabeth. I'll speak to Alfred myself on this matter. Something has to be done. I agree that you should sell the animals, if that's what will pay for my son's life...'' His voice became thick with tears. ''If Alfred tells me that he won't part with the beasts, write to your brothers. Alfred will come to understand why you had to do it.''
Late that night, Jeanette sat in the parlour with Charlotte and Lydia, teaching the girls how to knit while Elisabeth added the finishing touches to Elsie's mourning clothes. Elsie stood wearing the soft woolen dress, which Elisabeth had sewn too large and long for her on purpose. This dress had to last Elsie a long time; so Elisabeth knelt before Elsie with a mouth full of pins, shortening the dress to calf length by pinning the fabric into rows of narrow horizontal pleats which could be let out from the top as Elsie grew taller.
They could hear fragments of a heated argument going on outside. Elisabeth was anxious for it to be over; following supper, Peter had gone to pay a visit to Alfred's cottage to speak with him about selecting the sheep that needed to be sold to pay for the doctor, as there was no other way to settle the debt. But as Elisabeth had predicted, Alfred was determined to hang onto his animals.
Soon enough, Peter burst into the house, scowling darkly. He found Elisabeth in the parlour. ''Did you hear what the man said?''
''I couldn't really hear anything. You were too far off.''
''Write a letter to those brothers of yours, lassie. Tonight, if you can manage. They're the only hope we've got. Or else we'll have to go begging for cash.''
''I will,'' Elisabeth promised as Peter said good-night to his family and left to get ready for bed. He was sleeping in the cottage behind the house that her brother-in-law's serving man had once occupied. Elisabeth was growing discontented with what little room there was in the house for all the people who were currently staying. Joe had been given Jeanette's bed, for he was badly injured and required the best mattress they had to offer; so Jeanette had moved onto the pallet of fleeces and woolen blankets that had been Joe's place to sleep before he was hurt while Elisabeth continued to share the attic with her nieces.
She was even more discontented with the dirtiness of the house; in between sewing, doing the never ending chore of laundry which ended on Sundays with ironing the fresh bed linens and began again on Mondays with washing the soiled linens of the previous week, feeding the livestock and keeping their pens clean, cooking meals and doing a hundred other things day in and day out, Elisabeth had no time to scrub the floorboards, clean the laundry room and dairy, and disinfect the house against bedbugs. Bedbugs were becoming a nuisance; Elisabeth often noticed tiny red spots like pinpricks on the arms and legs of her nieces where the insects had supped their blood while the girls slept in infested beds.
Horrified, Elisabeth had smeared the bites with sheep's tallow and instructed the girls to never scratch at the bites, no matter how they itched, or they would get sick. The last thing any of them needed was more illness.
Things would have been easier, had Elisabeth been able to trust Jeanette with certain chores so she would have a chance to get other things done. But after Jeanette scalded herself out of carelessness in the dairy, Elisabeth couldn't see her sister carrying out tasks in the laundry room with hot irons and lye. She thought Elsie, Charlotte, and Lyddie still too young help with the laundry other than fold clean sheets, so all the laundry of every week fell to her to accomplish.
''Who is taking care of Uncle Peter's farm while he's away?'' Elsie asked as Elisabeth finished pinning the final pleat on her skirt and wasted no time starting to tack the pleat into place with needle and thread.
''I suppose his hired hands will take care of it.''
''Does Uncle Peter have enough men to do everything?''
''I suppose he does, Elsie. What a question. The Burns farm is quite small; they haven't as many animals as we to feed, or fields to tend. Their place is small enough to run almost single-handedly.''
''I've never been to the Burns farm.''
''Well, perhaps you'll get to see it some time. How does your dress feel?''
''It feels quite loose. I'll have to wear an apron underneath my arms to make the bodice fit right.''
Elisabeth smiled. ''Oh, don't complain. You'll grow into it soon. By the time I have to let all these pleats out, you'll be a young lady.''
''Then it will be Lyddie's turn to wear the dress,'' Jeanette remarked.
''Why won't Charlotte get to wear it before me?'' Lyddie asked, fumbling to fix a stitch she had dropped in her knitting.
''Because you'll be living here with Elsie, and I'll be living on our farm with Joe,'' Charlotte said in her blunt, matter-of-fact way. But her small face was sad.
''Whatever do you mean?''
Jeanette and Elisabeth exchanged glances. ''Lyddie,'' Elisabeth said, choosing her words carefully, ''Your Uncle Peter is going to stay at our farm for a few weeks until Joseph is better, because he can't travel home as he is. Then he'll take Joe and Charlotte back to his farm, and you'll stay here, with us. Where you belong.''
''Here, without Charlotte and Joe?'' Lydia was confused.
''Yes. We are your closest family. So you must live with us. But Lochgilphead isn't very far away; you'll be able to see Joe and Charlotte sometimes.''
''But I don't want to stay here! I want to stay with Joe and Charlotte.''
''But Lyddie, we're your family,'' Elsie said.
''Joe and Charlotte are my family, too.''
''But we can't all live together in one small house; there wouldn't be enough room to share. It would be most uncomfortable.''
Lydia began to cry.
Jeanette put an arm around the little girl. ''Lyddie, dear, don't be sad. Don't you want to be with your mam?''
''My mam is dead,'' Lydia replied tearfully.
Up in the attic, Elsie tossed and turned on her straw mattress, unable to sleep. It was a few hours until dawn. The attic was bathed in the cold white light of a full moon, which poured in through the small open window over Elisabeth's bed. Her bed was empty, the light summer quilt thrown to one side. The lamp that Elisabeth liked to keep by her bed was gone. Elsie suddenly became aware of the voices downstairs; Elisabeth was trying to comfort someone who could not be comforted. Elsie got out of bed and tiptoed to the top of the stairs, taking care not to draw the tiniest creak from the floorboards.
She heard her mother's muffled scream, and Elisabeth shushing her. Elsie apprehensively descended the stairs one at a time, gripping the polished wooden rail, hoping she was actually asleep, and that this was a terrible nightmare. Her heart pounded wildly. Jeanette screamed again.
Elsie couldn't take it any more. She started to run downstairs, when without warning, Elisabeth appeared at the bottom of the staircase in her shift and dressing gown, her dark hair falling out of its braid and a scared look on her face.
''Elsie, I'm glad you're awake. I need you to help me with Jeanette.''
Jeanette lay on her bed, shivering uncontrollably beneath several blankets. A rag was stuffed into her mouth, and her burned wrist lay at her side, unbandaged and glistening wetly in the light of a nearby lamp. The room was hot and stuffy; Elisabeth had built up the fire in the range in an effort to make Jeanette's fever break. Perhaps it was working; as Elsie inched nearer to the sick woman's bed, she noticed a few beads of sweat on Jeanette's forehead. There was a towel soaking in a basin of water next to the bed; Elsie wrung out the towel and ran it over her mother's tortured face.
''The doctor told me her burn is infected.'' Elisabeth showed Elsie a glass bottle full of a dark liquid. ''This stuff is called phenol. I was supposed to treat Jeanette's burn with it. The doctor said that it would stop the infection, and that the applying it would only make her burn sting – but look at her arm! What have I done wrong? This can't be real medicine, for it's made the burn far worse!''
Elisabeth was absolutely right. Elsie covered her mouth to keep from being sick at the sight of Jeanette's devastated skin. The carbolic acid had caused the burn to worsen and spread.
''She's going to die,'' Elsie whispered in shock.
''No, she's not,'' Elisabeth said. ''I'm not going to let her. Elsie, please run and wake Peter. I want to see if he knows what to do about this.''
''Elisabeth...'' Elsie felt like fainting.
''Elsie, do as I said!''
Elsie dashed around the house to the cottage where Peter was sleeping. She pounded on the door. ''Uncle Peter! Can you come?''
Almost immediately, the door opened and Peter took Elsie by the shoulders. ''What is it, child? Is it Joe?''
''No,'' Elsie choked, ''It's Mam. I think she's dying.''
Peter eyed Jeanette's wrist critically. ''I think the only thing we can do is wash the burn and bandage it back up, Elisabeth. And don't think of putting any more of that poison on it. Throw the bottle away. Perhaps Fitzgerald didn't know how badly the phenol would affect her. Right now, we must concentrate on getting Jeanette's fever down. If she lasts through the night, she might survive.''
Jeanette moaned pitifully as Elisabeth poured water over her wrist, dried it, and got out the jar of sheep's tallow again to smear it thickly with that before wrapping linen around the burned area. Then there was nothing left to do but keep the fire stoked and wait.
Elisabeth hugged her niece and sorrowfully kissed her on both cheeks. ''You should go back to bed, Elsie.''
''No, you know I can't.''
Elsie made a pot of strong coffee and sat for the next few hours with her aunt and uncle, watching over Jeanette as she slipped into a restless sleep. Her breathing was ragged for a long time, but as the sun came up, it grew calmer.
Joe and the girls awoke and didn't understand why Peter, Elisabeth, and Elsie were crowded around Jeanette. No one told them, for they were too exhausted to speak.
Elsie dressed Charlotte and Lyddie, and sent them out to feed the birds, sheep, and pigs. She knew she must go out to milk the cows and deliver fodder to the other liverstock, but she was afraid to leave Jeanette. After a while, she voiced her concerns to Peter, who got up to carry out Elsie's chores himself. He didn't mind. Peter placed his hand on Elsie's head and smiled into her face. ''You're a good girl, Elsie. Take it easy today, whatever happens. You and Elisabeth both. Alfred and I will see to the farmwork. You two must rest.''
Elisabeth said, ''I wrote the letters to Edward and Alfred last night. But when can I drive to the village to post them?''
''I'll post the letters for you, Elisabeth.''
She took the letters out of a compartment in her writing desk and handed them to Peter. ''I requested that my brothers come as soon as they can manage. But who knows when that will be.''
''But you're certain they'll come?''
''I pray so.''
''And if they don't come, or decide not to buy the animals?''
''Then perhaps the village butcher will buy a few...But that won't rake up enough money to pay the doctor. I'll have to pay Fitzgerald what I can, then think up a way to give him the rest. No doubt I could find work in the village as a maid.''
Jeanette's fever broke towards midday as Elsie was boiling oats in the kitchen for dinner. Elisabeth cried tears of relief as Jeanette sat up in bed and asked for water. Elsie happily brought the water in to her and helped her drink it slowly. Later, she got Jeanette to drink a cup of warmed milk with a small quantity of oats and a spoonful of sugar in it. Jeanette slept again afterwards, and though the burn on her wrist would take until the end of autumn to heal, the infection seemed to have left it, and Jeanette's health was much improved.
Peter rode a horse into the village to post Elisabeth's letters, and by the end of the next week, Edward and Arthur arrived at the Hughes farm to inspect the ragged flock of Shropshires. After much deliberation, they decided to buy eleven of the sheep, though they were a sorry lot, and handed a grateful Elisabeth just enough cash to pay Doctor Fitzgerald with next time she was in the village.
Edward and Arthur couldn't stay at the Hughes farm for long; they rounded the eleven Shropshires into a high-walled cart and headed home with them the same day. Peter watched them go and wondered about getting back to his own farm; Joe was out of bed now, but his broken ribs pained him greatly, and Peter didn't think the boy would fare well on the long ride home.
''Elisabeth,'' he said after Edward and Arthur were gone and Elisabeth was preparing a chicken for supper, ''I must return to my farm. I've been away far too long. It'll soon be time to cut our hay – if there's more than a handful that hasn't been ruined in this incessant rain!'' Peter glanced out the front door at a sky heavy with rainclouds over fields of grass flattened by previous storms. ''But I fear that it would only harm Joe to move him now. Even if we put him into my cart wrapped in blankets. The road is rough.''
''Say no more, Peter. Your children are welcome here for as long as they need to stay. Only – please, sit down. There is something I wanted to speak with you about.''
Peter took a seat at the kitchen table, and Elisabeth poured him a cup of tea.
''Three years ago, I was forced to kill three sheep who'd gotten sick during the winter. They got sick because Alfred didn't keep their hooves trimmed. Alfred was drinking as much then as he is now. He wouldn't help me try to save the sheep; that's why I killed them. They would have died anyway...''
''Yes? Go on.''
Elisabeth began to stammer with nervousness. ''When Alfred found out that I had killed the beasts, he came after me.''
''What did Alfred do to you, Elisabeth?'' Peter set his teacup down with a rattle, fearing the worst.
''He beat me,'' Elisabeth said simply, grimacing at the memory at the painful bruises on her body, and the blood that had poured from her nose and mouth. She could almost taste it now. ''He beat me quite badly.''
Peter was nearly shaking with rage. ''Did anyone else know that he did this? Other than Jeanette and Elsie, of course?''
''Yes. Maryann's husband Dougal knew. Their daughter, Gladys, had been living here to help Elsie and I with all the work that is to be done. She wrote to her father after Alfred beat me, and when he came, he did to Alfred almost worse than he'd done to me!''
''And now that Alfred has lost even more of his precious sheep because he can't care for them, you're afraid that he'll come after you again.''
''Exactly. I hadn't wanted to bother you with these...details, but...''
Peter finished his tea and stood up from the table. ''Dear Elisabeth, I wish you had let me know about all this a long time ago. Though I understand why you weren't keen on talking about it. I haven't seen Alfred all day; I suppose he's passed out dead to the world in that cottage of his. Has he truly been drinking like this for the last three years?''
Elisabeth nodded, twisting her apron in her hands. ''He started drinking after his brother died.''
''I see,'' Peter said thoughtfully.
''Peter, it shames me to speak this way, but I must be honest. Things have been so much easier on the farm since you've been here. Alfred won't do almost any work at all; his drinking is out of hand. All of us are afraid to even speak to him. And look at this place. The barn roof has a big hole in it that I don't trust myself to fix properly, we're not going to have enough to feed our livestock with this winter, and what will we do if the animals fall sick and die for want of food or care that I can't give them? I can't manage the farm alone, with Jeanette the way she is, and Elsie so young.'' Elisabeth was weeping now, from tiredness and shame.
''Oh, lassie.'' Peter gave the young woman his handkerchief to dry her eyes with. How he pitied her. How proud he was of her. Elisabeth was a brave and hardworking woman; Peter hoped that his daughter would grow to be half as brave and hardworking as she. ''I'm going to have a talk with Alfred. And he had better listen to me. I'm afraid to leave you now, after you've told me about what he did to you; I can easily protect you while I'm here, but what's to stop that man from beating you again after I've gone?''
Peter opened the door. Elisabeth sat on the nearest chair, pressing the handkerchief to her face. ''We're done for,'' she whispered. ''I don't see how we'll make it through this winter. We're done for.''
''You're not done for as long as I'm alive, lassie,'' Peter replied, holding his head high, before going out the door to find Alfred. ''Have faith, not fear. Things have a way of working themselves out.''
''Alfred,'' Peter called, knocking on the rough door of his cottage. ''Open up, I know you're in there. I want to talk to you.''
But Alfred didn't answer. Peter, realising that the door was not locked, pushed it open and entered the little house, wrinkling his nose at the staggering smell that accosted him. Had Alfred been insane, to live like this? Countless bottles were strewn throughout the cottage's single room; they lined the dusty window sills, and some were collected in a large broken basket at the foot of Alfred's bed, the canvas mattress of which was streaked with filth and lay askew on the wooden frame. The chipped chamber pot underneath the bed looked as though it hadn't been emptied in days, and the range was covered in dust and clogged with ashes, which spilled from the grating onto the begrimed wooden floorboards. Peter glanced up at the thatched roof, and saw cobwebs lifting in the breeze and traces of black mold which continued down the dingy walls. Thoroughly disgusted, he backed out of the cottage and set about looking for Alfred.
''Elisabeth, are you all right?''
She felt a light touch on her shoulder. Elsie was standing beside her with something of black cloth draped neatly over her arm. Elisabeth had lain her aching head on the kitchen table for a few moments, and perhaps fallen alseep, for when she opened her eyes and sat up again, she felt refreshed and less cast down.
Elsie was worried about her aunt. Elisabeth was little more than skin and bones; she served her family at mealtimes, but rarely sat down to eat. Her eyes had lost their humour, and her mouth was forever set in a thin, unyielding line. She hadn't washed her hair in weeks, and oily strands fell in her pinched face, giving her a tawdry and defeated air.
''I've finished sewing your skirt,'' Elsie said quietly, holding the stuff over her arm out for Elisabeth to see.
''Thank you, Elsie, it looks wonderful.'' Elisabeth lovingly ruffled her niece's hair. ''You're going to be an expert seamstress. Where are Jeanette and the girls?''
''Mam is scrubbing in the dairy, and Charlotte and Lyddie are teaching Joe how to knit in the parlour.''
In spite of herself, Elisabeth laughed. It was a real laugh, her first in a long while. ''That's very good. I look forward to seeing what he makes.'' She was getting up to follow Elsie into the parlour, when Peter appeared in the kitchen, looking unmistakably disturbed.
''Peter, what's the matter? Did you find Alfred?
''Oh, I found him. He was in the barn.''
''Well, what did he say?''
''He's dead.''
''What?'' Elisabeth's handed the skirt back to Elsie.
''Alfred is dead?'' Elsie said in utter confoundment. ''But how?''
Peter cleared his throat. ''Elsie, please leave us. This is nothing for a child to hear.''
Elsie wasted no time getting back to the parlour, where she sat beside Joe and whispered into his ear that Alfred was dead, so as to not frighten Charlotte and Lyddie, who were absorbed in their knitting. Elsie motioned for Joe to be quiet so the two of them could just make out Peter and Elisabeth's conversation.
''He wasn't in his cottage,'' Peter was saying in a low voice. ''So I searched for him. His cart was in the barn, so I knew he had to be somewhere near. And so he was. Where the cows are kept. He's hung himself from a rafter, Elisabeth.''
''Good heavens.'' Elisabeth felt ready to faint. This was too much. She didn't know what to think.
''I cut him down. It's a grisly sight; you needn't come into the barn. Alfred cannot be buried right now, unfortunately, though I don't know how a corpse will keep this time of year! I must drive to the village to alert the coroner, who will come with a policeman to rule the death a suicide. Until then, don't worry about feeding the animals – and keep the children in the house.''
''Of course, Peter. Will you go to the village now?''
''Yes, right away. The sooner this hideous business is over and done with, the better. I'll also stop by the doctor's house to give him his due when I'm there. Oh, and Elisabeth. I will be leaving this place in the morning. You, Jeanette and the children are to come home with me. I dare say there's not a thing left for you here.''
In the parlour, Joe and Elsie looked at each other in surprise.
''Did you hear what Da said?''
''I did.''
''I can't believe it.''
''Neither can I.''
''This might be a good thing,'' Joe reasoned. ''I didn't want to say it, but I'd been worrying about leaving Lyddie here when it was time to go home. She and Charlotte are like sisters! It would be cruel to part them. Now we won't have to.''
''True.'' Elsie remained carefully composed, but inside she bubbled with enough excitement to bring on a fever. They were leaving the farm! Elsie had never been anywhere before. And now they were leaving the farm for good, to live in the countryside near Lochgilphead with Joe and his family. Then Elsie felt a twinge of guilt; the old house surrounding her had been her home for as long as she had lived. She had been born in the house; it and the farm held so many memories. And yet she leapt at the chance to leave it all behind. Elsie was not a sentimental girl; but her lack of sentiment for something like this shocked her a little.
''I hope you will be happy living at our farm, Elsie,'' Joe said diffidently. ''I can't wait to show it to you. It isn't much, but it belongs to us.''
''Why, thank you, Joe. I wish we were already there.''
Elisabeth kept the children confined to the house, as she had promised Peter, and only slipped into the dairy to tell Jeanette what had happened. Jeanette didn't seem to quite register the news of Alfred's suicide. She only nodded indifferently, as if she had been expecting it. Then Elisabeth told her about Peter's plans to take them away from the farm, since it was evident they would no longer be able to keep it. The farm would be sold to pay for Alfred's burial, or sit abandoned until the end of time if no one wanted it in its delapidated state. Elisabeth didn't care either way.
Peter brought the coroner, who came without a policeman, and drove him back to the village a short time later with Alfred's body wrapped in a length of burlap attained from the barn, to be buried in a pauper's grave. The coroner agreed with Peter that no one in their right mind would buy the farm, when there was no hay in the fields, and the barn had a large section of its roof gone. Peter could, however, undoubtedly sell the steam-powered thresher and the mower for a tidy sum, since the machines were far too cumbersome to transport to his own farm. And he made plans to do just that.
There were also the livestock to take into consideration: four Shire horses, six Tamsworth pigs, eight chickens, two sheepdogs, five ducks, a pair of red Dexter cows, and a few Shropshire sheep that could not be left to fend for themselves in a deserted farm. Peter would have to take them to his farm and eventually slaughter or sell the animals he had no room for.
Jeanette, Elisabeth, and Elsie spent a day deciding what to take with them to the Burns farm, and what to leave behind. What they packed into two carts amounted to all the bed linens and blankets in the house, which would be used to cushion Joe on the long journey, the few garments they owned, the family Bible, Francis' old copy of The Book of the Farm, a box of wire and wood for the chickens to nestle in, and all the food from the larder they could carry.
When the carts had been loaded and it was almost time to go, Peter caught Elsie holding her black and white cat tightly in her arms and stroking its sleek fur.
''If only I could bring our cats with us,'' Elsie said, on the verge of tears. ''I wanted to say good-bye to all three, but they're hiding from me.''
''Don't worry about those wee beasties, Elsie,'' Peter said kindly. ''They can take care of themselves. However, I'll have to return here at some point to collect more things from the house – and when I do, I'll look for your cats and bring them back with me in a coop, if they want to come.''
Elsie looked hopeful, and put the little cat down. She found Elisabeth, who helped her into the cart she was going to drive. Elsie settled down beside Joe, who lay in a makeshift bed of blankets, with pillows and wadded sheets placed strategically around his head and torso. During the long journey, it would be Elsie's job to keep Joe from jolting around too much. Lydia surprised Elsie by coming to sit in her lap, putting her arms around her sister's neck, while Charlotte sat on the other side of Joseph, contentedly cradling her rag doll.
Each cart was pulled by two horses from the Hughes farm; the horse Peter had brought with him trailed behind his owner's cart with the small flock of sheep, which was mostly kept in check by the dogs.
They arrived at the Burns farm at nightfall two days later, and were greeted by the handful of hired men who lived on the small farm, who had not expected Peter to return with anyone other than his children. Peter had been gone too long from his farm, but it had been managed well in his absence. The hay had been mown from Peter's meagre fields, wheat and honey had been harvested, and cider made.
It was early August, and the night was dry and cool; Elsie peered over the edge of the cart she'd ridden in at a stone farmhouse that was considerably smaller than the one she had been raised in, flanked by a few thatched outbuildings similar to the cottages at home. She did not know how so many people would fit into the little house, but surely they would find a way to be comfortable and happy here.
The farm was to be Elsie's home for the next ten years.
