For a Mother's Sins (17 page)

‘I think you’d better go, give me time to think.’ She leaned on the wooden cupboards, still avoiding his eyes.

John picked his cap up and said nothing as he went out of the door into the crisp night air, his thoughts in turmoil.

Molly turned and walked over to where Lizzie was asleep, pulling the curtain back and looking at her dark-haired daughter asleep in her bed. She’d known for a while that her feelings for
John had moved beyond friendship, but rather than face up to what was going on she’d tried to focus on her work and Lizzie, hoping that the attraction she felt for him would subside.

Planting a kiss on Lizzie’s forehead, she drew the curtain to screen her bed and went to sit by the fire, her thoughts still taken up with John.

The snow came down thick and fast, dazzling the eyes and making people feel light-headed as they watched the huge flakes falling down. It had snowed for over a week, off and
on, leaving drifts the height of a man all across Ribblehead and the shantytowns. Ingleborough, Whernside and Pen-y-ghent were like white sleeping giants wrapped up in a blanket of snow.
Construction of the railway had ground to a halt and the navvies were getting cabin fever with no work to do and no means to get out of the valley. The pipes of the chimneys belched out dark grey
smoke against the heavy winter’s sky while residents of Batty Green huddled around their stoves.

‘I can hardly keep warm, our Lizzie, it’s so bloody cold.’ Molly wrapped her shawl around her as she put her breakfast down in front of her daughter. ‘I’m going to
have to get some more coal from up near the track today. At least we don’t have to pay to keep warm – that’s one of the few perks of working for the railway. I don’t know
what it’s going to be like in December if it’s this cold when we’re not even out of October. We’ll probably all freeze to death in this godforsaken spot.’

Lizzie crouched over the stove, resting her bottom on the top of it to get some heat through her bones while she ate her porridge.

‘Don’t you block all that heat off! Your mother’s frozen and all, you know. Right, I’d better see if I can get someone to carry me a sack down from the coal yard. I dare
say it’ll be frozen solid and too heavy for me to manage.’ Molly pulled her shawl over her head and stepped out into the blizzard, her skirt dragging in the snow. She held her shawl
tight to her as the wind blew cruelly through it, and the snow caught on her eyelashes and hair as she trudged up the hill to the coal yard.

‘Bye, am I glad to have got here.’

Molly lifted her head to see who was greeting her.

‘I’m frozen to the bone – I can’t feel my feet and my fingers are blue.’ The red-faced postman from Ingleton puffed and panted as he stopped to get his breath.
Molly was the only human he’d seen on his five-mile trek from Ingleton and he was desperate for a bit of conversation. ‘I had to get through – I’ve a letter marked urgent
and it’s been staring at me these last five days from the mantelpiece. Where do the Pratts live? Can you tell me which hut it is?’ He blew on his mittened hands as he waited for a
reply.

‘If you give me a hand with a sack of coal, I’ll take you there.’

‘I’ll help you with it – if I can have a warm-up and a brew before I set off back to Ingleton.’ The postman put his head on one side, looking at Molly like an inquisitive
robin.

‘Deal.’ Molly stomped off with the postman hard on her heels.

Jim Pratt opened the door to find a three-foot snowdrift blown against the steps and a weary postman.

‘Letter for the Pratts,’ he said, doffing his cap. ‘I’ve come as soon as I could. This weather’s held me up.’ And before Jim had a chance to respond he was
off, looking forward to some warmth and hospitality at Molly’s.

‘What is it, Father?’ Rose wiped her hands and peered at the letter in her husband’s hand.

‘It’s the postman from Ingleton. He’s come out in this weather to deliver us a letter. Must be because it’s got “urgent” written on it.’ Jim ran his
finger over the seal and then passed it to Rose to open.

‘It’s from our Nancy, I know her handwriting.’ Rose ripped it open and began to read.

A moment later, hands trembling and eyes filling with tears, she slumped into the chair next to the table.

‘What’s up, Ma?’ John rushed to her side.

Tears ran down her face as she waved the letter for them to read.

John lifted it from her shaking hand and read:

John screwed the letter up in his hand as he looked at his ashen-faced father and his wailing mother.

‘This is your bloody fault – if you hadn’t sent him away, he’d still be alive.’ Words spewed out of his mouth. ‘You’re a bloody hypocrite,
Mother!’ John stamped about the room, unable to contain his grief and anger.

‘Enough, lad,’ said Jim. ‘We’re all upset. Your mother’s not to blame for his death. She didn’t know he was down.’ Jim put a comforting arm around Rose
as she sobbed uncontrollably.

‘Tell him, Ma. For once in your life, practise what you preach: tell my father the truth. It’s time he knew what Bob got up to and how you’ve covered for him ever since!’
John banged his hand down on the table.

Rose sobbed into her apron, unable to look at her furious son.

‘I said that’s enough! Stop your bellowing, I know why he was sent away. You may think I sit in that chair and don’t take anything in, but I’m not daft. It didn’t
take a genius to see the way Bob looked at that Mason lass. Then on the day she goes missing, he comes home with a cut on his head and sulking for the Devil. Oh aye, there’s not a lot gets
past me. And don’t you look at me like that, Rose – our John’s right: you’re too devious for your own good. Maybe now our Bob’s dead, you’ll see what
you’ve done and mend your ways. It’s time the pair of you squared yourselves up. Remember who’s head of this household.’ Having said his piece, Jim sat in his chair next to
the fire and lit his pipe. ‘Now, when does she say the funeral is?’

John unscrewed the letter, this time reading it more carefully. ‘Thursday. She says Thursday, but that was yesterday. We’ve even missed his bloody funeral.’ John slumped in the
chair next to his mother’s. ‘I’m sorry, Ma, I shouldn’t have lost my temper. You did what you thought best.’

Rose lifted her head and tried to smile at her son, her eyes red and puffy. ‘I only did what I thought was right for him. I loved him – he was my baby. You’re all my
babies.’

John held her in his arms and rocked her. ‘I know, Ma, but we’re all grown-up. We can stand on our own two feet. You can’t look after us for ever.’

Jim spat a mouthful of saliva into the fire, making it hiss. ‘I’m off to the Welcome Inn for a bloody gill – and don’t any bugger try and stop me or lecture me. A man
should be able to have a drink in time of sorrow.’

He’d no sooner left the house than he came across the postman, about to embark on the return journey.

‘Good day to you!’ the postman shouted.

‘Good day, my arse!’ Jim shouted back.

‘Now you’re sure you’ll be all right if I go back to work? Promise you’ll keep warm and not do anything daft.’ Molly looked at her daughter lying
in bed.

‘Mam, just go. It’ll be grand to have some time to myself, and besides I can read this book that Doctor Thistlethwaite gave me. He says Charles Dickens is really good and he writes
about our sort.’

‘How would he know about our sort? He’s never known what it is to go hungry. He likes to think he understands us, but he never will.’ Molly laughed at her book-loving daughter.
She could read herself but never had the luxury of time to devote to reading a book from cover to cover.

‘Right, I’m off then. Coal’s by the stove, dinner’s on the table – and you mind what you’re doing till I get home!’

Molly closed the door and set off along the track. The snow had melted, leaving behind a muddy slush that seeped into her boots and left the hem of her skirt soaked. When she got to the hospital
she stood in the doorway stamping her feet to clear them of the icy mush before entering.

‘Ah, Molly, I was wondering if you were going to be joining us today,’ said Doctor Thistlethwaite, hurrying to the door to greet her. ‘I’ve no work, I’m afraid.
Since this weather has put a stop to work on the railway we’ve had no new casualties and Nurse Thompson is able to manage those patients already on the ward. However, I’m glad to see
you as there’s a matter I would like to discuss with you . . .’

Noticing Nurse Gladys Thompson creeping closer to the door in an effort to eavesdrop, Doctor Thistlethwaite took Molly’s arm and said, ‘Perhaps you’d care to step outside for a
moment, so we can talk more freely.’

The two of them walked around to the side of the hospital until they reached a place where they could shelter from the wind. Turning to face her, Doctor Thistlethwaite said, ‘I’ve
watched you with the patients and with Lizzie. You have a way with people, putting them at their ease even when they are in great pain. It occurred to me that your talents should be put to use
nursing patients, and to that end I would like to offer you a position as my aide. I could then instruct you in care of patients and administering drugs to them. It would require hard work and
dedication, but the skills you learn would always stand you in good stead.’ His almond eyes studied Molly over the top of his spectacles, searching her face for an answer.

‘I don’t know what to say, Doctor,’ said Molly, blushing. ‘I’m flattered that you have faith in me, but I’m not that quick to learn and I’m not the
strongest reader. I don’t know if I’d be up to the responsibility.’

‘Nonsense. I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t believe you were capable. Report for work at seven o’clock sharp tomorrow and we’ll make a start. Nurse Thompson can do your
duties while you accompany me on my rounds. This is the ideal time to learn, when we’re not run off our feet.’ He smiled and took her hand in his. ‘And how’s Lizzie doing?
Delighted to be home, I expect.’

‘She couldn’t wait for me to get out of the house and leave her in peace so she could start reading that book you gave her, Doctor Thistlethwaite.’

‘Ah, Dickens! Now there’s a chap that knows about the working classes. Oh, and you can stop calling me “Doctor Thistlethwaite” – when we’re alone, I’d
prefer you to call me Roger.’ He opened the door. ‘Seven o’clock, remember. Don’t be late.’

Molly set off for home, mulling over her new position and smiling at the thought of Starchy Drawers’ reaction when she found out she’d be doing Molly’s job for a while. Before
she knew it, she was back at her own door.

‘I’m back, Lizzie love,’ she called happily, hanging her shawl by the door. ‘Turns out they don’t need—’ She broke off at the sight of Lizzie, huddled
up in the chair next to the stove, tears pouring down her face. ‘Whatever’s up, pet?’

‘I’ve remembered, Ma – I’ve remembered what happened to me that day. I didn’t fall off the outcrop – I was pushed!’ Sobbing into her mother’s
apron, Lizzie recounted all the memories that had come flooding back of Bob’s attack on her. The forgotten details were all vividly recalled now, and she described every move he had made,
every word he had said, how she had fought to keep her virginity and how he had come to the place where she lay and kicked her. She sobbed and cried until she could cry no more and Molly cradled
her all the while, trying not to cry herself, whispering comforts and rocking her in her arms until she finally cried herself to sleep.

‘Come on, you bastards! I know you’re in there, and I know what you’ve done. Thought you could send him away and cover up for him, did you? Well, I hope he
rots in hell! I promise you, he will when I get hold of him.’

Molly banged and hammered on the Pratts’ door, shouting abuse until neighbouring doors began to open and the other navvies came out of their huts to see what the commotion was about.
‘You bloody hypocrites! She could have died! John, you bastard, the whole time I was with you, you knew what that brother of yours had done! You knew!’ She banged her fists on the door
and kicked it till it rattled. ‘He should bloody well hang for what he did to my Lizzie!’

Finally the door opened and John stepped out, grabbing Molly’s fists as she pounded them against his chest.

‘Hold your noise, woman. Your wish has come true – our lad hanged himself last week. He couldn’t live with the guilt and being away from home, so he took his own life. Justice
has been done, lass. Now let it be.’ John’s grip loosened as Molly stopped her screaming.

She peered suspiciously at him through her hair, which was hanging tangled across her face, giving her the look of a wild banshee. ‘I don’t believe you. You’ve been covering
for him all along. That time you laid with me – you could have told me then, but you didn’t. All the time I thought you were being nice, doing things around the house, you were just
covering your brother’s tracks. You think nowt of me.’ Molly looked into John’s cool blue eyes and saw the pain in them. ‘I’m sorry for your loss, but after what he
did to my lass – it was the best end for him.’ Molly hung her head and turned to walk away.