For a Mother's Sins (21 page)

The snooty nurse merely put her nose up and walked away scowling. Molly shook her head and went over to check the paraffin heater at the end of the hut. She was hoping to find it in need of
refilling: she’d have welcomed an excuse to go outside for some respite from the atmosphere on the ward.

‘Morning, ladies. How are my patients this morning?’ said Doctor Thistlethwaite cheerily. The smell of his pipe gave his presence away before he was through the door.

‘Morning, Roger. Let me take your coat.’ Nurse Thompson grabbed the doctor’s coat, but he barely noticed as he set off down the ward in Molly’s direction. Instead of
coming out with a caustic comment, as she would if the doctor hadn’t been there, Nurse Thompson smiled insincerely, took some clean sheets from the pile and followed.

Knowing that if she stayed she’d probably say something she’d regret, Molly put on a saintly smile of her own and informed the doctor she was stepping outside for a breath of fresh
air. Outside slushy heavy flakes of sleet were falling, covering every surface with a grey sludge that seeped into boots and clung to clothes, leaving you chilled to the bone. She sheltered under
the eaves and watched as a little man dressed in black from head to foot, with a sharp-featured face peeking out from under a wide-brimmed hat, made his way over the stone packhorse bridge. His
feet skidded from under him a time or two as he trudged through the snow, and each time he’d pause and look in the direction of the hospital, as if exasperated at the effort required to reach
his goal. Molly grinned wickedly at the sight: if the Reverend Tiplady was to survive in Batty Green, he’d do well to buy himself a pair of strong boots. Those polished town shoes
wouldn’t last a minute in these conditions.

Finally he made it to the hospital and stood panting, trying to catch his breath and regain his dignity – no easy feat with his shoes scrabbling for purchase on the icy wooden steps.

‘Is this the hospital, my child?’ The words seemed to burst out of his chest as if he was delivering a sermon from the pulpit.

‘It is, sir. You must be the Reverend Tiplady – we’re expecting you.’ Molly bobbed and stood her ground as he climbed the steps.

‘Well, lead on then! Get me out of this Devil-sent weather.’ He held on to the banister of the top step for dear life as Molly opened the door to the hospital and ushered him in.

‘This weather is foul,’ the Reverend muttered as he stamped his shoes free of slush and shook the sleet from his hat. ‘I never thought I’d say it, but I’m missing
the smoking mill chimneys of Bradford. At least they offered some shelter and raised the temperature a few degrees.’ Having salvaged his Bible from the pocket, he thrust his coat into
Molly’s hands.

She stifled a snigger as, in his haste to greet Doctor Thistlethwaite, he almost slipped on the wet wooden floor.

‘Reverend Tiplady, I presume.’ Doctor Thistlethwaite shook hands with the little man.

‘May God be with you, sir. I’ve come to save souls – and it appears I’m not a minute too soon, judging from the look of some of these men in the camps. It’s a
hot-bed of sin and vice from what I see, and the women are no better: swilling gin with babes on their hips. The Devil is a fearful tempter.’

Doctor Thistlethwaite frowned. The Reverend’s preaching had only served to remind him why he had no time for religion. ‘I’d be grateful if you could bear in mind that this is a
hospital and we like to keep the patients calm and quiet. If you could just say a few words of hope and healing to each of them, I’m sure they would appreciate that. We only have the five
patients at the moment and Frank Bibby might be grateful for a blessing – he’s rather too ill for a sermon.’

Having issued his instructions, Roger Thistlethwaite returned to writing up his notes, politely disregarding the fire-breathing preacher.

‘I’ll show you around, Reverend,’ simpered Nurse Thompson.

Molly was only too happy not to be lumbered with the task. She’d come across the Reverend’s sort before: too quick by half to judge a person at first sight.

‘Where are you staying? I do hope that you’re not travelling every day from Ingleton in this weather?’ Nurse Thompson enquired as she took his arm to guide him to the first
patient.

‘I’m staying with the God-fearing family of Rose Pratt – wonderful woman, has a heart of gold, and so upset over the loss of her selfish son, despite his having carried out the
worst sin of all by committing suicide.’

Molly had to bite her tongue. She wanted to scream at the pompous preacher, tell him that the worst sin Bob Pratt committed was not hanging himself but trying to rape and kill her Lizzie. She
was stopped by Roger Thistlethwaite shooting her a warning glance. He’d heard the gossip about Bob Pratt. Laying his hand gently on her arm, he whispered, ‘They only hear what they want
to hear.’ She could only nod and turn away, busying herself checking the medicines.

‘Bugger off, you bloody black omen of death! I don’t want your Protestant hands on me! I’m not one of yours so you needn’t come near me!’ Irish Tam shouted at the
approaching minister. ‘I’d rather rot in hell than have you lay hands on me, you bastard.’

Molly went over to Tam and said a few quiet words to calm him down, then positioned herself at the end of his bed to prevent the Reverend coming any closer. ‘Mr Shaughnessy’s
Catholic, as you may have gathered. I don’t think he’ll appreciate your visit. As a matter of fact, a lot of the navvies that work on the line are Catholics who’ve come here from
Ireland or Scotland to find work building the railways. They’re good people with their own religion, so I know you’ll respect them for it.’ She pushed her auburn hair back
defiantly, as if daring the Reverend to come anywhere near her patient or argue with her defence of the navvies who worked on the line. Her eyes twinkled at the prospect of a run-in with this
loud-mouthed preacher. She’d have been only too happy to tell him that the hard-drinking navvies’ sins paled into insignificance compared with the sins that had been committed in the
‘God-fearing’ house he was staying in.

‘All of us will meet our maker eventually, regardless of which house we worship in. Then we will have to admit to our sins,’ Reverend Tiplady intoned. He eyed Molly with suspicion.
Here was one who was in need of salvation, no question. Silently resolving to find out more about this outspoken nurse who didn’t know her place, he turned to Nurse Thompson and demanded his
coat and hat. Then he walked out into the bitter day, as best his shiny shoes would let him, without so much as a backward glance.

Lizzie approached the house whistling and with a smile on her face. The whistling stopped when she opened the door and found her mother home.

‘Hello, Mam. I didn’t think you’d be back yet,’ she said coyly.

‘You seem happy. Had a good day?’ Molly peeled the last potato and dropped it into the pan on the top of the stove, wiped the knife on her apron and pulled a chair up to the
table.

‘I like my job, Ma. It’s interesting, there’s always something new going on and everyone’s so nice to me. Especially George. George is always saying nice things. He says
I’m good at spotting mistakes. George reckons I’ve brightened up the office since I started.’

‘And who might George be?’ Molly smiled, noticing how Lizzie’s face lit up at the mention of George.

‘He’s Mr Ashwell’s son. He’s eighteen, Mam.’ Lizzie would have liked to tell her mother how her stomach filled with butterflies when he looked at her and how she
couldn’t wait to go to work in a morning, just so she could see his smile, and that little frown of concentration he wore when he was studying the plans.

‘Well, mind you make sure George behaves himself.’ Molly looked stern for a second and then smiled. Her precious daughter was growing up so fast. Clearly George was her first
sweetheart. ‘It’s nice to have a special friend.’

The mention of special friends jogged Lizzie’s memory: ‘John came in today, Mam. He said I was to tell you that his Mike has had a little girl.’

‘Does he think I care? I’ve washed my hands of that family.’ Molly cast her eyes around the table, as if trying to find something else to do.

‘Mam, you don’t mean that! You know you like John, and I know you miss him.’ She knew too that her mother would want to hear all the news she had to tell about John Pratt:
‘He came in to order more dynamite. They’ve hit a hard patch in the tunnel and it’s taking some blasting. He wanted rods as well, because he’s been given the go-ahead to
drill and place the blast. He says he’ll make more money doing the drilling as well, now there’s only two men at home.’

Molly went quiet. ‘Next time he comes in, tell him to take care. He’s just daft enough to blow himself up – not that he’ll be missed.’

Lizzie knew her mother didn’t mean it. John’s cheery voice was missed by them both.

‘Mam, you’d be in tears, you know you would. The two of you’re best friends, but you’re too stubborn to—’

‘When I want your advice, I’ll ask for it, Miss Know-it-all.’ Molly tasted the stew, seeing if it needed anything added. ‘Did he say anything about his lodger? I bet the
Reverend Tiplady isn’t going down too well with him.’

‘Oh, I know him! He’s horrible. I met him once when I went to Ingleton with Ma Pratt. He frightened me, and even she didn’t seem to like him much. He’s not living across
there, is he?’

‘He is. That stupid woman has made her hut his home.’ Molly shook her head. ‘Rose Pratt and her bloody religion! Here, pass me two plates, Liz – let’s get these
tatties out and have supper.’

‘Tell me, Rose, who’s the ginger-haired nurse that works at the hospital? She seems very wilful and opinionated.’ The Reverend Tiplady broke off tucking into
his mutton and cabbage, gravy dribbling down his chin, to interrogate his host.

Both John and Jim sent warning glances in Rose’s direction. Both knew that once she started telling him her views, she’d never shut up.

‘That would be Molly Mason. She lives in a hut across the way. She’s—’

‘Have another piece of meat, Reverend,’ John butted in, desperate to stop her gossiping.

‘I don’t mind if I do. Now, this Molly, why is she living in this place?’

‘Her husband worked on the viaduct until he had an accident and died. Now she’s managed to talk herself into a job in the hospital. She’s a bit—’ Rose stopped in
her tracks as both her men glared at her. ‘She’s a bit rough and ready, but a lovely woman once you get to know her.’ Rose daren’t say what she really thought. She knew by
the looks John and Jim were giving her that there would be hell to pay if she did.

‘Hmmph,’ snorted the Reverend, unconvinced. ‘Well, the Lord works in mysterious ways. She must have some qualities else the good doctor would not have her working in the
hospital.’ He belched loudly and mopped the greasy gravy up with the crusty bread that was left.

‘We all have our weaknesses, Reverend,’ said John, forcing a polite smile to his face. Eager to escape the preaching of his mother and their guest, he excused himself from the table
and went to put on his coat. He couldn’t stand being locked in the house with all that hypocrisy a minute longer.

He walked aimlessly until he came to the small bridge that crossed the source of the River Ribble. At this stage it was no more than a stream that gurgled over the flat limestone bedrock, a far
cry from the swollen river that made its way out to the sea at Preston. It was a frosty night and the stars were twinkling bright and sharp in the clear sky. John made out the shape of the Plough
and the Great Bear, and took a long drag on his pipe as he leaned back against the wall contemplating his life.

He badly wanted to win back Molly’s love. Ever since the first day he’d seen her, that wild hair blowing in the wind as she hung the washing out, she’d been the only woman for
him. Yet here he was, the only son left at home, when all he wanted to do was escape the confines of the nest and fly to the arms of the woman he loved. Trouble was, she refused to believe that he
loved her. Somehow he had to find a way to prove to her that they were meant for each other. In the meantime, he would go on loving her as long as those stars in the sky kept twinkling. He would
not give up. Whatever it took, by God one day she would be his.

‘Mrs Mason, could I ask you to work a few extra hours this evening?’

Molly and Nurse Thompson were busily rolling bandages. There were a lot of them to get through, and Molly was so intent on finishing the task that she didn’t even look up at the sound of
Doctor Thistlethwaite’s voice. ‘Of course, Doctor,’ she said, not registering anything unusual about the request and oblivious to Roger hovering nervously as he awaited her
response. ‘Was there anything particular you wanted me to do?’

‘No, no. I just wanted to ask you some questions to see if you are up to scratch.’ He coughed awkwardly. ‘Nurse Thompson, there’s no need for you to stay.’ Having
said what he had come to say, Doctor Thistlethwaite hurried away, leaving them to their work.

‘Molly, forgive me: I had to make up an excuse so that I could catch you on your own.’ Roger Thistlethwaite paced the floorboards as he addressed her. ‘You
see, I’m not getting any younger, I’ve led a selfish life and I suppose I’m still being selfish in what I’m doing now . . .’ He hesitated, struggling to find the right
words. ‘What I’m trying to say is that time is running out on me and I’ve realized that plants and books are no substitute for the finer things in life.’

‘Roger, what’s this about?’ asked Molly. She had never seen Roger Thistlethwaite so flustered.

‘You see, when Lizzie and yourself came and shared Christmas with me, I realized what I’d been missing all my life. What I’m trying to say is . . . Molly Mason, will you be my
wife?’ He turned, his almond eyes pleading with her over his glasses.

‘I . . . don’t know what to say. Did I hear you right? Did you ask me to marry you?’ Molly was shocked, the last thing she’d expected was to be asked for her hand in
marriage.

‘Yes, I did. I know it’s a shock for you, but I can’t stand looking at you any longer and you not being mine. I used to see you laughing with that John Pratt and I wished that
you would look at me the way you looked at him. Now that he’s no longer around, I’m taking my chance and asking you to marry me.’