For a Mother's Sins (22 page)

‘I don’t . . . I can’t . . . I can’t marry you, I’m not your sort – I’m a navvy’s woman, not a doctor’s wife. Folk would laugh at you.
I’m not refined enough for your sort.’ Molly rose from her chair, sending it tipping back on to the wooden floorboards with a clatter that woke one of the patients, who moaned quietly
in protest.

‘What would we care? I love you, and I’d be a good father to Lizzie. She’s a bright girl, we’d make the perfect family.’ Roger Thistlethwaite pulled on her sleeve,
urging her to reconsider.

‘Roger, there’s just one thing wrong: I don’t love you. I could never love you, you’re not my kind. I’m sorry if I’m hurting you, but it would never work.
I’m too independent in my ways to become a lady that takes high tea. I’m sorry, it wouldn’t be right. I’m truly, truly sorry but you’re not for me.’ She patted
his hand and looked at him twiddling his glasses in his hands, avoiding meeting her eyes. Then she picked up her shawl and turned away.

Doctor Thistlethwaite gazed after her as she walked the length of the ward, through the door and out into the night. He should have known better. What would a spirited woman like that want with
a crusty old bachelor like him? He hung his head and turned to blow out the oil lamp at his desk.

From out of the dark, a voice whispered: ‘Never mind, Doc. You couldn’t have kept up with her anyway – she’d have killed you in the first week!’

The doctor shook his head. That Dan Oversby was definitely on the mend.

The snow that had blighted the early winter months had disappeared with the coming of the New Year. Under pressure to make up for lost time, the navvies were hard at work,
wrapped up in several layers of clothes as they defied the bitter wind and damp conditions to complete construction of the viaduct and tunnel. The line of scaffolding now extended even further
across the valley, and gangs of men worked to heave into place the huge foundation blocks, hewn from the granite of Littledale.

John made his way up to Blea Moor tunnel following a path that ran alongside an icy stream fringed by icicle fingers of frozen grass and bracken. Occasionally the stream fed into pools that
reflected the clear blue of the sky; beautiful to look at, but breathtakingly freezing if you fell in. The clanking of picks and shovels followed him along the cutting as track gangs shovelled soil
and ballast for the rails to be laid on.

‘Another bloody day!’ a work colleague greeted John as he half-ran down the steep face of the banking into the tunnel entrance.

The small cluster of huts known as Jerusalem was just visible. It was here that the tunnel men lived, the ones who built the airshafts and the blasters who set the charges. John had joined this
elite group. The work was dangerous, but he was hell-bent on making enough money to break free of his mother. He’d put up with being treated like a child and forced to live a life of
hypocrisy long enough.

As he entered the tunnel he nodded to his workmates, most of whom were gathered around a brazier. It was the best place to be on a day like today, with the clouds moving in around the tunnel
head, threatening to obscure the newly built huts from view.

‘Watch what you’re doing with that dynamite!’ John shouted at the youngest member of the crew. ‘Don’t put it too near that bloody fire, else we’ll all know
about it.’ He shook his head as the young man stood cursing him under his breath. Frozen dynamite wasn’t the easiest stuff to handle, but trying to thaw it out by placing it near the
fire was a dangerous practice that might result in the explosives becoming unstable. ‘Don’t stand there cursing me – do as I bloody well say!’ John roared as he entered the
lantern-lit hole.

‘Now then, John, we’ve a bit of bother this morning,’ said the ganger. ‘We’ve hit a right bad patch of granite, it’s taking some getting through.’ The
two of them walked over to where men were shovelling debris into a cart that was sinking lower and lower as the stones and rubble were piled in. The horses, standing in harness ready to haul the
back-breaking load, looked around with wild eyes. They knew it wouldn’t be long before they were whipped into action. The ganger indicated a seam of rock: ‘I think if we drill in deep
here and here, and place a large charge here at this junction of rocks, we should crack it.’

‘Aye, I think I can do that,’ said John. ‘But it’ll take a bit of doing. Best empty the tunnel first – I don’t mind blowing myself up, but I’m not
taking anyone with me.’ He lifted up his pick and started hacking at a crevice, widening it so that he could drill a hole deep into the seam.

‘Right, I’ll clear them out now and leave you to it.’ With that the ganger began ordering the crew to leave, slapping the horses’ haunches to get them to move out
too.

‘Everyone out! And keep out!’ he bellowed, making his way to the entrance where the men were warming themselves.

‘Need we shift, boss?’ said the men, reluctant to leave the warmth of their fire. ‘We’re far enough away here, right?’

‘Nay, you’ll be all right here, lads. If it blows all the way back here, the whole mountain’ll come down!’ He walked away, the sound of their laughter echoing in his ears
as he carried on up the banking side.

John drilled the hole deep into the granite face, then carefully padded it with dynamite. When he was done, he set the fuse, running it half the length of the tunnel. His fingers trembled as he
used a burning candle wick to light it, and as the spark flared and hissed its way along the ruse he took off, running as fast as his feet would carry him in the direction of daylight.

Lungs bursting, wincing from the pain of running on her bad leg, Lizzie tore along the track to the hospital. She’d flown out of the surveying hut as soon as she heard
his name mentioned, knowing that she must tell her mother immediately.

‘Mam! Mam!’ she yelled as she climbed the steps to the hospital. Still yelling, she burst through the door and stumbled the length of the ward until she reached her mother. Gasping
for breath, she told her, ‘Mam, one of the runners just came down from the tunnel – there’s been an accident, they think John’s dead!’

Molly dropped the tray she was carrying. The blood drained from her face and her hands flew to her mouth. Not again, not again, not John, not when she hadn’t told him how she truly felt.
She tore off her apron and head covering, thrusting them into Lizzie’s hand without a word as she ran out of the hospital. Stumbling on the uneven ground, she ran on past the shanties, past
the scaffolding, past navvies making their way to the tunnel to join the rescue effort. On and on she ran, even though every breath hurt her lungs, desperate to get to the man she loved. Tears were
streaming down her face as she neared the tunnel entrance and half-fell down the banking to the place where they were bringing out the dead and injured.

She walked past bodies covered with coats or whatever else the men could find to cover the damage done by the blast. She passed men drenched in blood and crying out in pain. She walked between
them, pulling on the sleeves of the men who were bringing out the victims, the ones who were attending the wounded, asking them if they had seen John. Their only response was a sad shake of the
head. Then she went back to where the corpses lay, lifting the covers and checking their faces. The last body was so badly damaged it was unrecognizable, just a tuft of blond hair remained. She got
down by the side of the corpse and wailed, doubled up with the pain of her loss. He was gone, her true love, her one hope of happiness. On her knees in the dust, past caring what kind of spectacle
she made of herself, she used her sleeve to dry her eyes and wipe her nose.

‘Now if that had been Lizzie doing that, there would have been hell to pay!’ said a familiar voice above her.

She looked up, her tear-filled eyes widening as she saw the man coming out of the tunnel. ‘You’re alive! I thought you were dead – I thought this was you!’ Molly
didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. All she knew was that John was here, alive. And now she knew just how much she loved him.

‘Aye, I’m here, but that silly bugger isn’t. I told him not to warm his dynamite next to the fire and now look what’s happened. My bloody charge didn’t go off, but
his certainly did. What are you doing here anyway? You’ll be needed in the hospital when these poor devils are taken back down.’ John came and put his arm around her.

‘What do you think I’m here for? I thought you were dead.’ Molly wiped her eyes, angry at the question and angry at herself being caught shedding tears. Then she smiled,
overcome with relief. ‘I thought I’d lost you.’

‘So I do mean something to you.’ John grinned back at her.

‘I thought you were dead. I could never have lived with myself if this had been you. And Lizzie would have been so upset – she worships you.’ She lifted her sleeve again to
wipe her eyes.

‘Here, borrow my hankie, for pity’s sake. Nurses shouldn’t wipe their noses on their sleeves.’ John pulled his hankie out of his pocket and passed it to her. ‘I
take it we’re back to being mates then? You know I’ve done nothing else but think of you all these months.’ He pulled her to him and looked deep into her eyes. ‘Molly,
listen – just listen for once. This is all because of my bloody mother, she’s always to be in control whether she’s right or wrong. I’m standing up to her now. I’ve
been saving up so I can make it on my own. I can’t get out fast enough, especially with that bloody preacher hanging around.’ Taking her by the hand, he led her to the side of the
workings, pulling her down to sit next to him on the damp grass.

Molly wiped her eyes with his grey hankie, sniffling as she replied, ‘You’ve got to get away from your mother, John. She rules that house. Even your father won’t stand up to
her.’

‘Oh, I don’t know about my father, he can stand his ground. You should have seen him the night we found out our Bob had died. He could hardly stand, he hit the bottle so hard. My
mother didn’t dare say a word.’

He broke off to light his pipe. The rescuers were now loading the bodies on to a cart. He watched in silence for a moment and then said, ‘That churchyard’s going to be full with us
lot before this is done. But in a few years we’ll have been forgotten, and there’ll be only the railway to remind folk that we were ever here.’

‘I’d better go. I’ll be needed at the hospital.’ Molly sniffed and stood up. ‘Will you come and see us? Lizzie really misses you, and in all honesty, she’s
not the only one. It’s been a bloody long winter and I could do with a bit of sun to creep back into my life.’ Molly blushed. She couldn’t bring herself to say that she loved him
– it wasn’t her way.

‘I’ll come around. I’ve missed Lizzie, too. I see her sometimes in the boss’s office, but she daren’t talk.’

Molly nodded, reached out as if to touch him but seemed uncertain, almost shy. Picking up her skirts, she turned and hurried back down the path to Batty Green.

He watched her for a good ten minutes until she was out of sight. It felt good to have her back. She might be a bit of a rough diamond, but he loved that woman. She was kind and good-hearted and
would fight for those she loved. One day he’d marry her – and to hell with his mother!

‘You see, Mrs Pratt – or may I call you Rose? After all, I’m beginning to feel like one of the family.’

Jim Pratt lifted his eyebrows at the over-familiarity of the minister. In Jim’s opinion it was high time the bugger cleared off to a home of his own.

‘There’s no structure to the living up here. It’s a free-for-all of drinking and gambling, not to mention fornication and children being born out of wedlock. Batty Green is a
veritable breeding ground of sin – the Devil’s own playground!’ Tobias Tiplady thumped his fist hard on to the table, making the spoons and forks rattle with the force.

‘Is your hut nearly ready, Reverend?’ Jim Pratt lowered his paper and glared at his wife as he put the question. It was high time he had a bit of peace in his own home, instead of
having to put up with the feverish lecturing of this overzealous preacher.

‘Mr Ashwell says it will be complete by the end of the week. However the brethren and I will need someone to cook for us while we go about God’s work. You can’t fight the Devil
on an empty stomach! So my brothers won’t join me until I’ve employed a cook. I was thinking I might find someone suitable by asking at the market in Ingleton this Saturday.’

‘You needn’t do that, Reverend – I’ll cook for you all. It would be my privilege to keep you all fed. After all, there’s only Jim and me now. Our John’s
hardly ever here. So don’t you be hiring any young bit of a thing – lasses today can’t cook.’ Ignoring the thunderous expression on her husband’s face, Rose continued:
‘What’s another few tatties and dumplings in the pot, Father, when they are going to such good, God-fearing people?’

Jim shook his paper yet again. ‘What indeed?’ he muttered sarcastically.

‘Splendid! Splendid! I’ll pay you, of course, although the ministry doesn’t provide a vast allowance to support our well-being, I’m afraid.’ His rat-like features
twitched in a smirk at the thought of getting a full stomach for a minimal outlay.

‘Don’t you worry about that,’ said Rose. ‘Money will not come into it. I’ll be doing the Lord’s bidding in my own way. Another cup of tea, Reverend?’
She waddled over to the kettle and filled the teapot.

Jim closed his newspaper and folded it noisily. He’d be having words with Rose later. The saying ‘poor as a church mouse’ did not ring true where Tobias Tiplady was concerned.
If Rose insisted on cooking for him and his followers, then this ‘mouse’ had better pay, else he’d get flattened like the squeaking rat that he was. He got to his feet, put on his
jacket and muffler and announced, ‘I’m off out.’

‘Now then, Father, what are you doing out here in t’ dark?’ John, arriving home at the end of a long day, was surprised to find Jim Pratt sitting on the steps
to their hut.

‘I’ve had enough, lad. That bloody Tiplady, why if he’s a man of God then I’m the man in the moon. He’s nothing but a self-serving, sanctimonious leech, taking
advantage of folk in need. And your mother’s too blind to see it.’ Jim kicked the step, swearing under his breath.