For a Mother's Sins (36 page)

‘Oh, don’t you go bothering about that, Moll. You know it means nowt up here. And let’s face it, lass, you’re no angel!’ Helen squeezed her friend’s hand
tightly. ‘Congratulations, pet. I’m invited, I hope?’

Molly muttered something under her breath, unheard by both John and Helen.

‘Now I know where Lizzie gets her sulks from,’ John whispered as Molly stalked off to check her pie. ‘Come on, Helen, show us out back and the stables. I’m thinking of
doing them up. Happen I could rent them out, if it’s all right by you?’

Helen led him through the Welcome’s rooms and out to the back yard where the stables were.

‘By ’eck, what in blazes is that smell?’ John put his neckerchief to his nose.

‘That’s the privies. I’ve had no one to empty them since Henry run off, so they do smell a bit.’ Helen blushed.

‘A bit! Lass, it’s enough to knock a grown man down. I reckon that’s my first job. Is this where your horse is?’ He opened the stable door to reveal a fit enough horse,
but its bedding was nearly a quarter way up the stable walls. ‘I can see I’ve some work to do here an’ all. You should have said long since that you were struggling. You know
I’d have helped.’

John took his jacket off and rolled his sleeves up, lifting the bridle and harness down from the stable wall and encouraging the brown mare out into the cobbled yard.

‘Leave me to it, I can manage this,’ he said. ‘You sort our Moll out.’

Having slipped the bridle over the horse’s head, he put her in harness and had her pull the small dirt cart out of the corner of the yard. Not the best job to start with, but the sooner it
was done the better the place would smell. And then he’d take a dip in the beck, because by the time he’d finished, he’d certainly need one.

The sun shone down and the air was heavy with the scent of meadow grass and balmy herbs as Molly, Lizzie and her followers – an assortment of friends and patrons of the
Welcome Inn, many of them already jolly with ale and singing at the tops of their voices – made their way down to the church in the glade. As they followed the trickling stream along the cart
track, past the ancient dwellings of Chapel-le-Dale, Molly’s dress blew in the slight breeze. She hadn’t believed her eyes when Helen had pulled the beautiful cream dress out of a trunk
and passed it to her, explaining that Henry had won it in a card game from somebody who was due to be married and it was of no use to her. Molly had tried it on and found that it fitted her
perfectly. She’d stood in front of the mirror, gazing in awe at the layers of lace and ribbons, wondering what had become of the woman it was intended for. Had she worn it to get married in,
or had her husband-to-be lost it on the eve of their wedding? In her hair was a sprig of wild mountain thyme, matching the pink flush in her cheeks. Lizzie’s bouquet was a bunch of bluebells.
Their perfume filled the air, and the delicate flowers went beautifully with the cream of her dress.

When they got to the church, Molly stopped sharply outside the porch with Lizzie by her side.

‘Lizzie, I just want to say a word or two to your dad, to get his approval.’ She smiled at her daughter. ‘Stay here, love – I won’t be long. Oh, and give me a few
of those bluebells, pet.’

Bluebells in hand, she lifted her skirts and walked through the long grass of the churchyard. When she reached the graves of her late husband and baby son, she bowed her head and stood in
silence for a moment before tenderly dividing the bluebells and placing a bunch on each grave.

‘I love you, pet, I always will, but I need a man. Life’s too hard without one. You know me, headstrong and stupid.’ A tear rolled down her cheek and she wiped it away quickly.
‘And we won’t forget you, Tommy. I should have looked after you better, but I did what I could at the time.’ She sniffed hard and walked away, turning at the edge of the graveyard
for a final look at the graves of her family, before retrieving her bouquet from a smiling Lizzie.

John’s head turned to watch his beautiful bride as the vicar stood and the organist played the wedding march. Helen smiled at him and her children giggled as they saw the bride come down
the aisle.

Mike, who was best man, whispered into his brother’s ear: ‘This is a bit drastic for a bet, mate!’ He never could resist bringing up that conversation they’d had about
Molly, back in the days when they used to dream about her hanging the laundry with her long red hair blowing in the wind.

John gave him a hard kick to shut him up and then Molly was standing at his side, looking more beautiful than he’d ever seen her.

The vicar, who had never forgotten the time he marched Lizzie home and found her mother drunk, was taken aback by the transformation. She might be a little older than most, but she was every
inch the perfect bride. As the service progressed, he couldn’t stop himself glancing over the top of his prayer book to admire the happy couple. They blushed and smiled and fumbled with the
wedding ring, and then embraced and exchanged a kiss when he pronounced them man and wife. As they left the church, he shook their hands and told them he would gladly perform a christening whenever
they were ready.

This brought a glint to Molly’s eye, and he hastily retracted his words, stammering that of course they wouldn’t be needing him for a while yet.

The horse and cart trotted its way to the Welcome, with the wedding party waving at passers-by. The breeze blowing in their hair and the noise of laughter drowned out the cry of the nesting
curlews and peewits.

John lifted Molly down from the wagon, grabbing her around her waist and kissing her hard on the lips. Lizzie giggled along with Helen’s children at the newly-weds’ behaviour.

‘Go on then, you big lump! Pick her up and carry her over the threshold, because from tomorrow this is your new home. I’m off in the morning and it’ll be all yours, but tonight
Lizzie can stop on after the celebrations while you two have the hut to yourselves.’ Helen put her arm around Lizzie and held her close for a second or two.

Everyone cheered as John picked up his bride, pretending to struggle to carry her over the threshold while she screamed and giggled, feeling like a sixteen-year-old again.

They entered the pub, which, to Molly’s amazement, had been transformed. There were fresh meadow flowers everywhere and enough food had been laid out to feed an army. She turned with tears
in her eyes to thank Helen, who was tearful too.

‘Well, I had to have a leaving do,’ she sniffed.

Molly kissed her closest friend on the cheek and whispered her thanks and ‘I’ll miss you.’ Before she had time to say more, John appeared and pulled her away as a fiddler
started to play. Soon everyone was dancing and laughing, drinking toasts and enjoying the food Helen had laid on. The only ones missing were Gladys and the doctor, who had been conspicuous by their
absence. John wasn’t surprised Roger Thistlethwaite had stayed away: he knew what Molly had meant to him.

The day turned into night and the night turned into early morning. Lizzie curled up in bed with Helen’s two youngest and listened as the last revellers set off to walk her mother and John
to the hut for their first night as man and wife. This time tomorrow, the inn would be her home and she would be in her own room in her own bed. As her eyelids began to droop and her head settled
back on the pillow, she replayed the day’s events in her mind. It was a day she vowed she would never forget.

The wedding revellers sang and teased the married couple all the way to their hut. There was raucous laughter as John failed in his attempt to lift his wife over the threshold
a second time, and the couple collapsed in a giggling heap before closing the door on the world. As soon as they were alone, he pinned her to the wall and kissed and caressed every inch of her body
before pulling her to the bed they had shared in previous nights.

‘Lizzie said the rats were playing dominoes last night, it’s a good job she’s not here tonight! Tonight I’ve got nothing in my hand to play except you.’ He kissed
her over and over again and Molly responded. It had been a long time since she had been loved properly by a true loving man and she was going to enjoy every minute of it.

‘Well, that’s it, I’m off. Everything’s loaded: bairns’ clothes, the dog, all our bits and bobs . . . all the rest is yours – and
you’re welcome to it, the state that pub’s in this morning. I’d close until later on today, if I were you. You’ll not get much custom anyway, not after yesterday!’
Helen grinned at the hungover couple. They’d survive; a good drink of sweet tea and a bite to eat and they’d soon feel better. She did feel guilty at leaving such a mess behind, but
when you ran a pub it was a case of in at the deep end or not at all.

Molly, feeling a bit delicate, filled up with tears as her friend held her arms out for a final hug. ‘You take care,’ she said. ‘I’ll miss you and I’ll try not to
let you down. The Welcome’s in good hands – providing I can manage the cooking.’

‘You’ll manage. Nothing’s ever beaten you yet, and you’ve a good man and Lizzie to help.’ Helen smiled. ‘And you, John Pratt, mind you behave yourself and
look after this woman, else you’ll have me to answer to.’ She kissed John on the cheek. ‘And I’ve not forgotten you, Miss Lizzie. Here, I’ve got you
something.’

Lizzie grinned and came forward.

‘Give us your hand then.’ Helen pulled out two florins from her purse. ‘That’s for looking after my brood. You’ve kept your eye on them a lot lately.’

Lizzie’s eyes glistened. It would have taken her a whole month to make that at the offices of the Midland. ‘Thank you, I don’t deserve this much.’

‘Course you do, lass. Never say no to brass.’ Helen pulled her skirts up and hoisted herself up into the seat next to her brother. ‘Behave yourselves now. I’ll want my
rent in two months’ time, so I’ll see you then.’ The cart jolted and the children cheered and then they were off. It was an uphill journey to Swaledale, so it would take them a
while to get home.

Molly and John looked at one another and then stepped into the main room of the Welcome. It might be theirs now, but at this moment in time all they really wanted was bed and a few hours’
sleep.

‘You made a good mess of this spot last night,’ said Lizzie, surveying the shambles left by the wedding guests. ‘I’ll put the kettle on and then I’ll start on the
bedrooms. I’ll leave it to you old married people to tidy up down here.’ She smiled to herself as she went out to the pump and filled the kettle. She was going to have first choice of
the bedrooms while she had the chance.

‘What time did we get to bed, Moll?’ John sat with his head in his hands.

‘It was breaking light.’ Molly took a long sip of the hot sweet tea that Lizzie had brought her. She could hear Lizzie moving furniture about above her head. At least upstairs was
getting straight. ‘Do you want to tell Ashwell that there’s two huts up for rent now and that Lizzie won’t be in for a day or two, just until we get straight.’ Molly stood
up and pulled her hair back. ‘If you can take care of that, and empty our old homes, I’ll tidy up here.’ She started picking up the empty tankards from the tables and
straightening chairs.

‘I’m sorry, lass. It’s not the easiest start to married life, but it’ll get better. I’ll take the horse and cart, and start bringing stuff over from the old huts as
soon as I’ve seen Ashwell.’ He ran his hand down the length of her back and kissed her.

‘Now don’t you start! My head’s still spinning from last night. Let’s get this place square and then we’ll have plenty of time for one another.’ Molly held
the lapel of his jacket and kissed him on his lips.

He patted her bottom, put on his cap, and started whistling as he walked out the back door.

Molly stood at the bottom of the stairs and yelled up to Lizzie, ‘The end bedroom’s mine and John’s, so hands off, young lady. I can hear you moving it about.’

‘But, Mam . . .’ Lizzie protested.

‘But Mam, my arse! It’s the main bedroom.’ Molly shook her head: give that girl an inch and she’d take a yard. Lizzie reminded her a lot of herself. She turned quickly as
the first customer of the day appeared. ‘Sorry, we’ve no food today.’

‘No food? But it’s dinner time. Helen always has dinner on the go, and she lets me trade my tokens in for dinner and a gill.’ The navvy looked put out.

‘Well, have a gill on me, but I can’t make you dinner unless you’ll settle for bread and cheese?’ Molly looked at her first challenge and smiled; she was going to have to
get used to these ‘But Helen . . .’ moments, and she knew it.

‘Well, if that’s the best you can do.’ The tanned wiry man sat down next to the window and waited for his dinner.

Molly went into the kitchen after pouring him a gill. It was no better in here than in the main bar. How she was going to tidy things up today, she didn’t know. She carved the man two
slices of bread and plated it with a good wedge of Wensleydale cheese and two pickled onions from one of Helen’s jars, placing it in front of her first customer with pride.

‘I don’t want them bloody things, they make me have indigestion, Helen would know that if she was here.’ The man poked at the pickled onions and put them on his side of his
plate.

Molly bit her lip and wondered just what she had taken on. It was going to be a challenge, keeping her temper in check long enough to get to know all her customers.

Having wolfed down his sandwich, her only customer picked his plate up and licked away the remaining crumbs of cheese. ‘Will you have something on in the morning, ’cause I fair like
Helen’s Lancashire hotpot and I’ll come back for it. If not, I’ll walk over to the Cow Dub in Cowgill.’ He belched loudly. ‘See, I told you that onions gave me
wind.’

Molly looked at the man’s empty plate as he made his way out of the pub after assuring him that she would attempt a hotpot the following day. It was only as she was wondering why
he’d eaten the offending onions that she realized he hadn’t paid. The gill might have been on the house, but not the bread and cheese. She was never going to make any money that
way.