Sarah Thornhill (13 page)

But a fortnight! I said. When you're just this minute back!

It'll fly, he said. No time at all. You and me, Sarah Thornhill, we know how to wait.

From upstairs we could hear the girl crying out and Ma's voice shrill and sharp.

Look out for her like I would, Jack said. Help her settle. Quicker she settles the better. For all of us.

Pa was on the stairs, we could hear his boots. I grabbed Jack's hand, how could I let him go?

No other way, he said quickly. Got to play the long game. Trust me on this, Sarah Thornhill.

Pa opened the door, held it wide.

You still here, Jack? he said. Look sharp, lad!

On my way, Mr Thornhill, Jack said.

And was gone, Pa in the doorway to stop me going after.

No, Dolly, he said. Best he goes. None of those sulks, God's sake only a fortnight, not for ever and a day!

Trust me on this, Sarah Thornhill.

I would. I'd trust Jack to hell's fire and back.

F
IRST DAY
the girl wouldn't let any of us touch her. Only place she'd be was the parlour. That's where she'd seen Jack last. Sat squashed into herself on the hearthrug as if he'd be there if she sat hard enough.

Middle of the day, Ma tried to get her to go across the hall to the dining room. Took an arm and pulled, couldn't shift her.

She'll come round, Ma said. See what she thinks when she's hungry.

Sure enough, at the end of the day the girl followed the smell of food to the dining room. Pa patted the chair next to him, heaped a bowl, she sat and ate.

See how good she's getting on now, Ma said. Make her use the spoon tomorrow. Get her civilised in no time.

I was thinking, how could I look out for the girl. Wanted to meet Jack at the end of the fortnight with her hand in mine, auntie and niece close and loving. If she was settled by the time he got back there'd be no more talk of sending him away.

Next morning after breakfast I took the girl by her hard little hand.

Come and see the horses, I said. We got good horses. Give them some apple, look, I got it here in my pinny pocket.

She wouldn't understand the words, but I thought she'd hear the coaxing tone. She come with me easy enough.

Queenie was sticking her nose out the half-door hoping for something tasty. Got the bit of apple on my palm, showing the girl. Put it on hers, held it out. Queenie ducked her head, snuffled through her nose, lifted her lip, getting ready to take it. The girl saw those big yellow teeth and she screamed.

Don't be a goose, I said. Queenie won't hurt!

I pushed her hand up, but Queenie took fright at the girl screaming, backed away with her eyes rolling, whinnying and trampling. The more the girl screamed, the more poor Queenie tried to get away, banging up against the sides of the stall. Then the dogs were running out barking and snarling and the girl screaming and slapping me away.

Phillip ran out, shouted at the dogs, one word and they stopped. Got his arms round the girl, carried her away like a sack of meal. I could hear her gasping and gulping in the tack room like she couldn't catch her breath. When I put my head round the doorway Phillip had her on his lap, smoothing the hair back from her forehead. She was hiccupping, face sticky with tears, mouth trembling.

Not to worry, miss, he said. Never seen a horse, is all.

I put my hand out thinking to touch the girl, let her know I was sorry. But she cringed away, so the kindest I could do was leave the two of them together.

Every night Ma put the girl in her room, turned the key. I'd hear the child rattling the door. Begged Ma to let her sleep in with me but she wouldn't have a bar of it. She didn't let the girl have anything to eat till she did what Ma wanted. Then she had to eat it the right way, fork and spoon, or Ma took it away again.

Something in the girl broke. By the end of the first week she let herself be washed, let her hair be brushed and tied up with red ribbons, sat at the meal table and used the spoon. Ate, but no appetite or pleasure in it.

After the time with Queenie she didn't trust me. I'd come in the parlour, she'd be on the hearthrug, I'd see her fear of me. I'd get cake from Mrs Devlin but she wouldn't take it from my hand. Only if I put it down and went away, when I come back it'd be gone.

Pa was soft with her. Sit in his armchair with her between his knees. Smooth her hair, stare in the fire. Seemed she got some comfort from him. Saw something of her father in his face, perhaps.

He was more at peace than he'd been since Will died. More than I'd ever known him. Those sudden hot rages, always near the surface, they seemed to have burned themselves out.

Mealtimes, he gave her titbits off his own plate. The juicy first slice off the leg of mutton. The best potato. Cut it up small, get it on the point of his knife, hold it out for her to take.

On the plate if you please, William! Ma would say.

So he'd put the meat on the girl's plate for her to eat with the fork.

There you are little missy, he'd say. Get yourself on the outside of that.

She's Rachel, remember, Ma said. Call her by her name so she learns.

Rachel, he said, and ruffled her hair. Good-day to you Miss Rachel.

A week went by, the second week wore away. The girl didn't settle. Shrank into herself, face drawn, skin sallow. Looked at no one and nothing. We never saw her smile. Her misery was like a dark ugly creature with us in the house night and day.

Ma won out on most things, but one thing she didn't. That child wasn't going to have anything on her feet. Twisting and biting at Ma when she came at her with a slipper, grabbing it out of Ma's hand, throwing it so hard the stitching broke.

Ma wouldn't be bested. The girl loved bread and honey so Ma got a slab of it, put it on the hearthrug next to her. Had a big loose stocking ready. Her idea was, start with a stocking, get to slippers by degrees. The girl was quick, knew what Ma wanted. Let her pull the stocking on, but the second the bread was in her mouth she ripped the stocking off, threw it in the fire. Ma had to snatch it out, you could smell the scorched wool.

I can wait, she said. Wait as long as I have to. She'll learn this about me, I won't give up.

The day before the fortnight was up, Ma called me into the girl's room. She was on the bed beside the girl with the slippers in her hand.

Soon's we get them on her she'll see they don't hurt, Ma said. Thank us for it in the end.

Plenty of folk go barefoot, I said. Matthews, Maunders, never had a shoe on their foot.

Matthews and Maunders not the same as Thornhills, Ma said. I won't have her a barefoot savage. Want you to hold her arms for me, Dolly.

No! I said. Won't be part of that. Let her be!

Ma took the girl by surprise, pushed her back on the mattress. She couldn't get a purchase, struck out in a panic, I could feel her fear, an animal cornered. She was wild but she was only a child and Ma got the better of her in the end. Forced a slipper onto one of her feet.

Then Pa was in the doorway.

Meg, he said. You stop that now this minute.

Ma let go and the girl ran over to him, threw herself into him. Not a sound. Never a tear, never a sound.

Makes no odds if she goes barefoot for a time, Pa said. But Meg, I won't have her forced.

I'd heard Pa angry, heard his voice crack with how angry he was. Never heard this metal in it.

Give me them shoes, he said. Give them here. Put them by till she's ready.

Longer we leave it, harder it'll be for her, Ma said. Got to be cruel to be kind.

That's all right, Pa said.

Took the shoes, crushed them up in his hand.

Come to it by and by, he said. When she's ready, Meg, and not before.

I counted every day of that fortnight. Sullivan's was a thought I brought out to warm my hands at when I was alone.

O
N THE
dot of the fortnight I was dressed and ready by dawn. Wanted to be sitting out the front when Jack walked through the gate, no matter how early he was. But when I went downstairs he was already on the steps as if he might of been there all night.

Ma and Pa were just over our heads in their room, so we said nothing. Just leaned in and found each other.

Thought you was gone for good, Jack, I whispered. Won't let you go again. Not for anything.

We sat for a long sweet time. So still, a little brown bird hopped up the steps one by one, cocked its head at us as if the two people wrapped together had turned into a new kind of tree.

Then Ma and Pa come out the front door behind us. Pa had the girl by the hand. She stopped dead when she saw Jack. Went towards him, but slow, as if he was just a picture of Jack, or a statue.

None of the language, mind, Jack, Ma said.

All right, Mrs Thornhill, he said.

Stood up, went to the girl.

Rachel, don't you know your old friend Jack, he said. Forgot me already?

Took her hand and the touch freed something in her. She leaned against him, her arms round his legs. Not a sound, only held on like she'd never let go.

He picked her up, her arms went round his neck, legs round his waist. She was whispering in his ear. I could see her lips stiff as if she'd near forgotten how to speak.

Remember, Jack, Ma called. What I told you! Not a word now!

He took no notice. Listening to the girl. His face darkened. Reached around for her foot and held it, and I thought, she's telling him about the slippers. He met my eye.

Look out for her like I would.
I hoped she wouldn't say about Queenie.

That's enough, Ma said. Come in now, Jack, we'll have some breakfast, you can see how nice she eats.

She and Pa went into the house and from her place in Jack's arms, the girl turned her head round to me. Her eyes so brown they looked black, and in the sunlight the marks of the tears clear on her cheeks.

This poor mite, Jack said. What's been done to her?

Not been how we hoped, I said.

Not settling, is she, he said. More like pining away.

You couldn't say she was settling, I said. No sign of settling.

Been thinking I made a mistake, he said. Soon's I got her on the boat, saw the light go out of her, I doubted. Now my mind's made up. I'm taking her back.

Taking her back! Getting on that boat again! Going away again, out on that ocean where men got drowned. But I'd never forgotten how the girl's face lit up that first night when she heard her mother's name. Be worth one more goodbye to see that light in her again.

Don't drown, I said. For God's sake don't drown!

Take her, come back, do it in a month, he said. Got no plans to drown. Better things to do with the time ahead than drown.

He made an effort to smile.

Dolly! Jack! Ma called from the house. Keeping us waiting! Put Rachel down, Jack, come here Rachel dear, come along to me!

Ma tried to make the girl show her manners at breakfast. It was true, she sat up on her chair, used her spoon. The ribbons in her hair and the pinny fresh on that morning. But no life in her. Didn't take her eyes off Jack but there was no hope in them. She was gone into herself like a sick cat.

Langlands all right? Pa said.

Yes, Mr Thornhill, Jack said. They're all right.

Your ma's foot any better? Ma said.

No, Mrs Thornhill, Jack said. Still the same.

When Ma went out to the kitchen there was a silence. Pa cleared his throat.

See you watching, lad, Pa said. Wanting to see her settled.

She's in a bad way, Jack said.

See you smarting for her, Pa said. Honour you for that, your kindly heart. But she'll come good. Meg's good with her. See them pretty ribbons she's got in her hair? That's Meg, she done that.

Yes, Jack said. Pretty ribbons all right.

Taking her time, I know, lad, Pa said. But she'll come good. By and by.

There was a silence where Jack might of said,
Yes, Mr
Thornhill. She'll come good.