The Journey (23 page)

“Well?” Susie was like a dog with a bone.

“Well,
what?
” Thomas asked, his mouth full of part-chewed meat.

“Don’t speak with your mouth full!” Joanne reprimanded. “We none of us want to see what you’re eating, thank you.”

Lucy loved having Sunday lunch with the Davidsons. This was a real family, with arguments and conflicting opinions, and questions without answers, and even half-chewed mouthfuls of meat. “I think Susie’s right,” she said, glancing at the girl. “Mr. Maitland must have important business to tend, or he wouldn’t have gone away again so soon.” She hastily rescued a potato that was about to fall on the floor from Jamie’s teaspoon. The little boy was quite good at feeding himself now, but he was staring goggle-eyed at Tom’s antics and wasn’t paying attention. Lucy hoisted him straight. He was sitting on the high-chair they had made him, and was in his element.

“But why did he go the first time?” Susie played with her Yorkshire pudding, spinning it on the end of her fork and nibbling at the crusty bits.

“Hey!” Ronnie leaned toward her. “If you don’t want that bit of pud, I’ll have it.” Having already demolished three, he still had an appetite like a lion.

“You will not pass food from plate to plate!” Joanne declared, getting out of her chair. “There are half a dozen more in the oven. I’ll fetch them.” Which she did, with Ronnie stealing one away on the prongs of his fork before she even got to the table.

As Joanne sat down to resume her meal, Barney was explaining to his daughter, “You see, sweetheart, we didn’t make a big thing of it at the time, so you probably didn’t know, but Mr. Maitland’s old grandfather passed away earlier in the year, and he had to go out and see to things.”

Susie was indignant. “Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked petulantly. “I’m not a baby to be protected.”

“I know that,” Barney apologized. “But it isn’t the sort of thing you like to talk about, is it?”

Susie shrugged her slim shoulders. “It doesn’t bother me.”

Ronnie intervened. “So why did you cry your eyes out when your pet rat passed away?”

“That was different.” Susie’s eyes filled with tears. “Bobby was my friend.”

“Of course he was, and of course you cried.” Barney gave Ronnie a warning glance, before returning his attention to his daughter. “Mr. Maitland was upset about his grandfather too. Only when it’s a person, there are things to be done … legal documents, matters o’ that kind. That was why he went to America last time. As to why he’s gone
this
time, I don’t really know, but I suspect it might have something to do with his grandfather’s estate. Y’see, Mr. Maitland was brought up in Boston. He spent most of his youth there after his parents died, and from what he told me, he loved every minute.”

Having finished his first course, and patiently waiting for his pudding, Thomas addressed his father. “From what I remember, you said his grandfather had hundreds of acres of land and a great, sprawling farmhouse?”

“That’s right,” Barney replied, setting his knife and fork together and letting out a long sigh of satisfaction.

Ronnie spoke up. “I’ve often wondered why he would leave the place if he loved it that much.”

“For an adventure?” That was Lucy. “I’ve always wanted to see the world. Maybe Mr. Maitland felt the same when he was younger, so when he got the chance, he took it?”

That sparked another question from Ronnie. “How old is he now?” he asked Barney.

“I’m not exactly sure.” Barney cast his mind back to when Leonard Maitland had confided many things in him. “He’s not much older than me—forty-three, forty-four maybe.”

“Crumbs!” Susie groaned. “That’s ancient.”

While Lucy laughed, Joanne feigned indignation. “Hey, young lady! I’ll have you know, me and your father are still young at heart.”

Barney laughed out loud. “We’ve aching limbs, a bad back and corns on our feet, but like your mammy says, we’re still young at heart.”

Everyone laughed, including Jamie, which made them laugh more. The jam pudding and custard was served by Susie and her mother, and afterward there was the luxury of a Sunday glass of homemade wine each; all except for Susie, who moaned and complained and still got only a quarter of a glass. “Just enough to wet your whistle,” Barney advised firmly. “Give it another year and if you’re lucky, you might be allowed
half
a glass.”

When the meal was over and the women were clearing away, the men went for a tour of the farm, discussing their plans to prepare the fields for winter.

“There won’t be too many more days like this,” Barney said, looking up at the cloudless skies. In a fleeting thought, he wondered how many more days
he
would have. So far he had managed to carry out his work without anyone suspecting the truth, but deep down in his soul he believed there was something badly wrong with him.

Lately, his only concern was the family. If anything happened to him, what in God’s name would it do to Joanne? Dear Lord! It didn’t bear thinking about, so he pushed the thoughts from his mind.

Maybe when all was said and done, there wasn’t anything wrong that could not be put right, but the uncertainty was there, mainly because he still hadn’t been back to the doctor.

On a different issue, yet with the bad thought ticking away in the back of his mind, he turned to his younger son, Ronnie. “It’s time you learned the farming inside out, son.”

“I already know the farming,” Ronnie argued. “I’ve helped you since I were a little lad, Dad, just like our Tom. I’ve helped you bring in the harvest and led the sheep in for shearing, and I’ve walked that many times behind the hay-cart and made that many sheaves, I’ve lost count.”

Thomas intervened. “Dad means
real
farming.”

Ronnie laughed. “I thought that’s what I’d been doing.”

“And you’re right,” Barney agreed, “but there’s still much more for you both to learn.”

“Such as what?”

“Such as knowing the tractor inside out, every bit and bolt, how the engine works, how it should sound when running, and being able to put it right when it goes wrong. Then there are the implements, knowing which to use and when.” He went on, “When the sheep are brought in for the shearing, you stay with them. You talk with the shearer and watch the job is done properly, and when he’s not able to get here at the right time, you shear the blessed things yourself, or the maggots will eat them alive.”

“That’s right!” Thomas exclaimed. “The first time I saw a sheep with its back half-eaten, I didn’t know what it was. I never knew maggots could get into the fleece and eat away the flesh.”

Ronnie’s mouth fell open. “God! That’s awful!”

“So, that’s another thing you’ve learned.” Barney took out his pipe and lighting up, began puffing away. “They’ve to be dipped and they’ve to be sheared. It’s a cycle and if it goes out of rhythm, something suffers somewhere along the way.”

He blew out a halo of smoke. “You’ll both make good farmers, if that’s what you want. But there’s still much to be learned. There’s the wintering, and ordering of foodstuff, and keeping up with what’s new. Then there’s the paperwork, oh aye! Yon paperwork will keep you up till the early hours, and when that’s done, it’s time to get up for the milking.” He sighed deeply and pulled on his pipe. “It’s not like a job most other poor devils do—if they can get it—where you clock on in the morning and clock off again at night.”

He looked from one to the other. “You work with the land and the animals; you’re controlled by the seasons.” He smiled contentedly. “It’s hard work and by, it takes it out of you, but I swear to God you’ll never find a better way of life.” Taking his pipe out, he paused, before saying in a serious voice, “I can’t tell either of you how to live your life and I wouldn’t dream of doing that. It might be that you don’t want to work for Mr. Maitland and stay here in Comberton. You’re both my sons and I’m proud of you, but you must spend your lives the way you see fit.”

“I’ve already decided what
I
want to do.” Thomas had been giving it some serious thought lately. “At first I wasn’t so sure, but now I am: I want to make farming my life. I want the kind of life you and Mother have had.”

Barney was thrilled. “I’ll not deny we’ve had a good life, me and your mother …”

Ronnie interrupted with a quiet smile. “With many more years to come yet, eh, Dad?”

Taken aback by Ronnie’s remark, Barney felt his heart turn over. “Aye, lad, that’s right … many more to come yet.” God willing, he thought.
God willing.

“And I’m the same.” Like Thomas, Ronnie had missed the look of regret in his father’s eye. “I want to farm an’ all. Winter or summer, it’s a great way of life.”

Barney was filled with emotion, that his two sons had seen such contentment in his own life that they wanted the same for themselves. “I’m glad,” he told them chokily. “It were allus my wish that the two of you would follow in my footsteps. But it had to be your decision, not mine.”

Just then, Lucy and Joanne arrived to join them, little Jamie toddling between them.

Barney grabbed hold of Joanne’s free hand. “Is there any o’ that elderberry wine left over from dinner, sweetheart?”

“Half a bottle.” Joanne instinctively squeezed his hand. “Why?”

His face beamed up at her. “’Cause we’ve summat to celebrate, that’s why.” He gestured toward his sons. “You and me have talked long and often, wondering whether the boys might take up the farming as a way of life, and tonight, they’ve give me their answer.”

When Barney’s smile widened, Joanne gave a little squeal of excitement. “Oh Barney! So they want to be farmers, like their dad?” With moist eyes and a smile hovering between tears and laughter, she ran to hug them. “Oh, I’m so glad!” And now the tears came. “We did think you might eventually decide to go out into the big, wide world and do summat different, but oh, we did hope …”

Ronnie held onto her a moment longer. “If you’re gonna start crying, we might have to change our minds. Stop it, Mam, you’re scaring the little ’un.”

Laughing, she scooped Jamie up and said to Lucy, “We’ll go and get the kettle on, shall we, and dig out the wine again.”

“Good idea.” Lucy went up to the two young men and gave them each a kiss. “It’s wonderful news.”

Back in the big farmhouse kitchen, with everyone sitting comfortably, Barney filled the glasses and Joanne handed them round. “A toast!” Barney raised his glass. “To a fourth generation of the Davidson farmers.”

He thought with pride of his father and grandfather, and the ones who had gone before, all contented men who had lived well into their eighties. And now, his own two sons were to carry on the tradition.

His sense of pride was mingled with regret.

He couldn’t help but wonder if he would ever see the next generation; his own grandchildren. That would be the greatest thing.

Somehow, though, his instinct told him that he was not destined to live the long life of his forefathers.

L
eonard Maitland had spent several days trudging the many fine streets of Boston, going from one office to another, placating irate creditors and dealing with problems he had never envisaged. There was no chance for him to explore the city this time. As he strode along today, he thought how he would have loved to watch the Red Sox basketball team play at Fenway Park, as he had so often done with his grandfather, but there was no time, no time! His whole future depended on putting things right. Having studied everything with the lawyer executing the terms of Farley Kemp’s Will, he had been kept so busy his feet had hardly touched the ground.

And now he was on his way to the lawyer’s office to tie up all the loose ends.

“Go right in, sir.” Smart and efficient, the young woman behind the reception had the sweetest smile. “Mr. Lovatt is expecting you.”

“Good to see you, Lenny. Please come in.” The big man with the horn-rimmed spectacles threw open the door of his inner office. “I believe we’re as ready as we’ll ever be.”

Having been a respected lawyer in New York before the Wall Street Crash last year, Mr. Lovatt’s experience of matters relating to property was unsurpassed and, not surprisingly, his appointment book was invariably full.

Gesturing to the big leather armchair, he informed Leonard, “I don’t know about you, but I sure could use a cup of coffee. I’ll order it while you make yourself comfortable.” With that, he pressed a button on his desk and said, “Clara, a pot of coffee, please. Our client may also appreciate a few of those cookies your mom made—that is, if you have any left?” There was a pause, then, “That’s great!”