The Letter (20 page)

‘Penny for them?’ interrupted Jackie.

Chrissie was startled out of her reverie. ‘Oh, I was just thinking about home. You know, how I miss everybody.’ This was the first time Chrissie had mentioned home and Jackie was suddenly curious.

‘You never talk about home, Chrissie. Tell me about it.’

Chrissie shrugged. ‘Not much to tell, really. I was born and raised in Manchester. I am an only child, my father is a doctor and my mother is a midwife. That’s about it.’

‘You seem so sad though. Why don’t you just go home if you miss it so much?’

Chrissie sighed. ‘I wish it were that simple.’ Tears slowly began to make their way down Chrissie’s cheeks. Jackie wrapped his arm round her shoulders, casting a furtive glance towards the stairs as he did so.

‘Come on now, Chrissie. Why don’t you tell me what’s bothering you? I’m not pretending I’ll have the answer but I’m sure you’ll feel better if you share it.’

‘I can’t,’ whispered Chrissie.

‘You can trust me. I know we’ve only known each other a short time but we’re friends, aren’t we?’

This was true, but her Aunt was insistent that nobody at the farm should know about the baby and Chrissie had gone along with her wishes. However, it was only a matter of time before they would have to be told. Jackie didn’t seem to suspect anything though, and Chrissie knew that if she told him he would be shocked and maybe think less of her. He reminded Chrissie of Clark in a way. Although much taller, he had the same red hair and kind face. Chrissie wondered where Clark was now. He would be off fighting somewhere, no doubt, and she shuddered at the thought of him, and probably Billy too, in some far off place defending their country with the threat of death never far away. Maybe she should count herself lucky, at least she was safe. Ireland had declared itself neutral and had no intention of becoming involved in the hostilities.

‘Chrissie?’ Jackie’s concerned face brought her back to the present.

She pulled herself together. ‘I’m fine, Jackie, honestly. It’s Aunt Kathleen we need to worry about now.’

‘You’re right. What did the Doctor say?’

‘Well, with Tuberculosis, surgery is a possibility, but Aunt Kathleen would never agree to that and besides it may not be necessary at this stage. My father used to perform a procedure known as the plombage technique where the infected lung is collapsed so that it has time to rest and the lesions can heal, but I mentioned this to the Doctor and he didn’t seem to know what I was talking about. Back in Manchester, my father would send patients to a sanatorium where the healthy climate and good nutrition helped to combat the infection, but to be honest there is no healthier climate than right here on the farm is there? I can make sure she eats well, gets plenty of rest and recovers her strength.’

‘I’ll help you,’ said Jackie eagerly. ‘I can make my Mammy’s Irish stew, that’s sure to have her on her feet in no time.’

Chrissie looked fondly at Jackie. It was the first time he had mentioned his mother to her.

‘That’s kind. Thank you, Jackie. I’d appreciate that and I know my aunt will too.’

‘I’d do anything for Miss McBride, so I would.’

‘Do you miss your parents a lot, Jackie.’

‘Why, sure I do. I was an only child, you know, and that’s a rare thing here in Ireland. My Mammy never got caught with a child again after me.’

‘What happened to them; your parents, I mean.’

‘They got the consumption, so they did. They died within a couple of days of each other. I held my Mammy’s hand as she took her last breath and slipped away. It was peaceful.’

He reached into the neck of his jumper and pulled out a gold chain. On it were three rings which jangled together and shone in the firelight. ‘These are my Mammy and Daddy’s wedding rings and my Mammy’s engagement ring. I never take them off.’ He kissed one of the rings and tucked the chain safely back into his jumper. He closed his eyes and patted his chest gently.

Chrissie’s eyes filled with tears again. If anything happened to her own mother, Chrissie felt she surely could not endure it. ‘I’m sorry, Jackie.’

He suddenly looked alarmed. ‘This Tube..Tuberclo...’

‘Tuberculosis,’ Chrissie corrected.

‘Yeah, that. It’s not as bad as the consumption, is it? I mean I couldn’t bear to lose Miss McBride too.’

Chrissie could not bring herself to tell him that they were one and the same.

‘No, Jackie, don’t worry. We’ll make sure Miss McBride gets well. You just come in here again tomorrow and we’ll make a batch of your Mammy’s Irish stew. It sounds as though that could revive the dead.’ She gripped Jackie’s hand and said defiantly, ‘I promise you, Miss McBride is not going to die.’

She watched his face as a small smile crossed his lips and she fervently hoped that she had not just made a promise she couldn’t keep.

Chapter 19

The next day, Chrissie sat by the fire mending some sacks. She was used to darning socks, but this was much tougher. The needle was curved, flattened and very sharp and it was a struggle to push it through the heavy duty fabric. Jackie was upstairs with her aunt, feeding her his Mammy’s Irish stew. There wasn’t much meat in it, but Jackie had chopped up an abundance of fresh vegetables to make up for the lack of protein, and the result was a delicious, nutritious broth which would serve her aunt better than any fancy medicine. He had been up there for a while and Chrissie wondered what could be taking so long. Her aunt would only be taking tiny sips, such was her weakened state, but surely Jackie should be back down by now?

She finished another sack and noticing the water over the fire had come to the boil, she brewed a jam jar of tea for Jackie. She added the two sugars he preferred, even though this was an extravagance, and crept up the stairs.

She gently pushed open the bedroom door and peered round. All was quiet and Jackie was lying next to Kathleen, his head on her pillow and his arm slumped over her lifeless body.

‘Jackie? What on earth are you doing? Has my aunt finished her stew?’

Jackie stirred briefly but did not answer.

‘Jackie, what do you think you are doing lying on Kathleen’s bed like this? You know she wouldn’t like it. Is she asleep?’

She crept towards the bed and recoiled in horror at her aunt’s waxy face. What little colour she had had before had now completely drained away, leaving her with the pallor of a weathered statue.

‘Oh, Jackie.’ Chrissie placed her hand on his arm. ‘Why didn’t you come and fetch me?’

He shook his arm free and buried his head in the pillow.

‘Jackie, I’m so sorry. I know what she meant to you.’

She placed the jam jar of tea on the bedside table and then gently pulled up the sheet over her aunt’s face.

‘Jackie, come on downstairs will you? We need to fetch the doctor.’

Jackie sat up and stared at Chrissie. ‘It’s a bit late for that, don’t you think? You promised me she wouldn’t die.’ His voice was no more than a strangled sob.

Chrissie gripped his hand in hers. ‘I know. I’m so sorry. She was obviously sicker than we thought.’

‘Why does this keep happening to me? Everybody I care about leaves me. Over four years, I’ve been here. I thought I had a home for life, and now this.’

Chrissie glanced out of the window and noticed the greyness of the November day. ‘We really need to think about riding into town for the Doctor. It’ll be going dark soon and I have to try to call my mother too. Come on, Jackie, we’ll go together.’

She stood up and held out her hand to Jackie. He took it hesitantly and rose to his feet. At the door, he turned and looked back at the lifeless shape under the covers. ‘Goodbye, Miss McBride,’ he gulped. ‘You saved me, to be sure, and I’ll never forget you.’

*

It was Christmas Day morning and Chrissie and Jackie were seated around the fire in the kitchen. Kathleen had been dead for almost two months, but life at the farm carried on relentlessly. They had just come in from the morning’s milking, a job which had taken twice as long because it was just the two of them. Michael and Declan had been given the day off to be with their families, a gesture which they had readily accepted. Jackie owned the farm now. Kathleen had left it to him in her will, thus ensuring he would have a home for life just as she had always promised. They might not have been related by blood, but Kathleen had grown to think of Jackie as part of her family. He had the same work ethic as her parents and she knew the farm would be in good hands. The funeral had been a quiet affair, just Chrissie, Jackie, Michael, Declan and Father Drummond. After several attempts, Chrissie had finally managed to place a call home. She had spoken to her father in stilted tones, only to be told that her mother was out on an emergency call and anyway would not be able to make it to the funeral. Her father had not even asked after her wellbeing, and from that moment on Chrissie vowed she would never speak to him again. She could hear Leo barking in the background and she thought her heart would burst with grief.

Jackie had slaughtered a chicken for their Christmas lunch and it was now simmering in the pot. A jug of warm ale sat on the beam over the fireplace, a gift from Michael and Declan. Chrissie poured two glasses of the dark, frothy liquid and handed one to Jackie. ‘Cheers,’ she said. ‘Happy Christmas.’

Jackie raised his glass and clinked it against hers. She smiled and took a sip of the warm, malty drink. She pulled a face and Jackie laughed. ‘It’s an acquired taste, I think.’

She wiped the froth from her lips with the back of her hand. ‘You look lovely when you laugh.’

Jackie looked at the floor in embarrassment and then poked at the chicken. ‘Should be ready in another hour.’

‘Jackie, sit down please. I need to talk to you.’

His eyes widened in panic. ‘You’re not leaving, are you?’

‘Why would you jump to such a conclusion? I need to tell you why I’m here and why I can’t go home yet. My aunt was insistent that it should remain a secret, but I don’t see how I can ignore the subject any longer.’

She unbuttoned her woolly cardigan and smoothed down her blouse so that the roundness of her stomach was now clearly visible.

Jackie frowned and shifted uncomfortably. ‘Are you…?’

‘Yes, I am. Almost six months. I was sent here by my father who could not live with the shame of having a daughter who was a slut,’ she said bitterly.

‘Don’t say that!’ Jackie was immediately on his knees by her side.

‘What about the father?’

Chrissie sighed. He is…was…the love of my life. I loved him with all my heart, but when he found out about the baby he didn’t want to know.’

Jackie clenched his fists. ‘The bastard…’

‘Hush, it wasn’t his fault. I think he panicked. War had just been declared, we were both very young, my father absolutely loathed him and we had only been seeing each other a short while.’ Chrissie wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. ‘I truly loved him though, and I’m sure he loved me so I don’t really know what…’ Chrissie suddenly cleared her throat and sat up straight. ‘Anyway, it’s all water under the bridge now. He has no idea where I am and I have no idea what happened to him either. He’s probably away fighting now.’

Jackie gazed up into her pale blue eyes. ‘What are you going to do?’

‘That’s what I need to talk to you about. I was wondering if it would be alright for me to stay here, at least until the baby is born. Then I’ll make my way to Manchester with my head held high and my father can lump it. As soon as my mother sees her grandchild, everything will be fine.’

Jackie gave a weak smile. ‘I like that plan. Apart from the bit about you going back to Manchester.’

He stood up and kissed her lightly on the forehead. ‘I’ll take care of you and that babby. You’ll have a home here for as long as you need it.’

Chrissie sighed with relief. ‘Thank you, Jackie. I don’t know what I would do without you. And by the way it’s about time you stopped sleeping in the barn. This is your home now. I think you should move into my aunt’s old bedroom.’

Jackie looked alarmed. ‘Oh, I couldn’t. It wouldn’t feel right.’

‘Well, at least take my bed over in the corner. I’ll move upstairs for now.’

Jackie looked doubtful but had to admit it did make a lot of sense. ‘Alright then, if you’re sure.’

Chrissie smiled and picked up her beer again. ‘Cheers!’ The second sip was no more palatable and she shuddered as the ale hit her taste buds.

Life on the farm continued throughout the winter months and Chrissie and Jackie lived in contentment despite the bitter weather, lack of money and hard labour which defined their daily struggle. At the beginning of March, Jackie had Declan slaughter a pig to celebrate his and Chrissie’s twentieth birthdays. It turned out they had been born within a week of each other. The killing of animals, even for food, had never come easily to Jackie. It just did not sit right with his gentle nature. He had managed to pull a chicken’s neck on Christmas Day, but it had left him in nearly as distraught a state as the poor bird itself. The pig was now hanging upside down in the shed ready to be submerged into the boiling water which had been heated over the turf-fired burner. No part of this pig would be wasted. The softened bristles would be scraped off and the skin made into pork scratchings. Homemade sausages would be hung over the fire where the smoke preserved them for weeks on end. After removing the ears, the head would be boiled up for hours with masses of vegetables. When the meat was scraped off and chopped up it would be put into little moulds with the liquid poured over. When this mixture was set the result was a delicious brawn which could be spread thickly on freshly baked soda bread. Jackie’s mouth watered at the thought of this feast. This pig had certainly not died in vain, he decided. Even his bladder would be taken out, blown up and used as a makeshift football.

Chrissie entered the shed and crept up behind Jackie.

‘Mmm. Smells good.’

Jackie spun round. ‘It’ll taste good too.’

He placed his arm around her shoulders. ‘You alright?’

Chrissie rubbed her aching back. ‘I just want this baby born.’

‘Only a few more weeks to go now. Hang in there.’