A Dinner Of Herbs (57 page)

“No, I wouldn’t say that. Sparse, yes, but clean and warm. I always think there is too much stress

placed on possessions. They don’t bring happiness, not even com fort. Some of the most contented

people I know live in cottages no bigger than this. But they keep a good table and a

glowing hearth; they

have a good quantity of bedding and crockery, a patch of vegetable garden and a few

hens, and it is as if

they owned the earth; they seem to want for nothing more. Once you start acquiring, the impulse

becomes a habit. I should know’—she smiled broadly ‘my father’s got the habit. Each

year he

increases his herd, lengthens his stable, takes on a bit more land. I tell him it’s a good job other people

have boundaries. Do you find it the same in your country?”

“No, not the same, because outside the towns it would be difficult to encompass the land, it stretches

endlessly away. Yet’—he pursed his lips ‘when I come to think of it, there are constant battles going on

between the Indians and the settlers to possess land. or for Indians to repossess it.”

As she walked to the door she made herself probe by asking, “Are you from a large

family?”

“No. I was the only child.”

His tone was flat and sharp and brooked no further investigation. In fact, once more she felt

embarrassed.

They walked to the stone wall in silence and there he whistled again, and after a moment the two horses

came galloping towards them. When she was mounted, the pony put its head over the

wall and let out a

loud neigh, and on a lighter note now he said, “She’s going to miss her companion.”

“Yes, yes, “ she nodded. Then added, “Goodbye.” There was nothing more she could say,

she did not

know his name. But he knew hers, for he answered, “Goodbye, Miss Roystan.” And with

that she left

him.

For quite some distance she sat straight in the saddle, not trotting the horse but walking it.

And it wasn’t

until she had left the hills and almost reached the valley bottom that she drew it to a stop near a group of

trees, and tried to sort out her emotions. She knew she was disturbed as never before and she asked

herself why this should be. It was only the second time she had encountered the man, and on this

occasion he appeared an interesting and likeable young man. Then she questioned the

likeable, because

in a way he was strange. It wasn’t natural, she thought, for a man of his appearance and evident

education to live alone and in a place like that. Terry’s quarters above the stables were a palace

compared to it. At one time during their meeting, she had felt strongly that he wanted rid of her, she was

intruding. That was when he had given her the book. But then he had said he would like to know what

she thought of it.

Before spurring her horse into a trot, she told herself she wouldn’t tell them at home about the meeting

because Maggie would surely demand to accompany her on her next ride out, and she felt that he

wouldn’t thank her for bringing him more company.

The family were in conclave. Kate had just ridden out again. This was the fifth week in succession that

she had taken a satchel with her, holding books.

“And there’s a different one every week.” Maggie said.

“I went into her room and saw it last week, it was one by a Mrs. Radcliffe, and before that it was by

Mr. Walpole, and this week it was another by Jane Austen. It must be someone of

education she’s

exchanging books with.

Why doesn’t she say? “

Yes, why didn’t she say? Mary Ellen nipped at her bottom lip. And it wasn’t only the

books that she

put into her satchel. It had been Kate’s turn to do the cooking last week and, as was the rule, she made

the ten hand-sized meat pies and the same of fruit, but, to her knowledge, she also made a meat turnover,

which did not appear on the table. Now if, whoever she was visiting, was a cultured

person, they

wouldn’t be in need of extra food, would they now? Last week she had gone as far as to try to probe,

but had been baulked before she had hardly opened her mouth by Kate smiling quietly

and saying to her,

“Let me have my half-day out a week, Mam.”

Indignant and hurt, she had answered her, “That isn’t fair, Kate, for you to say such a thing. You know

that your time’s your own, any time you want it.” And Kate had hung her head and

muttered, “Sometime

I’ll tell you, perhaps soon. You see, I have a little friendship with someone; I don’t want it spoilt by the

wrong construction being put on it.”

Mary Ellen looked at her family and listened now to John going for Maggie who had

suggested that one

of them follow her.

And she found herself searching in her mind to pin down someone she knew, some male

whom Kate

was seeing on these weekly visits. But she could think of no one. All the people she knew for miles

around, those families with sons, would not be taken up with reading, other than

newspapers. Yet this

friend of Kate’s was someone who lived in the vicinity, at least within an afternoon’s ride to and from

him.

“Perhaps she’s come across an old teacher.”

They all looked at Tom and nodded, and Florrie said, “Yes, that could be possible, Tom, for there are

some learned men in Allendale. There’s Mr. Carrick, and Mr. Dickinson, and Mr.

Arnison. Then

there’s the clever parson who’s a great mathematician.”

“Don’t be silly. They are all old men.” John dug Florrie gently in the shoulder. Then

Maggie had their

attention, saying, “Well, it isn’t so silly. Perhaps it is some learned old fellow she goes to see, it certainly

wouldn’t be any young learned fellow, would it now?” | “Maggie!” The word came

harshly from Mary

Ellen, and Maggie, tossing her head, said, “Aw, Mam. Well, you know what I mean.”

“Yes, I know what you mean, an’ it’s very unkind of you.” Mary Ellen rose to her feet

and marched

from the room, and Tom, looking at Maggie, said, “Your big mouth, sister, will swallow you one of these

days.” And on this he too left the room. And Maggie, indignant now, turned to John,

saying, “It’s only

what we all think. Anyway, look what happened with Harry Baker.”

“Harry Baker was a fool, and she was well rid of him; if I was a man on the outside and I had to pick

and choose for a lifetime ahead, I know where I’d toss me cap.”

As the door closed on John, Maggie turned to Florrie, saying, “Well, now you have a go at me.”

“I agree with John,” said Florrie.

“If I were a man and sensible, I would pick someone like Kate to spend my life with.”

“Oh, don’t be so silly. If you were a man. How do you know how a man feels? Put a

pretty face and a

good figure before them and do you think they look for brains and a nice disposition? No, their thoughts

are on the bedroom. And anyway, it’s always Kate, Kate, Kate.” And now it was her turn to stamp

from the room, leaving Florrie with her lids blinking rapidly over her grey eyes and her fingers pressed

tight on her lips.

She had been brought up on a farm. She knew how foals, calves, and lambs came into

being, and she

also knew how human beings came into being. And the latter had its place in life she

knew, because she

had thought about it, but never, never had it been openly alluded to as Maggie had just done. There was

something happening in the house. It had begun the Monday Kate was left at the church.

When the typhus had taken Peg and Walter the house was weighed down with sadness

for a long while,

but they had all seemed very close;

yet, since Kate’s tragedy, and she thought of her desertion as such, there had been an uneasiness in the

place. The harmony was gone. And now a strange thought occurred to her: It had gone

because Kate

herself had been the pivot around which that harmony had revolved.

The sun was hot on her face. Her body seemed to be sweltering under her riding jacket

and skirt.

Ranger’s skin was shining with sweat and she hadn’t galloped him at all, simply let him trot most of the

way.

She looked, first to the right and then to the left of her. The land looked parched. They had been

without rain for some weeks now. The crops would be very poor, and already they were

having a hard

job to find grass for the herd. If the weather didn’t change soon it would lead to a very hard winter for

many people. So much depended upon the weather. She narrowed her eyes and looked up

into the

sky. It was cloudless, blue and high. She wished, like everyone else, to see it almost touching the far

hills and the rain being driven horizontally by the wind across the moor. Yet, it was only because it had

been so dry these past weeks that she had been able to make her weekly journey to the far hills, because

once it should rain heavily, the path would become bog-like.

He had said he had been cottage-bound for five days earlier in the year just through the rain. He had

said. He had said. She was always thinking of things he had said. Why was she going on, because this

association, she knew, would only lead to heartbreak. Harry Baker’s desertion had upset her, but the

main feeling there had been one of humiliation, because she hadn’t known then what it

was to love.

Now she did^ and it was a torture, becoming ever constant, sleeping or waking, because she knew that

the future was black. When he left to go back to America, which could be any time now, the dazzling

light would go out of her life.

Why had this to happen to her? If she had been petite and pretty, she could have fostered hope. But as

it was, she knew that there was not the slightest hope he would |l ever see her as other than the

big-framed, more-thanplain-faced woman. He might think she was quite good company,

as he surely

did, for now he always welcomed her warmly, but she felt that he also looked upon her as being a

sensible woman without any romantic or silly ideas in her head.

That seemed to be the curse of her life: everyone took her to be steady and sensible, a mature woman.

Was she not? Yes, outside she looked her age, and her appearance pointed to sensibility, but inside, she

felt like a young girl, and had only recently checked the desire she often had to pick up her skirts and run

across this very moor and to stand on the summit of one of the hills and fill her lungs with air and then yell

out her hidden joy. These were times when she seemed blind to the externals of her

being, when her

inner self took over and she was young, and beautiful, and attractive to men. Yes, to

men . one man.

She had once been gullible enough to imagine that somewhere there would be one man

who would like a

young woman with a big frame and a plain face because he would like the sound of her

voice and admire

the way she sang, not forgetting how she could cook and look after a house.

But those dreams were dead and buried. Yet the one man had come into her life the very week another

had deserted her, and when he walked out of her life she would feel deserted again. But this desertion

would cause her agony.

She bent over and patted the horse’s neck, saying, “Not far now, and you’ll see Daisy.”

As if he understood her, Ranger answered immediately her signal to trot and in a very

short time they

were rounding the hill and in sight of the cottage; and on this she began to pray that he would be there

today, for last week he had been nowhere about.

Now her heart seemed to bounce off her ribs for there he was coming out of the door and down the

slope towards her.

“Hello, there,” he said.

“Hello. Isn’t it hot?”

“Lovely. I can’t get too much of this weather. But I seem to be the only one that is

pleased with it, for

all about, they are moaning.”

“Yes, the crops are suffering.”

“Of course, of course. I’m very selfish.” He helped her down from the horse, then patted its neck,

saying, “Daisy’s been enquiring for you, old fellow.” And turning his head towards her, he remarked,

“I’m sorry I missed you last week. You must have just gone when I got back. I was held up in a place

over there’—he thumbed over his shoulder ‘called Haltwhistle. Got talking to two old

fellows in an inn

and the time passed so quickly and the ale was so heady that I overlooked the urgency to get back. But

I must not forget to thank you for the pies.

They were delicious. You are an excellent cook. “

“I cannot take the credit for those pies,” she said smiling at him.

“My sister, Florrie, made them. You see we take turn and turn about to do the cooking, and my turn

comes every fifth week.”

“But I thought you only had two.. He stopped and laughed.

“Of course, there is your mother, and ... Annie. I feel I know Annie.”

“Well—’ Her face was straight now as she said, ‘you would certainly recognize her. She is like me or,

at least they say, I take after her.”

“Really?” He stared at her, and she inclined her head towards him.

“And there is no relationship between you?”

“None whatever.”

“Ah, here comes Daisy. I keep saying I wish she would move like that when I’m on her

back.”

Ranger neighed loudly as they let him through the gate. Then the horses were once again prancing away