A Sixpenny Christmas (34 page)

There were other changes, too. The flock had almost doubled in size and Rhys was looking to buy more land. He had talked with other farmers and had decided not to over-winter his ewes with lowland farmers in future, but to keep them in the hills. Then, when the time came to sell at the big markets, he would only send any ewes which had lost ground over the winter, saving the best for himself and thus ensuring that his flock contained far fewer weaklings than was normally the case.

Another change was the introduction of cattle. Both Rhys and Molly appreciated that their son wanted a dairy herd, but Rhys had been to the Wrexham beast market
and had seen two sturdy Welsh blacks, thick-legged, short-necked and solid as a barn door, and coveted them. They were not dairy cattle, but Rhys had bought them anyway; to see, he said, how they would survive on Cefn Farm’s mountainous acres.

Now, the men burst into the kitchen and Rhys seized the coffee jug and started to pour the steaming contents into three mugs. He began to reiterate all over again exactly what he wanted Jacob and Nat to do in his absence, and Nat, grinning, reminded his boss that old Mr Williams was coming over with his even older wife to stay at the farm whilst the Robertses were away. ‘Mrs Williams is a good cook, so I’ve heard, and Mr Williams knows all there is to know about hill sheep,’ he said cheerfully. ‘So stop worrying, guv’nor. You ain’t going to be away long enough for us to do much damage.’

Rhys laughed reluctantly. ‘You’re a grand lad, Nat, now you’ve got into our way of things,’ he said. ‘The thing is, you see . . .’

Nat finished the sentence for him, having heard it a great many times: ‘. . . the thing is, you see, a lot can go wrong in a short space of time when it comes to livestock.’

Everyone laughed, including Rhys. ‘You’re a grand lad, Nat,’ he said again. ‘If you’ve any worries which Mr Williams can’t solve nip up to Cae Hic and ask Rhodri Pritchard or his father what you should do. And now let’s get on with today’s work.’

Molly awoke on the day they were to travel to Liverpool and rolled over to nudge Rhys in the ribs, then thought better of it. Outside, the sun shone from a clear blue sky and the wind stirred the gentle gold of autumn leaves.
Normally at this time they would both have been up and doing, but because Molly had decreed that they should pack the previous evening they had not got to bed until after midnight. The Williamses were safely ensconced in what was to be Chris’s new room and Molly could tell from the sounds drifting up to their window that Jacob and Nat were working already. It was just lucky that Chris’s ship was coming back at a time of year when the sheep were still all over the mountains, it being neither dipping, shearing nor selling, so far as the flock were concerned. In a few weeks frost and snow would make hard work for farmers as they checked on their animals and tried to keep them within the more accessible parts of the farm, but now, in the gold of autumn, Mr Williams, Jacob and Nat should be able to manage pretty well for a couple of days.

Molly got out of bed as quietly as she could and went over to the washstand; it would have to be cold water this morning since she had no intention of going downstairs for hot and finding Mrs Williams already in residence. She began to wash and saw Rhys sit up and rub his eyes, glance at the clock and jump hastily out of bed. ‘You should have woke me, woman,’ he said reproachfully. ‘It’s today, isn’t it? The day we set out for Liverpool.’ He grinned broadly, took hold of Molly by the shoulders and kissed the back of her neck. ‘And tomorrow morning, if all goes as planned, we’ll be seeing our boy after the longest separation in the world!’

Chris stood at the rail as his ship began the approach to the landing stage. He was filled with a mixture of excitement and apprehension, for he had loved Canada,
Canadians and the large farm on which he had worked for the past six months. His boss, a fair-haired drawling man in his early forties, had tried to persuade him to stay, or if not to stay to return after a few months in his native land.

‘You could work for me until you’d saved up to buy a li’l place of your own,’ he had said, grinning. The grin showed off his gleaming white teeth against the tan of his skin and Chris found himself wondering, not for the first time, how it was that so many Canadians had perfect teeth. But then he was shaking his head and smiling at Rob, for first names were used much more here in the New World than they were in the mountains of Snowdonia, where none of his workers would have dreamed of addressing Rhys by his first name.

‘Sorry, Rob, but I’ve a grand place waiting for me. Maybe it’ll never be as big an acreage as you’ve got here . . .’ he had gestured to the rolling meadows dotted with the black and white dairy herd of which Rob was so proud, ‘but I was born and bred in the mountains and I love them. It’s tough farming in such country but the rewards make up for the hard work. And one of these days, boss, you’ll envy me my herd, and tell folk that it was you who taught me all I know about dairy farming.’

Chris knew the offer had been genuine and kindly meant, but even so it worried him. Suppose he found on returning to Wales that Cefn Farm seemed small and insignificant? Suppose, despite his father’s hard work, the grass was not rich enough to support dairy cattle? Suppose, in fact, that he began to wish he had accepted Rob’s offer? Once he was home it would be difficult indeed to change his mind. He would be letting his father
down, something he could not even contemplate at this moment, though he supposed that if he did find dairy farming impossible in Snowdonia his parents, the most loving and sympathetic people he knew, would appreciate that his future was at stake and let him go; sadly, but with understanding.

Chris gave himself a mental shake. Ridiculous to worry yet about what might happen when from everything he had understood from Molly’s frequent letters he would find there had been changes at Cefn Farm; changes for the better, of course.

The great ship surged on and now he could see the little dots on the quayside which he knew were people waiting to welcome the travellers. Nonny would be there as well as his parents, and Auntie Ellen, of course. He wondered if Lana might come too; he was very fond of her, regarded her, as Nonny had said, almost as another sister. He strained his eyes, but could not make out individual faces in the crowds on the landing stage.

But thinking about Lana had made him remember Louella May. He had met her at the very start of his time in Canada, for she was the daughter of the farmer upon whose land he had worked. She was a lovely girl, blond-haired and blue-eyed, with dimpled pink cheeks and red lips. They had become good friends, and when he left her father’s farm to take up the place with Rob they had corresponded regularly. Whenever they got the chance they had met up, and Chris had actually suggested that she might like to return with him to England. ‘We could call it a holiday,’ he had said eagerly. ‘What do you think?’ Louella May must have known how fond he was of her, must have guessed that this was the
nearest he could come to a proposal of marriage until he was once more established on his father’s acres, which would one day be his. She had smiled her lovely, brilliant smile, but had not even had to think about it, though he was sure it was with regret that she shook her beautiful golden head.

‘I’m a Canadian from the top of my head to the tip of my toes,’ she had explained. ‘I couldn’t live anywhere else; you should understand better than anyone, since you turned down your boss’s offer of a permanent place. But one day maybe I’ll cross the pond and visit this Cefn Farm you’re so proud of.’

He had known, of course, that she was letting him down lightly, so he had replied in a similar vein. ‘Trust you to keep your options open, Louella May! And knowing you I’ll have half a dozen kids, to say nothing of half a dozen wives, before ever you “cross the pond” as you put it.’

At the time he had been disappointed, even though he had known in his heart what her answer would be. Had she agreed to come to England, if only for a holiday, she would have been committing herself – and him – to a closer relationship, presumably an eventual marriage. And Chris knew he was not yet ready for such a step.

On that thought, the great ship slowed. Sailors were bustling back and forth, the gangway came crashing down and suddenly Chris saw faces, not just the pale blobs he had seen from a distance. He could pick out his father, a head taller than most of the crowd, and guessed that Nonny and his mother would be beside him, though they were obscured by the intervening bodies. Chris bent and picked up his suitcases. He felt extraordinarily light,
as though he could have floated down to the shore without so much as setting foot on the gangway. He was home! He had never lived in this great bustling city, but had stayed often enough at Auntie Ellen’s little house in Bethel Street to feel a fondness for the place. Snowdonia was where he most wanted to be, but right now he could have hugged Liverpool, knowing it as well as any occasional visitor could, from the twin towers of the Liver Buildings to the hustle and bustle of Paddy’s market. As his feet touched solid ground he saw his parents spot him and begin to fight their way towards him. He had meant to be cool and calm, to greet them with restraint, but as his arms went round his mother he felt tears wet on his cheeks.

Rhys grabbed one suitcase and Nonny took the other, whilst his mother hung on to one arm and Ellen clasped the other. They stopped when they reached the main road, exchanged kisses and hugs and exclamations, and Chris, looking round him, was in the middle of saying to Auntie Ellen that he could not see Lana when he spotted her. She came flying along the pavement, pink-cheeked and breathless. Chris held out his arms and Lana flew into them, laughing and apologising for her lateness, gabbling that her boss had refused to let her take a day’s holiday and thought she was out hand-delivering an important letter. Chris lifted her off her feet and spun her round, then stood her down and grinned at everyone. ‘Well, what a welcome!’ he said, half teasing, half serious. ‘She’s late for the most important day of her life; the girl I’m going to marry!’

Nonny giggled, Rhys gave a snort of laughter, and Chris had begun to say that he was only joking and Lana
was not to set her boyfriend on him when Molly gave a little moan and fell in a heap at his feet.

Molly came round to find herself being gently lifted off the pavement, whilst Ellen insisted that they should take her to the nearest café and ply her with strong sweet tea. Molly, horribly ashamed of herself, kept assuring everyone that she was fine, that she had no idea why she had fainted, save that it was probably her excitement over her son’s return. Chris looked thoughtful, and took the first opportunity, once they were settled in the café with cups of tea on the table before them, to question her. ‘Are you ill, Mum? Is there something you’ve not told me? You’re not – not in the family way?’ he asked.

Molly giggled. She still felt ashamed but certainly did not intend to let anyone believe she was pregnant. She looked around the table and suspected from their expressions that the family and Ellen could not imagine why she had passed out, though she thought Lana wore rather a knowing look. She managed to convince them, or so she thought, that it had been the emotion of the reunion which had led to her collapse, and it was only very much later, when they were all back in the house in Bethel Street, that Lana followed her up to the bedroom for a private word. She gave Molly a warm hug, and said: ‘I know I ain’t clever like Nonny, nor I’m not a farmer’s daughter, but was it Chris pretendin’ he were goin’ to marry me that made you pass out? Chris weren’t serious, of course, and marriage is the last thing on my mind – I’m going to have a heap of fun first – but I have sometimes thought you’d not like it if Chris and meself got serious.’

It was an opportunity, a chance to swear Lana to silence and tell all. Molly opened her mouth and looked at Lana’s wide blue eyes and suddenly realised she could not possibly do it. It would change Lana’s attitude to her own mother . . . no, no, no, this was not the moment. Lana hadn’t the slightest intention of getting serious with Chris, and Chris had already mentioned a girl with a peculiar name, Lou-something, who had clearly meant a lot to him. Let sleeping dogs lie, Molly told herself firmly. There would be time in plenty to reveal her fears if Chris and Lana ever showed the slightest sign that they were going to get serious.

Molly smiled across the bedroom and saw the pain and anxiety gradually fade from Lana’s face as she herself crossed the room and gave the child a warm hug and a little shake. ‘Lana, my dearest child, I love you almost as much as I love Nonny,’ she said sincerely. ‘But I don’t honestly believe you’d be happy as a farmer’s wife. You love pretty clothes, dancing and parties; the sort of life you live at present, in fact. Besides, you’ve got a boyfriend, though I know your mum is a bit worried about it. She thinks he’s too like your father . . .’

Lana cut across her. ‘Oh, him!’ she said airily. ‘Mum’s right; he’s great fun to be with, but he’s the sort of feller who’ll never settle down, or not with one woman at any rate.’

‘So you don’t intend to marry him?’ Molly asked. ‘Well, you should stop teasing poor Ellen, you dreadful girl, because she truly believes you and he are serious and it’s not fair to frighten her if there’s really nothing to worry about.’

‘I’ve told her and told her . . .’ Lana was beginning,
when the bedroom door shot open and Nonny catapulted into the room.

‘Mum, Lana, we’ve just had a telegram! It’s from old Mr Pritchard, although I expect Rhodri actually sent it. His mum was taken to hospital yesterday, after you left; they think it’s a heart attack. Dad says there’s no point in leaving tonight, but we must go first thing tomorrow.’ She looked defiantly across the room at her mother. ‘I know you’ll say I ought to stay here, that my job’s important and the money’s a great help, but I feel I’d be letting the Pritchards down if I didn’t come home with you now.’

‘Oh, darling Nonny, surely if you asked your boss for a few days off, he’d agree to it? You’ve already got two days – or is it three? – and you could offer to have your holiday now instead of at Christmas . . .’