A Sixpenny Christmas (47 page)

Lana agreed that this was so, and began to list the names of the many farmers and villagers she knew had helped the family, not only since Rhys’s accident, but from the moment they had started hill farming.

Presently, however, Nonny stopped her. ‘There won’t
be room for half that number in our kitchen,’ she pointed out, ‘and yet there isn’t one person we could leave off the list. I suppose we could have the party in relays . . .’

Lana interrupted her. ‘That would ruin the whole point of the thing,’ she said reproachfully. ‘No, no, the sensible thing to do would be to hold the party in the big barn. Since Auntie Molly and Uncle Rhys have to spend so much time in Liverpool it will be an easy matter to prepare it without their knowing. You’ve heard of barn dances, haven’t you? Apparently they started in America. Folks sit on hay bales and clear the middle of the floor for dancing, and they have long trestle tables against the walls where they lay out the food and drink . . .’

Nonny beamed. ‘You’re a wonderful girl, Lana O’Mara, but I don’t believe we should have dancing, because of Dad’s legs. But suppose we put on entertainment, though? Heaps of folk either play an instrument or sing; we could get up quite a little concert party. Rhodri will know who does what . . .’

‘And that reminds me,’ Lana cut in. ‘When do you think Rhodri will be back from seeing this cousin of his? Didn’t he tell you?’

They had reached the station by this time, and Nonny was beginning to reply indignantly that Rhodri was welcome to visit anyone he pleased without asking her permission when the train drew up alongside the platform with a clatter and a roar, and Ellen and Mr Taplow appeared, both smiling broadly. They exclaimed with surprise and pleasure as they climbed into the trap, and were soon being let into the secret of the party.

Ellen listened to their plans with interest but then made
a suggestion of her own. ‘Wharrabout combinin’ it with your weddin’ – yours and Chris’s?’ she said. ‘I know you said you wanted a quiet weddin’ but there’s nothin’ to stop you using the party as a sort of super reception.’ She chuckled, and poked her daughter in the back. ‘Think of the presents; they’d be piled up that high they’d reach the barn roof.’

Lana, carefully steering the pony and trap out of the line of vehicles and turning it to face towards home, laughed. ‘You are awful, Mum; we agreed on a civil ceremony so that folk wouldn’t have to shell out,’ she reminded her mother. ‘Still, if we gave a big party it would be different. Nonny and I were just saying that it should be a surprise, but of course we’ll ask Chris as soon as Uncle Rhys and Auntie Molly are safely out of the way, see what he thinks.’

‘And we ought to ask Rhodri if he’d like to contribute . . .’ Nonny began, only to be shouted down by Lana.

‘No, no, no! Oh, you may say that because the two farms have combined the party is as much Rhodri’s business as ours, but I’m sure he’d disagree. You and I, Nonny, have still got some savings and we won’t spend our money on silly things like wedding cakes and bridal bouquets. We’ll spend it on ingredients and that, and get lots of neighbours to do a bake for us, saying that that would be the best sort of present we could ask for. I’m sure we can put on a marvellous party without involving Rhodri in any expense. He hasn’t had much chance to save since his parents died, and I happen to know for a fact that he’s already bought our wedding present – it’s a whistling kettle – so I wouldn’t want him to have to splash out any more money on us.’

‘Right,’ Ellen said, and turned to Mr Taplow. ‘What do you think, Bob? Could we combine me daughter’s nuptials with a party for Molly and Rhys, without folk thinking badly of us?’

Mr Taplow was all for the idea, and the rest of the journey was spent in planning the party. Indeed, when they arrived back at Cefn Farm and saw the jeep parked outside they had hard work not to continue the discussion, but Lana enjoined them to silence, saying that it would ruin the surprise if they gave the plan away by even one word.

Later, they settled down to their evening meal, talking animatedly of the treatment Rhys was receiving, and of the plans Molly was making to start packing their cabin trunk with the things they had decided to take with them. In fact it was not until halfway through the meal that Rhys suddenly cocked his head and said: ‘Where’s Rhodri? He usually comes down to Cefn Farm for the main meal of the day. He’s not still working, surely?’

‘He’s gone to visit relatives,’ Nonny said briefly. ‘But he’ll be back any day now.’

‘I’ll collect the dirty dishes,’ Molly said, getting to her feet, ‘whilst you girls bring out the pudding – assuming you’ve made one, that is!’ She had walked across to the sink with the used crockery and cutlery, Nonny was serving a vast apple pie and Lana was handing round bowls whilst Chris offered a jug of custard when the back door shot open, and Rhodri entered the room. He was in his shirt sleeves, his jacket tied round his waist by its arms, and his face was split by the most enormous grin. Nonny, unable to stop herself, dropped her serving spoon
and flew across the kitchen, but stopped just short of him, feeling a hot blush burn up in her cheeks.

‘Oh, Rhodri, you’ve been ages,’ she said. She tried to take his hands, but he shook his head and gently disengaged himself, then reached round to the haversack on his back, pulled it off across his shoulders and undid the straps. Then, from its depths, he pulled out a black eye patch and a frayed length of binder twine. He flung both on the table and looked challengingly at Nonny for a moment before adding a third object. A small, yellow, toy chick, filthy, faded and almost unrecognisable, which caused Nonny to clap a hand to her mouth to stifle a scream.

‘Clenched in his hand it were,’ Rhodri said, indicating the pathetic little bundle of yellow fluff. ‘The eye patch were in his pocket and the twine . . .’ he swallowed convulsively, ‘were still round his wrist. I’ll lead the mountain rescue team up there tomorrow, though why good men should risk their lives to bring back the body of a scoundrel is more than I can say.’ He had scarcely glanced at Nonny, but now he turned on her a look of such tender compassion that Molly, watching him, could have wept.

‘Nonny? Do you know what these bits mean?’ he said in Welsh. ‘He’s gone for ever and need never trouble your dreams again.’

There were exclamations from everyone sitting around the table and Ellen jumped to her feet and went round to give Rhodri a hug. ‘Nonny ain’t the only one what needed proof that the old bugger has gone for good,’ she said exuberantly. She turned to Bob Taplow, a broad smile spreading across her face. ‘I’m a widow, certain sure!
Remember what you asked me a couple of years ago, Bob? Well, if you was to ask me that same question now, you’d get a very different answer!’

‘Glad I am,’ Rhodri said absently, but his eyes never left Nonny’s face, and when he saw the tears trembling on her long lashes he put out a gentle hand and stroked her cheek. ‘Well, cariad? Is this proof enough for you?’ he asked in Welsh. ‘He’s dead and gone, your nightmare fantasy, and will never trouble you again.’ And then Rhodri, who was so shy, so reluctant to show emotion, gathered Nonny into his arms, and, in front of everyone, kissed her mouth.

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Epub ISBN: 9781448134892

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First published in hardback by Century, 2012

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Copyright © Katie Flynn 2012

Katie Flynn has asserted her right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work.

This book is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

First published in Great Britain in 2012 by Century

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A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library ISBN 9781780890432