arriving outside their father’s workshop that Sunday afternoon, the clamour of her welcome bringing her mother to the doorway.
‘Mary, child! Oh, how fine to see you. And George too; you look well. Come in, come in,’ Thirza Springer urged, ushering them through her husband’s workshop to the room at the back.
‘Well, there’s a welcome sight and no mistake,’ Henry Springer agreed, struggling against seized limbs to get up from his chair and hug his daughter. ‘Say, was she always this pretty, Thirza?’
‘Bah!’
‘Yes, truly , I beg you, don’t embarrass me, Pa!’
By now, though, her father had turned his attention to George and was shaking his hand and slapping his back.
‘What say you we leave the women be, eh, son? Come through here a minute an’ you can fill me in on goings-on in the world of farming.’
With the men gone, her mother busied herself fetching cups.
‘I’ll pour us some tea, love. So, how are you then?’
‘I’m fine, Ma.’ Seeing her mother again was actually making her smile.
‘Good, good. Well, I must say you look well.’ Placing two cups in front of them, she sat down beside her.
‘Must be all the air.’
‘Honeymoon glow, more like.’
‘Ma!’
‘Well, make the most of it, maidy, since it’ll scarce see the month out. Not for nothing is it called honeymoon.’ Despite the fact that she was staring into her teacup, she could feel her mother’s eyes upon her. ‘Anyway, how’s the cottage?’
Thank goodness for the change of subject. After all, while there were certain, personal things that she wanted to ask, she had been intending to come around to them rather more gently. The problem, now, though, was one of loyalty. Just how much should she say about Keeper’s Cottage: that it was dark and damp, and courtesy of a chimney that fell short of the top of the bank, often filled with smoke as well?
‘Fine. Real fine.’
‘Aye? And how are you getting along with your in-laws?’
That question at least was less fraught.
‘I don’t see much of them in all truth. Ma Strong is nice. I don’t think she’d stand for much nonsense and ’tis very much her that rules over the house but she seems friendly. An’ George’s Pa is nice too, though he’s a bit fierce with the boys about the farm and I shouldn’t like to cross him.’
‘Well I don’t count you will. What about those two girls? Only, that dark one looked flighty to me.’
She drew a breath. Clearly it would be wrong of her to say too much about her husband’s family but on the other hand, this was her ma and if she couldn’t confide in her , then to whom could she confide?
‘I like Ellen. She’s nice.’ Seeing her mother nod, she added, ‘But I’m certain Annie don’t like me.’
‘The dark one.’
‘Aye. Although for sure I don’t know why.’
‘Well, I only seen her the once but if you ask me, she’s trouble; far too forward for a woman. A woman should know her place. That husband of hers should check her ways. Aye, ’tis him I blame.’
She watched mother give a small, satisfied nod as though in emphasis of her point, after which for a moment, they both fell silent. Drifting through from her father’s workshop came the voices of the two men talking, the sound of which gave her the sudden hope that it was something as straightforward as woodworking tools they were discussing rather than anything more contentious, especially given that in these last few days, George seemed to have developed a real bee in his bonnet.
‘And how are things here?’ She asked it conversationally, noticing for the first time several frizzy silver hairs at her mother’s temples.
‘Oh, much the same. You know how it is. Nothing changes.’
‘Good.’
‘So, how are you coping with married life then? Everything all right there?’
She tensed. Here was the very subject she had wanted to discuss and yet now that she had the chance, she found that actually, she didn’t.
‘Fine.’ It was
‘Mary, child! Oh, how fine to see you. And George too; you look well. Come in, come in,’ Thirza Springer urged, ushering them through her husband’s workshop to the room at the back.
‘Well, there’s a welcome sight and no mistake,’ Henry Springer agreed, struggling against seized limbs to get up from his chair and hug his daughter. ‘Say, was she always this pretty, Thirza?’
‘Bah!’
‘Yes, truly , I beg you, don’t embarrass me, Pa!’
By now, though, her father had turned his attention to George and was shaking his hand and slapping his back.
‘What say you we leave the women be, eh, son? Come through here a minute an’ you can fill me in on goings-on in the world of farming.’
With the men gone, her mother busied herself fetching cups.
‘I’ll pour us some tea, love. So, how are you then?’
‘I’m fine, Ma.’ Seeing her mother again was actually making her smile.
‘Good, good. Well, I must say you look well.’ Placing two cups in front of them, she sat down beside her.
‘Must be all the air.’
‘Honeymoon glow, more like.’
‘Ma!’
‘Well, make the most of it, maidy, since it’ll scarce see the month out. Not for nothing is it called honeymoon.’ Despite the fact that she was staring into her teacup, she could feel her mother’s eyes upon her. ‘Anyway, how’s the cottage?’
Thank goodness for the change of subject. After all, while there were certain, personal things that she wanted to ask, she had been intending to come around to them rather more gently. The problem, now, though, was one of loyalty. Just how much should she say about Keeper’s Cottage: that it was dark and damp, and courtesy of a chimney that fell short of the top of the bank, often filled with smoke as well?
‘Fine. Real fine.’
‘Aye? And how are you getting along with your in-laws?’
That question at least was less fraught.
‘I don’t see much of them in all truth. Ma Strong is nice. I don’t think she’d stand for much nonsense and ’tis very much her that rules over the house but she seems friendly. An’ George’s Pa is nice too, though he’s a bit fierce with the boys about the farm and I shouldn’t like to cross him.’
‘Well I don’t count you will. What about those two girls? Only, that dark one looked flighty to me.’
She drew a breath. Clearly it would be wrong of her to say too much about her husband’s family but on the other hand, this was her ma and if she couldn’t confide in her , then to whom could she confide?
‘I like Ellen. She’s nice.’ Seeing her mother nod, she added, ‘But I’m certain Annie don’t like me.’
‘The dark one.’
‘Aye. Although for sure I don’t know why.’
‘Well, I only seen her the once but if you ask me, she’s trouble; far too forward for a woman. A woman should know her place. That husband of hers should check her ways. Aye, ’tis him I blame.’
She watched mother give a small, satisfied nod as though in emphasis of her point, after which for a moment, they both fell silent. Drifting through from her father’s workshop came the voices of the two men talking, the sound of which gave her the sudden hope that it was something as straightforward as woodworking tools they were discussing rather than anything more contentious, especially given that in these last few days, George seemed to have developed a real bee in his bonnet.
‘And how are things here?’ She asked it conversationally, noticing for the first time several frizzy silver hairs at her mother’s temples.
‘Oh, much the same. You know how it is. Nothing changes.’
‘Good.’
‘So, how are you coping with married life then? Everything all right there?’
She tensed. Here was the very subject she had wanted to discuss and yet now that she had the chance, she found that actually, she didn’t.
‘Fine.’ It was
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