raised finger.
‘James has apparently fathered a child, and Sammi has brought it home,’ Ellen began.
Uncle Thomas sat up in his chair. Tom flushed and stared first at his aunt and then at Sammi. George from behind his hand suppressed a laugh, and Mark sneered. ‘That fop! He wouldn’t know how!’
His father rose from his chair. ‘Outside!’ he roared, pointing his finger to the door. ‘Go on. Out! I’ll not have you speaking in that manner in front of ladies.’
Mark bit his lip but defiantly stood his ground. ‘It’s true and you know it, Da, he’s nowt but a daft lass.’
‘Out!’ His father took a step towards him. ‘Get tha head under that pump and wash tha mouth out. Anddon’t come back until tha’s ready to apologize!’ he shouted at Mark’s retreating back.
‘Sorry, Ellen.’ He breathed heavily as he sat down again. ‘I don’t know what I’m going to do with that lad; he gets worse.’
Ellen nodded. Mark had never been an easy child. He was only six when his mother had died, and he had fretted over the loss of her. George and Betsy had been only babies and didn’t remember her, and Tom at eight years old was already a sensible, steady child who comforted his father and helped him and the housekeeper who came to live in, to look after the other children.
Mark seems always to have a grudge against the world
, she thought,
whereas Tom, who must have missed his mother, too, is calm and patient and always tolerant
.
She sketched the final details and concluded by saying, ‘If Sammi hadn’t decided to interfere, we shouldn’t be involved, but she did, and so we are.’
‘But Mama!’ Sammi burst out. ‘We took him to a charity home, James and I. But I couldn’t leave him. I couldn’t pretend that he didn’t exist! You taught us to think of others – to be considerate. How could I leave that poor child, especially if he’s family?’
Hot tears streamed down her cheeks, and she put her hands to her face. Ellen compressed her lips into a determined line. Betsy and George both looked embarrassed, whilst Tom, looking quite miserable, stared down at his feet.
‘Come, come.’ Uncle Thomas spoke gruffly into his beard. ‘Something will be sorted out; don’t worry m’dears. It’ll come right at ’end. It always does.’
Tom, George and Betsy stood by the yard gate to wave good-bye as the carriage pulled away, and Tom closed the gate after them. Mark stood back from them all and turned away as they came towards him. His dark hair was damp from pump water: he knew better than to defy his father.
‘You’ll be for it now, Mark,’ Betsy laughingly confronted her brother. ‘Da will have something to say about you being so rude in front of Aunt Ellen and Sammi.’
‘You mind your own business, Betsy Busybody,’ Mark snapped. ‘Or otherwise I won’t mind mine, and I’ll tell him about thee seeing Reedbarrow.’ He grinned as, startled, she began to protest. ‘Don’t think I don’t know,’ he sneered. ‘I saw thee this morning. Didn’t see me, did tha? No! Well, I was up on ’barn roof and
I
saw thee.’
‘So what if you did!’ She pushed her face towards his. ‘I was with Sammi, he just happened to be passing by at the same time. Anyway,’ her voice rose shrilly, ‘I’m sick of you three always watching me, seeing who I’m with or talking to. I can’t even go to the privy on my own but there’s somebody following me.’
‘That’s enough, Betsy,’ Tom admonished her. ‘You’ll get the same treatment as Mark if you talk in that way. Stop it, both of you. Mark, go and make your peace with Da, I know you apologized to Aunt Ellen, but Da will expect the same. George, go and lock up the pig pen; look sharp, ’cos there’s a wind getting up, and we’ll be needed aloft.’
His brothers went off, Mark sullenly kicking a pebble which was in his path, and George with his hands in his breeches pockets whistling a tune.
‘Is it true what Mark says, Betsy?’
C. J. Cherryh
Learning to Kill: Stories
John O'Riley
Brenda Sinclair
Christopher George
Stephen Lloyd Jones
Karl Iagnemma
Celya Bowers
Jill Gregory
Aria Cunningham