Sweet Rosie by Iris Gower Page B

young woman, was dead and a dreadful feeling of guilt flooded over him.
    He had loved Maura once, when they had both been young and eager for life. Maura with her red-gold hair and her lovely smile had roused such feelings in him, feelings that vanished once they were married.
    He turned to the letter again. It was tactful in the extreme. Watt had chosen his words carefully, not giving away anything that would incriminate Binnie. And yet Watt’s own pain was plain for anyone to read.
    ‘What’s wrong, hon?’ Hortense asked, looking over the breakfast table at him. ‘You’ve been clutching that letter for ages, is it bad news?’
    He swallowed hard. ‘Yes, it is, a friend, an old friend of mine has died.’ He looked down at his hands feeling like a Judas. He hated lying to his wife. But then Hortense was not his wife, not in the eyes of the church or the law at any rate. A thought struck him, that was something he could put right now, if only he could find a way.
    ‘Remember Watt who came out here with John? Well his,’ he hesitated, ‘his wife died of the whooping cough. It seems the sickness has been running through the town like wildfire. Thank God we are out of it, my love, safe in America.’
    ‘We get sicknesses here, too, honey,’ Hortense said softly. ‘No-one is ever sure what life can bring.’
    ‘I know but this is a warm country, the sun shines more than it ever does back home.’ He smiled. ‘Here we don’t have the dark, wet, miserable days I knew when I was a child.’
    ‘Instead we have wild storms, great winds and fires that can run for days.’ Hortense touched his cheek affectionately. ‘You see America with rose-coloured glasses, Binnie.’
    ‘Perhaps because everything I love is here,’ Binnie said softly. ‘I have you and the boys, you are all so precious to me. I’ve even come to think of Dan as the father I never had.’
    He could not say the same about Mrs McCabe; she had never made him feel part of the family. The old lady loved the boys and respected Binnie for being a good worker but Binnie always felt she had reservations about him. It was almost as if she knew he had a secret past.
    ‘By the way,’ Hortense said, ‘John’s brought Jo into town.’ She smiled. ‘My sister is visiting with Mamma and Daddy, so Jo and me can have some real woman gossip. I’ll enjoy that after having a stuffy old man like you around me all hours of the day.’
    She was teasing and they both knew it but Binnie’s heart sank. He liked it when John was safely up country supervising some of the other potteries Dan owned. Binnie rose from the table. ‘I’d better do some work, I’ve got to check one of the kilns, I think there’s a breach in the brickwork somewhere, the pots are not firing well.’
    He kissed Hortense on the mouth; she tasted of honey and pancakes and he loved her so much he thought his heart would break whenever he looked into her eyes.
    ‘Don’t work too hard, Binnie.’ She smiled the seductive smile that sent his pulses racing. ‘You’ll need some of your energy when you come home.’
    He left her with a smile on his face and a lightness in his step, he was one lucky man to have a woman like Hortense at his side. Now, with Watt’s letter tucked safely into his pocket, he could begin to feel more secure.
    It was early evening when Binnie returned home. He bathed in the tub at the back of the house, cleaning the dust and clay from his hands. Above him, he could see the sky and he smiled. It was strange bathing in a shed with no roof.
    Dressed in fresh clothes and with a glass of good whisky inside him, he sat down at the table to eat supper with his family. This was the life, the life he would do anything to preserve. The letter was burnt now but the words Watt had written continued to comfort him.
    He was just finishing the delicious dish of roast meat and potatoes cooked specially the way he liked it when his happiness faded.
    The maid bobbed into the room and