fastened it around her neck she whispered softly, ‘It is too beautiful for me, Daniel, it must have cost so much.’
‘Nothing is too beautiful for you, my darling, you have brought such happiness and love to my life. I would give you anything you wanted if I could, I love you so much.’
Tears filled her eyes as she thought that the one thing shedesired now was a child of their own. He could give it to her but she seemed incapable of birthing it. But Betsy said nothing of this to her husband; she simply touched the locket and hugged him tightly to her breasts.
Two weeks later word came that Betsy’s mother had died. They set off for the funeral on a mellow September morning. Betsy did not pretend a sadness she didn’t feel, only an annoyance that she would not now be able to find out if there was any reason for her miscarriages that her mother might have known about.
Afterwards Daniel took her back to the house for the funeral meal with the rest of the family. He felt very strongly that they should go. ‘We do not need to stay long but it is right and proper that you should be there, Betsy,’ he said, ‘but as soon as you say the word after the meal is over we will leave.’
It felt strange being back in the old kitchen where she had toiled away while her brother and sisters seldom did any work. Certainly not any dirty work. She looked at the floor she had scrubbed so many times, remembered the scrubbed kitchen table and the uncomfortable stool where she had sat to peel potatoes and slice and wash vegetables.
She thought of her life after she left to work for Mrs Wallasey and of her life now in her own pleasant kitchen and around the farm with Daniel.
Her body was alive with the injustices she had suffered as a child, she even ducked out of the way when her brother walked in; she half-expected him to take a swing at her as he always used to. At first she had tried to fight back but it was an unequal contest and he made so much noise it always brought her mother along to side with him and clip her daughter’s other ear, so in the end she gave up and simply endured it. Well, her mother wouldnever again side with her brother, and she had Daniel to stand with her against them all. The only emotion she hadn’t felt since returning here this morning was sorrow for the mother she had never loved and whom she was sure had never loved her. Her mother had not said so, like Daniel’s mother who had undermined his confidence so cruelly, but it had been obvious by her attitude. Betsy had been just a servant in this house, a servant to them all. She had fought against the injustice of it but Daniel, in his childhood, had accepted and bowed down beneath it.
She seemed to hear her beloved Mrs Wallasey’s voice saying, even as she had in life, ‘We are all different, that’s what makes humans so interesting Betsy – no two people ever tackle things in the same way.’ Certainly she and Daniel had reacted quite differently to their environments and treatment.
Standing next to her mother’s sister Agnes, Betsy thought, well Aunt Agnes hasn’t changed – she looks as sour as ever. Agnes was her mother’s only sister, the other three of that generation being boys. Even as a child Betsy had felt miserable whenever Agnes was present. The boys, her uncles, were mostly cheery men, but Agnes seemed to bring an aura of darkness with her. Once Betsy had left home she seldom thought about her aunt, but now, seeing her again the old feeling returned.
‘So, you have a husband, eh? With your looks I would have thought you could have done better than him. What did he do – buy you in the market-place so he could parade a young and beautiful wife? Are your children like you or him?’
Determined not to be drawn into losing her temper on this occasion Betsy turned slightly as though she hadn’t heard, but Agnes touched her arm and pulled her round so that they were face to face. ‘You’re like him, of course; not a touch of
‘Nothing is too beautiful for you, my darling, you have brought such happiness and love to my life. I would give you anything you wanted if I could, I love you so much.’
Tears filled her eyes as she thought that the one thing shedesired now was a child of their own. He could give it to her but she seemed incapable of birthing it. But Betsy said nothing of this to her husband; she simply touched the locket and hugged him tightly to her breasts.
Two weeks later word came that Betsy’s mother had died. They set off for the funeral on a mellow September morning. Betsy did not pretend a sadness she didn’t feel, only an annoyance that she would not now be able to find out if there was any reason for her miscarriages that her mother might have known about.
Afterwards Daniel took her back to the house for the funeral meal with the rest of the family. He felt very strongly that they should go. ‘We do not need to stay long but it is right and proper that you should be there, Betsy,’ he said, ‘but as soon as you say the word after the meal is over we will leave.’
It felt strange being back in the old kitchen where she had toiled away while her brother and sisters seldom did any work. Certainly not any dirty work. She looked at the floor she had scrubbed so many times, remembered the scrubbed kitchen table and the uncomfortable stool where she had sat to peel potatoes and slice and wash vegetables.
She thought of her life after she left to work for Mrs Wallasey and of her life now in her own pleasant kitchen and around the farm with Daniel.
Her body was alive with the injustices she had suffered as a child, she even ducked out of the way when her brother walked in; she half-expected him to take a swing at her as he always used to. At first she had tried to fight back but it was an unequal contest and he made so much noise it always brought her mother along to side with him and clip her daughter’s other ear, so in the end she gave up and simply endured it. Well, her mother wouldnever again side with her brother, and she had Daniel to stand with her against them all. The only emotion she hadn’t felt since returning here this morning was sorrow for the mother she had never loved and whom she was sure had never loved her. Her mother had not said so, like Daniel’s mother who had undermined his confidence so cruelly, but it had been obvious by her attitude. Betsy had been just a servant in this house, a servant to them all. She had fought against the injustice of it but Daniel, in his childhood, had accepted and bowed down beneath it.
She seemed to hear her beloved Mrs Wallasey’s voice saying, even as she had in life, ‘We are all different, that’s what makes humans so interesting Betsy – no two people ever tackle things in the same way.’ Certainly she and Daniel had reacted quite differently to their environments and treatment.
Standing next to her mother’s sister Agnes, Betsy thought, well Aunt Agnes hasn’t changed – she looks as sour as ever. Agnes was her mother’s only sister, the other three of that generation being boys. Even as a child Betsy had felt miserable whenever Agnes was present. The boys, her uncles, were mostly cheery men, but Agnes seemed to bring an aura of darkness with her. Once Betsy had left home she seldom thought about her aunt, but now, seeing her again the old feeling returned.
‘So, you have a husband, eh? With your looks I would have thought you could have done better than him. What did he do – buy you in the market-place so he could parade a young and beautiful wife? Are your children like you or him?’
Determined not to be drawn into losing her temper on this occasion Betsy turned slightly as though she hadn’t heard, but Agnes touched her arm and pulled her round so that they were face to face. ‘You’re like him, of course; not a touch of
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