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Authors: Anne Doughty
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Sarah began, her voice now quite steady. ‘Being able to love was a talent some women had in great measure. He’d been lucky. Before me, he’d had Elizabeth and you. He said you’d saved him from being a crotchety oldbachelor, just as Da had saved him from loneliness for want of a friend.’
‘Hugh was always so generous in his appreciation,’ Rose said, as she poured fresh mugs of tea. ‘I know Quakers speak out as their conscience dictates on important matters, but Hugh would speak out about quite ordinary things as well. If there was something good to say, he always said it.’
‘Ma, do you think the pain will ever heal?’ Sarah asked abruptly.
‘Sweetheart, I’ve never suffered such a loss as you have,’ Rose said quickly, as she put Sarah’s tea into her hand. ‘But I can tell you what my own mother said when I was old enough to ask her how she coped when your grandfather died. She said there was no point at all in trying to forget what had been, or to run away from the sadness. If you did that, you lost all the good things that would otherwise come to you and give you strength. Every time she put food on the table she thought how delighted our father would have been that we had enough to eat. It was the thought of his pleasure in all she now did, that finally comforted her.’
Sarah woke with a start, surprised she should have fallen asleep in the middle of the afternoon. She swung her legs out of bed, walked in her stocking feet to the window and leant out, looking down at the garden. She was almost sure she could see thebright faces of polyanthus at the edge of one of the flowerbeds.
Despite the fact she hadn’t worked in the garden since Hugh died, the little flowers had bloomed without any help or attention from her.
Suddenly and unexpectedly, she remembered a saying of their old friend Thomas Scott, one which her mother often quoted:
‘
Whatever way the world goes, the hawthorns bloom in May
.’
Strangely comforted she went on staring down at the small patches of colour, pushing up between the weeds.
‘Later,’ she said to herself, Thomas’s words still repeating in her mind, as she closed the window and put her shoes on. ‘There’ll be time to do a little bit before dark.’
She crossed the landing to the guest room where she had slept since Hugh had become ill, gathered up the comb and brush, the hand mirror and the bottles on her dressing table and carried them across the landing in her arms. Back and forth she went, carrying her underwear, her clothes and shoes, her hats and handbags, until the room was empty and the large double bed was covered with things to be put away.
When she had found a place for everything in the empty cupboards and drawers, she went to the linen cupboard and took down a carefully foldedbedspread wrapped in spoilt linen. She removed the crumpled bedspread on which she had fallen asleep, shook out the folds from the new one and spread it carefully over the bed. When it was straight and smooth, she looked at it and smiled. Made by her mother and Elizabeth with treasured fragments from dresses and blouses she could still remember, it had at its centre a beautifully embroidered diamond panel.
Sarah and Hugh, it said, within a circle of flowers.
CHAPTER FIVE
As April turned to May, springtime came with a sudden rush, the trees bursting into full leaf, the road verges swaying with tall, delicate stems of cow parsley. By the middle of the month creamy-white hawthorn blossom lay thick on the branches, its heavy perfume drawn out by the warm afternoon sun. The days grew long and the evenings light, the smell of the first cut grass mixing with scents from cottage gardens.
Since the end of February, Rose had been longing for the warmth of summer and the first blooms in her garden. Now she had the sun on her back, her hands were full of prunings and the scent of flowers was all around her, yet her thoughts kept moving away and her mind filled with dark
‘Hugh was always so generous in his appreciation,’ Rose said, as she poured fresh mugs of tea. ‘I know Quakers speak out as their conscience dictates on important matters, but Hugh would speak out about quite ordinary things as well. If there was something good to say, he always said it.’
‘Ma, do you think the pain will ever heal?’ Sarah asked abruptly.
‘Sweetheart, I’ve never suffered such a loss as you have,’ Rose said quickly, as she put Sarah’s tea into her hand. ‘But I can tell you what my own mother said when I was old enough to ask her how she coped when your grandfather died. She said there was no point at all in trying to forget what had been, or to run away from the sadness. If you did that, you lost all the good things that would otherwise come to you and give you strength. Every time she put food on the table she thought how delighted our father would have been that we had enough to eat. It was the thought of his pleasure in all she now did, that finally comforted her.’
Sarah woke with a start, surprised she should have fallen asleep in the middle of the afternoon. She swung her legs out of bed, walked in her stocking feet to the window and leant out, looking down at the garden. She was almost sure she could see thebright faces of polyanthus at the edge of one of the flowerbeds.
Despite the fact she hadn’t worked in the garden since Hugh died, the little flowers had bloomed without any help or attention from her.
Suddenly and unexpectedly, she remembered a saying of their old friend Thomas Scott, one which her mother often quoted:
‘
Whatever way the world goes, the hawthorns bloom in May
.’
Strangely comforted she went on staring down at the small patches of colour, pushing up between the weeds.
‘Later,’ she said to herself, Thomas’s words still repeating in her mind, as she closed the window and put her shoes on. ‘There’ll be time to do a little bit before dark.’
She crossed the landing to the guest room where she had slept since Hugh had become ill, gathered up the comb and brush, the hand mirror and the bottles on her dressing table and carried them across the landing in her arms. Back and forth she went, carrying her underwear, her clothes and shoes, her hats and handbags, until the room was empty and the large double bed was covered with things to be put away.
When she had found a place for everything in the empty cupboards and drawers, she went to the linen cupboard and took down a carefully foldedbedspread wrapped in spoilt linen. She removed the crumpled bedspread on which she had fallen asleep, shook out the folds from the new one and spread it carefully over the bed. When it was straight and smooth, she looked at it and smiled. Made by her mother and Elizabeth with treasured fragments from dresses and blouses she could still remember, it had at its centre a beautifully embroidered diamond panel.
Sarah and Hugh, it said, within a circle of flowers.
CHAPTER FIVE
As April turned to May, springtime came with a sudden rush, the trees bursting into full leaf, the road verges swaying with tall, delicate stems of cow parsley. By the middle of the month creamy-white hawthorn blossom lay thick on the branches, its heavy perfume drawn out by the warm afternoon sun. The days grew long and the evenings light, the smell of the first cut grass mixing with scents from cottage gardens.
Since the end of February, Rose had been longing for the warmth of summer and the first blooms in her garden. Now she had the sun on her back, her hands were full of prunings and the scent of flowers was all around her, yet her thoughts kept moving away and her mind filled with dark
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