A Surprising Legacy. Ernest Swain
a concealed spot behind a large sycamore the distraught child stood to survey the route back to the town. She could see nothing of her pursuers, no-one. She watched for a while and then, deciding that it was safe, she climbed back onto the cart track where it was easier to walk. She finally came to the stone built barn where she had spent the previous night and fell exhausted into the hay. Her fear held sleep at bay and every small sound that she heard made her spring to her feet and peer from the doorway lest someone should surprise her and catch her.
Night came very slowly and gradually her heart stopped it’s pounding in her chest, but she remained tearful and still alert. She was so used to sleeping outdoors and normally the regular sounds of the night held no particular fear for her. The owls, rats, badgers and the like were no threat to her whilst she had her mother’s protection, but now, alone, the shadows held daemons and the wind bore ghosts. She lay opposite the open doorway where she could see the light of the night sky and she hugged herself, as much for reassurance as for warmth.
Meanwhile, Sarah in the confines of the prison, sat on the hard wooden bed and pulled the blanket tighter about her. She sobbed quietly to herself. She had quickly learned that the other women around her could be hard and unfeeling and didn’t have much capacity for sympathy. This place had that affect on those who spent much time here. She thanked her lucky stars that the magistrate hadn’t imposed a harsh sentence upon her but her misery wasn’t self -pity, it was more in the worry of what had happened to her child. Where was she? Had she been caught? Had she been dragged off screaming to some other place of detention? Was she starving? Sarah thought of the orphanage that was all she’d known as a child and the cruelty she’d endured. It all seemed to have set her on a course for a lifetime of down-trodden destitution and she could see no end to it, even when she was released from this incarceration.
Religion was something that had been forced upon her at the orphanage and even that seemed to have been an instrument to instil discipline. Oh, she had prayed, how she had prayed for some release from this eternal poverty, but she had practically lost all hope. It was now, more than ever before that she needed someone or something to succour her. It was at this point that she suddenly became aware of the old woman sitting beside her on her bed. She was certainly no angel or fairy-godmother, in fact she had all the appearance of a hag, a witch, or at least someone who in other circumstances she would have gone to lengths to avoid.
The old woman spoke kindly to her.
“What ails you lass?”
Sarah tried to control her sobbing and blew her nose on the remnant of cloth she kept in her sleeve, but before she could answer the old woman continued,
“I’ve watched you and you aren’t eating or sleeping and your crying’s bringing you down. Look here, I’m Kathleen. I’ve been here a long time and I know the ropes. If I can help you then tell me.”
Sarah began to stutter her story to her but it was hard to relate without starting the floods of tears again.
“They threw me in here for begging but I’m not upset for myself. I’ve a young daughter, only eight, and when they arrested me, she ran away. I don’t know what’s happened to her, whether they caught her, whether she’s dying of hunger or whether someone has stolen her”.
Kathleen took hold of Sarah’s hand and gave a gentle squeeze.
“I want you to listen to what I’ve got to say”, she said in a quiet, but somehow commanding manner. “Your daughter’s safe. She’s well and she’s being cared for by someone. You must believe me. I’ve the power to see these things. You’ve no need to worry and, yes, you will find her”.
Sarah wasn’t prepared for such a meeting and although not altogether a sceptic, her experiences of life hitherto hadn’t filled her with optimism, but she so wanted to believe. Oh, how desperately she wanted to believe. The old woman helped her to lie back on the bed and covered her with the blanket. Sarah lay back in a daze, her head swimming in thoughts of her child and she tried to convince herself that she was being cared for. Perhaps it was the uncontrollable sobbing that had weakened her, perhaps the optimism placed there by Kathleen or perhaps, just plain tiredness, but whatever, she fell into a sleep deeper than anything she had experienced for days.
True to his word, Amos busied himself with the menial little chores that would free him for the day so that he could help the child to search for an explanation of what had happened to her mother. The dawn chorus was still in full swing as he filled his bucket at the stream. He looked into the caravan just as Ruth emerged all bleary eyed from her little cocoon. He urged her to wash in the water he had just fetched, saying, “I want you to wash the sleep away, I need you as bright as a button, we’re going to find out where your Ma is and when she can come back to you, just as I promised”.
He handed her a wooden comb that he had so patiently whittled with his knife and she tried very hard to smarten herself. He could see that with some care and attention that tousled head could easily be transformed into lovely silken locks that had a natural curl. Swinging himself up he threw his leg over Maggie’s broad back and sat astride the mare, then reaching down he took hold of Ruth’s arm and hoisted her up to sit behind him. She had never sat a horse before and she was quite apprehensive so clung on tightly around Amos’s waist. She very quickly gained her confidence and found the broad back of the horse comfortable and reassuring. There was no particular hurry, the day had just begun, so Maggie was allowed to go along at her own speed, occasionally dropping her head to take a mouthful of grass from the roadside as she plodded on.
Slow as the pace was, it beat walking. At the outskirts of Halsmere they saw an old man scything nettles and as they approached Amos bade him, “Good day”. The old man stopped his scything, then placing both hands on the end of the wooden handle, he rested his chin. Drawing his lungs full of smoke from the white clay pipe he was smoking, he enquired, “Where ya headin’ mister?”
Amos responded,
“Oh just into town to buy some food to keep us going”, then almost as an after thought he continued,
“By the way, do you recognise my young companion here?”
“No mister, is she lost?” he replied.
“No, she’s not lost, but she’s lost her mother. It seems that she was taken away by some men. It may have been the law -perhaps for some wrong doing”.
The old man pondered awhile and then said,
“I canna say fer sure, but there was some talk about a woman mekin a nuisance o’ hersel’, a beggin”.
Amos thanked him and said,
“That’s very much what I was expecting”.
Ruth had remained quiet throughout and still didn’t speak when Amos said,
“Well, so now we know. We must go to Leeke to find out what’s happened to her”.
The few miles into Leeke were quiet, the both of them deep in thought and the only words spoken were greetings to passersby.
It was market day and although only mid morning it was getting busy. The drovers driving their sheep and cattle through the streets and their dogs running back and forth on command, keeping the animals on their course to the market square. Amos rode to the pens where they both dismounted and he tied Maggie to the rails. Immediately, people began to eye the animal in the belief that she too was for sale. Amos laughed and made it clear the horse wasn’t for sale.
“Are you hungry Ruth?” he asked.
She nodded her head enthusiastically, so he said,
“Right, Wait here and keep an eye on Maggie. Don’t let anyone walk off with her. I’ll be back in just a minute or so with some food”.
No sooner was he gone than he was back with two hot sandwiches of pork. They ate as they wandered amongst the pens, admiring the animals.
“Do you know, I only know your first name. Now, if I’m to find out where your mother is then I need to know her surname”, said Amos.
“I