Winter in Thrush Green Read online

  'You'll have to find one for yourself,' answered Albert, emboldened by his master's approbation.

  'I really think I shad,' agreed the rector, smiling.

  'One thing,' said Ella to Dimity when she heard the news, 'Nelly Tilling will make that cottage smell a bit sweeter -and Albert too, I hope.'

  'And what a good thing for Piggott's poor little cat!' exclaimed Dimity. 'It was such a waif always. Nelly Tilling's bound to fatten it up.'

  'Isn't it fortunate?' said Miss Watson to Miss Fogerty. 'To think that she thought of settling in Thrush Green so soon after getting the job!'

  'She may, perhaps, have thought of it before,' pointed out Miss Fogerty, with unusual perception.

  'Molly Piggott–I mean Curdle–will be pleased,' said Joan Young to her husband Edward. 'It means she won't have to worry too much about the old man while she's so far away.'

  'If you ask me,' said Ted Allen to his wife Bessie, sad at the loss of such a good worker at 'The Drover's Arms,' 'she's plain barmy to marry that man!'

  'Ah!' breathed Bessie, 'there's no gainsaying Love. Hearts rule heads every time!' She had always been romantic from a girl.

  As the month wore on the weather improved, and tempers with it. The workmen, who had been unable to do much in the rain, now returned much refreshed from their rest, and the base of Nathaniel's statue was fast nearing completion. Edward Young brought glowing reports of the progress of the young sculptor and it really seemed as if Thrush Green would be punctual for once and have everything in apple-pie order for the missionary's anniversary on March the fifteenth.

  The mild weather allowed the schoolchildren to play outside, much to their teachers' relief. The new school cleaner, whose doughty right arm had scrubbed and polished with considerable effect, also welcomed the dry spell, and the good people of Thrush Green, so long winter-bound, pottered about their gardens, admiring the silver and gold of snowdrops and aconites, and watching the daffodils push their buds above ground.

  One sunny afternoon, Ruth Lovell wheeled her infant daughter's pram along the road to Thrush Green. It was wonderful to feel a warm breeze lifting one's hair, and to feel light and strong again. Ruth's spirits rose as she saw the buds on the lilac bushes as fat and plump as green peas. On the other side of the road some willow bushes grew beside a shadow ditch. Already, Ruth could see, the brown buds were showing a fringe of silvery fur, soon to turn to yellow fluff, honey-scented and droning with bees.

  But it was the great sticky buds of the horse-chestnut trees which formed the avenue outside her old home on Thrush Green that caused Ruth's heart to stir most strongly. She looked with affection at the sight which had given her joy all her life.

  She paused under the trees, her sleeping baby before her, and let her eyes rest upon the familiar scene. On her right, behind the white palings, the children were at play, their distant voices competing with a blackbird's as he trilled and whistled from the Baileys' gate-post on her left. Above her stretched the strong interlacing branches of the chestnut avenue, and higher still a blue and white sky of infinite freshness.

  Before her lay the thick green sward upon which her own daughter would be crawling before the summer ended, and there, some fifty yards away, the workmen clanged their tools and whistled, preparing for the great day.

  Soon, thought Ruth, joyfully, it would be spring-time again, a time of hope and new life. Before long Mrs Curdles fair would be assembled on Thrush Green again, and though the old lady would no longer dominate her little world, yet her spirit must surely be with Ben and the great-grandson she had never seen as the fair filled Thrush Green with music and fun on the first day of May.

  As she watched the bright scene before her she heard the clang of a distant gate, and saw Eda's sturdy figure emerge from her garden and set off across the green, past St Andrew's, to the alley-way which led to Dotty Harmer's. She was swinging a basket merrily and did not see the motionless figure under the chestnut trees.

  'Egg-day!' thought Ruth to herself, and rejoiced at the pleasantness of country life which was so familiar and intimate. 'She'd probably have tea with Dotty, and take great care in choosing her food!'

  She watched Ella with affection as she stumped out of sight between 'The Two Pheasants' and Albert's cottage. Unconsciously echoing Mrs Curdle's words on her last visit to Thrush Green, she addressed her sleeping daughter.

  'I always feel better for seeing Thrush Green.'

  She sighed happily, thinking of the comfort it had brought her through many weeks of misery. It had never failed her. No matter how sore her wounds, the balm of Thrush Green had always soothed them.

  She began to push the pram slowly along beneath the trees, over the road which was bumpy with massive roots just below the chequered shade on its surface. As she arrived at Joan's gate she took one last look at the spring sunshine on the green, and caught sight of the rector in the distance.

  He was walking purposefully towards Ella and Dimity's house, and in his hand was a large bunch of flowers.

  20. Coming Home

  THE rector, as he had intended, found Dimity alone at the house, for he too had observed Ella striding towards Lulling Woods, basket in hand, and had remembered that this was the day on which the eggs were collected.

  'Why, Charles!' cried Dimity. 'How lovely to see you! I didn't know you were allowed out yet.'

  'This is my first walk,' admitted the rector. 'But I wanted to come and thank you properly for ad that you have done.' How convenient, at times, thought the rector, was the English use of the second person plural!

  'Ella's out, I'm afraid,' said Dimity, leading the way to the sitting-room. 'But I don't think she'd be very long.'

  The rector felt a little inner agitation at this news, but did his best to look disappointed at Ella's temporary absence. He handed Dimity the flowers with a smile and a small bow.

  'Freesias!' breathed Dimity with rapture, thinking how dreadfully extravagant dear Charles had been, and yet how delicious it was to have such treasures brought to her. 'How very, very kind, Charles. They are easily our favourite flowers.'

  The rector murmured politely while Dimity unwrapped them. Their fragrance nungled with the faint smell of wood smoke that lingered in the room and the rector thought, yet again, how warm and full of life this small room was. Ella's book lay face downward on the arm of a chair, her spectacles lodged across it. Dimity's knitting had been hastily put aside when she answered the door, and decorated a low table near the fire. The clock ticked merrily, the fire whispered and crackled, the cat purred upon the window-sill, sitting foursquare and smug after its midday meal.

  A feeling of great peace descended upon the rector despite the preoccupations of the errand in hand. Could he ever hope, he wondered, to have such comfort in his own home?

  'Do sit down,' said Dimity, 'while I arrange these.'

  I'll come with you,' said Charles, with a glance at the clock. Ella must have reached Dotty's by now.

  He followed Dimity into the small kitchen which smelt deliriously of gingerbread.

  'There!' gasped Dimity, 'I'd forgotten my cakes in the excitement.'

  She put down the flowers and opened the oven door.

  'Could you pass that skewer, Charles?' she asked, intent on the oven's contents. Obediently, the rector passed it over.

  'Harold is coming to tea tomorrow,' said Dimity, 'and he adores gingerbread." She poked busily at the concoctions, withdrew the tins from the oven and put them on the scrubbed wooden table to cool.

  The rector leant against the dresser and watched her as she fetched vases and arranged the freesias. His intentions were clear enough in his own mind, but it was decidedly difficult to make a beginning, particularly when Dimity was so busy.

  'I must show vou our broad beans," chattered Dimity, quite unconscious of the turmoil in her old friend's heart. 'They are quite three inches high. Harold gave us some wonderful stuff to keep the slugs off.'

  Fond as the rector was of Harold Shoosmith, he found
himself disliking his intrusion into the present conversation. Also the subject of slugs, he felt, was not one which made an easy stepping-stone to such delicate matters as he himself had in mind. The kitchen clock reminded him sharply of the passage of time, and urgency lent cunning to the rector's stratagems.

  'I should love to see them sometime,' said Charles, 'but I wonder if I might sit down for a little? My legs are uncommonly feeble after this flu.'

  Dimity was smitten with remorse.

  'You poor dear! How thoughtless of me, Charles! Let's take the freesias into the sitting-room and you must have a rest.'

  She fluttered ahead, pouring out a little flow of sympathy and self-reproach which fell like music upon the rector's ears.

  'Have a cushion behind your head,' said Dimity, when the rector had lowered himself into an armchair. She plumped it up with her thin hands and held it out invitingly. The rector began to feel quite guilty, and refused it firmly.

  'Harold says it's the final refinement of relaxation,' said Dimity, and noticed a wince of pain pass over the rector's cherubic face. 'Oh dear, I'm sure you're over-tired! You really shouldn't have ventured so far,' she protested.

  'Dimity,' said Charles, taking a deep breath. 'I want to ask you something. Something very important.'

  'Yes, Charles?' said Dimity, picking up her knitting busily, and starting to count stitches with her forefinger. The rector, having made a beginning, stuck to his guns manfully.

  'Dimity,' he said gently, 'I have a proposal to make.'

  Dimity's thin finger continued to gallop along the needle and she frowned with concentration. Inexorably, the little clock on the mantelpiece ticked the precious minutes away. At length she reached the end of the stitches and looked with bright interest at her companion.

  'Who from?' she asked briskly. 'The Mothers' Union?'

  'No!' said the rector, fortissimo. 'Not from the Mothers' Union!' His voice dropped suddenly. 'The proposal, Dimity, is from me.' And, without more ado, the rector began.

  'Oh Charles,' quavered Dimity, when he had ended. Her eyes were full of tears.

  'You need not answer now,' said the rector gently, holding one of the thin hands in his own two plump ones. 'But do you think you ever could?'

  'Oh Charles,' repeated Dimity, with a huge happy sigh. 'Oh, yes, please!'

  When Ella came in, exactly three minutes later, she found them standing on the hearthrug, hand in hand. Before they had time to say a word, she had rushed across the room, enveloped Dimity in a bear-hug and kissed her soundly on each cheek.

  'Oh Dimity,' said Ella, from her heart, 'I'm so happy!'

  'Dash it all, Ella,' protested Charles, 'that's just what we were going to say!'

  Harold Shoosmith heard the good news from the rector himself, that same evening, and was overjoyed.

  'I can't begin to tell you how pleased I am,' he said delightedly, thumping his friend quite painfully in his excitement. 'And now you can get rid of that wretched Mrs Butler.'

  'Upon my soul!' exclaimed the rector, his smile vanishing, 'I had quite forgotten all about her. What a dreadful thing!'

  'Think nothing of it,' Harold assured him. 'She'll be snapped up in no time by some other poor devil in need of a house-keeper.'

  He took a letter from his pocket.

  'By the way, I've heard from the bishop.'

  'Ours?' asked Charles.

  'No–theirs. He says hell be delighted to unveil the memorial.'

  The rector's face glowed happily.

  'Isn't that wonderful? I'm most grateful to you, Harold, for arranging ad this. Without you Thrush Green would never have remembered Nathaniel at all, I fear.'

  'I suggest the bishop stays here overnight,' said Harold, 'and I'll get Betty Bed to cook for a small supper party. Ella and Dimity, of course, and one or two more who would like to meet him.'

  'Thank you," said the rector, 'that would be very kind.' He looked across the green towards Dimity's house. 'It will be a great pleasure to be able to entertain again. The house has been so cheerless I haven't liked to invite anyone to stay. I'm afraid Ella will miss Dimity very much.'

  He looked with a speculative eye at his companion.

  'I suppose you don't feel towards Ella—' he began.

  'Charles, please!' protested Harold faindy, closing his eyes.

  Thrush Green wholeheartedly rejoiced in the news of the engagement. The rector's sad plight had been a source of great pity, and Dimity, for ad her timid and old-maidish ways, was recognised as a woman of fine character and sweet disposition. Some said that Ella had 'put upon' Miss Dimity too long, and not a few hoped that Ella would regret her past bullyings, and realise that she was at fault.

  In actual fact, Ella's spirits were high. Now that the blow had fallen she found that the changed circumstances invigorated her. That Dimity should have chosen the rector still surprised her, for although in the last week or two she had suspected that the rector's feelings were warmer than before, yet she had for so long envisaged Harold Shoosmith as the only real claimant of Dimity's affections that it was difficult to dismiss him from her conjectures.

  Within a week of the announcement Ella had decided to move her workbench from the kitchen to the sitting-room and to have a cupboard fitted on the landing for her painting materials. Dimity was equally engrossed in planning her new abode.

  The wedding was to take place quietly in the summer, and meanwhile the rectory was to be completely refurbished and decorated as Dimity thought best. It gave the two friends a common interest, and lessened the inevitable pangs of parting after so many years, as they threw themselves wholeheartedly into their preparations.

  'It was good while it lasted, Dim,' said Ella philosophically one evening, as they packed some china to be taken across to the rectory. She was thinking of the little house which they had shared.

  'It will go on lasting, Ella,' said Dimity. But she was thinking of the friendship which they had shared.

  As the fifteenth of March drew near, the inhabitants of Thrush Green turned their attention to the approaching ceremony. The workmen had finished their task in good time, and three fine steps of York stone formed a pleasant cream-coloured plinth for the statue which was due to arrive at any moment.

  'The only thing that worries me,' confessed Harold to Charles, is whether it will be worth looking at. It would be dreadful to find it looked all wrong on the green after so much effort.'

  'The thing that worries me,' answered the rector, 'is finding the rest of the money.'

  'But you know—' began Harold, and was cut short.

  'Yes, I do know. You're much too generous. But at the moment the fund is only just over a hundred pounds, and I shudder to think of the final cost.'

  Harold Shoosmith put his hand on his friend's shoulder.

  'Don't you realise that this is the culmination of almost a lifetime's ambitions?' said Harold, with conviction. 'I've dreamt about this for years. Nathaniel Patten meant a great deal to me when I was in Africa. His life and work brought me to Thrush Green–and I hope I'll never leave it. Don't rob me of a very real pleasure, Charles. This statue may be Thrush Green's memorial, but it's also a thank offering on my part for hope when I needed it abroad, and happiness at finding myself in Nathaniel's birthplace.'

  'I understand,' said Charles Henstock. 'And thank you.'

  The statue arrived two days before it was to be unveiled. It was a perfect spring day, warm and sunny, with a great blue and white sky against which the black rooks wheeled and cawed. In the gardens of Thrush Green the velvety polyanthus was in bloom, and a few crocuses spread their yellow and purple petals to disclose dusty orange stamens.

  A little knot of people gathered round the lorry to watch the sacking wrappings being removed from the swathed figure. The young sculptor watched anxiously as his masterpiece emerged. He was a well-dressed thickset young man, red of face and bright of eye, and a source of some amazement to various Thrush Green folk who had been expecting someone looking much more
pallid and artistic with, possibly, a beard, a beret and sandals.

  He helped his workmen hoist the bronze figure upright on the grass and seemed pleased to hear the little cries of pleasure which greeted the life-size figure. It was indeed a fine piece of work. He had caught exactly the benevolent facial expression and the Pickwickian figure in its cut-away coat There was something lovable and friendly about its size and its stance, and Thrush Green prepared to welcome Nathaniel warmly.

  It took several hours to put the bronze figure securely upon its plinth and by that time ad Thrush Green had called to see its new arrival.

  'Do you think it should be covered?' asked the rector anxiously of the artist.

  'I don't think we need to worry,' smiled the young man. 'He's going to stand on Thrush Green in all weathers for many years, I hope.'

  Very early, on the morning of March the fifteenth, before anyone was astir, Harold Shoosmith leant from his bedroom window and looked upon the fulfilment of his dreams. Later in the day, the unveiling would take place, and there would be speeches, cheers and crowds. But now, in the silence of dawn he and his old friend were alone together. Exactly one hundred years ago, on just such a March morning, Nathaniel had been born in a nearby cottage.

  A warm finger of sunlight crept across the dewy grass. At last, thought Harold, the long winter at Thrush Green had ended and, exiles no longer, both he and Nathaniel Patten were home again.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Front

  PART ONE

  1. The Newcomer

  2. Wild Surmise

  3. Miss Fogerty Rises to the Occasion

  4. Plans for a Party

  5. Nelly Tilling

  6. All Hallows E'en

  7. The Newcomer Settles In

  8. Sam Curdle is Observed

  PART TWO