The Farm by the Lake

Chapter 15

About ten on Thursday morning Flo was dusting the stairs when a knock sounded on the open back door. Mrs. Nadin was getting dinner in the kitchen. She shouted at once, “Come in. Canna you see door’s oppen?”

Nailed boots entered, but only a few steps, hesitantly. Flo, peeping between the bannister rails, saw in the passage a lanky youth about fourteen with a thick auburn mop and a black patch on the seat of grey whipcord breeches.

“Who are you?” demanded Mrs. Nadin, unseen.

“I’m Mr. Willox’s son. I’ve come . . .”

“Eh!” exclaimed Mrs. Nadin, appearing so suddenly that the lad took a quick pace back. “You’re the young b———r that comes stealing our eggs.”

“Me? No,” stuttered the lad, getting a bit farther back all the time with sideways, twisting movements. “Me? Why . . .?”

“Shut your trap, you young liar,” snapped Mrs. Nadin. “I’ll Willox’s son you. Where’s Bert? He’s going to put some shot inta you where you won’t want it. Come here, you little devil, let me get . . .” She strode out, but he turned and ran. Instead of making for the lane he went towards the field gate, vaulted it and disappeared behind the buildings. “Where are you?” screeched Mrs. Nadin, but no one answered. A minute passed before Mr. Nadin stepped out of the barn-door wicket and asked mildly what was up. “You, you wooden yead,” his wife screeched. He blinked and so obviously hadn’t the least idea of what it was all about that Flo nearly laughed out, and had to tip-toe hurriedly from the landing window to which she had run. Whatever the lad had come for she could not imagine, but she did not think that he looked the sort to be seated even by the threat of a charge of buck shot. She wondered whether she would have been able to stop him when they were after him had he bolted over the field instead of escaping across the water.

After that life went on uneventfully, while the grass in all three meadows lengthened and thickened slowly. Mr. Nadin, helped spasmodically by Bert and Clem, set half an acre of King Edwards, and in a special corner at the point of Lake Field put in beans and peas, cauliflowers and cabbages, carrots and sprouts, beetroots and lettuces enough for the household and their visitors. Here in the extending evenings he dug and hoed; he was very seldom in the house except for meals and sleep. Sometimes Flo, after finishing up from tea, would go to the point and, hoe or weed. There, as he never did indoors, Mr. Nadin would talk, mainly about the things that they were doing.

“Lots o’ chaps says as you should shove broad beans in as early as you can ’cos it’ll keep fly off. I dunna believe it. I know a chap as puts ’em in in November, an’ what happens? Mice eats ’em, or it’s a wet time an’ they go rotten.”

“What’s fly?” asked Flo innocently.

“You’ll see, then you’ll know.”

She liked these quiet conversations; she must have been born with an interest in growing things which she had not found out before. But also she liked being in the little triangular garden plot because of where it was, between the willows. Sometimes the water beyond was so still it was only a silver background for the bushes; but sometimes it talked with the breeze, and Flo could hear the jabble of this talk continually even above the streaming of the willow leaves, which were grey-green and slim. They whispered rather than talked. It was some time before Flo realized that the farmer, while he was working and talking, was also watching all that part of the farm that could be seen from where they were, But one June evening he interrupted the sticking in of the willow rods which they had cut to hold up the Sherwood peas, and said he thought they’d “best go an’ see how Jenny is. Oo went into the willers three-quarters of an hour sin’ an’ oo’s near ’er time.”

Jenny was an excitable red, rather small, which Flo had only gone near once. The moment her stool had been put down out had shot the cow’s near rear leg and away the stool had bounced scaringly.

“Keep away or oo’ll punce you over the boskin,” Mr. Nadin had warned, Flo remembered as they went slowly along behind the western sallows. She was surprised that he knew exactly at which path to turn in, for there were several other cattle among the bushes at different places. But there Jenny lay in a kind of nest among lengthy drawn grass.

“Some folks allus takes ’em in. I reckon as it’s best, if weather is owt like, ta let ’em get through as is natural to ’em,” said the farmer slowly, stopping ten yards from the cow, partly hidden. “Oo’ll be a bit yet,” was his judgment. “We’ll non disturb ’er.”

Flo stared, a strange inquisitiveness setting up a quivering inside her. She wanted eagerly to go nearer, to watch everything, but the farmer turned back with such calm acceptance that she would follow that she could not stay.

“However did you know?” she asked, unwittingly by her tone betraying herself. “I never saw her go.”

“Half of farming’s watchin’,” said the old man cryptically, dragging a dead alder bough across the path. Then his placid glance passed slowly over the cattle scattered about the field.

“Are you sure she’ll be all right?”

“Why not? She seems to be doing nicely. You wouldna like ta be bothered at that business; less disturbance the better.”

Flo did not know where to look. The thoughts started by his plain statement made her feel ashamed, and more excited, yet awed. She was silent, wondering what it would be like to have another life inside herself, and whether it really hurt. Would it hurt Jenny? Why had she gone in there?

“Do they always go away like that?”

“Ay; I reckon it’s instinct . . . t’others ’ud be that inquisitive, oo’d have no chance.”

Flo realized that she was being as bad for inquisitiveness as he said the other cattle would have been had they known. She determined not to ask any more, but she found it hard to go on in silence sticking willow sticks in.

“They’re non the best sort o’ sticks, these,” said Mr. Nadin, as though he had completely forgotten Jenny. “It’s on’y that they’re handy an’ easy ta get.”

“Why, what’s the matter with them?” asked Flo perfunctorily.

“They’ll prob’bly grow better than the peas; we’re plantin’ a wilier fence!” He gave a throat chuckle, but Flo hardly realized what he meant. She kept glancing towards the dead bough that he had left. The old man worked on steadily, and at last she could keep silent no longer.

“Are you sure it wouldn’t be better if you were there?”

“Nay,” unhurriedly. “It’s a job as they manages very well theirsel’s if they’ve sense. Jenny’s a touchy piece . . . oo’d happen be more upset if I were there.”

“Oo, I’d sooner have someone,” exclaimed Flo. She stopped, colouring, but the farmer went on with his work.

“They’ve made it inta a big business naa-adays,” he remarked thoughtfully. “Doctors an’ nurses an’ twilight sleep, or whatever they call it; but I dunna know as anybody’s any better. It’s a nat’ral thing, an’ I reckon as nature knows best road . . . whether it’s human beings or beasts.”

For a few moments Flo forgot Jenny in thinking about this. No, she decided, she’d have doctors and nurses, or she wouldn’t feel safe; probably she wouldn’t feel safe even then. She wondered how long it would be before she had a baby; would she ever have one? Did she really want one? She shuddered again as she imagined movement inside herself, movement over which she would have no control; movement with no consideration about what hurt it might cause.

“Do they always manage all right when they’re left?” she demanded so unexpectedly that the farmer, who was thinking that he ought to have soaked the peas in red-lead to keep mice off, straightened and looked at her curiously.

“Does what manage . . .? Oh, Jenny you mean? Eh, we’ll take a peep as we goo back.”

He worked for half an hour longer, then slowly led towards the pathway. Part-dusk had come on them almost unawares, and there was a hush everywhere. The cattle had ceased ripping grass and were lying down; even the blackbirds and thrushes seemed to have grown tired earlier than usual, preferring to save their song for four o’clock in the morning. Flo, without knowing, walked on tiptoes. As they got nearer Mr. Nadin went more gently, and he lifted the bough as if he were an eavesdropper. Flo was startled by a moan, a moan of such abject pain that her heart hesitated in its beat. Jenny lay flat on her side, her head extended on a tussock. Again she moaned weakly, and the moan was a question as to why she should have such pain. Flo wanted to run and kneel and comfort her, but Mr. Nadin was in front with his arm crooked before her. From his attitude she gathered that all he wanted her to do was keep still and silent. He knelt with ease and quietude which at any other time might have surprised her. Dimly in the poor light she saw protruding from the womb the rear half of a red and white calf. Its legs were bunched inward, not yet released. She had expected to see a head and stood tense, wondering if the calf were dead. Her impulse to comfort Jenny was forgotten; she was absorbed in staring. The farmer spoke soothingly: “Steady lass, steady; try agen.”

He clasped the calf gently in his large hands. Jenny moaned again, unaware of watchers, entirely occupied with pain. The muscles of the womb contracted and relaxed and the farmer tenderly and skilfully manipulated and pulled. Despite her intentness, Flo was surprised all at once to see the calf whole, large-headed, sleekly wet and foolish looking. But it was alive, for it moved its head, feebly experimenting with the space and freedom which it was just beginning to sense vaguely all round. Jenny stirred, relieved, attempting to look round. The farmer lifted the soft ungainly youngster and, moving carefully, placed it where Jenny could touch it. She smelt it curiously, briefly, half afraid, then abruptly turning her head away blew through her nostrils. A spasm passed over her as if she were about to get up, but she did not. She smelt the calf again, more carefully, and gave a tentative lick. The youngster moaned very low, and stirred slightly. Out came Jenny’s tongue once more, laving experimentally, till all at once she seemed to realize the truth and began to lick with eager thoroughness. The calf moaned a second time, as if complaining, but Jenny took no notice, continuing industriously.

“She’ll do; good lady,” said Mr. Nadin, moving gently away.

“Shall you leave her?” asked Flo, incredulous, feeling a longing in her fingers to caress the calf.

“Ay, we can move her in the mornin’,” said the farmer complacently.

Unwillingly Flo followed. The bush was dragged into place and they went on through the dusk towards the house.

“Shall you go first thing?” asked Flo, still inquisitive and eager. “I wish I could go.”

“It’ll be all over; there’ll be nothing then,” he answered, beginning to put on his indoors moroseness.

In bed Flo lay awake for more than an hour thinking of Jenny and her calf in the willows, and then her mind accepted thoughts too intimate for any other time and condition than night and isolation. She felt that she had grown older, and that she would never be quite so carefree and thoughtless as she had been before. She woke to the first jangle of the bell, and instantly again thought of Jenny. She dressed hurriedly and went down quickly but as silent as she could, and slipped past the partly closed kitchen door into the yard. The farmer in the half-light was surrounded by cattle moving slowly in from Three Oaks over the lane. He swung up both arms suddenly, shooing dalliers into the right doorways.

“Ha . . . have you been to Jenny yet?” Flo asked hesitantly.

“Non yet; after milking.”

She sped back and took up her duties. Her milking had improved steadily and she did five or six every morning, according to how Bert and Clem worked. This morning she was under her sixth when the farmer came up the gangway and asked how long she would be. She had only just begun. Clem was balancing his stool over the wooden harness peg that did as a rack. The farmer asked him to finish for her.

“Where you goin’; ta see the new cawfe?” He grinned and winked at Flo. His attitude sullied her excitement. “What is it?”he asked.

“Bull,” Mr. Nadin answered, laconic.

“God, another! Ten out of the last bloody fourteen. What the hell . . .?”

But the farmer was leading into the yard. Full light had come quickly, or so it seemed to Flo after her stay in the shippon. The pasture was marked with darker green tracks where the cattle had walked through the grey dew.

“Why didn’t she come up with the rest?” asked Flo.

“I brought them up myself so she wouldna be disturbed,” the farmer explained. He went in a line for the alder bough, but when they went through, the nest was empty. They saw marks of the birth and slotted prints where Jenny must have stepped not long before, the prints clear, not yet filled with moisture. They went through on to the shelving beach, and to the right was Jenny with the calf nosing for paps under her forelegs. On catching sight of them Jenny started away, nearly bowling the unsteady youngster over. It recovered and went jerkily after her as if all its legs were stilts.

“Oo allus were wild,” said Mr. Nadin disapprovingly. “You stay, an’ I’ll get top side, then oo’ll go through th’ willers.” He went into the little path and Jenny stopped and stared at Flo. The calf began again to nuzzle blindly under the dewlap, but felt instinctively nearer and nearer towards the udder. After a few minutes Flo saw Mr. Nadin step out of the bushes twenty yards on the other side. Jenny facing partly to Flo, partly towards the lake, apparently did not see him. He moved up and called softly, “Coom up, lass.” Jenny tossed her head and sprang round. Before either of them had made a move to intercept, she was in the water trotting nervously straight outward. Twelve yards out, immersed to her knees, she paused tensely, uttering a brief, plaintive “Moo!” The calf staggering haphazardly seemed to understand and moved quicker.

“Stop yer: turn back!” yelled Mr. Nadin, waving long arms and suddenly running into the water obliquely towards the pair.

Jenny turned fearfully a little from him and plunged spasmodically onward. The calf struggled after her. Flo scarcely moved; later she was muscle sore from having kept so stiff. She saw the farmer suddenly stop his impetuous dash. He stood still in two feet of water and cajolingly called, but Jenny plunged on, deeper and deeper, deaf, controlled only by the will to escape. With her dewlap submerged she paused a second time, momentarily, glancing round and uttering a second low cry. The puny youngster was belly deep. Flo held her hands clenched, certain that he would drown. But he went on with head held out and big mute eyes fixed uncomprehendingly.

“Turn back, you young fool; you’ll drown ’im,” shouted the farmer, helpless and beside himself.

It only made Jenny go on. Soon the calf’s back was awash. Flo could not believe that he was swimming; it seemed like a miracle after his so recent birth, which to her had also seemed something like a miracle.

“Can he swim?” she demanded foolishly.

“Seems like it,” answered Mr. Nadin in his old slow manner, resigned, wading towards her and coming out on the weed and shingle, though all the time keeping his stare over the water.

Soon both animals were swimming. The calf lagged badly, Jenny now and then appearing to delay and encourage him. Their course curved a little, as if Jenny had made up her mind where she would land on the opposite side. But it was half a mile across and to the anxious watchers looked much farther.

“Cawfe’ll never do it, no’ow,” said Mr. Nadin. “The silly rantin’ bitch.”

Flo stared, all apprehension. She did not want to watch the calf drown, yet she could not turn away. Now only the heads were to be seen, Jenny’s horns standing wide and clear. Beside her the bull-calf’s head was insignificant. Although close in shore the water was still, far out there were tiny travelling ripples. Sometimes they made it seem as though the calf had disappeared, and Flo held her breath. Then again she would see him, still moving slowly, very slowly, after the mother.

“No use worritin’ naa, anyway,” said Mr. Nadin lifting his cap a little and scratching the centre of his crown with the third finger of the same hand, and then beginning to shake his boots free of mud and water one after the other comically.

“Is it a big loss if they drown?” queried Flo.

“It’s non th’ cawfe . . . but I dunna want ta lose Jenny,” he said thoughtfully, standing stiffly and staring again. “By gum, it’s a long way,” he added, impressed anew by the traverse.

The swimmers had got so far that it was now only the cow’s horned head that they could make out with certainty. Flo wondered why the farmer hadn’t hurried off to help at the far side; then she realized what a long way it was round. And, of course, anyone on the opposite shore might only scare Jenny back again.

“Cawfe’s still with oo, I reckon,” said Mr. Nadin, as if it were incredible.

Flo stared till her eyes hurt. Sometimes she thought she saw the calf, but most times not. She did not reply. How long they had been staring neither of them knew. The farmer for rest looked away, over the dam to the western hill rampart. When he stared across the water again it seemed as though Jenny might be higher. He remembered that it was shallow there, the shallow extended for a hundred yards, a kind of submerged island. Perhaps she was resting, waiting for her calf . . . if it had not already gone under. And then he plainly saw the calf, and he understood that Jenny was not resting, but had won through the choppy central water and was in the smooth, approaching land. Flo, not as tall, could not see so well, but she noticed the set mask of the farmer’s face begin to relax, and then a faint smile came.

Flo on tiptoe stared and saw Jenny emerge, very distant and small; and then the bull-calf, incredibly tiny. Jenny shepherded him ashore, and on the first green he flopped as though his legs had given way. Jenny put her head down and must have been licking him.

“By God, the little beggar!” exclaimed Mr. Nadin with such happiness that Flo’s eyes filled.

“Will they be all right?”

Before she got a reply they were disturbed by a shouted, “Gosh, that beats everything, doesn’t it?” and turning together they saw Dick Goldbourn urging his chair from the direction of the road. He had approached within fifteen yards unnoticed. He had just been coming round the corner of the willows a quarter-mile away when Jenny took to the water. “What is it?” he asked. “By jove, I should christen it Captain Webb; I’ve never seen a swimmer like it.”

The farmer said he would go round, but if the pair seemed all right, most likely he would leave them to recover in their own way. Later he would take the boys to bring them back when Jenny had got calmer. He trudged off towards the dam.

“How old is it?” asked Dick.

“Only last night . . . I saw it happen,” said Flo. He had never seen her quite so animated. “You wouldn’t think it could . . . it looked so very . . . very shaky,” she went on, unconscious of her fervour. “He . . . he seemed too weak even to moo. I made sure he’d drown!”

“Don’t you think he ought to be called Captain Webb?”

She laughed; she did not quite see that point. But her own thoughts were moving quickly.

“Isn’t it different from an ordinary baby? That would have drowned straight away.”

“It couldn’t have stood the cold even,” said Dick, hoping to make her go on. “But then a baby hasn’t a coat like that.”

“Of course not. Wouldn’t it be funny?” She laughed again, entirely forgetful of herself; then all at once she turned grave. “Do you think it’s because it hurt so much; made Jenny so she didn’t . . . sort of mad?” she asked, staring anxiously.

“Eh,” said Dick, not quite following. “D’you mean what made her do it? What makes cows do anything? They’re the silliest beasts.”

Flo looked dissatisfied and he hastened to ask if she hadn’t heard of cows jumping fences and all kinds of things, for no sensible reason. But she hadn’t. Her animation was ebbing. “I must be going,” she said. “Missis will wonder what’s become of me. She’ll be mad.”

“Not if you tell her what happened,” he said, turning his chair and travelling along the beach back the way he had come. Flo did not speak, so he went on: “It must be over half a mile; I bet Bert won’t believe. I’m glad I saw it.”

“I hope they’re all right,” said Flo gently.

At the bay by the boathouse Dick stopped. “When are you visiting the market again?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” said Flo. “I must go.” And she tan up the bank. He called, “Good-bye,” but got no return.