Free Reach for Tomorrow by Rita Bradshaw

his curly thick hair to dislodge its coating of snow. Before this last fall his life had looked so straightforward. There’d been Sam, who’d always been like a brother to him from when they had first played in the streets together as snotty-nosed bairns, and he knew Sam had been all for him and Rosie getting together when she was old enough to start courting. And that would have fitted into the plans he and Sam had in mind. Oh aye, Sam and Rosie had understood what made each other tick right enough, there would have been no difficulty there. And him and Sam would have made a go of that little farm they’d dreamed about, Castletown way maybe, or perhaps Herrington, and once Rosie had been wed to him she’d have been clear of these streets she hated so much and out in the country, and there would have been Sam’s wife for company for her - whoever that might have been. By, them Sundays when the four of them, him and Sam and Rosie and Flora, had walked their legs off until the town was far behind them and the world had become a picture of brilliantly green fields and hedgerows and the like, seemed like another lifetime now.  
    He shook his head again but now the movement was savage. Whisht, what was he doing harping on like this? Sam was gone, the dream of their partnership was gone, and there was only grim reality left. And reality told him he’d be working underground and taking care of his mam for years yet, because one thing was for certain, the rest of her brood wouldn’t lift a finger. Four older brothers he had, and three sisters, and they’d all cleared off and got married the first chance they’d had, leaving him with the old lady. Not that he didn’t love his mam, he did, and he was only too aware of the hard life she’d had. And Rosie? The name caught at him with equal pain and pleasure. By, Rosie was special all right. The last few months had seen a change in her that plain fascinated him and something had been signed and sealed this morning. But - he paused in his thinking, breathing hard through his nose - he would have to wait a while longer before he showed his hand and asked her to start walking out. Sam and Phil had done a good job in warning the lads off, and he didn’t blame them, it was only right and proper they’d looked out for their sister, but her innocence meant he couldn’t rush her, especially with all she’d got on her plate now. No, he’d go nice and easy, but man - his breathing quickened as his pulse raced - she was going to be his.  
    ’Course there’d be her mam and the bairns in the picture for a time but they’d sort something out, they’d have to. He couldn’t wait until the bairns were grown up to wed her, that could be ten years or more and he’d go round the bend before then. He’d like to tie the knot as soon as she was old enough if she was willing. And her eyes this morning had told him she would be willing.  
    Davey straightened his back as the chill of the raw night penetrated his rough working jacket and muffler, congealing the perspiration on his skin with wintry fingers, and after shaking his hair once again, pulled his flat cap out of his pocket and stuck it on his head. By, the air smelt bonny the night - fresh, clean, like he imagined it must have done in the Garden of Eden if them stories in the Bible were to be believed. Sam had believed them. He caught at the thought, finding it strangely comforting. Aye, Sam had believed all right. He’d maintained it was man, not God, who had messed up creation, and they had had some right good discussions - if not arguments - about that and other things, and Rosie had put in her twopennyworth and all. Rosie . . .  
    Suddenly the longing to see her, if only for a few minutes, was so strong he could taste it. He’d nip round now on his way home and ask how she had got on in Hendon. The decision made, he turned swiftly and walked back along the narrow cut and into the dimly lit street again, his size-eleven