Free Tangled Threads by Margaret Dickinson Page A

Don’t you dare to sit in it. You aren’t fit to sit in his chair.’
    Mary struggled to her feet. She swayed a moment and then, regaining her balance, she came, fists flailing, striking Eveleen on the chin and about the head before the girl could even move to
defend herself.
    Eveleen caught hold of Mary’s wrists and held them tightly. From her work about the farm, Eveleen was strong and, once she had a firm grip, she had no trouble in restraining the distraught
woman.
    ‘Mam, don’t. Look, sit down and I’ll make you a nice drink and some dinner.’
    Mary thrust her face close to Eveleen’s. ‘Oh aye. And what’ll you put in it, eh? Poison?’
    Appalled, Eveleen stared at her. For the past few days Eveleen had had not only to contend with her own grief over her father’s death but to be the mainstay in her mother’s life. And
she had had little or no help from her brother. Early each morning Jimmy left the house and did not return until late at night, leaving Eveleen to cope alone with all the arrangements and with
Mary’s paralysing distress. She understood the shattering blow her mother had suffered and had been infinitely patient with her. But now, for the first time, Eveleen began to fear for her
mother’s reason.
    She felt Mary’s whole body begin to tremble. She loosened her grasp on her mother’s wrists so that Mary was able to twist herself free. Eveleen stepped backwards, expecting more
blows, but now her mother sank back into her chair. Eveleen too, began to sit down, but realizing she was once more about to sit in her father’s chair, drew a chair from the table closer to
the hearth and sat down on that.
    ‘Mam,’ she began gently. ‘You don’t know what you’re saying. You can’t possibly think I’d ever harm you.’
    ‘Oh no? I’m in the way now, aren’t I? A burden.’
    ‘Of course you’re not. You’ll soon be your old self again and—’
    ‘I’ll never be my old self again,’ Mary moaned and sank once more into self-pity. ‘Not now he’s gone. Without Walter, I’m no good.’
    Tentatively, fearing to provoke another onslaught, Eveleen reached out and patted her mother’s hand where it rested on the chair arm. If her mother was acting like this now, how on earth
was she going to behave at the funeral the following day? Eveleen had visions of the hysterical woman throwing herself across the coffin.
    Uncannily, Mary seemed to be following Eveleen’s train of thought. ‘I wish I could die with him.’
    ‘Mam, please,’ Eveleen said, feeling utterly helpless. Then making up her mind, she stood up. ‘I’m going for Doctor Roper right now.’ Perhaps there was some way he
could help.
    ‘We can’t afford a doctor. We’ll be homeless soon enough.’
    Eveleen had begun to turn away but now she swung round and stared down at her mother. ‘What did you say?’
    ‘I said,’ Mary repeated, ‘we’ll be homeless soon enough.’
    Eveleen’s legs gave way beneath her and she sank back on to the chair. Her mother’s outburst had subsided and now she sounded rational and very serious.
    ‘Whatever do you mean?’ Eveleen whispered.
    ‘I mean,’ Mary said, ‘that now your father’s gone, we shall be turned out of our home. It’s only a tied house, Eveleen. Tied to his job.’
    ‘But we still work for Mr Dunsmore. Jimmy and me. And you often help out in the dairy.’
    ‘Huh. Even if he keeps you two, he’ll want the house. You and Jimmy’ll have to go into lodgings. They’ll want this house –’ she jabbed her forefinger towards
the floor – ‘for the man who takes Walter’s job.’ She sighed heavily, as she added, ‘Stands to reason.’
    ‘But it’s our home.’
    Mary shrugged. ‘It has been our home, Eveleen, but the property belongs to Mr Dunsmore and he’ll want it vacated. Once the funeral’s over, you mark my words, we’ll get a
visit from Mr Jackson.’
    Conjured up at once in Eveleen’s mind was a picture of Josiah Jackson, the farm