Josephine Cox - Songbird

“Well, that’s good, isn’t it?” Maddy admired his determination.

“It will be,” he said. “Lately, I let it be known locally that I’m a qualified vet, so now I’ve got a smattering of customers… it doesn’t pay though.”

“So, you do it for nothing?”

He winked at Maddy. “Not exactly,” he said. “Round here, we don’t do too badly. Y’see, it’s like this: we have our own special system. We barter.”

“How do you mean?”

“Well, I stitch a cut or two, and we get a cabbage or three, or I help a sheep through a difficult birth, and somebody makes us an apple pie. For now, it’s just a case of one neighbor helping another. Primarily I’m a farmer. I make money by growing crops, then I have my prime breeding flocks; in one season, I might get four hundred lambs, which I then sell on to the next stage.”

“And what does that mean?” Maddy was fascinated.

“It means I’m a softie,” Brad said with some embarrassment. “I can’t bring myself to fatten them up for the meat market, so I simply wean them and sell them on, to somebody less squeamish than me, who does what a meat farmer was born to do.”

He then picked up his coat and a flashlight, and asked Maddy to follow him outside. He guided her down the garden and through to the brook. Starlight sparkled on the water. “What do you think of my bridge?” he wanted to know.

“What bridge?”

“Over there.”

Just then, she caught sight of it; made from rustic wood and twisted branches, it spanned the narrowest part of the brook.

“Oh, it’s lovely!” Maddy was mesmerized. This entire area was unbelievably magical, with ancient trees dipping their branches into the water, and the valley, lush and velvet, going away in the distance.

In all her life, Maddy thought she had never seen anything quite so beautiful. It took her breath away, made her forget her cares.

Cupping her elbow with the crook of his hand, Brad led her to a peculiar clump in the ground, where he shone the flashlight downward and drew aside the protective covering of newspaper. “See there – isn’t that amazing?”

“What am I looking at?” All Maddy could see was a remnant of newspaper and a mound of earth.

“Kneel down.” Squatting, he pointed and said, “Now… can you see?”

Maddy knelt and peered at the ground and saw a plant.

“Look deeper!” Brad shone the light right into the heart of the plant.

To her astonishment, Maddy saw a tiny, struggling, baby-green shoot coming right up through the middle. “Oh, yes! Now I see it. What is it?”

Reaching down, Brad covered the shoot over and drew her to her feet. “It’s a clematis,” he said reverently. “A magnificent climber. When we first arrived here, it was clinging to the side of the house, the only thing left alive. It was midsummer, and it had festooned the outside wall with huge pink flowers; its winding tentacles had worked their way in through the open windows, and it was almost as though it had taken over. Oh, and the perfume from the flowers was simply amazing!”

“So, how did it get down here?”

“One day, we had to go into Bedford town center to sort out bathrooms and such,” he explained. “I left strict instructions with the builders that they were not to touch the climber, that it was to be kept safe, until I could deal with it. But when we got back, the foreman had gone to lunch and his young mate had ripped it out by the heart and chucked it on a bonfire he was building. It had lain in the sun for hours, so by the time I got to it, the sorry thing was dried to a crisp. There was little hope of it surviving. Anyway, I cut off the root, planted it, watered it, and hoped for the best.”

He pointed to the spot. “For months it lay dormant out here, with no sigh of life, and I thought we’d lost it for sure. But the other day, I checked on it, and lo and behold, even though it’s the wrong time of year, I found that new shoot. At first, I thought it might belong to another plant – a weed that had got in or something, but when I investigated further, it was definitely a shoot from the old root. It’s like a miracle, Sheelagh – the first in a long, long time. So, with tender loving care, and a helping of luck, it might yet climb the house again.”

Maddy found it very easy to be in his company even though she found it strange being addressed as “Sheelagh.” But it was imperative that she kept her identity a secret. “I’m sure the plant will flourish,” she told him.

Here was a big, able-bodied man, with work-soiled hands and an appetite for hard graft. And yet, somewhere in his makeup, he had this reservoir of tenderness and love… for his home, his son, his clown of a dog, and this ugly clump and its tiny newborn shoot, which against all odds, he had rescued from extinction.

“Come on then!” He was already moving her on. “You’re shivering. You’ve seen the house and the land, and now, you need to see your accommodation. Then we’ll go back in and have some supper.”

Maddy had wondered where she was to sleep, but hadn’t liked to ask. She had assumed that she’d be in one of the farmhouse bedrooms, but Brad hadn’t said anything, so she had bided her time.

The “accommodation” turned out to be a small house standing a short distance from the main property. It had two bedrooms, a pretty, if tiny, kitchen, and a fenced-off garden with a swing, and a lagoon of fruit trees. “This was my foreman’s house,” Brad explained. “I think you’d better spend tonight in the spare room at the house, if that’s all right, as I need to put the heating on for you and air the bedding.”

“Have you no staff at all now?” Maddy asked.

“Well yes, there’s John. He keeps the machinery in tiptop condition. Then there’s Liz, who comes in every morning to milk the cows and collect the eggs. Oh yes, then there’s old Malcolm, who earns a bit of money, pottering about the gardens here. And of course, there’s Timmo, the shepherd. I can work from dawn to dusk, and go for nights on end without sleep, but no man is able to tend three or four hundred sheep, without help of sorts.”

He took a moment to assess his situation. “I still haven’t replaced my foreman though. Tom was a good man. I’ll be hard pressed to find one like him.” Bringing his gaze to bear on Maddy, he went on, “His wife Joan took care of young Robin when he wasn’t at school, and did all my paperwork. She also cooked, cleaned, and generally kept me sane.” He studied Maddy’s reaction. “Do you think you could pick up where she left off, Sheelagh?”

“If she could manage the work,” Maddy said stoutly, “then I don’t see why it should be too much for me.”

Brad gave a long sigh of relief. “You’re a woman after my own heart.” He put the heating on in the small house, flicked on the fridge and gave her a grin. “I hope you’ll be very happy here. And now, let’s go back to the warm and have a pot of tea.”

Back in the kitchen of the main house, Maddy followed Brad’s every move as he put some sausages under the grill, chopped up some cold boiled potatoes to fry, and laid the table. Without asking, she fetched out other things they would need, and found the mugs, sugar and milk for the tea. The smallest of smiles drifted over her face as she thought how absolutely normal and genuinely friendly Brad was; unlike any other man she had known, apart from Jack. Unfortunately, living the life of a club singer had not often afforded her the company of men like Brad.

They had tea, they enjoyed their meal, and they chatted further about farming and general topics, and now the conversation shifted to a more personal level. “Do you have family, Sheelagh?” Brad asked.

Maddy thought of Ellen and Grandfather Bob, and of her own son, Michael, and her heart was wrenched with pain. “No.” Her answer was quick and decisive. “No family.” Even now she was afraid to confide in anyone; even this man, whom she instinctively trusted.