Christmas that year was a quiet family affair. The end of the nine months approached and the date Anthony predicted for Katharine’s confinement came – and passed.
‘What can be wrong?’ Jim asked anxiously for the hundredth time it seemed to Katharine.
‘Nothing. He’s just lazy,’ she answered patiently.
‘You haven’t been – well – trying to walk or anything, Katharine, have you?’
She looked up into his dark, worried eyes and was thankful that she could answer him truthfully.
‘No, Jim, I promise you I haven’t.’
He sighed with relief.
‘I realised you were right – at least until after the baby is born,’ she added.
‘Now, Katharine …’
‘Let’s change the subject,’ she said brightly, but she knew she could not deceive Jim for long.
The days passed by slowly whilst they waited and Jim grew more and more impatient and anxious. And so it was with profound relief that Katharine was able to say to him one evening in the New Year.
‘Jim, I think my time has come. Would you carry me up to the bedroom and then fetch Anthony.’
He sprang out of his chair.
‘Oh Katharine, Katharine. How can you be so calm? Are you all right? Is the pain bad?’
She laughed.
‘’Tis a wonderful feeling. I feel alive for the first time in years.’
She reached up and as he bent down towards her she put her arms round his neck and kissed him with gentle fervour. He responded and in his kiss she felt his concern, his love, his excited expectation in the birth of their child.
As another sharp pain leapt through her, he lifted her gently and carried her up the wide stairs to the room which had been specially prepared weeks ago for this event. Even though she was so much heavier, Jim carried her like a feather, such was this man’s strength.
He laid her gently on the bed, kissed her forehead and left the room swiftly.
‘Mrs. Johnson, Mrs. Johnson,’ she heard him calling as he ran downstairs.
She heard the woman’s footsteps come from the servants’quarters, a muted exchange of conversation, the slam of the front door as Jim hurried to fetch Anthony, and, as Mrs. Johnson came into the room, the distant sound of Jim’s motor car engine bursting into life.
‘Now, my dear,’ said the older woman, her pleasant face wreathed in smiles. ‘This is what we’ve all been waiting for. We’ll soon have the little fellow here.’
Despite the pains which were becoming more rapid, Katharine smiled at Mrs. Johnson’s faith that the arrival would be a son and heir.
Girls, thought Katharine ruefully, were still second-best.
‘Well, Kate,’ Anthony boomed as he strode into the room, ‘at last you’re going to do something useful, eh?’
Katharine saw Mrs. Johnson’s startled glance and realised she misunderstood Anthony’s manner. This was not callousness on his part, Katharine knew. It was merely his brusque way of letting her know how foolish she had been and at the same time how pleased he was that the black days were almost over. She grinned at him over the bed covers, her old, cheerful self reasserting itself more quickly than anyone could have imagined. Here, out of her bathchair, she felt the same as any other woman giving birth to her first-born.
It was a difficult birth from Katharine’s point of view though her son suffered no ill affects whatsoever and bawled lustily and immediately on arrival.
But Katharine suffered far more pain than she had imagined she would. She could not, brave though she was, resist moaning softly to herself. Anthony, however, seemed to accept the pain cheerfully.
‘You’re cruel, Anthony Stafford, absolutely heartless,’ she bantered him afterwards when it was all over and the pain had subsided a little.
He sat on the bed and grinned at her.
‘I can’t help being a little pleased because you’re suffering pain.’
‘What!’ Katharine almost shrieked at him, though half in jest.
‘Don’t you realise, Dr. Kendrick, that it could be an excellent sign that you could regain all feeling, could recover – perhaps completely.’
Katharine’s eyes shone.
‘Anthony,’ she whispered. ‘ Do you really think I shall be able to walk again?’
‘Now, now, don’t get too excited. I don’t want to raise false hopes, but you know everyone has always been baffled as to the exact nature of your paralysis, but I see no reason why you shouldn’t recover completely.’
Further conversation was suspended as Mrs. Johnson brought Katharine’s baby to her.
‘’Tis time that husband of yours saw his son,’ Anthony said rising. ‘And now you’re safely delivered of your child, I’m off to London for a few days to see Elizabeth.’
‘Oh, Anthony, I’m so glad – I didn’t know you had kept in touch.’
‘Yes – regularly,’ he grinned down at her.
He paused in the doorway and looked back at her.
‘Well, Kate my dear,’ he said softly. ‘By the look on your face, I would think you’d found your vocation right there.’ And he nodded in the direction of the child in her arms, then he closed the door before she had time to reply.
Katharine looked down at the small wrinkled face. He was sleeping now. Her eyes wandered over the tiny features. So small yet so perfect.
Her son. This was her son.
When she looked up again, Jim was standing at the foot of the bed watching her.
‘Jim,’ she whispered, and found her voice not quite steady. ‘Jim, here is your son.’
He nodded, not speaking, and when he moved closer to bend over her and the sleeping child, she understood why. Unshed tears of joy filled his eyes.
‘Hold him, Jim.’
‘No, I couldn’t. I might hurt him.’
She laughed.
‘Of course you won’t. He’ll not break.’
Gently Jim took the child and the pride and love apparent in his face was, to Katharine, worth all the pain she had suffered.
‘Jim,’ she said, suddenly remembering. ‘Anthony thinks that there may be a chance that my back will improve. I may be able to walk again.’
Jim looked up, the bemused pleasure in his face dying a little. A wary look came into his eyes. He seemed about to speak, but then decided against it and turned his attention back to the small white bundle in his strong arms. But the unspoiled joy was gone from his face. Some cloud had crossed the day and Katharine could not understand why.
She made no further reference to the hopes which she now nurtured that one day she may be able to walk again. For the present she was willing to glory in her child and in Jim’s obvious happiness. Gradually, he too seemed to forget her remark for it was surely that which had caused him to look downcast.
‘What are we to call him?’ Jim asked. ‘We still haven’t decided and the little fellow must have a name.’
‘I should rather like to call him after my father. But would you mind?’
‘Do you know,’ Jim said soberly. ‘It seems rather dreadful, but you haven’t told me anything about your family. I don’t even know your father’s name.’
Katharine felt ashamed.
‘I know, it’s my fault. His name was Jonathan.’
‘Why, that’s a grand name. Jonathan Kendrick.’
‘He was a doctor.’
His eyes searched her face.
‘Hoping he’ll take after his grandfather?’
‘No, not particularly,’ she said truthfully. ‘It hasn’t done me a great deal of good, nor, come to that, my father.’
‘Why not – for your father, I mean?’
‘We lived in a very poor district of London, but my father never refused a patient and more often than not his services were never paid for.’
Jim nodded.
‘I can understand that. But Katharine, why did you become a doctor then, if you knew it meant such hardship in certain cases?’
She lay back against the pillows and her mind flew back over the years and she was a small girl standing beside her father. She could hear his words.
‘You shall become a doctor, one of the first women doctors, Katharine my child, you shall pave the way for other women.’
And all she had wanted was to see his pride in her justified. Besides which, she had lived and breathed medicine since childhood.
‘He lived just long enough to see me enter university,’ she told Jim. ‘He was so pleased, so proud. I think he wanted a son to carry on after him. But mother could have no more children, so I had to take the place of a son.’
‘But did you really want to become a doctor, from your own point of view, or was it solely because your father wanted you to do so?’
‘Oh I wanted to, I loved it, and I also knew, or thought I knew, that I should always have to earn my own living.’
‘How do you mean?’
She grinned sheepishly.
‘I couldn’t imagine anyone ever wanting to marry me.’
‘My dearest Katharine, how wrong you were.’ And he kissed her hand.
‘Jonathan shall do whatever he pleases, so long as he’s happy,’ Katharine said.
‘Agreed. But give him a few years yet?’
And they laughed at their own parental pride. At that moment a curious ringing sound reached them faintly, as if coming from a long distance.
‘Ah, they’re ringing t’gavelock,’ Jim said, his Yorkshire accent more pronounced as Katharine had noticed before when he felt something deeply.
‘The what?’ she asked.
‘It’s at the quarry. I didn’t think we’d hear them from here, but the wind must be in this direction, carrying the sound.’
‘But what is it, Jim?’
‘The quarrymen suspend a long, iron crowbar on chains and then about six or seven of them stand beside it and strike it with their iron hammers. Listen.’
Jim crossed to the window and opened it. She could hear now the rhythmic ringing from the quarry – still distant – but there was no mistaking it, now Jim had explained it to her.
‘Why are they doing it? Why have I not heard it before?’
‘The gavelock’s rung in celebration of important events in the lives of the villagers. This particular occasion is in honour of this little fellow.’
And Jim bent over the cradle once more as if he could not see enough of his son, nor cease to wonder at the perfection of the child.
And so Jonathan Kendrick took his place in the Kendrick family and indeed at Kendrick House he soon became the most important personage in the household. Katharine’s life revolved round her small son, and whilst she tried not to indulge him, she at last had something worthwhile to occupy her mind and time – at least, when she was allowed to play with him by the stern, but devoted nanny. The appointment of a nanny had caused a quarrel between Jim and his wife. Katharine clung to her child as being her means of recovering from her depression, but at last she had had to admit that Jim was right in his views, that she could not look after her infant son perfectly from a bathchair.
‘Other women do – what about those who cannot afford to employ a nanny?’ she had asked.
Jim had sighed.
‘I know – I know. But we can, so there’s no need to run the risk of you hurting yourself or Jonathan.’
‘If only …’ Katharine had been about to say if only she could walk, but had stopped short. On so many occasions it had distressed her husband that she would not invite his further anger on this occasion.
But during the time she spent with her son, she recaptured much of her old spirit. At last, she thought, she was cured of melancholia. At last she could begin to look forward in life and plan for the future. A worthwhile future.
About eight months after the birth of her child, in the middle of August, when the village was bathed day after day in sunshine and it became so hot, almost unbearably hot that children ran about near-naked, Anthony called at Kendrick House one evening.
He came into the drawing-room and having greeted Jim and Katharine, sank wearily into a chair. Katharine saw that he looked desperately tired, his eyes dark-ringed, his fair hair dishevelled.
‘Whatever’s wrong?’ Jim asked.
Anthony’s eyes met Katharine’s and she was shocked to see there was no trace of the smile she was so used to seeing on his gay face. Lines of worry and weariness etched age into his young face, as if he carried the troubles of the world on his broad shoulders and yet was unable to bear the burden.
And there was something else in his eyes, Katharine knew, even before he spoke. Reproach. She read reproach in his eyes as he looked at her.
He dropped his head into his hands and his voice was muffled as he spoke.
‘Jake Ford’s lad’s ill. Very ill.’
‘What is it?’ Katharine asked sharply.
‘I can’t be absolutely sure as yet. But all the symptoms could point to – typhoid.’
‘Oh my God,’ exclaimed Jim.
And Katharine’s heart went cold.
Anthony raised his head slowly.
‘The weather’s been so abominably hot. Food’s gone bad, as they eat it almost, and Mrs. Ford’s not as careful as she might be where cleanliness is concerned. Then again, mothers allow their children to play in the beck, not, mark you, up near the source, where the water is clean and pure, but below the village after all the housewives have thrown their dirty water and waste into it. I’ve no proof, of course, as to exactly how he has contracted it. There could be several explanations, and, unfortunately, several causes.’
And his eyes met Katharine’s once more. The silence hung in the room between them.
‘You’re blaming me,’ Katharine said softly, at last.
Before Anthony could answer Jim broke in.
‘Whatever do you mean? What can you possibly have to do with it?’
‘Anthony asked me to give talks to the women of the village about hygiene and general health problems – you know,’ she paused and looked down at her hands lying on her lap. ‘And I refused.’
‘I knew nothing of this,’ Jim said.
Katharine looked up from Anthony to Jim.
‘But Anthony said he’d discussed it with you and you had no objections.’
‘I never said anything of the sort.’
They both looked towards Anthony.
‘I spoke to you about it one day about her joining in the village activities, don’t you remember?’
‘But I thought you meant socially, not to practise medicine. I should never have agreed.’
‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry,’ Anthony waved his hand distractedly.
‘Forget it now, anyway,’ said Jim. ‘You’ve more important things to talk about.’
‘But it wouldn’t have been practising medicine,’ persisted Anthony. ‘Just a small way in which she could have been some use.’
‘Since you insist on discussing it, she’s plenty of use here,’ bellowed Jim, his face dark and angry.
‘Please, please,’ Katharine begged. ‘ Don’t have an unnecessary argument now.’
‘No, you’re right Katharine. We must think what we can do,’ Jim said, his quick temper calming rapidly.
‘How many are there in the family, who may be in danger of contracting it?’ Katharine asked.
‘There’s Jake and his wife, of course, three children besides William, who has it, a baby of six months or so and – Louise Banroyd.’
‘Louise? Is she still with the Fords?’ Katharine asked.
The two men exchanged a look.
‘After you left Brackenbeck we decided the best thing to do would be to let Louise stay with the Fords,’ Jim said.
‘But how can Mrs. Ford keep her? They’re poor enough without another mouth to feed.’
Jim moved restlessly about the room.
‘I give her some money for the child,’ he muttered.
‘Ay, and more than enough for one. He just about keeps the whole family,’ put in Anthony.
‘Then why should they appear so poor?’ she asked.
‘Drink,’ said Anthony briefly, and Jim paced the floor.
‘Who, Jake?’
‘Mostly, though I believe Annie Ford’s not averse to it.’
‘Wouldn’t Louise have been better with someone else?’
‘Yes, we did try. But the child threw a fit every time we took her somewhere else. After all, Grannie Banroyd was just as poor, the child was brought up to it.’
‘You should have taken her away, she would have settled down in time. Children have short memories,’ Katharine said.
‘Can you isolate the family, or is the whole valley in danger?’ Jim asked Anthony.
The young doctor sighed.
‘I really don’t know. I can, of course, give strict instructions for them to remain in their house, but whether they’ll obey is another matter. Of course, when word gets round, the other villagers will keep their distance, no doubt.’
‘But are you quite sure it is typhoid?’ Katharine asked.
‘No, I told you, I can’t be absolutely sure yet, not for another day or so, but I must take the precautions just in case …’
‘If I had done as you asked Anthony,’ Katharine said slowly, ‘do you think this could have been avoided?’
There was a pause. The silence hung heavy in the room between the three of them. Katharine looked at Anthony’s face, usually so good-humoured, now solemn and lined with worry.
‘Who can say. Maybe, maybe not,’ was his non-committal reply.
Even Jim remained silent and she felt that, despite his earlier words, he now realised that she could have done something useful amongst his people and had she done so, perhaps this tragedy could have been avoided.
‘I must go,’ Anthony said heavily and rose slowly as if he feared to face the task awaiting him. Jim accompanied him to the front door and when he came back his face wore the worried frown Katharine knew so well.
‘I wish he had not come here, Katharine,’ he said. ‘Just because he is a doctor he is not immune to infection, and after all, besides ourselves, we have Jonathan to consider.’
‘Oh no, no,’ Katharine cried as realisation hit her. ‘If he were to catch it …’
‘We shall have to take care, great care. We must not come into contact with him. Nanny must be isolated in the nursery with him. But meanwhile, I must find out what I can do for the Ford family.’
‘Don’t go to the house, don’t go anywhere near them, or you’ll bring Jonathan into worse danger,’ she felt the panic rise within her.
Jim’s dark gaze was on her face.
‘What is this, Katharine? From you, a doctor – putting your own family first before the patient?’
His sarcasm was not lost on her. She buried her head in her hands, her emotions so confused she did not know herself what she felt. When she looked up again, Jim had left the room.
In the quietness of the room whilst Jim was out, Katharine had time for thought. She began to question herself in a way which she had never done before.
Vividly the pictures of her life and various attitudes towards life came before her. Life as a girl in her father’s surgery: fascinated by the bottles and potions he mixed, drawn by tender solicitude for the feelings of others to want to heal people and eliminate suffering as her father did so ably and so nobly. Again she could hear her father’s voice bemoaning the fact that he had no son to follow him. Was it then that the seeds of medicine were sown in her mind? Was it merely an overwhelming desire to please her father, as Jim had once suggested? Or had she really wanted to become a doctor in her own right?
Her years at medical school: the fight for equality, or as near equal rights as she was ever likely to get, became a challenge in itself, quite apart from the task of qualifying. She could see now that independence had become second nature to her, feeling, as she had at that time, that she would never marry, that she must make a career for herself, and find the fulfilment in that career which most women seek in family life.
And then her coming to Brackenbeck: her meeting with the powerful personality of Jim Kendrick and her decision to leave him in favour of medicine. Had it been the right decision? It could never be proved. And whilst no one would say that she had not done useful work before she became paralysed, she had not made a great name for herself, nor even done much to make things easier in the future for her own sex, in the battle for the emancipation of women.
Instead, here she was married to Jim Kendrick, with a small son, confined to a bathchair. Never, in her wildest moment had she anticipated such a life for herself.
And now it appeared she had failed in her allegiance to the medical profession. She had taken years to train, time and money. And when she was needed, here in Brackenbeck, even if only in a small way, but still needed, she had turned away, her bitterness and withdrawal from life clouding her mind and blinding her reason. Katharine felt more ashamed than ever of her behaviour over the past few months and, indeed, years. And in her shame, the picture of Jim’s face came into her mind. What a one-sided affair their marriage had been. How much love and care he had lavished upon her only to be met with disinterest and a cold heart on her part.
Katharine gave a sob and the tears, which she had held so long, in check, flowed freely. And it was as if her tears washed away all the bitterness and misunderstanding from her heart and when her weeping ceased, she found she could for the first time since she had become confined to her chair, face the situation with calmness and detachment.
Jim’s last bitter remark before he left the room haunted her. She had failed not only in medicine, but as a wife and mother too. But her common sense, which had deserted her for so long, now began to re-assert itself.
The old Katharine was coming back to life. And the old Katharine was not one to admit defeat. There was still time to make amends even though her past behaviour would leave its mark on Jim as it would upon herself.
And slowly, too, the realisation came to her that she returned Jim’s love in full measure now. It was not a sudden, overwhelming revelation, but a gradual recognition that through his care and tenderness he had won her love in return. But still she could not tell him, could not put her feelings into words.
The news of the Ford household drove all other considerations from the minds of Jim and Katharine. He, preoccupied for most of the time with easing the burden of the Fords, was away from home a great deal. Katharine, left alone, worried incessantly about the fear of an epidemic and always there was the nagging thought that she could have prevented it.
‘What news?’ she asked Jim each time he returned in the evening. And on the third evening after Anthony’s visit, Jim sat down heavily in his armchair and leant back, his face lined with tiredness.
‘Louise has caught it.’
‘Oh no,’ whispered Katharine.
‘No one else – at the moment,’ he added, though his words were but small consolation.
Anthony did not come to Kendrick House again, but Katharine knew that he and Jim met each day in the valley. It was as if a shadow hung over Brackenbeck, whilst each family waited in fear to see if their children contracted the disease. But for the moment the illness remained confined to the Ford household.
‘Anthony’s puzzled,’ said Jim one evening, when he returned home. ‘He feels that if it is typhoid, then other children would be bound to get it. Will Ford’s a gregarious young ruffian.’
‘There’s hardly been time for anyone else to have contracted it from contact with William, but one would think other children would have contracted it from the same source,’ Katharine mused. ‘I suppose it is typhoid?’
‘That’s what Anthony’s beginning to wonder now. But the children have all the symptoms he says – you know, headache, fever, vomiting and the rest.’
‘Mmm,’ Katharine said thoughtfully. ‘ I wish I could see them for myself.’
‘You’ll do no such thing,’ Jim replied sharply, the angry frown deepening on his forehead. ‘If you can’t think of yourself, for heaven’s sake think of Jonathan.’
Katharine smiled.
‘I wasn’t serious. You know I wouldn’t do anything to endanger Jonathan.’
Although he did not reply, Jim looked none too sure about that. He sighed and ran his hand through his dark hair.
‘I can think of nothing more I can do to help them. Can you?’
‘No, I can’t I’m afraid. Anthony will be doing everything medically.’
Distantly they heard the front doorbell.
‘I wonder who it can be,’ Jim murmured.
A few moments elapsed before Mrs. Johnson showed Anthony into the room. He held up his hand as he saw Jim about to speak.
‘I know what you’re thinking – that I’m bringing infection here perhaps. But I have news that I think you want to know.’
‘Good news,’ asked Katharine anxiously, ‘ or bad?’
‘Both,’ replied Anthony. ‘ Firstly, the good news – it’s not typhoid.’
‘Thank God,’ breathed Jim.
Katharine passed her hand over her forehead in a gesture of thankfulness but said nothing.
‘It’s severe food poisoning.’
‘Well, there’s no wonder you thought it was typhoid – or could be,’ exclaimed Katharine. ‘The first symptoms of both food poisoning of certain types and typhoid are often similar.’
‘Exactly,’ said Anthony slapping his thigh.
‘That certainly is good news,’ said Jim. ‘ Even though the children are obviously suffering, at least there’s no danger.’
Anthony’s face sobered swiftly.
‘Ah, now that, I’m afraid, is where you’re wrong.’
‘What?’ Katharine and Jim spoke simultaneously.
‘Louise is very sick indeed. I fear she may not recover. She’s such an undernourished little soul that she’s no stamina to fight the infection.’ He shook his head sadly. ‘You should see her – such a pathetic sight. Poor child.’
‘Anthony, you must try not to get involved,’ Katharine said softly.
‘There are times when even a hard-hearted doctor becomes involved. This is one of those times for me, Kate. I feel helplessly inadequate.’
She sighed.
‘Yes, I know.’ She remembered vividly her own feelings as she had watched Grannie Banroyd slip away from life. And now Grannie Banroyd’s grand-daughter was dying too. It was ironic, Katharine thought bitterly, that she had failed to save the old lady and had been blamed by the villagers and now, perhaps because she had refused to give instruction to those same villagers, Louise had been given some infected food and her life was in danger.
It seemed her failures were synonymous with the Banroyd family.
‘Is she really as bad as that?’ she asked, willing Anthony to reply negatively. But he was unable to do so.
‘I’m afraid so, yes.’
‘What about hospital?’
‘It would do no good, Kate.’
‘You’re to spare no expense, Anthony,’ Jim put in. ‘You know that, don’t you?’
‘Yes, of course.’
Anthony left some little time later, and behind him he left a shadow over Kendrick House. Katharine blamed herself for her own part, or rather lack of it, in this. And Jim seemed strangely silent.
Perhaps, she thought, now that he knew it really has something to do with unhygienic ways, he does blame me, knowing that I could have done something to improve conditions.
The following days were agony for Katharine. Whilst her small son giggled and laughed in his cradle, restored once more to the family circle now that the identity of the illness was known, she was unable to respond to his cherubic appeal.
Her mind and heart were in the small cottage in the valley with Louise, though physically she remained confined to her invalid chair at Kendrick House. She and Jim did not go out on their usual drives, nor indeed did he spend as much time with her.
At first she had thought it was because he was involved in doing what he could to help the Fords, but gradually she realised that this could not be taking up so much of his time, for there was little he could actually do but wait for news from Anthony. She hesitated to ask him outright how he was spending his time, but she became more aware of his change of attitude towards her. Perhaps, she told herself, it was preoccupation, which could naturally be attributed to anxiety for Louise, as indeed was Katharine so concerned.
Four days after Anthony had told them of Louise’s serious illness, Jim returned home during the morning.
Katharine knew immediately he entered the room that he had grave news.
‘Is it Louise?’ she asked softly.
He nodded and said quietly,
‘She died this morning.’
There was a silence in the room. Jim went to stand before the window looking out over the valley.
‘You blame me?’ Katharine said, her voice strangely shrill unlike her normal low tones.
‘No – no, of course not,’ Jim replied irritably, still not looking at her. But there had been a visible change in his attitude towards her since the children’s illness, which was even more pronounced now that the illness had proved fatal.
She said no more but she did not believe his denial.
Kendrick House was subdued over the next few days and weeks. Only Jonathan, burbling happily or bawling lustily in his cradle, remained unperturbed by the events. The village once again turned out in their dozens to attend Louise’s funeral. Only Katharine was a noticeable absentee.
It was a hot day, still and silent. The quarry machinery was stilled, even the farmers left their fields. Katharine, high on the hillside in the garden of Kendrick House, watched the distant procession winding through the valley towards the church. They looked to her like a colony of ants, but the measured pace of the mournful procession was far removed from the scurrying creatures to which she likened it.
Again, as at Grannie Banroyd’s funeral, she was an outsider. And again, she felt herself blamed.
Anthony had asked her to help him and she had failed to respond to his request and the villagers’ need.
‘I will not fail again,’ she murmured to herself as the procession reached the church. And there, sitting in the bright sunlight, alone on the hillside overlooking Brackenbeck, Katharine found herself again. Her melancholy of the past few years was over. Replaced by the natural grief and remorse for Louise’s death, she had rid herself of the destructive self-pity and introspection which had clouded her reason and dulled her natural spirit for so long. There remained only her original personality. And with the return of her natural tenacity came the overwhelming desire to walk again, stronger than ever before: to lead a full life once more. Not, she knew now, to carve a career for herself in medicine, for her life was now bound up with her husband and son, both of whom filled her heart with love.
But perhaps, still, there was work for her in the valley. Anthony would not find her wanting the next time he asked for her help.
She was anxious to tell Jim of the change which had taken place, of her new-found strength, of her realisation of the truth, but his attitude towards her had changed and she found communication with him impossible.
Outwardly, there were few signs and an outsider would have seen no indication, but Katharine knew that although he was as attentive as ever for her welfare, there was a change. For a time she was cast down with despair again and her previous misery threatened to engulf her once more. She had left matters too late. Her own stupidity had lost her his love. But she had recovered sufficiently and found enough strength of purpose to realise that perhaps she could by her own efforts, recapture Jim’s love.
And Katharine became firmly convinced that the only way she could do this was to walk again. She was sure that he was now tired of a crippled wife, that he regretted his sacrifice in marrying an invalid. In secret she began to exercise her useless limbs. With her medical knowledge she knew what was likely to be of the greatest aid to recovery, though she too could not understand the cause of her paralysis any more than her doctors. She exercised to strengthen the lifeless muscles, each day progressing a little farther. It took time and although she was impatient for results her common sense, coupled with her knowledge, told her that she must be patient.
She told Jim nothing of this and whilst each day he left Kendrick House on his own business, often now taking little Kate, Mary’s child, with him again, and even occasionally his small son in a wicker cradle perched on the seat of his motor at his side, not once did he take his wife out.
Alone Katharine persevered. She did not wish even Anthony to know, nor indeed anyone. This she must do alone.
The days passed into autumn and the bleak Yorkshire winter was upon them again. The children’s outings with Jim grew fewer, but still he was out in all weathers and most of the time Katharine knew not where.
Had he been a lesser man, she might have had doubts as to his faithfulness, but it never crossed her mind that Jim Kendrick, a man of his strength of character would even contemplate such a thing. And she was right. If things were not all they could be between man and wife, he was not a man to find cheap consolation. Besides, there was his son, in whom his pride was unlimited. Jim Kendrick would do nothing to bring disgrace upon his small son.
Jonathan grew and was a happy child. Katharine would marvel that such a sunny-natured child could have been borne by such a miserable creature as she had been at that time. His smiling round face was the delight of both his parents and in moments of mutual admiration for their son, it seemed that everything was right between them.
It was on one of these occasions that Katharine hesitantly approached the subject of her complete recovery.
‘Jim, I really think I shall be able to walk again. I feel so much stronger and I’ve been exercising regularly. Will you help me to try and walk a little. I need your support. But I’m sure I …’
The dark frown appeared immediately on his forehead and anger flashed in his eyes.
‘You will attempt nothing of the sort, Katharine, I’ve told you before. I forbid you to do so.’
‘But Jim …’
He paced the floor whilst his small son’s puzzled eyes followed his father’s movements. His little face was unusually sober.
‘No buts, I mean it,’ he said, his deep voice ringing through the room.
A whimper escaped Jonathan.
‘Jim, you’re frightening the child.’
‘I’m sorry, but you started this. You know how it worries me. You’ll do yourself untold harm and end up worse than ever.’
‘I could not be much worse,’ Katharine replied, her anger aroused too now. A pitiful wail arose from Jonathan. Katharine leant forward from her chair and picked him from his cradle.
‘Jim, please let’s discuss it calmly, there’s no need to frighten Jonathan.’
‘No, no, I’m sorry,’ he said swiftly and took the child from her. He carried the boy around the room talking softly to him and soon the sunny smiles appeared once more on the child’s face.
‘You’re being so unreasonable, Jim. I know what is wise to do and it will take a long time, but I’m sure I can learn to walk again.’
He sat down opposite her and held the child to him. She was amazed at the bleak, hopeless look in his eyes.
‘Then I suppose,’ he said slowly and sadly, ‘if you have made up your mind to it, I cannot stop you.’
‘You can’t really want to prevent me, if there is a chance that I can walk again, Jim?’ she asked incredulously.
But her husband did not answer and avoided her eyes.
The weeks and months passed and the chasm between them grew deeper. Whilst Katharine fought alone to walk again, Jim drew further away from her. He seemed to devote himself entirely to his son. The boy became his life and Katharine began to feel excluded from their close relationship. Once more she felt an outsider from her husband and now even from her own child, the being to whom she had given life.
But a child as young as Jonathan does not divide its love into unequal parts for its parents. Jonathan continued to respond to his mother as he had always done and at these times she would see the pain in Jim’s eyes.
Could he be jealous of his own son’s love for his mother?
Whatever was wrong with Jim? He was a changed personality. Or something so great was disturbing him as to cloud his reason, she thought. But she could not bring herself to question him. Perhaps the time would come, but it was not now.
The day came when she took a first step. She felt the thrill run through her as she realised her hope was now a reality. She pushed her right foot forward and found it responded. And although she was shaky and her step like that of a drunken man, she was walking.
She sank back to her bathchair and willed herself to calmness. But the excitement and pleasure were almost unbearable.
And there was no one there to share this moment with her. How she wished Jim was at her side. She could hardly wait to tell him. But no, she thought, I will not tell him until I can walk properly.
And so she kept her secret for a few days more. The difficult part was now over. Each day she gained in strength and her complete recovery was swift now that she had overcome the barrier of the first step alone.
When she could walk right round the drawing-room quite naturally, she decided it was time to tell her husband.
Katharine was half afraid and half delighted with her news. Afraid for Jim’s reaction and delighted that at last she could look forward again to a full life. A life with her son, and if he wished it, at her husband’s side.
No more sitting at home in a bathchair whilst Jim jaunted out. No more watching her son from a distance whilst he played. No more a watcher, from now on she was a participant in everything.
When Jonathan was abed and the servants in their own quarters after dinner, Katharine decided, was the time to tell him.
‘Anthony’s coming to dinner tonight,’ Jim announced when he arrived home.
‘Oh no,’ Katharine said, before she could stop herself. She had wanted this evening to themselves.
This evening was to be so special.
‘You’ve never minded before.’ A dark cloud crossed his eyes. ‘I’m sorry if I should have given you more warning but our table is always well-stocked. I see no need for more preparation.’
‘It’s not that, it’s …’ she faltered.
‘Well?’ he asked sharply.
‘It’s nothing, Jim. It will keep.’
She saw the question in his eyes but did not enlighten him. She wanted the moment of telling him to be unspoilt – perfect.
And so she spent the evening in a turmoil of anticipation. She heard little of the conversation which passed between Jim and Anthony until Anthony spoke directly to her.
‘You seem preoccupied this evening, Kate,’ he smiled. ‘Anything worrying you?’
‘No – no. What could there be?’ And she glanced at Jim. He was not looking at her, but gazing out of the long window down across the darkened valley.
But she knew Anthony had seen her quick glance at her husband and realised that he would understand things were not entirely smooth between Jim and his wife. She sighed to herself. Now that the time had come to tell Jim, she wished she could get it over. But Anthony’s visit had prolonged the agony of waiting. The evening dragged on. She knew she was being a poor hostess, but could not help herself. Over and over in her mind, she rehearsed the words she would use to tell Jim.
At last Anthony left and when Jim returned to the drawing-room, she saw that he was not in the best of moods to receive her news and she was tempted to put off the moment.
But the last few hours had shown her that waiting was almost worse.
‘Jim, I have something to tell you.’
‘Well?’ His tone was discouraging.
‘Watch.’
Slowly and carefully she heaved herself up from her chair. She stood facing him and slowly walked towards him.
She was unprepared for the misery in his eyes, the lost, hopeless look. She lost her concentration on walking, to which she still needed to give effort and thought.
‘Jim!’ She held out her hands as she began to fall. He caught and supported her, but did not hold her to him.
She looked up into his face and tried to read his expression.
‘Jim,’ she said softly, pleadingly. ‘ What is it? Whatever is the matter? Why don’t you want me to walk again?’
‘Oh Katharine, my love!’ he murmured, burying his head in her neck, his voice hoarse with emotion. His arms were round her now, with the strength of desperation.
After a moment he raised his head again.
Again the closed expression came into his eyes. He was master of his emotions once more.
‘I’m sorry.’
He held her at arms length.
‘I should not have embarrassed you.’ He saw that she was able to stand on her own and turned away from her.
Katharine watched him in silence, her heart heavy with disappointment and fear. She had thought that everything would come miraculously right when she walked again, but it had only served to make matters worse.
‘When will you be leaving?’ he asked.
‘Leaving? What are you talking about?’
He swung round.
‘Well, you’ve nothing to stay here for now, have you? Now you can walk, you’ll be wanting to get back to that hospital in London.’
‘So that’s it!’
‘What is?’ he said, immediately on the defensive.
‘Why you didn’t want me to walk again. You thought if I walked again, I would walk away from Brackenbeck – back to medicine.’
‘Well, won’t you?’ he said bitterly.
And the unspoken words lay between them – you did once before.
‘No, not this time,’ she said softly. ‘I’ve found my true love. I’m here to stay.’
‘You mean – you mean …’ he said.
‘I mean I love you, Jim. And I’m here for keeps, if you’ll have me?’
‘Have you!’ And he covered the distance between them in huge strides. ‘Katharine, I was so afraid.’
‘Oh, Jim, Jim. Have you so little faith in my love for you?’
‘But,’ he shook his head. ‘You’ve never said it before. Not until now.’
Her arms tightened round his neck.
‘Well, I have now,’ she said mischievously. ‘Fancy you thinking I would leave you and little Jonathan. What a dreadful picture you have of me.’
‘Katharine, please – I –’ he said with contrition.
‘I’m only teasing, Jim my dearest,’ she laughed.
Jim smiled then grinned. And then he too laughed aloud.
And their laughter rang through Kendrick House and echoed through the valley of Brackenbeck.