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Liverpool, England
16 September 1842
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Forlorn, Sarah stood beside the open grave with five-month-old Daniel in her arms.
“We commit the body of our dearly departed brother Samuel Adin ...”
Tears rolled unchecked down her cheeks. Beside her, six-year-old Elizabeth clung to her mother’s skirts and sobbed. Sarah took little notice of the pleasant autumn day, the light soft and warm on her shoulders. A few leaves fallen from nearby trees skipped and stumbled their way over the ground in the gentle breeze. They, too, went unnoticed.
“Ashes to ashes, dust to dust ...” The minister’s voice droned in the outskirts of her mind.
Samuel’s sister Mary and her husband John Meyers, the local registrar, stood beside her, yet Sarah saw no one, saw nothing beyond the plain wooden box that held her husband. The men from the estate where Sam had worked stood with heads bowed, caps in hand; the women clutched their shawls around them, handkerchiefs at the ready. After throwing the obligatory handful of dirt, they dispersed with a quiet word: “Sorry, love, ’e were a good bloke, your Samuel.”
The hollow sound of the earth falling on the coffin shook Sarah back to reality. Brushing the tears from her face, she bobbed down in front of Elizabeth to wipe the child’s nose and hugged her awkwardly, fiercely, hoping to quieten her sobs.
“Come along, love,” said Mary.
The women of the neighbourhood stood in their doorways nodding knowingly. They spoke soft words of encouragement as she passed. Life would be different from now on.
Saddened by the thought of Sarah returning to her empty home alone – around the corner in Luke Street – Mary led them to her front door in Warwick Street.
“I’ve set up a bassinet in the front room for Daniel, my dear. Go lay him down. I’ll put the kettle on and make us a cup of tea. Come into the kitchen when you’re ready.”
Elizabeth, quiet now, hovered at the bottom of the stairs waiting for her mother to say something.
Instead, her Aunt Mary spoke. “Run outside and play, Lizzie. There’s a good girl.”
“Yes, Aunt.” Elizabeth obeyed without argument.
Closing the door to the front room behind her, Sarah laid the sleeping Daniel in the crib. She lifted her bonnet from her head and unwrapped her shawl, dropping them on the chair near the window, and stared blindly through the lace curtains. Sad thoughts, wistful thoughts, happy thoughts about her life with Sam drifted through her mind.
They had been overjoyed when Samuel had been made coachman for a local squire not two miles up the road. He had rushed home that day, put his arms around her waist and twirled her around the room. She laughed and cried, and hugged him as he told her the news. But before that, things had not been so good.
Has it really been seven years since that day when Samuel stormed out of his da’s house in a fit of temper? All that fighting and shouting and now both of them are gone, so what good has come of it? But Samuel loved me. Right from the moment he picked me out of the bramble hedge, he loved me.
“That’s what I must remember.” Sarah’s words echoed in the empty room. She threw her head back, eyes closed, reliving the moment. “That wonderful day when we first met.”
Goosebumps moved up her arms. She shuddered as she recalled his first look. That powerful feeling had stayed with her throughout the years. Samuel had treated her like someone who mattered. He was the only one who had ...
She clearly remembered the first day they met in Derbyshire, back in ’34, and every word spoken. The day had begun sunny and clear as Sarah trudged her way to the Bolsover market with a basket of cheeses on her back. On a narrow stretch of road, she met a farmer who tried to shoo the cattle over to one side to let her pass. Amid much pushing, shoving and bellowing one cow lashed out and kicked another. It sidestepped into Sarah and knocked her to the ground. Throwing away the straw he had been chewing on, the farmer rushed to her side.
He held out his big, work-worn hands. “Aye. I’m that sorry, lass. Let me help you. Are you hurt?”
“No, sir, I’m a’right.”
Ignoring his hand, she scrambled to her feet, brushed down her skirt and pulled bits of bramble away from her stockings. As she straightened her cap she tilted her head to look at the stranger. A man with solid shoulders and strong arms, some ten years older than her twenty-two years, stared back. His sharp, blue eyes missed nothing. The look that crossed between them spoke of eternity, yet only seconds had passed before he raised his hand to pull a bramble from her hair.
Sarah recovered first. Embarrassed, she bent down to pick up the fallen cheeses.
“Here. Let me.” The man bent down at the same time. “I’m Sam Adin, by the way. What’s your name?”
“Sarah. Sarah Green.” A soft blush warmed her face as their hands touched over a round of cheese.
“Turn around then, Sarah Green, and I’ll load these straight into the basket,” and he lifted it onto her shoulders, talking all the while.
“Where’re ye from, lass? I don’t remember seeing you around here before.”
Taken as she was by this farmer, she answered straight away. “I’m from Market Drayton in Shropshire originally. Only been over this way a few months.”
“What you doin’ away from home, then?”
She shrugged her shoulders. “Decided to try something new. My folks worked for the brewery.”
A look of surprise crossed Samuel’s face. “What made you come up to Derbyshire?”
“Me ma sent me to a cousin of hers who works in one of them factories in Manchester, but I didn’t like it there so I moved on.”
“Well, those cheeses didn’t come from no factory.” Samuel turned one around in his hand to inspect it. “Where are you living now?”
“A few mile down the road – at the Bakers’ place. Old Ma Baker has taken a fancy to me some and lets me take them little rounds of special cheese she makes to the markets.” Sarah grinned with glee.
They walked the rest of the way to the market side by side, heads nodding in unison as they talked.
“Will ye meet me again at the end of the day?” asked Samuel. “We’re sure to lose one another amongst the bustle of people once we get to market.”
Sarah nodded her agreement.
At the market, Samuel went off to the stock area, she to the stalls.
Sarah fell in love with Sam that day. As the weeks and months passed they met again and again; their love deepened. She couldn’t wait to sneak off in the evenings to meet Samuel; the thrill of seeing him was so great. They would meet in the woods or meander through the fields holding hands, listening to the gentle lowing of the cows, or wander arm in arm along the banks of the stream. Sam was so gentle, so loving.
She blushed as she recalled his soft touch and the way her body responded when his fingers traced the line of her jaw, down her neck to her throat and further down her bodice. Such thoughts aroused her even now. She tilted her head to one side, exposing her neck, moaning softly as her body remembered the way he kissed her, the words of love he whispered in her ears.
A whole glorious, loving year passed before the idyll came to an end in the following spring.
She would never forget that terrible day when Samuel took her to meet his family in Stanfree – his father, Samuel Senior; his mother Elizabeth; and his youngest brother Joseph. His sister, Mary, made the tea in a large, black teapot and served her fresh baking.
During a lull in the conversation Sam announced, “My Sarah and I are getting married. She’s expecting so I’ll have to go and find work in Manchester.”
The silence was palpable and uncomfortable; many long, slow seconds passed before his father exploded.
“What do you think you’re doing? Getting that chit of a girl up the duff? She’s nothing. You’re ruining all our plans.”
“Whose plans?” Samuel sounded surprisingly calm. His father had always wanted him to marry the neighbour’s daughter so they could extend the farm, but plans change.
“You’re the eldest.” His father could not contain his anger. “It’s your duty to me to do what I say and build on what I leave you.”
“Don’t talk to me of duty.” Samuel gritted his teeth.
His father ignored him. “I didn’t spend all my time an’ money so you could read an’ write an’ do sums and suchlike for you to waste it on some common serving wench. Why, she’s not even proper country folk like us. What do she know?”
“Don’t you speak ’bout her like that.” Samuel, angry now, stood up. His chair crashed to the floor.
His father took two strides across the room and snatched the door open, his voice strident. “It’s my house an’ I’ll do and say what I like. I decide who comes here and who don’t. You ...” he ordered, pointing to Sarah, “... get out.”
“If she’s not welcome in this house, then neither am I.” Sam let out a deep sigh, lowered his voice and turned to Sarah. “Wait for me outside, love. I won’t be long.”
Sarah slid out the door, glad to escape the tense air that pervaded the room, and waited behind the large oak tree as the argument raged inside.
Samuel and his father quarrelled bitterly, shouting at each other at the top of their voices. Terrible, unforgivable words were spoken that day.
Then silence.
Sam appeared only minutes later with a bag over his shoulder. Without a word, he grabbed her hand. She needed to skip and run to keep up with his big, angry strides. As they reached the main road they met a man with his horse and dray heading south.
“Hello, Tom,” greeted Samuel, removing his hat. “Can we hitch a ride with you, please?”
“Course ye can, son. Hop on the back. How far are you going?”
“As far as possible.”
Sam’s churlish response effectively ended the conversation. Tom shrugged his shoulders and drove on.
For many miles, they travelled without speaking. Sam was clearly deep in thought, and Sarah was happy to wait for him to sort out his feelings. Finally, they reached a fork in the road.
“Gotta drop you here, friend.” Tom pulled up the horses.
“Righto, Tom. Thanks. Would appreciate it if you didn’t mention this trip to anyone.”
“None of my business.” With a shrug, Tom flicked the reins. “Walk on.” Soon the sound of the wheels faded away.
“What we goin’ to do now, Sam?” asked Sarah.
“Don’t fret. I’ll take care of yer.” Sam put his arm around her shoulder. “We’ll go to Manchester. I’ll get a job of some sort.”
“How long will it take us to get there?” she asked anxiously.
“A few days, a week maybe. We walk some; we hitch a ride now and then. Does it matter?”
“No ... p’haps,” she admitted. “Oh, I suppose not, but if we need to sleep rough or beg the use of a barn, no farmer’s wife is going to take me in if she thinks we aren’t wed.”
“Well, Sarah Green. I’ve been thinking.” He dropped his bag in the middle of the track and took her hands in his. “Will you marry me? Right here and now in this great open place, with only the birds and bees and God as our witness? We can say we is married to the world. Who’s to know right or wrong?”
“Oh yes, Sam. What a wonderful idea. Oh, Sam. I do love you.”
“And I love you, my sweet girl.”
Sam took her in his arms and kissed her deeply. On tiptoe, she reached her arms up to wrap them around his neck. She could feel his body responding. They stumbled through the long grass, fumbling with clothes already awry, to celebrate their union under the trees.
They made their way to Manchester as Samuel had promised.
Only a few months later, on a midsummer’s day in June, even before the baby was born, Sam received the news his father had died. Nothing she said could convince Samuel it wasn’t his fault.
He rushed back to the farm where he learnt Joseph had married the girl next door and would inherit the farm. His ma had wept bitterly that day knowing she had lost her eldest son once more. Mary told him there was nothing he could do. Samuel left, never to return.
Shortly after, in the autumn of 1836, their baby was born. Sarah remembered how Sam had rushed into the room and gathered her and the babe into his arms. He held them as though they were the most precious porcelain on earth. He was ecstatic; his eyes glistened with pride.
He lifted the baby into his big arms. “I would like to name her Elizabeth, after my mother.”
Nothing was too good or too much trouble for his two girls, as he used to call them. They had little then, living in a single room in a ramshackle lean-to affair at the back of a warehouse. After Elizabeth was born, events moved so fast Sarah was swept off her feet again.
Samuel searched in vain for better work, but Manchester was a hard city for a country-raised man to find work. Factory work was readily available but after a short stint inside one of the tightly packed cotton mills, with the heat and noise and the stench of stale bodies, he could stand it no longer. He despaired of finding something more to his liking when a letter came from his sister Mary, offering them a home.
My dear Samuel,
My husband, Mr John Meyers, has been offered a position in Liverpool as the Registrar of Births, Marriages, and Deaths – a highly respected position, which he has accepted. His role entitles him to a house larger than we need and knowing of your troubles, my dear brother, I explained your situation to Mr Meyers. He and I agree that we would like you, Sarah and baby Elizabeth to share our home for as long as you need.
I hope this small gesture of familial concern will be accepted.
Please let me know of your decision.
Your loving sister,
Mary
If Samuel was embarrassed by the offer he was prepared to put it to one side to give his girls the best life he could. He accepted Mary’s proposal, and they moved soon after to Toxteth Park in Liverpool. Within a short time, Samuel found his job with the squire. He worked hard and was promoted to coachman; his country life and skill with horses had proved to be an invaluable asset after all. Life was good.
Five wonderful years passed. Then they moved into a place of their own in Luke Street, with their future spread out before them. Sarah fell pregnant again. She smiled as she remembered how ecstatic he’d been when their second child was a boy, born on 18 April 1842.
“I name him Daniel Sampson Adin.” Samuel’s eyes never left his son’s face.
They were contented then ...
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The sound of Daniel crying woke Sarah from her reverie. “Oh, Samuel. What am I going to do without you?”
Samuel had complained about a headache when he rose that fateful morning only two days earlier. Not an hour later, groaning in agony, he grasped his head, staggered up from the table and collapsed on the kitchen floor.
She could have done nothing to save him, so the doctor said. He’d had a brain haemorrhage.
She picked Daniel up, nestled him against her cheek and murmured, “My little angel. You and Elizabeth are all I have left of your da now.”
“Cooee,” called Mary, interrupting her memories. “Are you ready for that cuppa yet, Sarah?”
“Coming, Mary,” she answered, and carried Daniel along the corridor to the kitchen.
“Sit down there and see to young Daniel.”
Mary threw a fresh handful of tea into the teapot, poured in the boiling water and covered it with the cozy. She watched Sarah nursing Daniel in the rocker by the coal range and knew what must be said. Taking two cups down from the Welsh dresser, Mary filled them and handed one to Sarah. She settled herself comfortably on the old carver chair at the end of the table. “I know you’ll need to think about what you are going to do, my dear, but I wanted you to know you and the children are always welcome here.” Mary sipped at her tea. “You are a blessing to me and John. You may stay as long as you like.”
Sarah felt tears of relief well in her eyes. She had hardly thought about what might happen to her now that Samuel was gone. Now her future and that of her children was secure. She sent a prayer heavenward.
“Thank you, Mary. You have been so kind to me. I would be grateful.”
