The Cotton Lass & other stories Read online

  The Cotton Lass and Other Stories

  ANNA JACOBS

  Contents

  Title Page

  About These Stories

  The Cotton Lass

  Give It a Try

  The Greening of Emily Baker

  Lucky Stars

  Moving Day

  Sunshine and Parrots

  Dress Sense

  Play Along

  The Lady of Silverbrae

  Gracie

  Time for a Change

  Neighbours

  Lucin the Timid

  She Who Dares Wins

  Good Terms

  Going Out in Style

  Just Seven Words

  About the Author

  By Anna Jacobs

  Copyright

  About These Stories

  I wrote these stories over about twenty-five years and many of them have been published in women’s magazines or in anthologies, sometimes in Australia, sometimes in the UK. Some have been read on Australian radio. A few of them haven’t been published before.

  However, these are all, without exception, new and longer versions of the original tales, because with all publishers of short stories, you have to comply with their word count, which is usually around 1,500–2,000. I like to include more colour and details.

  A few years ago I used some of my other short stories in a collection called Short and Sweet. Before I turned them loose on the world, I did the same thing, put a lot more work into them, making all of them longer – some of them much longer.

  I also wrote a preamble to each story in which I shared with readers how I’d come to write them, what had inspired me in the first place. Readers emailed me to say they’d enjoyed that insight, so I’ve done it again.

  I’ve been thinking about putting together a second collection of my shorts for a while, which just about uses up my supply. I’ve written far more novels than I have short stories.

  Once again, I’ve given myself the pleasure of rewriting them and adding the details I had to cut out the first time to meet the publishers’ requirements. These form a more varied selection because they contain a couple of stories originally written under my Shannah Jay name. There are romances, modern tales, historical stories, suspense, fantasy and even a mock (and I hope humorous) fairy tale for adults.

  I’d forgotten the exact details of the tales until I searched through my files and it was very interesting to revisit them. And polishing my work is my favourite job of all connected with writing, so I worked on this as my Christmas treat in 2017. Talk about a busman’s holiday!

  Therefore these stories are new in the sense that they’ve all been polished until they’re as bright and shiny as I can make them, and some have more than doubled in size.

  I do hope you enjoy them.

  Anna

  The Cotton Lass

  Introduction

  Starting in 2009, I wrote a series of novels set against the Lancashire Cotton Famine, when the civil war in America cut off the supply of cotton and the people of Lancashire starved for lack of work. No welfare state in those days, just charity. The novels were:

  Freedom’s Land

  Beyond the Sunset

  Destiny’s Path

  Because I’m from Lancashire myself, the history of that period, which was never so much as mentioned when we studied history at school, stayed with me. I’d read memoirs of people who’d gone through those terrible times, and of those who’d helped them. History is always more vivid to me if I can ‘hear the voice’ of someone who was there.

  When a women’s magazine asked me to do a serial I suggested the same background and they were happy about that, because they too hadn’t heard of the Cotton Famine and they thought their readers would enjoy something different. They knew they could rely on me to provide a happy ending to my tale, because I always do. I have the choice and I can’t bear to leave my characters unhappy; they’re so real to me.

  But as usual I had to be very careful to stick to the magazine’s required word count for each episode because it had to fit in with their page extent. And of course there was so much more I could show, both about the characters’ feelings and the details of their lives, not to mention the historical background.

  So here you have the expanded story, offering you all that I’d have liked to include the first time round. I loved going through the tale and meeting Sarah and Ellis again.

  The Cotton Lass

  1

  1863, Lancashire

  Sarah Boswick had been hungry for so long she couldn’t remember her last full meal. She stood quietly in the queue, not feeling lively enough to chat, not expecting more from the soup kitchen at the church than a bowl of thin soup and a chunk of stale bread. It would be her only food that day.

  None of the mill workers had realised that the war between the states in America would affect Lancashire so badly, cutting off supplies of cotton and therefore putting people out of work. Sarah’s husband had been delighted to think of all the slaves being freed. He’d been such an idealist, poor Daniel. He’d died a year ago, weakened by lack of food, and she still missed him.

  The line of women shuffled forward and someone poked Sarah to make her move with them.

  When a gentleman with silver hair stopped nearby, Sarah didn’t at first realise he was speaking to her.

  Mrs Foster, one of the lady supervisors, said sharply, ‘You, Boswick! Step out of the line and answer the gentleman. He’s spoken to you twice already. Where are your manners?’

  Sarah moved quickly, not allowing herself the luxury of resenting the scolding, because it didn’t pay to cross the supervisors – not if you wanted to eat here regularly. ‘I’m sorry, sir. I’m afraid my thoughts were miles away.’

  ‘It’s partly my fault. I should have waited to be introduced to you before I spoke. I’m Simon Marville, from the town of Swindon in the south, and I’m here because my church has raised some money for the relief fund here.’

  She tried to pay attention, in spite of the smell of food nearby. Sometimes gentlemen or ladies came to the north to stare at the poor starving cotton operatives. It was annoying to be treated like a wild animal on display, and it did little good that she could see. There would still be no work for those in Lancashire after the visitors had gone back to their comfortable lives.

  ‘Could we talk for a few minutes, Miss Boswick?’

  ‘Mrs. I’m a widow.’ Sarah couldn’t help looking towards the food and as she did, her stomach growled.

  ‘Have you eaten today?’ he asked, still in that same gentle tone.

  ‘No, sir. The only food I’ll eat today is what’s offered here at the soup kitchen.’ She saw Mrs Foster looking at her and added quickly, ‘For which I’m very grateful to these kind ladies.’

  He turned to the supervisor. ‘Do you think we could have some food brought for this poor woman, ma’am? It’ll be hard for her to concentrate on what I’m saying if she hasn’t eaten anything yet.’

  ‘Of course. If you sit down over there, I’ll bring some across for you both.’

  ‘None for me, thank you. Save it for those who need it so desperately.’ He led the way to the table indicated and pulled out a chair for Sarah.

  At least this visitor was treating her courteously, she thought as she sat down.

  He took his own seat and was about to speak again, when Mrs Foster came across with a big bowl of soup and two pieces of bread.

  Sarah’s mouth watered at the sight of the larger bowl and extra bread. Clearly the lady patronesses were out to impress. She waited till Mrs Foster had gone away and looked at him, wondering whether to start eating.

  He waved one hand as if giving her permis
sion and she could hold back no longer. She didn’t gobble down the food, because that would make her ill, but chewed slowly, spooning up soup in between each dry mouthful of bread. As she finished the first slice, she looked round and whispered, ‘Would you mind if I put this other piece of bread in my pocket, sir? I have a neighbour whose child isn’t thriving.’

  ‘No, of course not. Though you look as if you need it yourself. You’re very thin.’

  ‘I’m managing but it’s harder on the little ones.’

  When she’d finished eating, he asked, ‘How long have you been short of food?’

  ‘Since my husband died last year – well, before that even.’

  ‘May I ask what happened to him?’

  ‘Daniel came down with a fever and hadn’t the strength to resist it. He was very low in spirits, which didn’t help, because he took it badly not to be able to earn a living.’

  ‘That must have been hard for you.’

  Mr Marville’s expression was so genuinely sympathetic, Sarah felt tears rise in her eyes. She could cope with anything except genuine sympathy about her loss, so stuffed the bread quickly into her pocket and tried to change the subject. ‘What do you wish to talk about, sir?’

  ‘You, my dear. I’d like to find out more about your life.’

  That puzzled her. What had the ladies been telling him?

  ‘I’ve been charged with helping select a group of cotton lasses to go to Australia, where there is plenty of work for those willing to become maidservants. The supervisor has suggested you. What do you think of the idea?’

  She gaped at him. ‘Go to Australia? Me?’

  ‘Yes. Do you know where Australia is?’

  ‘On the other side of the world, sir. I saw it on the globe at school. But I don’t know much else about it. I’ll have to see if there’s a book about it in the library.’ It had saved her sanity, the new free library had. If you could lose yourself in a book, you could forget the gnawing hunger for a while.

  ‘A ship going to the Swan River Colony will be leaving in two weeks. How long will it take you to decide whether to go?’

  She looked round and laughed, though it came out more like a croak. ‘I don’t need any time at all, sir. If there’s work there, I’ll be happy to come because there’s nothing for me here now.’ Only Daniel’s grave, and beside him in the coffin a tiny baby who had only lived for one day. At least he had known his mother’s kiss.

  ‘How long will you need to get ready, pack your things?’

  She looked down at herself and grimaced. ‘I have very little beyond the clothes on my back. I regret that. I’d keep myself cleaner if I could.’

  ‘A complete set of clothes can be supplied.’

  ‘I’d be very grateful for that and I’ll look after them carefully, I promise.’

  He hesitated and asked again, ‘Are you quite sure?’

  She wasn’t sure of anything, but to do something was surely better than doing nothing. ‘I shan’t change my mind, sir.’

  ‘Then you may as well travel south with me when I return. I’m sure Mrs Foster will provide you with clothes for the journey and we have other clothes in the poor box at my church.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Poor box clothes. She knew what those were like, but beggars couldn’t afford vanity.

  ‘Do you have any family here?’

  ‘No, sir. I’m an orphan.’ She’d only had Daniel. At the moment she was sharing a room with five other young women, to save money. They would be jealous of this chance she’d been given, so the sooner she could leave the better.

  When Mr Marville had gone, she took her platter to the clearing-up table and went to thank Mrs Foster for recommending her.

  The other woman nodded then reached for a small, cloth-wrapped bundle. ‘You’ll need better food to face such a long journey. There’s more bread here and a boiled egg. Eat it all yourself.’ She held on to the cloth. ‘Promise you’ll not give this to anyone else like that bread in your pocket.’

  She blushed in embarrassment. ‘I promise. Um, could I ask why you recommended me?’

  ‘Because you’re still trying to help others, sharing what little food you have. You deserve this chance more than some.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Tears welled in Sarah’s eyes at these unexpected words of kindness.

  ‘Come back at four o’clock and we’ll go through the clothing in the church poor box to see what else we can find for you.’

  She’d look a mess, Sarah thought. No one gave away pretty clothing. But she couldn’t afford to care and at least she’d be warmly clad. She’d been so cold during the winter.

  For the first time in months, she slipped into the church on the way home and gave genuine thanks to her Maker for reaching out to help her.

  2

  Ellis Doyle stood by the rails, his back to Ireland, staring out across the water towards England. He didn’t really want to go to Australia, but after his wife died, it seemed the only place far enough away to escape the anger of his employer, who was a mean, spiteful man.

  After the funeral he’d overheard Mr Colereigh gloating to his wife that Doyle would make a fine new husband for Mary Riley and that would get the expense of her and her children off the parish.

  Colereigh’s wife had been kinder than him and had protested that Doyle might not want to marry her, but her husband had just laughed and said the fellow would marry her if he wanted to keep his job.

  Mary was a slovenly woman with a nasty temper and three whining children of her own. Ellis wasn’t having his two sons raised by such as her. He and Shona had made such plans for their boys, saved their money so carefully. As he saw the wooden coffin he’d made himself lowered into the ground, he’d sworn to see that he’d somehow make his poor wife’s dreams come true.

  He watched the buildings of Liverpool show on the horizon in the chill grey light of dawn, then went to wake Kevin and Rory, who were huddled together on a hard wooden bench below decks. ‘We’re nearly there and it’s light already. Come and look at Liverpool, boys.’

  He helped seven-year-old Rory to straighten his clothes, and checked nine-year-old Kevin, annoyed that however hard he tried, he couldn’t keep the lads looking as neat as his wife had.

  He wondered what Mr Colereigh would say when he found that Ellis had run away while the master was visiting friends. Would he come after them? Surely even he wouldn’t go so far to get his own back?

  Ellis had heard good things about Australia. A man had come all the way back from there to the next village to take his family out there to live. Ellis had spent hours talking to him.

  By the time they arrived in Southampton, after a long rail journey from Liverpool, the boys were bickering and complaining. Ellis was exhausted but didn’t dare take his eyes off his sons.

  The emigrants’ hostel consisted of large rooms full of bunk beds, with whole families housed in one. After they’d eaten, he put the boys to bed, warning them sternly that if they moved away from their bunks, he’d tan their hides.

  In the middle of the night he woke with a start to find Kevin standing beside him, tugging at his sleeve.

  ‘I need to go, Da. You said not to go on our own.’

  ‘I’ll come with you.’

  They used the necessary then Rory said, ‘I don’t like it here, Da.’

  ‘It’s just a place to stay till we go on the ship.’

  ‘There’s nowhere to play.’

  ‘There’s a yard outside. They’ll let you out tomorrow after we’ve seen the ship’s doctor.’ He knew they were all three healthy, so he didn’t fear failing the medical – well, not much. But they couldn’t leave the hostel till they passed their medical on board. The supervisor had been very clear about that.

  Ellis didn’t care. He didn’t want to go anywhere in England. All he wanted was to make a new start in Australia.

  3

  Passage was booked for the group of sixty female paupers from Lancashire on a ship called the Tartar. Sarah hated being l
abelled a pauper, but it was just one more indignity among many. They were sent to the emigrants’ hostel, which was crowded with people waiting to board the ship.

  They would have to undergo a medical examination and she hoped that wouldn’t be too thorough. Her underwear wasn’t ragged or dirty, but it was an older woman’s sensible flannel clothing, washed till it was grey and matted. She should be glad of it, but with better food, vanity had returned. She hated to see her gaunt face and dull hair in the mirror. She looked years older than her age.

  Most of the other women were haggard and some didn’t look respectable. A few even had the cropped hair of women coming out of prison.

  Sarah hesitated when she saw a young woman from their group beckoning to her from the corner where there were four bunks, before crossing to join her and her two companions. They looked better fed than most and all proved to be sisters.

  ‘I’m Sarah,’ she said to the one nearest.

  ‘Pandora Blake. These are my sisters Maia and Xanthe.’

  Maia was weeping silently and steadily, mopping up the tears with a handkerchief, then having to use it again.

  From what she overheard during the next few hours, Sarah realised the sisters had been forced to go to Australia by an aunt, and were leaving behind a much-loved older sister, for whose life they feared.

  ‘I have no one,’ she said when they asked about her family.

  But she had hope now, shining brightly in her heart.

  The medical examination took place the next morning, quick but still embarrassing. Sarah was told that she’d passed, then sent to wait in the yard.

  Some lads were there, waiting for their parents, and since two of them got into a fight, she took it upon herself to separate them.

  ‘What will your mothers say if you tear your clothes?’ she scolded. ‘You want to look your best when you go on board ship.’

  ‘Mammy died,’ the older boy muttered. ‘And Da’s taking us to Australia but I don’t want to go.’