THE CINDER PATH Read Free Page A

For miles, and he was
    an authority on land was Chapman.
    Edward MacFell was thirty when he married, and
    like his father before him he, too aimed high. In his case he went even further than his father for he chose
    to honour the daughter of a Newcastle surgeon. The
    surgeon had, the previous year, died, otherwise
    it was debatable whether he would have countenanced the marriage. But his nineteenyear-old daughter Mary
    Rye-Davidson was living under the guardianship of
    an old aunt
    and uncle, who seemed only too ready to be rid
    of their frivolous fair-haired, blue-eyed charge,
    and they congratulated each other on having spent their holiday in Hexham, where their niece had been
    fortunate enough to meet the sturdy, prosperous farmer.
    At what time after the marriage both Edward
    MacFell and his wife, Mary, realized their joint
    mistake neither of them could pinpoint, but it was well within the first six months.
    For MacFelPs part, he realized he'd
    married a scatter-brain, a woman who, if she
    had been allowed, would have spent her time reading,
    playing the harpsichord, and titivating herself up with new clothes. Now these things in their place were
    all right for it proved that she was of the class, but that she had no intention of using her hands to cook or to help
    in the dairy, and wasn't even capable of managing the
    house, infuriated him, and for the first time in his life he began to appreciate his mother and her qualities that
    had gone unrecognized during all their years together.
    As for Mary MacFell, she was brought out of a
    girlish dream to the realization that she had married, not a strong, silent lover, but a
    man with a fiendish temper, and an egotistical
    ignorant one into the bargain. During the first month of their marriage she playfully opposed him, but these
    tactics came to an abrupt end when one day,
    feeling bored, she dared, without asking his leave,
    to take the trap and drive into Otterburn. On her
    return he almost dragged her upstairs, What he
    did was literally to tear the clothes from her back, then, his face red with passion, to thrust it close to hers as he growled at her, "You take anything on yourself like that again and begod I'll put you on the cinder path."
    When her first child was born Mary MacFell
    experienced a secret happiness. At his birth her
    son looked like her, and as he grew he developed
    more like her. He took on her tall, thin fairness;
    the only difference in their features being his
    eyes, which were round, while hers were oval-shaped, and whereas hers were blue, his were grey.
    The contrariness of MacFell's nature made
    itself evident again as he grew fulsomely proud of the
    son who showed no resemblance to himself, yet when,
    two years later, his wife gave him a daughter
    who, as she grew, became a replica of himself,
    both inside and out, he had little time for her. And again the oddities of nature came into play, for his small
    dark daughter adored him,, while his son
    secretly feared and hated him.
    And never did Charles MacFell hate his father
    more than at this moment when his eyelids compressed
    themselves into a deep blink each time the cane came
    down hard, not across Ginger Slater's narrow
    buttocks, but across the backs of his knees, left
    bare by his breeches being drawn upwards.
    As the blows continued to make the small body
    bounce on the cinders Charlie was unable to witness
    any more, but as he went to turn away, run away,
    he was brought to a stiff standstill by the sight of
    Polly Benton emerging from the further end of the
    hedge. Polly had one hand held tightly across her
    mouth while the fingers of the other convulsively gathered up her print skirt until not only did
    she expose the top of her boots but also her bare
    shins.
    Charlie stood staring at her; and when her hand
    dropped from her mouth he became aware that the swishing had stopped. He could also hear the crunching of his
    father's feet on the path and the moaning of the boy he had left