Maggie’s Wheelbarrow, by Jude Knight
Maggie hasn’t heard from her husband Will in more than a year—not since he marched out of Spain with his regiment. When she and the children followed him, the battles were over and his regiment was gone. Letters have brought no answers. With all her worldly goods and her son in a wheelbarrow, and her daughter on her back, Maggie sets off from Portsmouth to walk to the Midlands to find out what has happened to Will.
Will Parker has been invalided out of the army. The scars and the limp he has as souvenirs of the Battle of Toulouse are not the worst of it. He also left behind two years of memories. Back home with his mother, he is building a new life. But what is it he is forgetting?
Meet Will Parker
Will Parker has nearly recovered from battle injuries received more than a year ago, but a blow to his head left a two-year gap in his memory. Invalided out of the army, he lives quietly with his mother and earns his living as a clerk. Deep inside he is restless, as if he yearns something he doesn’t know he has lost.
Meet Maggie Parker
Maggie Parker is determined to take her baby daughter and her little son to their father’s family, though she is not certain where in the Midlands he lives. She buys a wheelbarrow in Portsmouth, puts into it her baggage and her son, and sets out with her daughter on her back to walk as many hundreds of miles as are needed.
Excerpt from Maggie’s Wheelbarrow
Will has just read a letter from the wife he did not know he had. He has read it out loud, and he is surprised at his mother’s reaction.
While he was reading, he was aware of his mother sinking into another chair, but he had not looked directly at her. He did now.
Her eyes were filled with tears but she was smiling. “Thank God,” she said. “I have been so worried.”
“You knew I had a wife and you didn’t tell me?” Will couldn’t help but feel betrayed.
“What could I say, Will?” his mother asked. “You had forgotten them, and I had no idea what had become of them. Had she deserted you? Had they all died? How would it have helped to tell you what little I knew?”
She scrambled to her feet and pulled out a drawer on the kitchen dresser. She handed him a package tied with ribbon. “Here. Here are your letters. When you’ve read them, you’ll know as much about your wife as I do. Oh, my dear son, perhaps when you see her you will remember everything.”
Or perhaps not. What would he do if he didn’t know this wife of his? A thought occurred to him. “Margaret. Not… No, it couldn’t be… I didn’t marry Maggie Finch, did I? Sergeant Finch’s daughter?”
Ma nodded. “That’s it. Are you remembering, Will?” She sounded hopeful.
He shook his head. “Not from after Ciudad Rodrigo. From before. She… I doubt there was a man in the regiment who was not at least a little in love with Maggie Finch. Not that any of us would risk the sergeant’s reaction if we showed her the least disrespect!”
He could feel his lips spreading in a grin as he remembered the cheerful pretty daughter of the formidable soldier. “I married Maggie Finch!”
“So, I should hope, Will Parker, since you had two children by her,” said Ma, rather sharply. “Go and wash up for dinner, lad. You can read your letters after.”
Will obediently got to his feet. Maggie Finch. Maggie Parker, now, and wandering the Midlands with his two children in tow. Wandering where? He checked the date and location at the top of the letter. It was dated two weeks ago, and she was not here yet. She had included a village name, as well, and he knew it. Not more than thirty miles hence, but he supposed a woman with two children might travel slowly. On the other hand, perhaps she was heading for a different Ashton.
As he washed his hands and face, he pictured her out in the cold and the rain and shuddered. He hoped she had found somewhere safe and warm to wait out the storm. She and the little ones.
He had a powerful urge to race out the door and start searching for them. In the dark and the rain, it would be pointless. Possibly even dangerous. He would leave in the morning, once it was light, riding in the direction of the village she had left weeks ago.
“When I viewed Turner’s work in London, I didn’t…well, I’m a literalist, I suppose. When one is outlining a plan of assault, precision is helpful. I’ve always been drawn to portraits, or paintings of horses.” He laughed. “Or dogs. Yes, forgive me. I enjoy George Stubbs’s work. And I like restful landscapes.”
About Desperate Daughters: Love against the Odds
I knew, of course, that a Venetian Breakfast was an afternoon entertainment at which food was served. The ladies, in morning dress (anything worn before the change into dinner gowns in the early evening), and gentlemen of Society would have been familiar with the term ‘picnic’.