Off To See The Wild West Show Part 2 Chapter 3 (3/6) By Frank Beill

(1/6), (2/6), (3/6), (4/6), (5/6), (6/6). Part 1 Chapter 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20. Part 2 Prologue, Chapter 1, 2, 3, 4.

Sal led me through the back door and into the scullery. On a bare brick floor stood a rough wooden table and a corrugated metal tub. It was called a dolly tub and it was where family washing was done with the aid of a dolly stick, which was a wooden contraption that looked like a milking stool with a long handle fixed into the centre of its seat. In the corner was a brick fireplace, which was used to boil water but there was no heat coming from its direction. There were only flaked grey ashes, long dead. A single step in the doorway led into a larger room.

Pale light from the backyard strained in through a dirty window, making yellow distempered walls look even sicklier. On bare floorboards stood the furniture: two rough wooden chairs alongside an even rougher table. A torn oilcloth with a faded china blue and white pattern failed to cover the whole tabletop. The fire in the black metal range was about to give up the ghost. It was not only the main source of heat but also the sole means of cooking in the house.

'I'll give it a rake.' Sal put the child onto a pile of rags in the corner of the room before picking up a bent black metal poker lying on the hearth. She tried to prod life into embers that could barely manage a terminal glow. 'Looks as though it could do with some fresh coal.' I regretted suggesting the obvious. Did she have any more? 'Aye, I'll get some.' She looked as though she didn't have the strength to lift an empty shovel, let alone one filled with coal. 'I'll get it. You sit down. Which door in the yard is the coalhouse?'

Her look said she wanted to turn down my offer but she didn't have the strength. This wasn't the Sal I remembered. 'First on right.' Her voice was still weak. I walked back through the scullery, empty shovel in hand.

The large coalhouse was almost bare. It could have held half a dozen or more sacks of coal but there was only a small heap in a dark corner and this was mainly coal dust. I raked through it with the shovel trying to find any hidden lumps. I took back what few coals there were and carefully placed them onto the dying embers. I put my face close to the grate and blew into the grey cinders trying to encourage the glow of life back into them. 'Is your husband out of work?' I tried to be polite. Was he drunkard, boozing away all his wages in the Star and Garter at the street end? Was he in the workhouse? Had he deserted them altogether? I didn't know him, hadn't met him but I hated him.

'Wish he was!' She gave a sardonic laugh. 'Dead. Lost at sea, six months ago.' My head jerked back from the grate and I turned to look at her.

Continued... Next Page (4/6)

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