One such burst of laughter was interrupted by the slamming of an outer door.

My father’s a good man, Sarah, but he’s not a happy man,” Daniel told his wife as they came within sight of the sprawl of buildings that was the Junction. “He’s a Welshman to his very core, and he misses Wales. He cares about miners and their families, but he can do nothing for them because he’s branded an agitator and no one will give him work in the pits. He’s a provider for his family and now, no matter how hard he works at anything he can find, he can’t provide enough.” Sarah squeezed his hand. After a while, she spoke. “Everything for him is loss, Daniel. Maybe it falls to us to try to give something back to him. We must at least try,” she finished, quickening her step as the tangle of railway lines and the glint of the canal came into view.

Daniel threw an arm round her shoulders and planted a swift kiss on her cheek. “I’ve just found another reason to love you, Sarah Morrison,” he said quietly.

‘My Daniel’

The Junction was quiet, it being Sunday. Sarah and Daniel passed the shops, the smithy, the railway that brought the wagons of coal from Langrigg.

Daniel’s steps slowed a little. As they reached the canal bridge that led across to the main railway line, he pointed. “There it is,” he said.

The small cottage seemed to cower for shelter into a copse of trees. It had once been white but now looked shabby, with runnels of green staining the walls here and there. A single plume of smoke rose from one of the two chimneys.

As they approached, the door flew open and a girl in a white apron, dark hair streaming out behind her, rushed towards them and threw herself into Daniel’s arms.

“Daniel! Mam and me thought you’d never come. Oh, I’m so pleased to see you.” Laughing, Daniel disengaged himself from her embrace.

“This is my sister Katy,” he said to his wife. “Katy, meet your new sister-in-law, Mrs Sarah Morrison.”

The two girls shook hands gravely, Katy recovering her composure and colouring slightly with sudden shyness. Young as she was, Sarah reflected, she had the makings of a beauty.

“My Daniel, at last.” A quiet voice spoke from the doorway. There, hands outstretched in welcome, was a small, dark woman, head cocked to one side, for all the world like a little bird. When Daniel’s introductions were over, his mother held Sarah’s hand in both of hers. “See you now, Sarah. Make my boy happy.” She hesitated, then, with a catch in her voice spoke again. “He deserves to be happy.”

There was a beat of silence. Glancing at Daniel, Sarah could see that he was struggling to keep his composure.

“Now, I am forgetting my manners, with us all standing here on the threshold of the door,” Carys Morrison said, giving Sarah’s hand a little squeeze. “Come inside. You are welcome on this happy day.”

Stepping down into the kitchen, Sarah shivered slightly. Despite the brightness of the day, the place was gloomy, overshadowed as it was by the copse of trees, the high shoulder of the canal bank outside. While Carys and Katy bustled around, seating Sarah by the range, Daniel made great play of finding the kettle and filling it, his voice hearty and almost too loud.

Sarah looked around the room. It had a flagged floor, a sink below the one small window, four wooden chairs set around a scrubbed deal table in the middle of the room.

The necessities of life, nothing more. The only thing that broke the starkness of Carys Morrison’s kitchen was the dresser that stood against the far wall, blue and white patterned delft crowding its shelves. In the corner furthest from the door was a box bed, its dark curtain drawn across to disguise its presence. For a moment, Sarah felt trapped by the house. The room was bearing down on her. Daniel glanced at her as he stirred up the sullen fire and put on the kettle.

“Sarah, you must unpack the basket. Show Mam and Katy what we’ve brought.”

His voice was hearty. Sarah picked up the mood and brought out scones and a seed cake that she’d baked that morning, pots of jam and a bottle of Mary Ellen’s elderflower wine. There was an air of celebration as cups and saucers were brought down from the dresser, tea was brewed, scones and cake laid out and bramble jelly spooned into a jam dish.

More coal was put on the fire and the room seemed warmer as the conversation eddied round the table and Sarah and Daniel related every detail of their wedding day, their little house in Langrigg and the Wee School. There were even tales of Tricky Binnie, which brought laughter round the room.

One such burst of laughter was interrupted by the slamming of an outer door. By the time the door opened a moment later, the laughter had died and Katy, who had been leaning across the table towards Daniel, was sitting bolt upright.

Geraint Morrison stood there in working clothes, face and arms begrimed. There was a heartbeat of silence before he spoke. “You’re back, I see.” He nodded curtly towards Daniel. At that moment, Carys darted across to the range and pulled a cooking pot forward.

“Your meal will be ready in no time, Geraint.” Her voice was apologetic.

Daniel got up and stood by Sarah.

“I’ve come to introduce my wife, Sarah,” he began. His father gave the slightest of nods.

“The schoolmaster’s daughter, I believe. The two of you runaways. That tale filled plenty of mouths down here at the Junction.”

Sarah held out her hand, but Daniel’s father did not take it. “You will find my son both wilful and capricious,” he said. “I wish you luck.”

Daniel persisted.

“We were having a small celebration, father. You’ll at least take some tea with us?”

The other gave him a long look.

“Sunday or not, I have the dirt of the day on me. Beggars can’t be choosers, as they say. Celebrate as much as you like. I must wash before I do anything else.” He walked past them and turned on the tap in the sink beneath the window. Carys nervously moved pots around on the range.

Geraint Morrison turned. “I see a bottle on the table. I do not allow strong drink in this house.”

Katy snatched up the bottle, face flaming. “This is not strong drink, father. It’s made from elderflowers. A gift Sarah brought for mam.”

After a long, hard look, her father turned away. Sarah shivered slightly. The celebration had died.

“We’ll be on our way, mam and our Katy. Let you get on.” Daniel’s voice was level but there was a white, desperate look about him.

Outside, Carys and Katy said their goodbyes. Sarah could see that they were holding back tears. She put down her basket and hugged them in turn.

“Don’t be a stranger, Sarah,” Carys said. “And see that our Daniel comes, too, betimes,” she added in a muffled voice. Leaving, Sarah and Daniel turned to wave, but Carys and Katy had gone back into the house. For a while they walked in silence, Daniel grim-faced, Sarah frantically searching her mind for the right words to say.

More tomorrow.

This story was originally written specially for The People’s Friend, which published it under the title The Life We Choose. There’s more fiction in The People’s Friend every week, available from newsagents and supermarkets at £1.30.

Artwork: Andrew Lloyd Jones