Liverpool Angels

by Lyn Andrews

Genres: Sagas; Family Life

Synopsis

Born at the turn of the 20th century, Mae Strickland is only a few days old when her mother suddenly dies. Her aunt Maggie brings Mae up together with her own children, Eddie and Alice, and the girls become like sisters. In spite of Mae's unhappy start, life feels full of promise. Then, as the First World War looms, everything changes.

While the local men—including young Eddie - leave to fight, Mae and Alice train as field nurses. As they travel to the front line in the wake of family tragedy, nothing can prepare them for the hardship that lies ahead. Yet there is solace to be found amid the wreckage of the war, and for both, romance is on the horizon. But it will take great courage for Mae and Alice to follow their hearts. Can love win out in the end?

Release date: December 5, 2013

Publisher: Headline

Print pages: 400

Sample

Liverpool, May 1898

‘Maggie, I . . . I don’t think there’s much hope for her. I’m afraid she’s sinking fast,’ the midwife whispered.

Her words dropped like stones into the anxiety-laden atmosphere of the stuffy bedroom at the back of the small terraced house in Albion Street. And, like pebbles cast into a mill pond, ripples of fear and anguish washed over the two young women who now clung together, trembling with fatigue and shock. The flaxen-haired girl lying on sweat-stained sheets in the bed was beyond their help. Beth Strickland was dying, but she did not know it.

Maggie McEvoy felt tears pricking her eyes. Beth, her sister-in-law, was too young to die! Pretty, sweet-natured Beth had endured eighteen hours of agonising labour to bring her first child into the world. A daughter with soft, pale-blond hair and blue eyes like herself, a child for whom Beth it now appeared had sacrificed her own life. Maggie’s shoulders heaved as a sob welled up. Her brother John’s wife was the very opposite in looks and temperament to herself and yet they’d become so close. Dark-haired where Beth was fair, plump and buxom where Beth was slight and slim, Maggie knew she was inclined to be brash and outspoken whereas her sister-in-law was quiet and gentle. She herself was twenty-three; Beth had only just turned twenty.

‘Can’t we get a doctor?’ she begged the midwife. ‘Can’t we get her across to the hospital? The John Bagot isn’t far. We have to do something!’ She just couldn’t stand here and watch Beth’s life ebbing away.

The older woman frowned, creasing her heavily lined face even further, and shook her head. ‘Too late for that now I’m afraid, Maggie, luv. She had a bad time of it and she wasn’t as robust as the pair of you. These things happen; there’s nothing anyone can do once the fever takes hold. All we can do now is make her as comfortable as possible and . . . and let nature take its course.’

Agnes Mercer, Maggie’s close friend and neighbour who, at Maggie’s urgent summons, had hurried across from her mam’s corner shop, nodded slowly. Her mam had said more or less the same thing. Very few women recovered from the dreaded fever. Her heart went out to Maggie whom she’d known all her life: Maggie was close to John’s wife and would miss her terribly.

Maggie felt the weight of grief and despair settle on her shoulders as she crossed to the bed and bent and gently stroked the strands of hair, dark with sweat, from her sister-in-law’s fevered cheeks. She’d sat beside her all through the night, helplessly watching her toss and turn and cry out in her pain and delirium for John and her baby.

The tiny girl who, because she’d finally arrived on the first of the month, Beth had said should be called ‘Mae’, was asleep in her makeshift crib downstairs. There was no possibility of John getting home in time to either welcome his little daughter or say goodbye to his young wife for the Campania wasn’t due back in Liverpool for another four days. Finally, overwhelmed with exhaustion and sorrow, Maggie broke down. ‘Oh, Beth, luv, I’m sorry! I’m so, so sorry!’

‘Now, Maggie, there’s no use laying any blame on yourself. There’s nothing anyone could have done,’ Lizzie Kemp stated firmly, rearranging her hair beneath its creased and grubby linen cap and wiping her hands on her apron, which was still heavily stained with blood from a birth she had attended last night. She’d delivered more babies than she’d had hot dinners and women frequently succumbed to childbed fever. It was a tragic fact of life. Childbirth was a dangerous time for mother and baby and Beth Strickland was a slight girl with narrow hips and the baby hadn’t been small. She didn’t hold with the practice of women going into the lying-in hospital with all their rules and regulations: the place for a baby to be born was at home and at least the child seemed to be thriving. ‘Now, if you two will give me a hand, we’ll tidy her up and straighten these covers,’ she instructed briskly.

‘She . . . she’ll . . . go in some comfort. We’ll sponge her down and change the sheets,’ Maggie replied, fighting down the sobs.

The midwife shrugged but made no comment. If they wanted to give themselves the extra work of washing all that bed linen that was their affair. She was tired; she’d been up all night with a woman in York Terrace who’d had a difficult labour and now this. She was beginning to feel she was too old for this work.

They worked quickly, in silence and with infinite care, though both girls were still in shock. When Beth was gently eased down between clean sheets, clad in a fresh nightgown, with her hair brushed free of its tangles, the midwife left.

‘She’s barely breathing and she’s as pale as the sheet that’s covering her,’ Agnes whispered, thinking that Beth looked as if every drop of blood had been drained from her body. Oh, neither she nor Maggie were strangers to death; it seemed to stalk these narrow streets of closely packed terraced houses that ran down from St George’s Hill to the docks, but not since her da’s death three years ago had it come so close.

The air in the room was foetid and she rose and crossed to the small window and managed to force it open a crack, the wood being warped and the sash stiff. A waft of fresh air penetrated the room, filled with the warmth of the spring morning but tinged with the smell of the soot that enveloped everything in the city. Slowly she came back to Maggie’s side and took her hand. ‘I can’t believe that only a few days ago she was sitting up, holding little Mae in her arms and smiling.’

Maggie nodded sadly and brushed away the tears with the back of her hand. ‘Neither can I, Agnes. Oh, how am I going to break this to our John?’ Her big strapping brother had been delighted that he was going to be a father, but anxious that he’d be halfway across the Atlantic Ocean shovelling tons of coal into a furnace in the stokehold of the Campania when Beth’s time arrived. Maggie had told him not to worry, that she would see to everything. Hadn’t Mrs Kemp assured them all that Beth would be fine, and she’d spoken from years of experience? She wondered bitterly now if she should have ignored the woman and encouraged Beth to go into the lying-in hospital where at least there would have been a doctor on hand. Guilt and regret added to her misery.

Agnes shook her head. ‘Big John Strickland’, as he was known, would be devastated. He’d idolised his pretty wife and always brought her some little bit of finery from New York each time he returned. He didn’t spend his few hours’ leisure time ashore getting drunk as most of them did; he’d go off to the cheaper stores looking for some little gift for his wife and usually Maggie too. There were few men in this neighbourhood who were foolish enough to deliberately antagonise him – six years of the brutal conditions of the stokehold had hardened him – but with his family he was always gentle and considerate. And she felt heartily sorry for Maggie too. Her parents had both succumbed to an epidemic of diphtheria when she’d been in her teens; John was her only sibling but he was away for most of the time. It was no wonder she’d fallen for the charms of Billy McEvoy and, despite John’s misgivings, had married him. In Agnes’s opinion he wasn’t good enough for her friend. He was too glib, too fond of wanting his own way and far too fond of a drink. He was what her mam called ‘a waster’ and she was thankful her Albert was of a steadier nature. He also had a regular job, in Ogden’s Tobacco factory, whereas Billy was a dock labourer and that was far from what could be termed ‘steady’ work.

She sighed as her thoughts turned to her friend’s predicament. Not only did Maggie have to bear the pain of the grief that now engulfed them both but she had to run a home and care for little Eddie who was two years old. It would fall on Maggie to rear Mae too, she reflected.

Her gaze rested on Beth’s ashen features and she realised that there was very little time left now. ‘Maggie, luv, will I go and fetch Mam? She’ll be of more help to you now than me. I’ll take Eddie and the baby with me. I’ll put a notice on the shop door – people will understand – and the kids will be better off in our kitchen.’ She wondered briefly how her mam was managing having to serve in the shop and keep her eye on her own two boys, the twins Harry and Jimmy, who were the same age as Eddie and a handful at the best of times. She now heartily thanked God that both her own and Maggie’s pregnancies hadn’t ended like poor Beth’s.

When Agnes had gone, Maggie took Beth’s hand and held it against her cheek. She wasn’t even sure if her sister-in-law was still breathing. ‘Beth, don’t you worry about little Mae. I’ll take care of her, I promise,’ she said steadily. ‘I’ll love and care for her as if she were my own and . . . and John and I will see she never goes without. He loves you so much, Beth. We . . . we all do.’ She paused; the room seemed very still: even the noises from the surrounding streets were distant and muffled. ‘I . . . I’ll tell her . . . about you. I’ll not let her forget you.’ Her voice cracked with emotion and she bit her lip, wishing Agnes’s mam would hurry; she felt so alone, helpless and, in the light of what she was about to announce, a little afraid. She didn’t know if Beth could even hear her. ‘I . . . I want to tell you something. Something I’ve told no one else yet, Beth. I know – I hope you’ll understand and be . . . happy for me. I’m expecting again. So, please God, in time Mae will have a new cousin to play with.’

There was no response to her words. Beth’s eyes were closed and although her hand was still warm Maggie felt that her soul had already departed. She broke down and sobbed helplessly; the last hours had been traumatic and had taken their toll. ‘How am I going to tell our John?’ she whispered to herself, praying that when the time came she would somehow find the strength.

Maggie felt as though she were walking in a dream world as the day passed. Agnes had brought little Eddie and Mae back home after the women had been to lay Beth out. Then the neighbours had called in to offer condolences and help and one of them, who had a young baby herself, had offered to nurse Mae too. ‘It’s the least I can do, Maggie, for poor Beth,’ she’d said, taking the wailing child who was obviously hungry. Now, both Eddie and the baby were asleep.

‘I just feel so lost! I can’t seem to think straight,’ Maggie said wearily as she took yet another cup of tea from her friend.

‘You’ll be better in the morning. You’re worn out. You need a good night’s kip and at least after Annie Taylor has been down to feed the baby last thing she should sleep. I’ll have Eddie tomorrow morning – he can play with the twins and Mam will keep her eye on them all while I serve in the shop. There’s bound to be things you’ll have to attend to.’ She glanced at the clock on the mantel above the range. ‘Shouldn’t your Billy be in by now? Albert’s putting the kids to bed.’

Maggie sighed; she never knew exactly when Billy would get home. It always depended on whether he’d got any work that day, how much money he had in his pocket and how many pubs he had to pass on his way home. Like all their neighbours they never had enough money at the best of times; even though she considered herself to be a good manager, it was so hard to make ends meet. Few women went out to work for families were large and suitable jobs almost impossible to find. If a woman was really desperate she might take in washing or go out cleaning offices in the evening when someone was in to mind the kids. All Maggie had each week was what Billy didn’t spend, the small but regular amount old Isaac Ziegler paid her each Saturday morning for doing some chores and of course what John left her.

She’d known the Zieglers for years; they were Jewish and the late Mrs Ziegler had been good to her when she was growing up. Rachel Ziegler had died in the same epidemic that had taken her parents; Isaac, a tailor, lived with his son – who was also his business partner – above their shop on the corner of Albion Street. She enjoyed going there on Saturday mornings. Isaac always had a cheery word for her and their kitchen was so quiet and peaceful, but she doubted she’d be able to go this week. She hoped Billy wouldn’t be long. She didn’t want to have to sit here alone and Agnes couldn’t stay for much longer.

It was half an hour later when she heard him come in through the scullery, whistling. He obviously hadn’t heard, she thought dully, though he’d known Beth was very ill and that she’d sat up all night with her. She hadn’t been able to contact him all day – she hadn’t known where he would be – but couldn’t he at least show some concern?

He knew instantly by her expression that something was very wrong. He took off his jacket and cap and ran his hands through his mop of thick curly dark hair. ‘Maggie, what’s wrong? Is she worse? I’d have been home the sooner hadn’t I chanced to fall in with a feller I knew back in Belfast and we went for a wee drop or two.’

Maggie thought bitterly of the long grief-filled hours she’d endured. ‘She . . . she died this afternoon, Billy. There wasn’t anything anyone could do.’

‘Jaysus! I’d have come straight home, Maggie, if I’d known! The Lord have mercy on her.’ He was shocked. He’d realised Beth was desperately ill but women often were after giving birth and he’d not thought she would die. ‘Did ye get a doctor?’

Maggie shook her head. ‘I told you there wasn’t anything . . . Agnes and her mam have been very good and so have the neighbours. The women came to lay her out . . .’ She dissolved into tears and Billy came and put his arms around her.

‘Ah, don’t fret so, darlin’. Isn’t she in a better place now?’

‘But she was so young, Billy!’

‘I know, I know,’ he soothed, wondering how Big John Strickland would take it. ‘When’s Himself due home?’

Maggie calmed down a little and wiped her eyes. ‘In four days and God only knows how I’m going to break the news to him. He has a baby daughter but he no longer has a wife.’

Billy nodded as he glanced around the kitchen, which was more untidy than usual, with dirty dishes still on the table and Eddie’s clothes hanging to air over the fender although the fire was almost out. There might be little in the way of furniture but the kitchen was usually neat and tidy with a good fire burning by the time he got home. ‘Where is the bairn?’

‘In our bedroom with little Eddie, both asleep. She . . . Beth . . . is in the back bedroom.’

Billy nodded. ‘What’s going to happen to the bairn now?’ he wondered aloud.

Maggie raised her tear-stained face from his shoulder. ‘We’ll look after her. I promised Beth.’

Billy frowned. ‘Isn’t that your John’s responsibility?’

Maggie was confused; she didn’t understand. ‘How can he bring her up when he’s away so much?’

Billy didn’t reply. He was certain that John Strickland wouldn’t want to give up a steady job with a fairly decent regular wage to stay at home and mind a baby, not that slaving away in that pit of hell known as a stokehold was any kind of a picnic, but it was better than the few bits of jobs he managed to get, and John always had money in his pocket. His brother-in-law would be devastated by the loss of his young wife but he was sure that he would be quite happy to leave Maggie to care for Mae. The thought didn’t please him one bit. Why should they be responsible for Beth’s child? John Strickland was her father. But hadn’t Maggie already gone and promised the dying woman? She would be sure to inform her brother of the fact. The more he thought about it, the more annoyed he became. Couldn’t she have waited and discussed it with him first? John would be away at sea; it would be himself who would have to cope with the child on a day-to-day basis as she got older, as well as being responsible for Eddie. Well, for now he’d let the matter rest, he thought, but he certainly wasn’t going to just let it go.

He wasn’t at all happy with the way life was working out, he thought irritably. Jobs were hard come by, they were short of space in this decrepit old house and Maggie had changed lately. Where had the easy-going, cheerful girl he’d married gone? Oh, to be sure she was upset by Beth’s death but it wasn’t just that. She’d become sharp-tongued of late, always complaining and comparing him – unfavourably – to that Bertie Mercer who was married to Agnes. Didn’t she make him out to be some kind of paragon who didn’t drink or smoke or have the occasional bet on a game of pitch and toss? Who never seemed to put a foot wrong or say a thing out of place? No, this wasn’t the life he’d envisaged when he’d left Belfast. Lately he’d begun to realise that Liverpool, with its grand buildings and docks crammed with ships, wasn’t the Promised Land of his dreams and now it looked as if he was going to be saddled with someone else’s child too. He wished he’d stayed longer in the pub.







Billy didn’t go to look for work the following day. There was never very much going on at the docks on a Saturday and he intended to call into the pub later to meet his mate from Belfast, for the atmosphere in the house was dark and depressing. He wasn’t very pleased when Maggie asked him would he go down to see old Mr Ziegler today as she had so much to do that morning and she felt far from well. Apart from the shock, regret and grief, she was also suffering the nausea of early pregnancy. She hoped he would offer to help with the formalities that had to be undertaken today too.

‘Agnes has promised to have our Eddie this morning even though it’s their busiest day and you know I always go down and light the fire and put their meal on to cook and do whatever else needs to be done. It’s their Sabbath and they can’t do things like that,’ she reminded him.

‘Both he and Harold manage to work just the same – Sabbath or no Sabbath!’ Billy retorted but grudgingly put on his jacket; it wouldn’t take him long to complete the tasks that Maggie usually carried out. She said she did it to help the old man, but he knew Isaac paid her for her time. At least he’d have a few more coppers in his pocket to spend when he finally arrived at the Alexandra.

‘I’d be very grateful, Billy, if later you could go and . . . register poor Beth’s death. They close after dinner and I’ve to see the undertaker and the vicar and then I’ll have Eddie as well as the baby to see to this afternoon.’

Billy frowned, his annoyance increasing. At this rate he wouldn’t get to see his mate at all. By the time he’d finished at Ziegler’s and been to register the death, Nick MacNally would have given up hope of seeing him and moved on. John Strickland should be doing all this running around, not him. ‘Didn’t Himself pick a fine time to be away,’ he muttered as he went out.

Maggie stared after him bleakly, too sick and heartsore to demand to know just what he meant, as she would have done ordinarily. He’d obviously had plans that would now have to be disrupted. But it surely wasn’t too much to ask that he give her some support? She wasn’t looking forward to the visits she must make this morning either and Agnes couldn’t be of assistance. She could hear the baby beginning to wake and murmur, she’d soon be wailing to be fed so she’d have to call into Mrs Taylor’s on her way to the undertakers. Yes, she thought wearily, as another wave of nausea overtook her, she had a full day ahead of her.

Both Isaac and his son Harold were working when Billy entered the shop. The garments and materials here were way beyond his means, he deduced as he glanced around. Harold Ziegler was about his own age, tall and slim, but his black hair, brown eyes and rather swarthy complexion betrayed his origins. Old Isaac was stooped now, his hair snow-white, his face lined with age but his dark eyes were bright and questioning.

‘Maggie isn’t able to come this morning, so I’ve come instead. If you’ll show me what needs to be done I’ll be after making a start. I’ve to go on to the register office afterwards,’ Billy informed them.

‘We heard about poor Beth. Ah, such a tragedy – so young. We both offer our deepest condolences. We prayed for her when we attended shul – synagogue. How is Maggie? She was fond of John’s wife,’ Isaac asked, shaking his head sadly. Maggie was a good girl, kind, hard-working and generous, his Rachel had always said so. Maggie was clean, tidy and organised and a thrifty housekeeper too, and he knew that wasn’t easy on what little she had. She had suffered such loss in her own young life and now this.

‘She’s upset – it was a terrible shock – but isn’t that only natural? And hasn’t she been left to see to the bairn, with Beth dead and Himself away.’

Isaac nodded his agreement. ‘Poor little Mae. The world is a hard place for a child without its parents, that I know. I came to this country as a small boy with my zayde – my grandfather – for my parents had been killed. It was not a good time to be Jewish – the pogroms? Persecution,’ he added, noting Billy’s mystified expression.

‘Ah, don’t we understand all about persecution in Ireland,’ Billy agreed, thinking of his own country’s troubled past.

‘But we have no wish to be involved in politics or rebellions, we just want to live and work and practise our religion in peace,’ Harold added quietly, ‘and perhaps this is not the time to be talking of such things,’ he gently reminded them both.

Billy certainly had no wish to continue this discussion either; he just wanted to be away as soon as he could.

‘You will tell Maggie that our thoughts are with her and that she is not to trouble herself about us, and if she has need of anything she must come to me and I will do all I can to be of help, ’ Isaac instructed Billy as he showed him through into the kitchen at the back of the shop. ‘She is a good woman and a good wife, Billy, and they are more precious than diamonds. You must cherish her always – as I did my Rachel. I have great admiration for Maggie.’

Billy nodded but made no further comment as the old man pressed some coins into his hand. Maybe the old feller meant what he said about help but he doubted that it would extend to anything of a financial nature. The general consensus in the neighbourhood was that old Isaac wasn’t short of a few pounds by any means, even though he lived very frugally and seemed to have worn the same suit for decades. But, Billy thought sourly, there wasn’t much likelihood of him giving any of it away.

Maggie was physically and emotionally drained when she called into Webster’s corner shop to pick up little Eddie. Agnes finished serving and then resolutely put the ‘Closed’ sign on the door.

‘They can wait for half an hour for their sugar or flour or whatever else is on the shopping list while we all have a cup of tea. You look as if you need one and Mam will be worn out with the antics of those three,’ she said as she guided her friend through to the kitchen, taking the sleeping baby from Maggie’s arms.

Maggie was relieved to see that Eddie, Jimmy and Harry were sitting quietly at the table with a slice of bread and jam each. Agnes had a better standard of living than herself with Bertie in regular work and with what they made in the shop. She rarely had jam; usually Eddie only got dripping on his bread and sometimes not even that.

‘Sit down, girl, you look terrible,’ Edith instructed, reaching for the kettle.

‘I feel terrible,’ Maggie agreed, ‘although everyone was very kind and considerate.’

‘So everything is all arranged?’ Agnes asked, taking the cups from the dresser and wiping the excess of jam from Harry’s face with a damp cloth at the same time.

Maggie nodded. ‘I . . . I didn’t think it would be right for her to be . . . buried before our John gets home.’

‘When is he expected?’ Edith asked.

‘Tuesday – late afternoon I think, according to the Journal of Commerce.’

Agnes and her mother exchanged glances. It was going to be hard on Maggie having poor Beth in the house for another three, possibly four more days; it wouldn’t be healthy either, Edith thought. Especially not with those young children. She handed the girl a cup of tea. ‘Did Mr Thompson make any . . . suggestions?’ she asked.

Maggie sipped her tea gratefully. ‘He did. He said that that being the case it would be better if he moved Beth to his Chapel of Rest later on today. It would be better for John to . . . see her there, rather than in the room they shared. Less painful, less upsetting. And then the funeral could take place on Thursday, the vicar being amenable, and he is.’

Agnes placed a hand on her shoulder. ‘That will all be for the best, luv.’

‘He’s due to sail again on Friday, Agnes, you know they only have two days in port,’ Maggie reminded her. ‘It’s not very long to . . . to try to come to terms with it all, if he ever does.’

‘Will he go back, Maggie, do you think? Or will he want to stay at home longer?’ Mrs Webster asked.

Maggie shrugged. She really hadn’t thought about that; how she would break the news to him had been her only concern.

‘Drink your tea, luv, while I wipe the hands and faces of these other two and then we’d better open up or they’ll be hammering on the shop door,’ Agnes’s mam stated.

‘At least you’ve got all the arrangements sorted out, that’s something to be grateful for,’ Agnes reminded her friend. She only hoped Billy had been to the register office and would be at home when Mr Thompson arrived with the hearse. She didn’t want her friend to have to cope with that all alone.

Nick MacNally had waited for Billy and they’d had a few drinks and a great chat – in fact he’d have stayed longer but they’d both spent up and the landlord had a strict ‘no tick’ policy. On the way home Billy greeted the women gossiping on their doorsteps cheerfully and joked with those kids still playing in the street about being ‘mucky bairns’ and so was in a far better mood when he arrived. However, it didn’t last long. Both the baby and Eddie were fractious and Maggie was tired, harassed and tearful as she took his meal from the oven.

‘It’s dried up: I’ve been trying to keep it warm for an hour, we’ve had ours,’ she informed him as she put it on the table in front of him. ‘And I wanted to get the meal over with before Mr Thompson comes. He thinks it best if he takes Beth to his Chapel of Rest. The funeral is arranged for next Thursday.’

Billy looked disdainfully at the dried gravy, fatty brisket and shrivelled potatoes before pushing the plate away. ‘I’ve lost me appetite. Can’t you keep those two quiet? I can’t hear meself think. What time is this Thompson feller coming?’ He’d expected to come home to a hot meal and a comfortable evening sitting reading his newspaper and dozing; instead of that his dinner looked disgusting, the kids were whining, Maggie was in a temper and the undertaker and his cronies would shortly be arriving and tramping up and down the stairs.

Maggie snatched the plate away, her nerves stretched to breaking point. ‘Well, there’s nothing else!’ she snapped. ‘And Mr Thompson will be here any minute now so I’d be obliged if you could let him in and be civil to him while I see to the baby and meladdo here.’ She picked Mae up and instructed Eddie to be a big lad and stop crying while they took Mae up to Mrs Taylor to be fed. ‘And you might at least show more respect and a bit of consideration for me – maybe even some grief. Haven’t I enough to contend with as it is, without being in the family way again?’ she cried before slamming out.

Billy stared hard at the door. There was no need for her to go carrying on like that, he fumed, she was getting more and more short-tempered these days. But as the meaning of her final words dawned on him he dropped his head in his hands and groaned. Ah, God, another bairn! He felt as though he was slowly sinking deeper into a bog of hardship and penury, disillusionment and despair, and he could see no way out. Life looked even bleaker now, but there just had to be something he could do about it, he thought in desperation. Things had to be better than this!







That bright May morning the waterfront’s familiar forest of masts, spars and rigging, broken by the occasional smokestack of a steamship, held no fascination for John Strickland. His only thought was to get home to Beth and his . . .