Despite the Angels (27 page)

“Well, that would have been even better. I could have held you straight away, instead of having to wait for the ceilidh.” Lewis took Dorothy’s hand in his and they walked comfortably together down the gentle hill towards the riverfront.

They spent a while looking at the ships in the dock and, in plenty of time for the show, walked back across to the music hall and bought tickets for the cheapest seats. There was a gentle breeze blowing and on it came a most tantalising smell, unusual, but definitely delicious, as Lewis found his mouth filling with water.

“Can you smell that? What do you think it is?”

“Let’s go and see,” Dorothy was already moving in the direction of Greenmarket. “We have time before the show, I think?”

They soon joined a crowd outside a small tent, from where the hot sharp smell was emanating. They could not see its source, but there was a crudely lettered sign outside the tent: ‘chip potatoes, 1/2d’.

“Stop pushing at the back!” A voice roared from inside. “Plenty for everyone, wait your turns please!”

“Well love,” Lewis turned to his wife with the air of a grandee inviting a lady to a banquet, “Will we try these potatoes? I have a penny to spare.”

“Oh, yes please, Lewis. The smell is so good.”

And at last they had been at the front of the queue and had bought two portions of the fried potatoes, had sat on the simple boxes and enjoyed this new delicacy as though it had indeed come from the grandee’s kitchen. They had eaten with such slow appreciation, that they had missed the first half of the show in the music hall entirely, yet neither of them had resented the waste of money at all. One penny for chips and on later visits, extra for two portions of peas as well, was so enjoyable, better value than the theatre. Salt and vinegar are a fancy enough sauce, thought Lewis, when you are with someone you love. And now that little Dawn can join in and have a bit of mashed peas, well, we are as lucky as kings. 

“Ladies and gentlemen!” The stationmaster’s voice cut into Lewis’s musings and he tore himself away from the delicious thoughts, back to the noisy cold station.

“Ladies and gentlemen, you are all advised to go back to your homes. The train will not be crossing the bridge tonight.” There was a bit of grumbling, but people could see that there was no help for it, they would have to return in the morning. The station emptied quickly and Lewis tucked his head down against the gale as he trudged his way back home. He hoped that Dorothy had heard that the train would not run to Dundee and was now sitting in her mother’s cosy house, not stuck in a draughty waiting room on the other side of the Firth.  

The little station at Cupar was packed with people, some waiting to buy tickets and many here to see off their friends. Many were with fractious children, jiggling after their long exciting day. Dorothy followed in her mother’s wake, as the older woman pushed a way through to the ticket office. Rose Milne was a solid woman with a gentle manner. She had brought most of the population of Cupar into the world and many women had reason to be grateful to her. Her neat deft hands had lifted numerous reluctant babies out of their desperate mothers. She was recognised and greeted and space was made for her in front of others, but she did not like to take advantage of what she considered God-given talents, so they joined the end of the queue.

“I should have bought a return ticket, I do not know what I was thinking on Friday,” said Dorothy, as the baby in her arms began to fret.

“What difference?” said her mother. “The train will go when it goes, whether you are sitting on it for one second or two minutes.”

The queue shuffled forward. At last it was her turn and Dorothy laid her money on the counter.

“One to Dundee, please”

“Now you yell,” said Mohmi, “you have to keep her off that train.”

Dawn screeched. She screeched as she had never screeched before, as though the worst pain in the world had just been visited upon her. Dorothy nearly dropped the baby onto the counter.

“Here, give me the baby,” said Rose, “while you get the ticket. There there, my precious, did the pain come back, then? A naughty pain, when Dr Ross says there is nothing wrong. We do not need to worry, just a bit of colic.” She shifted Dawn up to her shoulder and patted her back with a practised hand.

“I had reason to be worried, mother. She pulled up her little legs with the pain.”

“Every baby has colic. You would think there had never been another baby in the world, the way you and Lewis fuss over this one. No good doctors in Dundee! What nonsense.”

“I trust Dr Ross,” said Dorothy, as she took her ticket.  “Now he says there is nothing wrong, I can relax.”

“Hmm. Until the next time. Are you going to come running home every time she has a fever?”

“I might. Will you not welcome me?” Dorothy patted the baby’s back, making no difference to the grizzly wail that Dawn was making.

“Of course, hen. This is your home. We never wanted you to go to Dundee. And I do not think this little lady wants to go to Dundee either.”

“You are right, Rose” said Mohmi, “at least, not on this train. Go on, Dawn, shout. You must not get on the train.”  Dawn wailed, louder.
Two other babies were crying, one very loudly.

“Maybe we should bring her back to Dr Ross,” said Rose. “He could see her tomorrow and there would still be time for you to get back to your husband before Hogmanay. I’m sure your ticket will do for another train.”

“Yes, maybe that would be better.” Dorothy took the baby back and kissed her. Dawn stopped crying and smiled at her mother.

“Come on.” Dorothy turned and made for the station entrance. A porter pushed across her path with a heap of luggage and she stopped. She turned to face her mother.

“But what will Lewis think? He will go to the station to meet us and we will not be there. He will go mad with worry.” She turned back.

“Worry does not hurt, in the long run, Dorothy, if there is no reason for it,” said Jotin. “Go home with your mother now and get the ferry tomorrow. Then you will know why I stopped you buy
ing a return ticket yesterday.”

Dorothy hesitated. Then she started moving back towards the platform. Dawn began to grizzle again and her mother stopped and looked down into the little face.

“So, what do you think, hen? Will we go back to the nice doctor? Or home to Daddy?”

“Ask one thing at a time, you silly girl. How can she answer that?” asked Jotin.

“She does not expect an answer,” said Mohmi. “It is so frustrating. They are so deaf this time. Getting deafer all the time. Learning as souls, progressing in other ways, but getting more and more difficult to guide. Come on, Dawn, yell again, it is the only way they will hear us.”

Dawn yelled again.

“Oh the poor mite,” said Rose, “she is frightened. Maybe of the doctor.”

“No, No, No,” shouted Jotin, Mohmi, and Rose’s guide together. “Of the train!”

Rose shuddered and pulled her shawl tighter around her.

“Someone’s walking over my grave,” she said.

“You go on home, mother and get warm. No point in us all shivering. Dawn and I will be all right, the train will be here soon. I hope I can get a seat away from a window, so I do not see the sea.”

“You and not looking at the sea! You will not see it anyway now, it is pitch black out there.”

“Another good reason for going now and not waiting for tomorrow.”

“Well, goodbye, my love. Write to me tomorrow.” Rose kissed her daughter and bent forward to kiss Dawn, whose tear-stained face looked back up at her with an unfathomable expression.

“TaTa little one. Be a good bairn for mummy. Wouldn’t you love to know what she is thinking? Such a face, wee Dawn.” She kissed the baby and turned away.

“Wouldn’t you just? It would be so much easier for all of us, if the people who could hear us could talk. Little Dawn will stop understanding us soon,” said Jotin, waving ruefully at Rose’s guide as she and
Rose walked away.

Dawn wailed and howled all the way through the queue, past the ticket inspector and onto the train. Dorothy took a seat and tried to nurse Dawn under her shawl, but Dawn just cried. Another young mother got on and sat opposite Dorothy. They smiled at each other as the two babies protested.

At last the train doors slammed shut, whistles were blown and the train began to move. Dorothy stood up and went to the door, her hand going impulsively to the handle.

“Yes, yes ! Pull it, quickly. Or better, pull the cord!” Jotin’s voice was full of energy.
Dorothy looked up at the emergency cord and at the warning sign beside it about improper use. Her hand fell to her side and she turned and sat down, smiling a little shamefacedly at the woman in the seat opposite, who looked at her with raised eyebrows.

“I do not know what came over me,” Dorothy said, surprising herself utterly, “I just suddenly wanted to get off. Whatever would they have thought of me if I had jumped out when we were moving! Or worse, if I had pulled the cord, for no good reason.”

“That’s what you think. You should stop letting your fear of people’s opinions cloud your judgements. You wouldn’t have burnt to death in France if you hadn’t been so keen on making the peasants like you and had just run away like I told you. Oh, no, here I am babbling again. It gets so frustrating, when you do not even hear my clear instructions.” Jotin slumped down onto the seat and leant his head against the window.
The train gathered speed and swayed a little as it rattled through the night.

“I don’t think there is any more we can do,” said Mohmi, her voice and her energies wilting, “except get ready to speak to them face to face again. I do not think she will get out at a strange station, no matter how hard Dawn cries. Especially not at night.  You can stop crying, Dawn.”

“We can put them to sleep, so they do not know. One less fear to carry forward, maybe,” said Jotin, as he hovered beside Dorothy, trying to soothe her energies with his, and directing her attention to her ticket.

Dorothy took her ticket out of her pocket and laid it on the seat beside her. She looked at it, wondered why she had done that and was about to put it away again, when Dawn cried. She lifted the weary baby to her face and kissed her.

“Well done, Dawn. You can go to sleep now. Night night, Dawn, I’ll see you soon. I have the easier job, look. Crying babies are always tired,” said Mohmi.

“I will give Dorothy a dream. She can remember when the baby was born and the moon was setting in the summer sky, and sunlight was just beginning to tinge the horizon. And her Moonsong arrived once more into the world and cried with happiness to see the moon again, and once more was named for it. As near as her parents could manage, in this culture with meaningless names. And how the baby smiled, only a few minutes after her birth, to be welcomed so. There, she is asleep, and remembering.”
Dorothy’s eyes were closed and her breathing was steady, blowing a tendril of golden hair with each breath.
“I will just go and warn Trynor, to be ready. Poor Lewis.” Jotin was back in a moment, his face grim. He and Mohmi sat,
as the train rumbled north, through the night, juddering in the wind. It stopped at several stations, there was a noise of slamming doors and whistles, but Dorothy and Dawn slept on. At St. Fort station the train stopped again and in a moment the door was pulled open, allowing a gust of smoky air into the compartment. The ticket inspector stuck his head in.

“Anyone getting off in Dundee? Tickets please.”

“The other lady put hers on the seat,” said the young woman as she handed over her ticket.  “She must be exhausted, she has slept the whole way.”

The inspector picked up Dorothy’s ticket, nodded to the young woman and slammed the door. A whistle blew and the train shuddered forwards. In a few minutes, the noise of the wheels changed as the train rattled out onto the bridge over the River Tay. Dorothy and Dawn still slept. As the storm winds hit and the bridge suddenly gave way, the night filled with screams and the noise of grinding metal as the train fell. Dorothy heard nothing as she and Dawn shot out of their seats, hitting their heads on the roof of the carriage as it came down to meet them. They were both unconscious as the train plunged down into the dark water and silence closed over it.

Mohmi and Jotin were waiting to gather them in.

Lewis woke early and lay listening to the quietness in the street. The wind had dropped and the sun was trying to break through. He stoked up the fire so that it would be bright and cheery when he got home with Dorothy. It would save her having to think about the fire, which always seemed to bother her. Strange, when she had never been burned. “Far too careful,” Dorothy’s mother had said, when he asked her once, trying to find a reason for such a strong fear. “No, she never went near the fire, even when she first crawled. I never needed to watch her, not like the others, who all seemed bent on getting themselves burnt: many’s a time I had to butter sore little fingers.”

Lewis put the guard in front of the fire, bundled himself up in his warm coat and set off again for the station. It was a pleasant walk, with a watery sun warming him. He hurried as he got closer to the station, anxious to hear when the train was scheduled to arrive, hoping Dorothy had not had to wait for him. He began to notice groups of people, standing around the entrance to the station, and an unnatural stillness, punctuated by crying. He stopped at the top of the stairs, suddenly frightened. He looked at two young women who were coming up, tears streaming down their faces.