The Shadow of the Sycamores (11 page)

She lay for a few more minutes but the urge to go to his aid was too strong and she swung her feet out of bed and into her slippers. Then, pulling on her wrap, she stepped quietly out of her room. She had meant to go directly to the boy but decorum prevailed and she tapped on her parents’ door first.

Her father did not laugh at her fears as she had been rather afraid he might but lit the cruisie lamp at his bedside, threw on his dressing-robe and led the way along to the sitting room. Even in the dim flickering light, she could see the beads of perspiration rolling down Henry’s face and neck and she held up the small lamp willingly so that her father could examine him.

‘Abby! Abby!’ Henry moaned suddenly.

‘He is raving with the fever,’ Joseph whispered. ‘We must get his temperature down as quickly as possible. Ask your mother to bring us a bowl of cold water and a piece of flannel and you can bathe his body while I loosen the bandaging. Infection must have set in after all and, if we do not arrest it, the poison will travel all the way up his arm and straight to his heart.’

When his wife came through with the requested articles, she took one look at their patient and whispered, ‘It’s touch and go, isn’t it?’

Joseph nodded. ‘Get the fire going in the kitchen as quickly as you can, Catherine, and, while you wait for the kettle to boil, look out an old pillowcase or something that will be stronger than these flimsy bandages. Then make a bread poultice with the boiling water and try not to let it cool. We will have to keep applying poultices until …’ He pointed to the angry crimson line that stretched from the swollen cut almost to the youth’s shoulder, ‘Until we get rid of that.’

‘Abby! Where’s … Abby?’ For a few seconds, Henry thrashed about but he calmed down when Fay started tenderly sponging his face and neck and a little way down his chest, drawing back when she encountered a layer of curly hair. She felt her pulses quicken at this. She had once seen her father with his shirt and Under off and he had only had a few straggly hairs on his chest. Did this thatch mean that Henry was more of a man, more virile, than her father?

The thought was swept aside when Henry opened his eyes. He looked around him, quite alarmed at seeing the man and the girl, two strangers, hovering over him and a woman looking over the girl’s shoulder.

‘It is all right, my boy,’ Joseph soothed. ‘You had an accident and the wound festered but we will soon have you as right as rain.’

Wringing out the flannel in the cold water again, Fay mopped his brow, smiling when his eyes turned to her inquisitively. ‘I’m Fay, remember?’

A trace of recognition flickered but, in a moment, the eyes took on a new haunted look. ‘Abby?’ he muttered. ‘Where’s Abby?’

Hoping to soothe him, Fay murmured, ‘Abby will be here shortly.’

That seemed to ease his mind and he lay still once more, although he did wince when Joseph applied another skin-blistering hot poultice.

Fay’s fears lessened. The dangerous line on his arm had fallen back and what there was of it was not nearly so red. The fever was abating – he was on the road to recovery.

Instead of the extreme happiness she should have felt when her father announced that their patient was out of danger, she was dismayed to find herself wishing that he would not recover properly, that he would never have to return to The Sycamores, that he could stay with her for ever and ever. For the few hours that were left of the night, she wove dreams of them courting, marrying, having children.

A single thought drove her abruptly back to reality. Who was the Abby he had called for in his delirium? He must be really fond of her – maybe even loved her? Disconcerted, Fay made up her mind to forget Henry Rae when he left. There was no earthly reason why they should ever meet again. No reason whatsoever. Was there?

*    *    *

Henry was still quite weak when Catherine Leslie dropped him off at The Sycamores and Janet managed to persuade Innes Ledingham to let him go home for a week or so to recover properly. ‘He won’t be able to do much here anyway,’ she went on, to stress her point.

Not altogether happy about this, the Superintendent instructed young Roddy to take Henry to Corrieben Halt, where he would get a train to take him to Ardbirtle. The ‘invalid’ did not argue about being given time off work. He knew perfectly well that he was no use to man or beast at the moment, as farmers might put it, and it would be good to see his sister again. He had neglected her shamefully.

With only two trains per day stopping at Ardbirtle, it was early evening before he arrived at Abby’s house.

‘Oh, Lordy, Henry, what a fleg you gave me,’ she exclaimed, when he walked in without knocking. Then the shock in her eyes changed to concern. ‘Why’s your arm in a sling? What happened? Are you all right? You’re awful white!’

‘I cut my hand wi’ a scythe,’ he explained, sitting down as the weakness took a greater toll on him. He’d only had a short walk from the station but it had sapped what little strength he had. ‘I havena to go back till a week on Sunday.’ Noticing that his sister was looking embarrassed now, he added, ‘If that’s all right wi’ you?’

‘It’s fine, Henry. It’s just … ach, what does it matter? I’d better tell you.’

‘Aye?’ he urged, sensing that she was unwilling to come out with it.

She took a deep breath. ‘Well, you see, me and Pogie have been … he’s been coming here when he finishes his work every night …’

‘You and Pogie Laing?’ Henry’s tone disclosed what he felt about this liaison. ‘Don’t say you’re taking up wi’
him
, Abby? You’re not …
sleeping
wi’ him?’

‘No, no!’ She was as appalled by this idea as her brother was. ‘He just comes for his supper, then we sometimes go for a walk if it’s fine but sometimes … we bide in … just speaking.’

‘Just speaking? Is that it?’

‘Some kissing and hugging but nothing else. Honest, Henry, I wouldn’t let him do one thing he shouldn’t.’

‘I would hope no’! The thing is, though, maybe he’ll nae aye
stop when you tell him. Once a man’s body gets fired up …’

‘Oh, Henry, what do you ken aboot it? You surely haven’t …?

‘No, I haven’t, but Janet once tell’t me.’

‘Janet? How did she come to be telling you that kind o’ thing?’

‘It was when we were at Craigdownie and the other lads were tormenting me and I didna ken what they meant so I asked her.’

‘Oh.’ After considering this and apparently being satisfied that he was telling the truth, she said, shyly, ‘I think Pogie’s near ready to ask me for his wife.’

‘Is that what you want?

‘It is, Henry,’ she whispered, face flaming. ‘He’s maybe not the best catch in the world but him and me get on just fine.’

Henry could hardly believe that a girl as attractive as Abby would want to tie herself to a man as unattractive as the Pogie Laing he remembered. His teeth were too big for his mouth, sticking out so his lips couldn’t meet. His head was too big for his body, though it must be more than half-empty, for he hadn’t much of a brain. Not only that, he had always been a smarmy king of lad, a ‘creeping Jesus’, Gramma used to describe him and he’d picked the right job. A funeral undertaker’s assistant! Still, if he was what Abby wanted …

‘Well, I hope things work out for you.’

‘They will, Henry. I’m sure they will’

By the end of his short stay, Henry, too, was sure of it. Pogie Laing was much more presentable than he used to be, his face seemed to have grown to contain his teeth, although it remained to be seen if his brain had grown to fill his head. He had never been a great talker but it was quite evident how he felt about Abby. His eyes followed her with a dog-like devotion, he helped her to set the table, to dry the dishes after the meal and lay them away. He even brought in coal and chopped sticks – all the chores of a married man without any of the benefits, Henry mused in bed on his last night there. Abby could do an awful lot worse.

What about himself, though? His heart was set on Fay Leslie but he wasn’t good enough for her. It would probably be better all round if he left things as they were. He would only make a fool of himself if he told her how he felt.

In the morning, a blushing Abby said, shyly, ‘Pogie asked me last night.’

Not understanding, her brother asked something he had wondered about for years.

‘Why do they cry him Pogie? What’s his real name?’

‘He was baptised Clarence but when he was a wee laddie and his Granda took his pipe off the mantelpiece, he used to hand him the packet of Bogie Roll and shout, “Pogie, Ga-da?” And the name just stuck.’

Henry couldn’t help laughing at this. ‘I suppose Pogie suits him a lot better than Clarence. Now, what were you saying about last night?’

‘He asked me to marry him … and I said yes.’

‘Oh … well … ach, I’m pleased for you, Abby. He’s changed a lot since I mind on him and he thinks the world o’ you.’

‘I think the world o’ him and all. I want to tell you something else, Henry.’

‘Go on, then, for I’ll need to be leaving in a wee while.’

‘We’re not having a big wedding but … I’m going to ask Father and Nessie.’ His frown made her carry on before he could say anything. ‘Pogie’s got his father and mother and two brothers and three sisters and I’ve only Father and you … and Nessie.’

‘There’s Jeannie and Bella and Kitty,’ he reminded her.

‘They canna afford to come and, if I write and invite them, they’ll think I want them to send a present. You’ll come, though, Henry?’

‘Have you set the date?’

‘Not yet but I’ll let you ken.’

‘I’d like fine to come but … Father and Nessie …’

‘They’ve mellowed. They visit me at least once a fortnight. Nessie sometimes comes on her own and asks how I’m managing.
She’s offered me money more than once, though I never take it. So, will you come, Henry?’

Not wanting to spoil his sister’s happiness, he smiled, ‘I’ll do my best.’

Back at The Sycamores, Henry was excused from all heavy work for another week, but he soon grew worried by Janet’s obvious unease whenever the Superintendent was around. It was a few days, however, before he got the chance to ask her what was worrying her. At first, she denied that anything was wrong, but he said, ‘Do you not trust me enough to tell me? I thought we were closer than that.’

She gave in. ‘It’s Innes.’

‘I thought it might be. Has he taken up wi’ somebody else?’

‘Just the opposite. You see, he’s been trying for ages to get me to sleep with him and, when I kept refusing, he said he would marry me if it wasn’t for the two obstacles.’

Henry nodded. ‘Your mother and his wife?’

‘Exactly. Well, Ma passed away just days after that … and now …’

‘I suppose he’s saying his wife’s going to divorce him?’

‘Worse than that, Henry. He says she’s died and all.’

‘You think it’s a lie … to get you to …?’

‘I hardly like to think that.’

‘If it’s true, would you marry him?’

‘If I was sure it was true, I would.’

‘Janet, a man in his position wouldna tell lies. I’m sure you’re worrying over nothing. If he does offer marriage, jump at it. You deserve to be happy.’

She patted his shoulder. ‘Thank you, Henry. You’ve made me feel a lot better. What about you, though? Have you found yourself a lass?’

‘I’ve found somebody I’d like to be my lass but that’ll never happen.’

Intrigued, Janet persisted, ‘Is she anybody I know?’

‘It’s Fay Leslie.’

‘The druggist’s lassie? Why can it never happen?’

‘She would never look at the likes o’ me.’

‘That’s daft, Henry, and you’ll never find out unless you go and ask her.’

‘You think I should?’

‘Of course you should!’

Janet’s encouragement being all he needed, Henry set off on foot for Drymill the following Sunday just after eleven o’clock. It wasn’t much more than three miles so he didn’t need to borrow the old bicycle that Max had bought at a roup a few months before. Besides, why should he tell Max where he was going? Max never told him.

Arms swinging, heart beating just that tiny bit faster at the thought of seeing Fay again, he stepped out confidently once he was on the road. The time and the distance passed quickly as he planned what to say, his thoughts interrupted every now and then by the sight of a pheasant crossing a field, with her wee chicks trailing behind her, or a rabbit scuttling to reach his burrow or a flock of starlings darkening the sky as they flew south for the winter.

The coldness of the bright October morning did not bother him – his steady pace kept him warm – and it wasn’t until he came to the first house in the village that the doubts began and the impetus left him. Should he carry on? This journey was a complete waste of time. How could he expect a girl like Fay, middle class, well educated – she had likely gone to one of the academies – to consider him as a suitor? Of course, being the girl she was, she would try not to hurt his feelings. She would turn him down as gently as she could but it would still be painful.

He had slowed down and almost abandoned his mission before reaching the chemist’s shop but something made him keep moving … straight on, past his intended target. He wasn’t quite ready yet. He needed some more time to prepare himself.

Fay had been tidying up the little storeroom behind the shop, the place where her father did his dispensing; where she made
up the pills the patients needed and put them in little round, labelled boxes; where the powders – sleeping, laxative and other kinds – were placed on squares of paper and folded in a special way to stop spillage. Her parents had gone to church and it was her turn to stay behind in case someone needed something – only medications prescribed by the doctor, of course. It was against the law to sell anything else on a Sunday.

Every shelf and bottle as neat as she could make it, she went into the shop itself to see the time. Quarter past twelve. It was difficult to know exactly when her parents would be home because the minister had a habit of not bringing his sermon to an end until folk were beginning to fidget in their seats. Furthermore, they usually stopped to speak to friends – being the chemist, her father was known to every family in Drymill and miles around.