The Shadow of the Sycamores (4 page)

‘Father could stop you. He
is
your father.’

‘So he says.’

His sister’s chin dropped with pained shock at such a statement, her serious brown eyes were in danger of popping out of their sockets. ‘God’ll strike you dumb for saying things like that, Henry,’ she managed to whisper. ‘Of course he’s our father.’

‘Yours, maybe, but …’

‘You’re surely not hinting that Mother was … that she had another man? You’re mad to even think it. She’d four of us to look after even before you were born. What time had she for other men?’

Henry stopped, looking rather abashed. ‘I’m sorry, I was just teasing you – but it was a stupid thing to say.’ Little did he know that he had almost voiced a suspicion that was festering in the mind of Mary Jane Gow, whose husband had revealed his part in the secret of the boy’s real name when he was lying on his deathbed less than a month ago.

The sound of the back door opening again stopped what was fast developing into a quarrel and Abby tried to calm her rattled nerves as her father tiptoed into the kitchen. ‘She’s nae back yet?’ At Abby’s head shake, he sat down on his usual chair by the fire, laid his tweed cap on the fender-stool and held his hands out to the heat. ‘It’s that cold outside it’d freeze the words afore they left your mouth.’

Henry winked at a flustered Abby. ‘I’ve some good news, Father, but I want to wait till Nessie comes in.’

Looking up at the wag-at-the wa’ clock Nessie had brought with her when she moved in, Willie said, ‘She shouldna be long. She aye comes in dead on nine.’

No sooner had he said this than the clock gave a wheezy whirr and a little bird popped out to herald the passing of another hour. It had only given four hoarse ‘cuck … oos’ when they heard Nessie’s heavy feet approaching the front door.

‘My,’ she said breathlessly when she burst in, ‘you’re fine and cosy in here. Think yourselves lucky you didn’t have to go out. My hands and feet are like to drop off me.’

‘Abby’s got the kettle boiling for some tea,’ Willie prompted his daughter, who dutifully rinsed the teapot into the slop pail kept handy for such purposes.

Sensibly waiting until his stepmother’s hands and feet had thawed a little, Henry took up his stance centrally to the fire and Abby cowered her brown head down into her knitted jumper in dread of what he was going to say – or, rather, of what would happen once he said it. Thankfully, he made it short and to the point.

‘I’m going to Craigdownie on Sunday, for Jim Legge wants me to start work first thing on Monday morning. Isn’t that good news?’

He cast an apprehensive glance at Nessie now, waiting for her to erupt in anger, but was astonished to see her thin lips curved slightly upwards for a change. ‘Well, now, that
is
good news, isn’t it, Willie?’

The wind taken out of his sails, the arguments he had prepared remaining unsaid, Henry was even more surprised by the look of shame on his father’s face. ‘Aye, Nessie, it is that,’ he mumbled.

The boy couldn’t believe it. ‘You mean, you’re not saying I canna go?’

Nessie pursed her mouth for a moment. ‘It’s time you learned how to look after yourself. You’ll be bothying, I take it?’

‘Aye, but we’ll get our food in the farm kitchen.’ He felt
cheated. He had expected to put up a stand for the right to go and his stepmother was practically telling him she’d be glad to see the back of him. ‘Father?’ he asked, pleading for some show of affection, for a sign that he’d be missed – but the middle-aged man avoided his eyes.

It was Abby who cried, ‘No, Henry, you’re not old enough to be …’

‘Not old enough?’ Nessie barked. ‘It’s time he was earning a living and not leaving it to me and his father to feed and clad him. Speaking of that, wouldn’t you say it’s time you took a job and all?’

This did make Willie react. ‘No, no, Nessie. I agree with you that the lad should start learning how to fend for himself but let the lassie be.’

His wife’s brows plunged down. ‘See here, Willie Rae, I’ve been wed on you for a good few year now and not one single night have we had by ourselves. We should be able to do what we like, without wondering if the bairns’ll hear us.’

‘But she’s just fourteen and never been away from …’

‘It’s time she was out in the world meeting folk. How d’you expect her to find a man? Or do you want to be keeping her for the rest o’ your life? If that’s what you want, it’ll be without me!’

‘No, Nessie!’ His ruddy face had paled. ‘You’d not leave me, would you?’

‘Try me. It’ll be just me and you or it’ll be you and your precious lassie.’ She turned round and stuck her face close to the girl’s. ‘Is that what
you
want, eh? Would you like me out o’ the road so your father can come to your bed and …’

‘That’s enough!’ Willie shouted his outrage at this insult. ‘She doesna understand what you mean and, if I was any kind o’ man, I’d throw you out for saying it.’

Nessie smirked suddenly. ‘But you’re not any kind o’ man, are you? You’re a man that needs a woman like me, a woman that needs a man, isn’t that right? Eh?’

It was the truth and he dropped his head, too shamed to look his children in the eyes.

‘Never mind them, Abby,’ the boy soothed as he led his sister up the stairs, ‘you can come to Craigdownie with me on Sunday if you want. I’m sure they’ll have a job for you an’ all.’

But Abby was not to be comforted. ‘I canna bide here now,’ she moaned. ‘She wants rid o’ me. She’ll go on and on at me and punch me and …’

Somewhat self-consciously, Henry sat down on the bed beside her and slipped his arms around her. ‘I’ll tell you what. We’ll pack some things and go to Gramma. How about that?’

‘They’ll hear us going out.’

‘We’ll wait till they’re sleeping.’

Her face was miserably white but there was something she had to find out as they waited. ‘Henry, why did you say Father wasn’t your real father?’

He gave an embarrassed grin. ‘I didna really think he wasn’t. It was just … you four were girls.’

The doubt in her eyes clearing as an explanation struck her, Abby whispered, ‘But Gramma once said Father had been dying to get a son and he’d just got daughters.’

‘I thought he couldna make a son. That’s why I said he wasn’t my father.’

‘No, you’re wrong, Henry. He was that desperate for a boy, he’d no thought for anything else. No thought for Mother, really … not till after …’

‘I can’t remember what she looked like,’ he said, sadly.

‘You were only hours old when she died – I don’t remember much myself. I ken Gramma didn’t have much time for him but she said he really
had
loved Mother. He near went mad when she died, blaming himself and getting so drunk she thought he might do away wi’ himself. That’s why she was so hard on him.’

‘So Gramma never thought it was funny him getting a son after so long?’

‘No, she said it was just one of those things and it was, Henry.’

‘Aye, I suppose it was. Wheesht, here’s them coming up now.’

He kept his arm round his sister as the feet went along the landing, having to hold his breath when his father said, ‘I’d
maybe best look in to see they’re all right?’ and letting it out at Nessie’s hissed, ‘They’ll be sleeping, just leave them.’

Not until the house was as silent as the grave did Henry make a move and, within ten minutes, brother and sister were creeping through the back door, each carrying a pillowcase stuffed with clothes.

One knock on her street door was enough to have Isie McIntyre pulling back the heavy curtain at her bedroom window. At her age, she didn’t need as much sleep as she used to. ‘Abby! Henry!’ she exclaimed when she saw her unexpected callers. Forcing her stiff joints inside an old woollen cardigan to hide her well-worn wincey nightgown, she shuffled to the door to let them in, tutting when she saw their drawn faces properly.

Henry took over as spokesman. ‘We’ve run away – so would you please let us bide here, Gramma?’

Gathering that something was far wrong at Oak Cottage, Isie decided that now was not the time to ask questions. Her grandchildren were obviously far too upset to answer any and it was long past their bedtime. ‘It’s a good thing I aired out my spare bed yesterday,’ she smiled. ‘You can sleep there, Abby, and Henry can ha’e the couch in the parlour.’

Recognising from their looks of despair that they needed the comfort of being together, their grandmother ignored any thought of the impropriety of boy and girl, one in her teens, sleeping in the same bed. They were still only bairns, after all; young innocents, what harm could they come to? It would be all right – for one night, at least. Then she would have a try at being peacemaker, in the hope that they’d go back to Oak Cottage.

Despite having assured herself that nothing untoward would happen between them, Isie took a quick peep into her spare room after she had cleared up in the kitchen and was relieved to see Henry with his hand protectively on his sister’s shoulder, both sound asleep. Poor wee lambs, she thought, as she went through to her own bed.

A big pan was hottering on the range when the two youngsters made their appearance in the morning, looking, Isie was pleased to see, rather better than they had the night before. ‘Now then,’ she said, briskly, as she poured the breakfast into three deep bowls, ‘you can tell me your story once we’ve supped this porridge.’

Nothing was said until the bowls and the enamel mugs of milk were empty, then she raised her eyebrows encouragingly to the boy. ‘Come on then, Henry.’

Some moments later, as he came to a gulping halt, Isie was having to bite her tongue to stop her from voicing her opinion of their father for not standing up for them. It was terrible to think that Willie Rae had sided with that uncorseted mantrap against his own flesh and blood. But what was inside his breeks had aye been more important to him than what was inside his head, even when he was wed on her poor Bella – the filthy pig.

But it was these two hapless creatures she had to consider now. If she could afford it, she would gladly keep them for good but what she made from the washing and ironing she took in wouldn’t stretch to feeding two extra mouths.

‘The thing is, Gramma,’ Henry went on suddenly, ‘I’ll have to go to Craigdownie today, for Jim Legge said I’d to start first thing Monday morning.’

Isie had almost forgotten what had led to the row at Oak Cottage and couldn’t help being pleased that there was one less for her to worry about, although she was instantly ashamed of herself. They were of her flesh and blood and all, poor things. ‘Well now, Henry, if you dinna like it there or if things dinna turn oot the way you want, you’re welcome to come back here. We’ll manage somehow or other.’

Old enough to be aware of his grandmother’s poverty, the boy hurried on. ‘I’m going to ask Mr Legge if there’s a place for Abby and all. She’s done near all the housework for a few years now and she can sew and knit and darn and patch …’

‘Oh, Henry, stop!’ The girl was red with embarrassment.

‘Aye, laddie,’ Isie nodded, ‘you’ll not need to lay it on ower thick. That would put them right aff. Besides, there’s nae hurry.
She’ll be fine here wi’ me for a few …’ She broke off as a perfect solution struck her. ‘I’m nae getting any younger, I’ll be sixty-five in June so I’ll be glad of her company – and her help. Eh, lass, what d’you say? You could take in some sewing or mending and we’d manage fine.’

Shy Abby, having secretly dreaded the day when she would have to go out to work amongst strangers, sat back thankfully. ‘Oh, Gramma, I’ll work as hard as I can for you.’

Henry felt free to smile now. He had been worrying about Abby, about what would become of her if he couldn’t find employment for her, but this was something he had never expected. Jumping up, he bounded over to his grandmother and flung his arms round her. ‘Oh, Gramma! I’ve aye loved you best – better than anybody else – except Abby,’ he added, bringing his sister into his embrace.

Even knowing that he had an extremely long walk ahead of him, his heart was singing as he set out for Craigdownie and, as the saying goes, fortune favours the brave. He had been on the road for hardly twenty minutes when the carrier caught up with him, drawing the hefty Clydesdale to a halt.

‘Aye, Henry.’ Geordie Mavor was an old friend of the boy’s father, although neither frequented The Doocot as often as they had once done. ‘Where might you be heading for on a Sunday in sic’ a hurry?’

‘I’m starting at Craigdownie the morrow morning,’ Henry said proudly.

Geordie was suitably impressed. ‘Craigdownie, eh? Jim Legge’s a good boss, I’ve heard, a fair man, as long as you keep to his rules. Orra loon, I suppose?’

‘Aye and I’m prepared to work hard for him. He’ll not find any fault wi’ me.’

‘I’m pleased to hear that. Now, you’ve a good bit to go yet, so how about coming up beside me? I’m nae going as far as Craigdownie – just to Meikle Birtle to gi’e my brother a hand wi’ his flitting – but I’ll drop you aff as near as I can.’

‘Oh, thanks, Geordie,’ Henry said as he happily scrambled up on to the big cart.

The journey was lengthened by the various detours Geordie made to deliver odds and ends his wife was sending to her sisters but this didn’t bother Henry. As long as he reached his destination in time to have a decent sleep before starting work the next day that was all he needed. At least he was travelling on four wheels – maybe a bit hard on his backside but a lot easier on his feet.

Being the orra loon – the odd-job boy – wasn’t exactly as Henry Rae had envisioned. By the very name, he had known that the jobs would be dirty but he spent nearly all his time up to his elbows in muck
and
with his semmit sticking to his back with sweat. That in itself wouldn’t have been quite so bad if his sleeping quarters hadn’t been so awful.

On his first day, Mr Legge had explained that there was no room in the bothy for him and he would have to sleep in the hayloft. ‘It’s fine and cosy up there,’ the farmer had gone on, ‘and it’ll only be till old Watson admits it’s time for him to retire. Once he goes, young Charlie Simpson’ll get that house and he and Betsy can get wed.’ Noticing the uncertainty on the boy’s face, he had added, ‘You’ll get his place in the bothy, d’you see? A month or so at the longest.’