The Blue Sapphire

by D. E. Stevenson

  Then suddenly she remembered the sapphire; she was wearing it all the time in the little bag, tied round her neck. She sat down and took it out and looked at it, holding it in the palm of her hand. It was beautiful, of course—it was always beautiful—but to-day it did not shine and glow as brightly as usual. Well, of course not! thought Julia. ‘This is a gem that feels the influence of the air and sympathises with the heavens and does not shine equally if the sky be cloudy or bright.’ Poor sapphire! How could it shine when the sky was leaden and the rain was running down the window?

  Julia held it in her hand and thought of Stephen . . . and wondered if by any chance Stephen happened to be thinking of her. She thought about Gemscoombe and tried to remember all that Stephen had told her about his home: the old rambling house with the huge cellars where the ‘Gentlemen’ had kept their smuggled wares; the orchard at the back with the old gnarled apple trees; the cliff with the sea below. She thought of the waves lapping on the rocks and the seagulls soaring and diving.

  The hours dragged on. The daylight faded and the room became dim . . . and still Julia waited. She began to think they must have forgotten about her. She began to wonder what she should do. Supposing they had forgotten that she was here, waiting! Perhaps she would be left here all night.

  Suddenly the door opened and there was Neil . . . and Neil looked so strange, so haggard and drawn and old, that she scarcely recognised him.

  ‘Come quickly,’ Neil said.

  She was so frightened that she was turned to stone.

  ‘Come,’ said Neil, seizing her hand. ‘Mr. MacTavish sent me to fetch you. Come quickly.’

  *

  2

  The room was very quiet and shadowy; there was a light on the table beside Uncle Randal’s bed. The window was wide open. Mr. MacTavish was there—and Sister Don.

  Mr. MacTavish came forward and put his hand on Julia’s shoulder. ‘I want you to speak to him,’ he said. ‘Speak to him; tell him who you are. Try to rouse him.’

  She went and knelt beside the bed.

  ‘Speak to him,’ repeated Mr. MacTavish. ‘Speak loudly.’

  ‘Uncle Ran, darling!’ cried Julia.

  He lay there without moving; his eyes closed; his face as white as paper. Even his lips were colourless.

  ‘Uncle Ran! It’s me—Julia! Uncle Ran, you know me, don’t you?’

  His eyelids flickered for a moment; his eyes opened but they were vague and wandering.

  ‘Speak to him,’ said Mr. MacTavish urgently. ‘Take his hand.’

  She took his hand, it was cold and limp, and she went on speaking. ‘Uncle Ran! You know me, don’t you! It’s Julia. I’ve been waiting for you to wake up. You’re awake now, aren’t you? Look at me, darling! You know who I am. I’m Julia.’

  His eyes found her face and slowly a look of recognition dawned in them. His lips moved and formed a word, ‘Julia . . .’

  ‘Yes, darling,’ she said clearly. ‘It’s Julia.’ She gave his hand a firm squeeze. ‘Dear, darling Uncle Ran, I’m here beside you. I’m your very own Julia. You’re pleased to see me, aren’t you?’

  His lips moved. ‘It’s a joy . . .’ he whispered.

  Julia tried to go on talking but she could say no more. The lump in her throat was choking her.

  For a few moments he looked at her in the old kind way and then his eyelids flickered and closed. . . .

  She knelt there gazing at him in consternation, too terrified to speak, too terrified to move.

  Neil had been standing behind her, he lifted her up and half-carried her out of the room.

  She heard Mr. MacTavish say, ‘Poor lassie, she’s upset—and no wonder! Bring her in here, Logan. This room is empty. You had better stay with her a while till she feels better.’

  ‘I’m all right,’ she said. ‘Neil, I’m all right. I’m not going to faint or anything silly.’

  ‘Of course you’re all right,’ declared Neil, putting her down on the bed. ‘Just lie still for a few minutes.’

  ‘Neil, I did my best. I tried to—to speak to him.’

  ‘You did exactly what we wanted you to do.’

  ‘But—but it was no use,’ she said in a choking voice.

  ‘It was splendid,’ Neil told her. ‘He went to sleep——’

  ‘He went to sleep! Are you sure?’

  ‘Of course I’m sure; I was watching. He recognised you and then he drifted off to sleep, holding your hand.’

  ‘Neil, you must go and see!’ exclaimed Julia. ‘See if he’s really and truly asleep. Come back and tell me.’

  Neil went away and Julia lay there waiting for him to come back; her heart was thumping so hard that she could scarcely breathe.

  Presently he came back and shut the door. ‘He’s asleep and Sister Don says the pulse is slightly stronger. If he’s better in the morning they’ll be able to give him a transfusion.’

  ‘Does that mean . . .’

  ‘It means he has a chance,’ said Neil seriously. ‘There’s a chance of his pulling through. Mr. MacTavish says you’re to stay here for the night . . . just in case they want you again. See?

  ‘Stay here?’

  ‘Yes, you don’t mind, do you?’

  ‘I don’t mind anything,’ said Julia. She lay still with the tears flowing out of her eyes and down her cheeks unchecked.

  *

  3

  Some time later Sister Don came in and turned on the light. ‘We’ll get you to bed,’ she said briskly. ‘Matron lent me a nightdress for you, and here’s a new toothbrush. It’s lucky this room happens to be empty; you’ll be quite comfortable here.’

  She helped Julia to undress and to put on the very large blue cotton nightdress, and tucked her up in bed.

  ‘You ought to have a strong sedative,’ she declared. ‘That’s what you need, but Mr. MacTavish said not unless it was absolutely necessary, in case you’re wanted in the night.’

  ‘Of course not! If he wakes you must come for me at once.’

  ‘Yes, I’ll come for you. Don’t you worry about that.’

  Suddenly Julia sat up in bed and exclaimed, ‘Oh goodness! How frightful! I’d forgotten poor Maggie!’

  ‘It’s all right about “poor Maggie,”’ said Sister Don, smiling. ‘Mr. Logan asked me to tell you that he had phoned to “poor Maggie.” I had no idea who she was, but he just said that was the message and you would understand.’

  ‘Oh, thank you! It was awful of me to forget.’

  ‘Mr. Logan didn’t forget. He’s a great lad is Mr. Logan.’

  ‘Yes, he is.’

  ‘We’re all pleased about his good fortune; nearly everybody is pleased. Of course there are a few who were hoping for the post themselves and you couldn’t expect them to be pleased, could you?’

  Sister Don had been tidying the room as she spoke and now she came and looked at Julia. ‘Don’t worry too much,’ she said kindly.

  ‘Do you think he’s going to get better?’

  She nodded. ‘I think so,’ she said. ‘In my experience—and I’ve had a good deal of experience—it’s spirit that counts. I’ve seen patients give up the struggle and lie down and die . . . but he’s not that kind. There’s plenty of spunk in Mr. Harburn. So don’t worry too much but just turn over and go to sleep.’

  ‘You’ll waken me if you want me.’

  ‘Yes, that’s what you’re here for, isn’t it?’ said Sister Don, smiling.

  Julia turned over but she did not go to sleep. She lay awake thinking of all that had happened. Something very mysterious had happened; Uncle Ran had been a long way off and he had come back to her when she called to him . . . so perhaps now he would stay with her. ‘I’d have liked to stay with you a little longer’—that was what he had said—so that was why he had come back.

  Julia had prayed earnestly that Uncle Ran might stay with her; and now, as she lay quietly in bed, a peaceful feeling crept into her heart—and she knew—yes, she knew quite definitely that her prayer was answered.r />
  *

  4

  Several hours passed. Everything was quiet except for occasional soft footsteps in the passage and the sound of a church clock striking. It struck twelve and one and two. Soon after that the door opened and Sister Don looked in.

  ‘Are you awake, Miss Harburn?’ she whispered.

  ‘Yes. Shall I come?’

  ‘He wakened and I gave him a drink but he’s a little restless. It might put him off to sleep if you came in and let him see you. Speak to him quietly for a minute or two. You could say a poem to him or perhaps a psalm. It’s the sound of a familiar voice that matters, not the words.’

  He was lying on his back as before. Julia knelt down and took his hand . . . this time there was no need to tell him who it was.

  ‘Julia!’ he whispered in surprise.

  ‘Yes, darling, here I am. It was too late to go home to Leddiesford last night so they gave me a room next door. I’m very comfortable there. You’re better, darling; I can see you’re better. It makes me so happy. You mustn’t talk . . . not a word. Sister wants you to go to sleep again, see?’

  There was a slight pressure on her hand.

  Sister had told her to say a poem or a psalm—it was the voice not the words that mattered—but what should she say? Not the twenty-third psalm, though that was her favourite. She would never be able to say that. ‘Yea, though I walk through the Valley of the Shadow of Death’ . . . no, no! Impossible! She began to say the first thing that came into her head (though why it should have come into her head Julia did not know). She had not said it since she was a child, had not thought of it, did not even know that she remembered it until she began:

  ‘Then the little Hiawatha

  Learned of all the birds their language,

  Learned their names and all their secrets,

  How they built their nests in summer,

  Where they hid themselves in winter,

  Talked to them when e’er he saw them.

  Called them Hiawatha’s chickens. . . .’

  She saw a tiny smile curling round the corners of his mouth, so she went on—forgetting a few words here and there but remembering most of it: all about the beavers and the squirrels and the rabbits, and about Hiawatha walking through the forest ‘proudly with his bow and arrows and the birds sang round him, o’er him, “Do not shoot us, Hiawatha!” Sang the robin, sang the blue-bird, “Do not shoot us, Hiawatha!”’

  Presently she saw that he had fallen asleep, so she stood up.

  Sister Don’s arm went round her and led her back to bed. ‘You’ll get a sedative now, anyway,’ she said, blowing her nose violently.

  ‘Perhaps I’d better not. I mean——’

  ‘You’ll do as you’re told,’ said Sister Don crossly.

  Julia did as she was told. Who could gainsay Sister Don when she spoke like that?

  Chapter Forty-One

  The following morning Julia was obliged to go home without seeing Uncle Randal. Sister Don told her he was stronger and was having a blood transfusion.

  ‘Come and see him to-morrow,’ she said.

  Unfortunately, however, Julia was unable to go to Edinburgh as had been arranged. That night when she was sitting in the study she began to feel rather queer.

  ‘You’re just worn out; that’s what’s the matter with you,’ declared Maggie. ‘You’ll go to your bed and maybe you’ll be better in the morning.’

  Julia went to bed and awoke with a raging cold. Besides feeling ill and miserable she was very angry indeed . . . how maddening to get a cold just now—just now when it was so important that she should be fit and well so that she could go and see Uncle Ran! Julia scarcely ever had colds, which made it a great deal more maddening. She explained all this to Maggie.

  ‘It’s just ridiculous,’ said Julia. ‘Where on earth can I have got it?’

  ‘It doesna matter where you got it; you’ve got it,’ replied Maggie sensibly. ‘You’ll just need to keep your bed till you’re better. It would be a deal more ridiculous to go and see him and maybe give him a cold.’

  This was true, of course, so Julia was obliged to give in and to content herself with sending messages and hearing news by phone from Neil and Sister Don. One day Uncle Randal was better and the next day not so well; the following day he was a good deal better . . . so it went on. Julia was worried, she longed to go and see him with her own eyes.

  It was a whole week before Julia felt it was perfectly safe for her to visit the patient and she had heard so many varying accounts of his condition that she did not know what to expect . . . but when she walked into his room and saw him sitting up and reading his beloved Blackwood’s her delight knew no bounds.

  ‘Darling, you’re simply marvellous!’ she exclaimed.

  He chuckled. ‘Yes, I’m fine. The old horse has been given a new lease of life. I thought he was just about ready for the knacker’s yard but it seems I was mistaken. Are those violets, Julia? What a kind wee lassie! I’ll have them near me on the table so that I can smell them.’

  Julia found a little vase and arranged the violets as he wanted.

  ‘Are you better, my dear?’ he asked anxiously.

  She nodded. ‘It was only a cold, that’s all. I was furious about it! Fancy getting a stupid cold just now, when I wanted to come and see you!’

  ‘These things happen,’ said Uncle Ran, smiling. ‘Did Maggie look after you well?’

  ‘Maggie and I are getting on fine We’re very chief.’

  ‘You’re not to make me laugh!’ he exclaimed in alarm. ‘It’s sheer agony to laugh.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry. I’ll speak plain English. We’re great friends, Maggie and I. She tells me all about her relations.’

  ‘Maggie’s relations are no great shakes.’

  ‘I gathered that. Sometimes in the evenings she comes and sits in the study and we have a chat.’

  ‘That’s good of you, my dear.’

  ‘It isn’t good of me; we both enjoy it. She tells me stories and——’

  ‘Tells you stories!’ exclaimed Uncle Ran in horrified tones. ‘What sort of stories?’

  Julia laughed. ‘Stories about things that happened long ago in Leddiesford. It’s very interesting, Uncle Ran.’

  He shook his head as much as to say there was no accounting for tastes.

  ‘Oh, I met Mrs. Lang one day,’ said Julia. ‘We went down to Leddiesford together in the bus. She said she was going to send you some sweet-peas to cheer you up and to remind you that she and the boys are thinking of you.’

  Uncle Randal nodded. ‘They’re a nice family. The eldest lad was a bit wild and troublesome for a while but he’s settled down now. Did she say how wee Jamie was getting on at school?’

  Julia tried to remember what Mrs. Lang had said about Jamie’s progress, but it was difficult, for she had been worried and upset. She remembered about the boys’ club, so she told him that.

  ‘Yes, yes, the lads enjoy it,’ said Uncle Randal, nodding. He smiled and added, ‘How’s the little Hiawatha, Julia?’

  ‘It was a silly thing to say to you, wasn’t it?’

  ‘It was a nice sleepy thing to say. I’m very fond of the little Hiawatha so it was pleasant to be reminded of him.’

  ‘I didn’t know you were listening—not properly listening,’ Julia explained. She rose as she spoke, for she thought he had talked enough.

  ‘I was listening in my dreams,’ he told her. ‘Julia, you’re not to go yet!’

  ‘I thought you were looking a little tired.’

  ‘Sit down,’ he said. ‘It’s important . . . and it won’t take long. I don’t want you to go back to that job in London—selling hats. Those girls were disagreeable to you.’

  ‘Yes, but it’s quite a good job and it would be difficult for me to get anything else. That’s the trouble.’

  ‘There’s no need for you to get a job at all,’ he said earnestly. ‘I’d like you to feel that The Square House was your home.’

  ‘Oh,
how kind of you, Uncle Ran!’

  ‘It’s sheer selfishness,’ he told her. ‘Of course I’m not suggesting that you should stay with me all the time—you can come and go as you please—but just make it your headquarters until you get married and have a home of your own.’

  ‘Who said I was going to be married?’ cried Julia in alarm.

  ‘Nobody. Nobody at all,’ he replied, with a little chuckle. ‘But there’s always a chance that some misguided man might take a fancy to you.’

  Julia laughed.

  ‘Well, anyway,’ he said. ‘You’ll not go back to that hat-shop, will you, Julia? I just can’t bear the thought of it.’

  ‘I promise not to leave you until you’re quite well,’ said Julia reassuringly.

  ‘In that case I’ll take my time about getting quite well.’

  For a few moments there was silence.

  ‘I’m a bit sleepy. I think I’ll just—take a wee nap,’ said Uncle Randal dreamily.

  She looked at him and saw to her surprise that his eyes were closed; he had begun to breathe rhythmically. Beyond doubt Uncle Ran was fast asleep! She tiptoed out of the room and closed the door very carefully.

  Sister Don was in the pantry arranging flowers, so Julia stopped to speak to her.

  ‘He’s asleep,’ said Julia anxiously. ‘He was talking . . . and then suddenly he was asleep. Is that all right?’

  ‘Oh yes, they often doze off in the middle of a conversation. He can’t have too much sleep: it’s the best thing for him. He’s looking wonderful, isn’t he?’

  ‘Wonderful.’

  ‘It’s his spirit,’ declared Sister Don. ‘He’s made up his mind to get better and that’s a good deal more than half the battle. He often talks about going home and being with you and going for little walks with you, Miss Harburn. You must have mentioned it to him some time.’

  ‘Yes, I did.’

  ‘It’s a good thing to have something like that to look forward to,’ said Sister Don, nodding.

  *

  2

  Uncle Randal’s request that Julia should make her home with him was very kind indeed. She knew that he really meant it and that it would give him pleasure; he was looking forward to coming home and being with her. Julia herself was looking forward to it; she was devoted to him, and of course it would be delightful to feel that The Square House was her home . . . but how could she pay her way unless she had a job? Yes, that was the trouble Her only source of income was the hundred pounds a year which had been left to her by her mother, and that would not go far.