Moorland Mist

by Gwen Kirkwood

  ‘Mmm … something else needing a good scrub, I suppose. It may be falling to pieces but we’ll have a look up there when we get other things sorted out. You can go to bed if you like, Polly. Help yourself to a glass of milk if you want one.’

  Emma went to get the blankets from one of the wooden chests they had brought, and wondered why her mother had bothered to put a padlock on the bedding when the other, containing all her personal things as well as some household goods and table linen, was only fixed with leather straps.

  Wearily, she spread a clean sheet over the wide mattress and reached for the blankets, but when she pulled the first one out she saw there were several neatly-wrapped parcels snuggled amongst the folds of the one below. Curious, she tossed the blanket on the bed and opened the first parcel. She gasped when she discovered a silver cake basket. There was a neatly-written card attached which read My love and best wishes to you both, from Maggie. On a piece of paper she had written:

  Dearest Emma,

  I remember how much you enjoyed polishing Mother’s silver when we spring-cleaned the cabinet and when we used things for the New Year festivities. I hope you will take pleasure in these wedding gifts. Be happy.

  The next parcel was much bigger and wrapped in muslin and tied with string.

  ‘Oh my!’ Emma said aloud and clasped a hand to her mouth.

  She wished William was home to help her unpack and share the surprise. The parcel contained a silver tea and a coffee pot, with a matching cream jug and sugar bowl. It was from James Sinclair. There was a matching silver tray from Bessie.

  Emma barely knew William’s other siblings. Annie, the youngest sister, who had sent a beautifully embroidered tablecloth with a matching tray cloth and six napkins, or Robin and Jack who had sent more table and bed linen. Emma set them out on top of a chest of drawers to show to William when he came home. She was sure he would be touched and pleased, and she hoped he would not be too hurt that his mother had maintained her unforgiving silence.

  She spread the blanket over the bed, enjoying the scent of dried lavender which her mother always used when storing her bedding, then she lifted out the second blanket and the handmade quilt which she had seen her mother making, although she had not known it was for her and William. At the bottom of the chest there were two boxes wrapped in brown paper. Emma opened the larger one. It was a canteen of silver cutlery from Jim.

  ‘It’s so lovely,’ Emma breathed, feeling tears spring to her eyes.

  She wondered if Mrs Sinclair knew how kind and generous her family had been. How had they arranged everything without her knowing?

  The smaller box was wrapped in a pillow case and a large towel, and when Emma saw the beautifully inlaid top she knew at once it was a writing box from Davy, who had never once blamed her or said she had brought disgrace to the family. It had a small key taped to the bottom and when she inserted it into the lock, she saw that it was well-stocked with writing paper and envelopes. Tears sprang to her eyes as she remembered how desperate she had been for just one sheet of paper when she was at Aunt Vera’s. There was a small drawer containing two pens and spare nibs, a new pencil, and two sticks of sealing wax. Each neatly fitted into their compartments, were two sparkling glass ink bottles with silver tops. Beneath a small flap she found six postage stamps – everything she needed to write letters to her family, and the box itself was beautiful. She would treasure it always. There was a card in Davy’s neat handwriting, saying the gift was from him and Julie, sending their blessings and good wishes for a long and happy marriage. There was also a thick-sealed package addressed to her and William.

  Emma recognized her mother’s writing and sank onto the bed as she read the letter from her parents. They had enclosed twenty-five guineas from them, Richard and Joe. Emma knew how long it took to save a sum like that out of their meagre wages. Tears streamed down her cheeks at their generosity.

  We had planned to buy you a new outfit but we had not expected James Sinclair’s generosity or Maggie’s kindness and help. We have included the money we would have spent on your wedding day. I know there will be many things you will need to set up a home, but I pray you will set aside enough to buy train tickets back to Scotland if the farm does not work out. There will always be a roof and a bed for all of you here.

  Her mother went on to wish them happiness and good fortune. Her father and brothers had each added a short note too. Emma knew none of them found writing letters easy but she knew their words were sincere.

  Eventually, she finished making the bed and closed the lid of the trunk. She arranged everything on top of the tall chest of drawers for William to see. Weary now, she washed her face and undressed, ready for bed. It was getting dark so she lit the candle she had brought up with her in case Jamie wakened in the night. It was early for his last feed but Emma was tired. She wrapped her shawl around her and crept downstairs to leave a candle on the kitchen table for William. This was their first night together in their new home. She wished he had not needed to go out, or that he had not taken so long. Perhaps he already had friends in the village? He had said he needed her, but what he really wanted was a housekeeper, not a wife. She had been foolish to dream.

  She lifted Jamie, climbed into bed and put him to her breast. As usual, he was ready for his feed. Emma had every intention of staying awake to show William their wedding gifts, and share his surprise and pleasure but her eyelids closed.

  William was a lot later than he had intended but he was disappointed to find Emma had gone to bed without him. Her candle was still burning and Jamie slept contentedly in his improvised cot beside her. He knew she had worked hard all day and he knew he should have been home earlier, even though he had concluded some satisfactory business, yet he longed to demonstrate the passion he felt. He barely glanced at the wedding gifts as he undressed and climbed in beside Emmie.

  Jamie wakened earlier than usual and Emmie crept out of bed so that she would not disturb William. He looked younger and more vulnerable when he was sleeping. She wrapped herself in her shawl and went down to the kitchen. Polly came through shortly afterwards.

  ‘It’s only half past five,’ Emma said, glancing at the wig-wag clock on the wall. ‘Jamie wakened early. I didn’t intend to waken you yet, Polly.’

  ‘I heard the stairs creak. Anyway, it will take me longer to clean the flues and light the fire than you or Aunt Ivy so I may as well get on with it.’

  ‘Good girl. We shall need a hot oven today. I must bake some bread. The grocer brought rice and we have more milk than we can use so we will make a big rice pudding. The butcher sent us some beef and sausages. As soon as we have had breakfast, peel plenty of potatoes, carrots and onions. Cliff seems to have a bigger appetite than most people. Once the dinner is organized, we can concentrate on the rest of the work.’

  ‘Cliff is a big fellow,’ William said, coming into the kitchen, pulling on his braces and shrugging into his tweed waistcoat.

  He had slept well and he felt a bit more cheerful when he saw Emma feeding the baby. He had wondered if she was avoiding him.

  ‘I’ll bring in the cows and start milking until breakfast is ready. I want to make an early start at scything that old grass in the middle field. It will be tough going when it’s been left to grow wild for the past couple of years. Cliff is no use at sharpening the blades but he’s very strong and gets through a lot of work. I suppose he needs more food.’

  ‘We have more milk than we can use but we don’t have enough to sell. Mr Dixon thinks Petal will have a calf around October so I suppose she will stop milking soon.’

  ‘Did he say that? He didn’t tell me. We shall only have Strawberry milking then. Will you make butter to use the extra milk?’

  ‘I’d love to make butter, but we don’t have a churn.’

  ‘I never thought of that.’ He sighed. ‘I took a lot for granted back at Bonnybrae. There’s nowhere in the village I could buy one. I’d take the train to town but we need to make the most of the fine weath
er to get some hay.’

  ‘Aunt Ivy said Mrs Dixon used to make butter,’ Polly said.

  ‘Ed Dixon probably chopped up the churn for firewood. We shall scrub out the pantry today and scald the creaming pans, then I shall be ready when we do get a churn,’ Emma said.

  ‘Perhaps Mr Dixon put it in the attic, or in the cellar?’

  ‘It’s not in the cellar. I had a look. Even if it was a small one, I’m sure he wouldn’t carry a churn up two flights of stairs.’

  Later in the day, Emma led the way to the attic. As she expected, there was no butter churn but she did find the cot. It was coated in dust but she could see it was sturdy and made of solid oak with nicely turned spindles.

  ‘I think this will come up beautifully if we wash it in vinegar and water. The base is made of pine laths like the one we had at home but it will need a good scrub. We’ll take it down. I’ll ask William to carry the cot.’

  ‘Oh look, Mrs Sinclair!’ Polly screwed up her face in distaste.

  ‘Is that supposed to be the mattress?’ Emma stared at the pad which was green with mould and growing white whiskers. ‘That’s another thing for the bonfire. We’ll take it down now and fling it out. I shall make a new mattress. I think that is a bundle of baby blankets. They must have been there for years. It looks as though mice have been at them. We’ll put them on the bonfire too.’

  Polly stepped back, cringing. She hated mice.

  ‘I’ll take this lot if you take the mattress,’ Emma said.

  Cliff and William came in, ate their meals and went out to work again while there was still daylight. Again, Emma was sound asleep by the time William joined her but he was too tired to do anything except sleep. This became their routine while the fine weather lasted.

  Although Emma was working hard, it was Jamie who exhausted her. He was fractious and unsettled all the time. Her mother and Annie had warned her that even young babies sensed when they were in a strange place, but surely he must be getting used to the different sounds and smells now. Queenie slept by his basket if she was not out with William and she whined softly when he cried. The only time Jamie seemed content was when she cuddled him and put him to her breast. Polly was patient and gentle with him but even she grew weary of rocking him in her arms and singing to him.

  The young maid mentioned Jamie’s crying when she visited her aunt and uncle at the smiddy on her half day.

  ‘I expect the little fellow is hungry if Mrs Sinclair is still scrubbing and washing like she did that first day. She should buy him a teat and give him some boiled cow’s milk in a bottle. It would top him up.’

  ‘She has to work hard, Auntie. There is a lot to do, baking and cooking and washing every day. All the rooms have cobwebs and dust.’

  ‘Aye, the place was more neglected than I would have believed if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes. A baby makes a lot of nappies to wash and there’s four of you to feed.’

  ‘I never thought a man could eat so much, or so fast,’ Polly remarked.

  ‘I suppose he works hard. Are you happy enough there, lass?’

  ‘Oh yes, Mrs Sinclair is ever so kind and she talks to me and explains things and I’m learning to cook. She doesn’t just give orders. I love little Jamie. Mr Sinclair and Cliff eat porridge and cream every morning, as well as bacon and eggs and lots of bread. Then they eat as much at dinner time as Dad and Mam and the rest of us ate in a whole day. They’re still ready for more by night time.’

  ‘A man needs his food if he’s working hard,’ Uncle Joe said. ‘And I hear Sinclair’s making a difference up there already. I shall have his mower repaired and ready to go by tomorrow. Ask him if he has any knives needing repaired. I can do them for him. I’ve sharpened the one that’s in the mower.’

  ‘Is that the long thing that looks like big metal teeth?’ Polly asked.

  ‘It is, lass. Each of them triangles has to be sharpened regularly on both sides or they drag the grass instead of cutting it clean, especially when there’s a lot of dead grass in the bottom. It’s hard on the horses if the knives are blunt. He’ll need a couple of spare knives to keep him going for a day. I expect he’ll need to sharpen them at night ready for the next day but it will be a lot quicker and easier than scything.’

  ‘Are you going to make Mrs Sinclair a girdle to bake her scones?’

  ‘I’ve made it. I just need time to come up there and fix it for her.’

  William was pleased when Polly told him he could collect the mower the next day. Judd Grimshaw had already made an excellent job of the two cartwheels. He had even given them a coat of paint in spite of his haggling. Billy Little had repaired one of the carts and fixed on the extra rails, ready for bringing in the hay. He had promised to come one evening and finish repairing the other one.

  The following morning William sent Cliff to clean out the hayloft above the cowshed, where the hay would be stored.

  ‘I’m taking the horses and collecting the mower from the smithy,’ he said. ‘You take your time and clean the loft well. I don’t want any rubbish or nails amongst the hay. Sweep it thoroughly. We’ll clean the loft above the stable another day.’ He took Emma aside. ‘Will you keep an eye on him until I come back? Make sure he’s getting all the rubbish nearest the trap door above the cowshed. He’s willing but he doesn’t use his brain. In fact, I wonder sometimes if he has one,’ he added with a wry smile.

  ‘He’s very willing. Except for his extra-big appetite he’s no trouble,’ Emma said. ‘He brings his washing down every Monday morning. He even makes his own bed which is more than the men in the bothy did.’

  As soon as Emma had hung out a line of nappies and baby clothes, she climbed up the ladder to the loft, taking a small can of milk and a scone. Cliff gave her his shy smile when her head appeared through the hole in the floor of the loft.

  ‘You’re stirring some dust up here,’ she remarked, beginning to cough as it caught her throat. ‘I’ve brought you a drink and a scone.’

  Cliff’s eyes lit up as they always did at the sight of food. The loft was twice as long as Emma had expected but Cliff was only clearing the half nearest the trap door. She knew there was a loft over the cowshed but it stretched much further. She realized it ran over the adjoining shed where Mr Dixon had once reared his young cattle. She had not ventured in there yet although she suspected one of the hens had a nest there. The shed was filled with manure two to three feet deep. She had been surprised to find William was so pleased about that until he explained it would make the land more fertile when he got around to spreading it over the fields.

  ‘Cliff will soon load the carts and we shall grow a grand crop of turnips next year. New tenants usually pay to take it over but Ed Dixon told Mr Rowbottom whoever took on the farm was welcome to it because he was too old for mucking out sheds.’

  Emma thought there was probably a trap door at both ends of the loft for feeding the animals below. William had been adamant that everything must be cleared so she went for a closer look.

  ‘You will need to move these things to that trap door, Cliff,’ she called. ‘Mr Sinclair said he wanted the whole loft cleaned. He hopes to make a lot of hay to fill the lofts.’ She didn’t really like telling other people what to do. She peered more closely at the bulky objects at the dark end of the loft. There was a stack of wooden sheep troughs, and a sturdy wooden chest for holding oats, a wheelbarrow without a wheel.

  ‘Goodness me, this looks like a churn!’ Emma moved closer, wiping a finger along the curved wood. ‘It is a butter churn!’ she exclaimed in excitement. ‘Cliff, you must be careful how you move this. Don’t break it and don’t bring it down from the loft until Mr Sinclair returns. He will help you with it.’

  Cliff grinned vacantly.

  ‘I dun’t need ’elp.’ He proceeded to lift the butter churn, complete with stand and carry it towards the trap door above the ladder. He would have dropped it down to the cowshed floor below if Emma had not shouted at him to stop.

  ‘Leave it t
here, Cliff!’ she said as sternly as she could. ‘Bring all the other things to this end of the loft, then sweep the rest of the floor but don’t throw anything down below.’ She stared at him earnestly. ‘Do you understand?’ He nodded his head and looked forlorn.

  ‘Nothing through hole,’ he repeated.

  ‘That’s right,’ Emma said more gently. ‘Things would break and I want to use the butter churn. You like butter, don’t you?’

  He said yes and went off to the back of the loft again, reminding her of Queenie when the little collie had done something wrong and hid below the table with her tail between her legs. She heard William returning with the two horses drawing the metal-wheeled mower. She ran to tell him she had discovered a butter churn.

  ‘I couldn’t see whether it is in good condition or not. I had to shout at Cliff to stop him dropping it through the hole onto the floor below. Will you help him get it down?’

  ‘We’ll get it this evening. I’d like to get started with the mowing.’ He saw the disappointment on her face. She had never grumbled about chaos in the home he had provided. His face softened and he smiled. ‘Hold the horses for a minute then and I’ll go up and get Cliff. I need him anyway, to shake out yesterday’s swathes of grass so they dry.’

  At Bonnybrae everyone, including herself and Maggie, had helped with the hay and harvest. She wondered whether William expected her and Polly to help. The horses began to move restlessly. Then she saw William and Cliff coming towards her.

  ‘We’ve set the churn in the dairy. It will take a lot of cleaning and it needs some oil but it seems sound.’ He grinned at her. ‘It’s a good job you went up there. If it’s any good it will save me buying one and there are a few other useful things we need.’

  ‘William, are you expecting Polly and me to help turn the hay?’

  ‘Extra hands are always welcome but you have too much to do already. Anyway, we haven’t got much ready for turning yet. I hope we’ll get on faster now I have the mower. Mrs Wright says you’re working too hard anyway. She thinks Jamie is not be getting enough milk.’