Catherine of Deepdale

by Millie Vigor

  And then the tears came but, like the rain in a summer storm, hard but fleeting, the storm of her weeping was soon over. ‘Oh, Robbie,’ she cried, ‘I’m pregnant. I should have known.’ She had missed a couple of periods, but the shock of losing him could have done that.

  She looked at the clock again. She was going to be late for work, but no, surgery was held in a cottage at Norravoe today; there was no need to rush, no need to think of excuses, it was her day off.

  She sat on the bed and placed her hands on her stomach, the flat stomach destined to swell with new life. Where and when had the seed been planted? She had hated the box-bed and hadn’t wanted to make love in it, so she and Robbie had lain in the soft hay in the barn. They had laughed, felt like naughty children, and, freed from the knowledge that ears might be listening, their lovemaking had been passionate and wild. It must have been there that she had conceived, for sometimes, with no condom in Robbie’s pocket they had taken a chance. A smile spread across her face. ‘Whatever you are,’ she said, ‘boy or girl, you were conceived with love and I shall see that you are surrounded with it all your life.’

  In the kitchen she poured water in a bowl and splashed it on her face, the coldness of it refreshed her. She filled the kettle and put it on the stove. The wind that rarely ceased sucked at the chimney and pulled the fire to life, the stove glowed and the kettle sang. Catherine made tea and ate a plain biscuit, looked out of the window and saw that the rain had cleared. She would go up to the moor and get some peat.

  She picked up a couple of shopping bags then, from the shed at the back of her house, fetched some hessian sacks, rolled them up and tucked them under her arm.

  ‘Hello, Catherine,’ said Kay, ‘where are you off to?’

  ‘I thought I’d bring home some peat.’

  ‘With shopping bags?’

  ‘Yes, I haven’t got anything else.’

  ‘Daa will bring it home in the cart, surely Robbie told you that?’

  ‘Well, yes … that’s what I thought, which is why I’ve got these sacks. I’ll fill them anyway, but Jannie told me I had to fetch it myself.’

  Kay gave an exasperated sigh. ‘Oh, that woman.’

  ‘Well, it’s a nice day,’ said Catherine, ‘and I like it on the hill. It’s very peaceful and she can’t get at me there.’

  ‘I’ll walk up to the road with you then,’ said Kay. ‘I want to catch the bus.’

  The steepness of the incline out of the valley effectively limited conversation and it wasn’t until they reached the top that either of them had sufficient breath to speak more than a few words.

  ‘You’re looking peaky this morning,’ said Kay. ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘Yes, I’m fine. I had a restless night, that’s all.’ That’s the first of the lies, thought Catherine, but Kay was no fool; she had probably put two and two together and got the right answer. ‘I can see the bus coming. If you see any ten-bob notes going for a shilling today you can bring me back a few.’

  Kay laughed. ‘Not before I’ve filled my own pockets.’

  Beneath Catherine’s feet as she walked, the little yellow flowers of tormentil and the violet faces of butterwort looked up at her. Skylarks rose up, their song growing fainter as they winged their way up. Curlew and whimbrel warbled, but the busy oyster-catchers, running about in red stockings did nothing but utter shrill and continuous kleep-kleeps.

  When she reached her peat bank, Catherine saw others working. Some raised their hands in greeting, but none came to speak except Billie. He had lost much of his shyness and came leaping from bank to bank, laughing all the while.

  ‘Good to see you, Catherine,’ he said.

  ‘And you, Billie. How are you?’

  ‘I’m braaly weel.’

  Although Billy spoke with a marked accent, as did most other people, sometimes he used an expression or word she hadn’t heard before. ‘And what does that mean?’ she asked.

  ‘It means, I’m very well.’

  ‘You’re going to have to speak, “proper,” as you say, if you ever go off the island,’ said Catherine.

  ‘Ah, well, I’m been thinkin’ about that.’ Billie grinned and slowly, with an exaggerated pronunciation said, ‘What are you going to do about your sheep?’

  ‘You’re a tease.’ Catherine made a fist and punched him lightly. ‘I’ve been thinking and the best I can do for now is to read up as much as I can first.’

  Billie kicked a clod of peat. ‘You’ll just be wasting time,’ he said.

  ‘No I won’t. If you want to help we can go to the shows and the market together and you can help me study in the winter.’

  ‘It’ll not be enough, but,’ Billie’s expression lifted, ‘if we do that then you can teach me to speak proper.’

  ‘I can but try. Now go, I’ve got work to do.’

  With the midday sun the day had turned quite warm. When Catherine decided she’d worked long enough, not being in a hurry to go home she sat down to watch a skylark rising and falling, a lone gull hanging in the air and a tuft of white cloud drifting across the sky. She was tired and, putting her hands behind her head, she lay back. There was a charm of larks now and the gull had been joined by another. She watched as the pair drifted slowly on the thermals rising from the land. It was a lazy day, a do-nothing day, and it was all hers. Head cushioned on her hands she relaxed, closed her eyes and listened to the breeze, the little breeze that crept through the heather to whisper in her ear of faraway places, to sing softly and lull her to sleep and to dream.

  ‘Are you all right, lass?’ A tall man bent over Catherine. ‘Are you all right?’ he said, raising his voice.

  Waking with a start Catherine took one look at the bearded giant of a man looming over her and screamed.

  ‘OK, OK,’ said the man. ‘You’re not dead then.’

  ‘Dead? Of course I’m not dead,’ said Catherine. ‘Who are you?’

  ‘I’m Norrie.’

  Catherine stood and looked at him while a pair of brown eyes studied her.

  Norrie Williams was tall and well built, and the expression on what she could see of his face, behind the beard, was kindly.

  Norrie smiled. ‘Everybody’s gone home,’ he said. ‘I wasn’t going to leave you here in case you weren’t well, but you’re all right so I’ll go.’

  ‘Thank you for being concerned,’ said Catherine. ‘That was kind of you.’

  ‘Ay,’ said Norrie, making no attempt to move. ‘You’re … ah … Robbie Jameson’s …ah …’ He faltered and came to a stop.

  ‘Widow,’ said Catherine. ‘I thought you were leaving.’

  ‘Ay,’ Norrie smiled again, his teeth bright against his beard. ‘Take care when you’re on the hill, lass, don’t go alone.’

  ‘If you say so,’ said Catherine and watched as he strode away with never a backward glance. She picked up her bags of peat and started for home.

  Widow, she had said. What a dreadful word that was. Although she had heard Mina say it she had never thought of herself as such and the thought was foreign to her. How could she be a widow? Widows were old and wrinkled and grey and had lived a lifetime. She was not like that … but a widow she was, nonetheless.

  The bags of peat were heavy and made her arms ache; she stopped frequently to put them down and was only too glad when at last she was going down into the valley. Jannie saw her coming and came out of her house, a sock hanging from the needles that flew back and forth in her hands. ‘What are you carrying bags of peat for?’ she asked.

  ‘Because I wasn’t coming home empty-handed,’ said Catherine.

  ‘You need a kishie.’

  ‘And what’s that when it’s at home?’

  Jannie pushed the sock into the pocket of her apron. ‘Come wi’ me,’ she said. Catherine put down her bags and followed Jannie to the byre. Hanging on a beam were some straw baskets. Jannie took one down. ‘You put the strap across the front of your shoulders and the kishie sits on your back. You have to fetch your ow
n peat home,’ said Jannie. ‘You should get one of these.’

  ‘But I thought …’ Kay had told her Daa would bring it home, but still Jannie was insisting she had to fetch her own peat.

  ‘Likely you would have to get one made,’ Jannie went on, ‘but you’ll not be lucky. Kishies is made in winter.’

  ‘Then why even suggest it,’ said Catherine. ‘Why not show a little kindness and offer to lend me one of yours? Or is there to be no end to the way you try to put me down? You won’t win, Jannie, you won’t win.’

  FIFTEEN

  CATHERINE AND DAA climbed the hill behind the Deepdale houses, at the top they turned and looked back. The valley was laid out below them. Smoke spiralled up from chimneys and Catherine could smell the now familiar aroma of burning peat.

  ‘Now,’ said Daa, ‘you see the land is marked out in strips, they’re called rigs and they belong to the houses. You have one.’

  ‘How will I know which is mine?’

  ‘It’s not fenced because we let the sheep come down off the hill in winter for the better grazing. You can’t grow flowers, they’ll eat them.’

  The land had lost its rough uncared-for look. Daa had ploughed and with Jannie and the aunts’ help had sown potatoes. Catherine had joined the others to hoe between the rows of growing crops. Oats were springing up, adding their own sweet green. Catherine knew now that she would have a share of all the crops. How closely knit these families were, how dependent on each other.

  It was Sunday morning and there was rain in the offing. As they walked Daa pointed out various landmarks: a huge lump of white quartz was called the Nort Stane, a hill loch beyond it, Eela Water. They crossed the main road. A rough wooden gate was set in a low wall on top of which was a fence.

  ‘That’s the hill dyke, not all the same, bit dyke bit fence.’ Daa opened the gate; they walked through and climbed again. ‘The sheep go on the hill when we plant the rigs,’ said Daa.

  Catherine had seen the wiry little hill sheep, first when she and Robbie had walked across the moor to visit Rose and again when she had been working with the peat. Some of them must belong to her, but which ones?

  ‘All sheep look alike to me,’ she said. ‘How do you tell them apart?’

  ‘They’re marked. You’ll find yours when they come down to be clipped.’

  They were on the moor now and Catherine said, ‘I love it up here. Just look at the view. I’ve never seen anything like it; the sea is endless and always changing and when the sun shines the hills come alive. Can we go higher up?’

  Together they plodded on and the rough grass and heather of the moor gave way to bare peaty earth, stony ground and boulders. At last Catherine said, ‘That’s far enough,’ and sat down on a lump of rock. Daa pointed out more landmarks and told her the names of different areas. ‘You have to know,’ he said.

  ‘What’s that house there?’ Catherine asked as she pointed at a building on the far side of the peat banks. ‘It’s a long way from anyone else.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Daa, ‘when folk were quarrelsome they were hounded out and had to build where they could. It’s not been lived in for a long time.’

  ‘I’ve noticed a lot of ruined houses. What happened to those people?’

  ‘There were the clearances, you’ll know about that, and some folk emigrated after the potato famine. That happened here as well as in Ireland, and then TB carried off a lot.’

  ‘Tell me more.’

  ‘Ask Kay, she knows all about it.’

  ‘So it’s always been a hard life then?’

  ‘That would be right.’

  ‘Let’s go home,’ said Catherine.

  ‘Why are your bags of peat still outside your door?’ asked Kay.

  ‘I got fed up with the sight of them. Jannie said I ought to have a kishie. She showed me hers, but said they’re only made in winter so I’d be out of luck.’

  ‘Uh, that woman,’ grunted Kay. ‘What will she do next?’

  ‘You’re not surprised are you?’ said Catherine, as she made a pot of tea. ‘Would you pass me those cups, please? She wants to make me go home, doesn’t she? I believe she’d do anything to get me off the island.’

  ‘Would you like to go home?’

  For a moment Catherine did not reply. Then she smiled. ‘Yes, I would, but only for a holiday and that won’t happen for a long time. I have plans.’

  ‘Sounds interesting. What are you up to?’

  ‘I’ve been out with Daa; he took me round the croft and showed me what was mine. Have a bannock. He’s going to teach me how to be a crofter.’

  Kay laughed. ‘A crofter?’

  ‘Yes. I want to carry out Robbie’s plans, if I can. I don’t know anything about sheep but Daa’s going to teach me and I’m going to bone up on—’

  ‘Catherine …’

  The cup in Catherine’s hand stopped halfway to her mouth. ‘What?’

  ‘In your condition do you think that’s wise?’

  The cup was placed back on its saucer. ‘You know? It doesn’t show and I only knew myself a few days ago.’ She had been right. Kay had definitely put two and two together and got the right answer. ‘How do you know?’ she asked.

  ‘Put it down to a lifetime of experience,’ said Kay. ‘Shetland folk aren’t slow when it comes to reproducing, but won’t it upset your plans?’

  Catherine’s answer, ‘No, why should it?’ was said with conviction. ‘Women have always worked while they were pregnant. Why shouldn’t I?’

  ‘No reason I suppose. Have you talked to the doctor yet?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then I suggest you do. Best to be on the safe side, eh?’

  ‘You won’t say anything to Jannie, will you? She’d only use it as another lever to make me go home. But I’m home now.’ Catherine fought back tears; they were not for now, but to be kept for the dark and lonely hours of the night.

  ‘It will be our secret,’ said Kay. ‘I won’t breathe a word.’

  Cleaning Doctor Lumsden’s surgery and waiting room did not take a lot of time, but Catherine enjoyed working there. She was not earning a lot but, added to the small widow’s pension she was getting, it would do. She had managed to put a little of her nurse’s pay in the bank and had added to it money that had been given to her in lieu of wedding presents. There was also the money she and Robbie had put aside for improvements to the house. It all totted up to a tidy sum and would be enough to cushion her when she had to stop work.

  It was Monday morning, and mindful of the conversation she had with Kay she decided she really should see Lumsden and tell him she was pregnant. She didn’t see him often, but next morning his car was still outside the house. She met him as she went in. ‘I want to see you,’ she said.

  ‘And I’d like a word with you,’ he replied. ‘Come with me.’

  Catherine followed him into his consulting room. ‘What have I done wrong?’ she asked, ‘Is there something I’ve forgotten?’

  Neil Lumsden laughed. ‘No, I’m very satisfied with what you do. No, my dear, I’m really sorry you lost your husband, but I wondered if now might be the time to think about training to become the health visitor.’

  Catherine bent her head and looked down as she clasped her hands and laced her fingers. Health visitor: couldn’t be better, but not now, oh no, not now. ‘Is anything wrong?’ asked Lumsden when she didn’t answer him.

  She looked up. ‘I’d love to be your health visitor, but it’ll have to wait … I believe I’m pregnant.’

  ‘So that’s why you wanted to see me?’

  ‘Yes, I’m afraid so.’

  ‘Right, let’s have a look at you then.’

  When the consultation was over Lumsden said, yes, Catherine was pregnant and he could give her a date, but babies come into the world when they’re ready. ‘Just don’t let him decide to arrive in the middle of a snow storm,’ he said, beaming at her, ‘or I may not get to you. Perhaps we should book you into the hospital.’

  ‘
I’d rather have it at home.’

  ‘Mm, well, there’s time yet. We’ll see how you go on. Are you happy?

  ‘Um … Daa was going to teach me how to look after my sheep.’

  Lumsden shook his head. ‘That’s a no, no. Pregnant women and sheep are a bad mix; you should have known that.’

  ‘Yes, I did, but I didn’t want to think about it. I’m disappointed, but…’

  ‘No buts. Go home and start knitting bootees and bonnets.’

  ‘I can’t knit.’

  Lumsden had the grace to laugh. ‘Now you really are in trouble,’ he said.

  SIXTEEN

  ‘YOU’LL NEED A dog to work your sheep,’ said Daa. A collie pup was tucked under his arm. He held it out to Catherine. ‘I’m gotten you this pup.’

  ‘Oh, it’s lovely.’ She smoothed the puppy’s soft coat. It looked up at her and reached out to lick her. ‘Hallo,’ she said, then sighed, ‘but I’ve news for you. I’m going to have a child and that means I’m forbidden to work with sheep.’

  ‘You’re going to have a bairn?’ A broad grin stretched across Daa’s face. ‘Ah, that’s good. The sheep will still be there after you’ve had it.’

  Anxiously Catherine said, ‘You’ll not tell anyone, will you? I don’t want anyone else to know yet, but I do want to learn about the croft.’

  ‘But if du can’t work wi’ the sheep … are you sure?’

  ‘I’m really quite sure. There must be other things you can tell me.’

  ‘Train your dog to be obedient, then, and keep it always by you. You have to get to know one another. A good dog has to obey orders and to know what you’re thinking. If it’s a good one it’ll likely teach you.’

  Catherine smiled at that. ‘Don’t worry, Daa, I’ll look after it.’