Catherine of Deepdale

by Millie Vigor

  Norrie sat up. ‘I … didn’t want to be talked about, you being … well … wi’ your Robbie not so long away. I would come along just to see you, if you’d let me,’ he said.

  Conscious of the man who looked at her, at his handsome face and the look in his eyes, Catherine clutched at the child in her arms, felt her heart begin to pound. She bent her head and put her lips to the dark hair of the little boy’s head, let seconds tick by before she looked up at Norrie. ‘I think I’d like that,’ she said.

  TWENTY TWO

  IN SPRING CATHERINE searched the moor for newborn lambs. The hill sheep lambed easy and rarely needed assistance, but sometimes she was able to save a lamb from the scavenging birds that would peck out its eyes and kill it. She was thankful there were no foxes who would wreak havoc and kill for the sake of killing, but there were still crows, ravens and black-backed gulls. It saddened her to think that the hill sheep had so little protection. One day she would fence more land so that she could keep the ewes closer to home and make it easier to keep an eye on them

  She loved being on the hill, liked to think that every rock and crevice was familiar to her, but knew they weren’t. It was a dangerous place to go alone; weather could change rapidly, hot sunshine give way in minutes to a fog that Daa called ‘the haar’ that crept in off the sea to enfold everything in a cold wet blanket. The hill was wide open, there were no fences to mark boundaries and the sheep that roamed there were not only from the Deepdale crofts. Other crofters ran hill sheep too.

  ‘You don’t need to come wi’ us to walk the hill,’ Daa said to Catherine, when a day had been agreed. ‘Come along when we have the sheep penned.’

  With an eye on the clock Catherine hurried to finish her housework and put food ready to cook for the evening meal. She filled a flask with coffee made some sandwiches, put Robbie in a pushchair and set off for the communal pen where she hoped the sheep would be already gathered.

  When she got there it was full of noisy ewes and lambs distressed at being herded together and, in the melee, fearful of being separated. Crofters and some wives were already in the midst of the animals identifying the lambs that belonged to them. A pram and two more pushchairs were parked in a safe spot beside some vans and a car. Catherine put her pushchair with the others, let Robbie out to play and went to join Daa.

  She had learned about the way the lambs were marked by cutting patterns in the ears: lug marks they were called, with strange names like ‘a bit afore’, ‘a shear’, ‘a rit’, ‘a fedder’. Squeamish about nothing else, she had to admit that she couldn’t bring herself to take the knife to them so she held the animals to let Daa do the cutting. Sweating with the exertion of handling extremely lively sheep, her clothes well oiled with lanolin from their fleece, she was glad when it was time to stop for a drink and a bite to eat. She called Robbie to join them and she and Daa sat by the wall of the pens and opened their lunch bags.

  Relaxing for a few minutes before going back to work Catherine closed her eyes and leaned back. A strong pungent odour of sheep filled the air. Some of it came from her clothes. She could feel her lanolin-soaked trousers sticking to her legs. Beside her Daa was getting up. She opened her eyes and was about to do the same when a young woman spoke to her.

  ‘Hullo, aren’t you the wife from Deepdale?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Catherine, ‘that’s where I live.’

  ‘I bide just over the hill.’ The girl spoke with a broad Scottish accent. ‘Do you like it here?’ She was wearing trousers and a coat that was none too clean.

  ‘Yes, I do.’ What did this person want?

  ‘Takes a bit of getting used to for folk from south, doesn’t it? I’m surprised you didn’t go back home after you lost your man.’

  ‘I had no intention of doing that,’ said Catherine. She stood up, picked up her lunch bag and put it on the seat of the pushchair.

  ‘Yea, but you do need a man about the place, don’t you?’

  As she straightened up Catherine turned to the stranger and looked her up and down. ‘Where are you from?’ she asked, ‘and what brought you here?’

  ‘Me? Oh, um. I’m from Glasgow.’

  ‘And do you like Shetland? Come here, Robbie,’ said Catherine. She took out her handkerchief and wiped a spot of jam from the corner of his mouth. ‘Now go and play, darling.’ She smiled as she watched him go. ‘Now,’ she said, as she looked at the young woman, ‘I have to go back to work. I don’t know who you are, but you’ve made it quite clear that there’s something you want to say, so what is it?’

  ‘I’m Sheila McKechnie,’ said the girl. ‘You’d better remember that.’ Her voice was sharp now. ‘You have to know who I am because you wouldn’t want to cross me, now would you?’

  ‘Really? And why would that be?’

  ‘I have a boyfriend. You might know him, his auntie lives by you. Norrie’s his name.’ Sheila lifted her lips in a brief but none too friendly smile. ‘I know he’s been going over to see her a lot lately and I thought you ought to know he’s not available … just in case you had any ideas.’

  So that was it. Why, if he already had a girlfriend, had Norrie Williams been calling on her? For some absurd reason Catherine’s heart turned over, she had begun to look forward to his visits, begun to have feelings for him, begun to think there was to be some happiness in her future after all. Now this girl was telling her that Norrie was deceiving her. Were all Shetland men strangers to the truth? Turning her back on the girl as she went to join Daa, she said, ‘You need have no fears on that score.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear it,’ said Sheila.

  ‘Is anything the matter?’ asked Daa when they were back at work, seeing that Catherine lacked concentration and had problems holding the sheep.

  ‘No, not at all,’ she said, but he could see she had something on her mind.

  ‘Could I leave Robbie with you, Kay, while I go up to stack some peat?’

  ‘Of course you can.’ Kay’s close companionship with Catherine had taught her how to read the other’s moods. She could see that something was troubling the girl, but refrained from asking what it was. She would hear about it in good time. ‘You know I’m only too happy to have him.’

  Mina and Laura were sitting outside their house. The evening was cool, but it was still warm and pleasant enough to sit in a sheltered spot. They were both knitting. As Catherine passed by they asked how she was getting on with her sheep. ‘I’m told you have some good ones,’ said Mina.

  ‘Yes, I have, but I hope to have some better ones yet.’

  Mina nodded her head; Laura smiled and said nothing.

  Jannie sat on a chair just inside her door, she too was knitting. She looked up as Catherine drew level with her. ‘Where are you going? Where’s the bairn?’

  ‘I’m going to stack peat and I left him with Kay.’

  ‘Not to meet Norrie?’

  Not wanting to stop and talk, Catherine had been gradually edging past Jannie, but now she stopped. ‘What do you mean by that?’

  ‘I thought he was coming to see you.’

  ‘And what if he was?’ Catherine wanted to say it was none of her business, but since Robbie’s birth she felt she had to try to build some bridges and being antagonistic wouldn’t help.

  ‘Your man is not so long away,’ said Jannie.

  ‘It’s been four years and not four weeks in case you hadn’t noticed,’ said Catherine. ‘You’re not thinking I should spend the rest of my life alone are you?’

  ‘No no.’ Jannie bent her head and picked up her work.

  ‘Because,’ said Catherine, ‘if I did decide to take up with someone else it would be my decision and,’ she had to say it, ‘nothing to do with you. But I can assure you I have no one in mind.’

  ‘Dinna take on so,’ said Jannie. ‘I was just askin’.’

  ‘Well, please don’t.’

  As she plodded up the hill Catherine mulled over what Sheila McKechnie had said. Why had Norrie led her to believe he had feelin
gs for her? If what Sheila said was true why had he made a point of coming to see her and not just his aunt?

  When she reached her peat bank she began to stack the dry slabs, build them up so they would be safe against unexpected rain. The monotony of the job, the sounds all round her, the wind and the surge of the sea were soothing and made her forget her troubles. It was still early when she’d finished building the stack and, not wanting to go back to the valley, she walked on across the moor. Undecided whether to climb the hill or go and look in the empty house she decided to climb. At first the vegetation was of rough grass and moss but the higher she went the sparser it became. Partly buried granite boulders stuck out of the ground, the land between them supporting nothing but thin wiry grass.

  Someone was calling her name. She looked back and saw Billie. He waved and beckoned to her. She hesitated. She had really wanted to go further up the hill … another time, perhaps? She began to retrace her steps.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ she said.

  ‘I was to stack peat. I would have if you hadn’t been here. It’s a fine day.’

  ‘It is,’ said Catherine. ‘I love it here when the weather’s like this, it’s so peaceful.’ She sat on the ground, drew up her knees and wrapped her arms round them. ‘Don’t you think so?’

  ‘I don’t have time to think o’ that. I have to work.’ Billie sat down too, then stretched out to lie flat on his back, hands behind his head. ‘There’s an awful lot of sky when you look at it this way,’ he said. ‘And there’s a lot of other worlds out there, and I’ve not see this one yet.’ Billie turned on his side and propped himself on one elbow. ‘Do you think …? No, it doesn’t matter.’

  ‘What’s the problem, Billie? Were you thinking about travelling?’

  ‘Ay, but I’ve put it from my mind, there’s folk I wouldn’t want to leave.’

  ‘Oh?’ she turned to look at him. ‘Would that be the lass you’re sweet on?’

  ‘Could be.’

  ‘And would I know her, Billie?’

  Billie was busy pulling up blades of grass and wouldn’t look at her. ‘I wouldn’t like to leave you, Catherine,’ he said raising his head to look at her. ‘You’re different, not like the Shetland lasses. I’m awful fond o’ you and I think you need me …’ He hesitated, then added hastily, ‘with the sheep and all.’

  He hadn’t answered her question directly, but in a roundabout way he had. Norrie had winked and said, “I’ve heard,” when she said Billy came over often and Billie had blushed when Norrie teased him; he had refused to confirm that he had a girlfriend. Then Norrie had said, “It’s you.” She looked away out to sea.

  ‘I would miss you if you went away,’ she said. But not as much as you would like me too, she thought.

  ‘You have to be careful who you go with, Catherine,’ said Billie. ‘There’s a lot would like to be with you and not just for your looks.’

  ‘Really? Well, I’m sure I don’t know who they are.’

  Billie was sitting up now. ‘That Norrie Williams is one for a start.’

  ‘No, he isn’t, he’s got a girlfriend. Somebody called Sheila McKechnie told me she was his girl and warned me off.’

  ‘She would, she’s awful limmer that one. You can’t trust her.’

  ‘Limmer? What does that mean? I wish you’d speak English, Billie, I know you can,’ said Catherine.

  He laughed. ‘You’re in Shetland, you have to learn to speak like us.’

  ‘I’ll never be able to do that. Tell me, would you really like to travel?’

  She had to steer the conversation away from what she thought he was really thinking about. Though he had grown to man’s stature he was still only twenty and she had to block any attempt by him even to begin to declare his feelings; she had to avoid being alone with him.

  ‘I would,’ he said. ‘I look at the sea and wonder what’s beyond. A lot of folk emigrate, you know.’

  ‘But you wouldn’t want to do that, would you?’ she asked.

  ‘No, I can’t, it would break Mam’s heart. But I’d like to have a look at another twartree.’ He grinned. ‘Two or three places.’

  ‘That’s easy enough, isn’t it? You just pack a bag, buy a ticket and get on the boat. Take enough money to buy you a bed for the night and there you are. And if you like it and want to stay you get a job … come home when you’re ready.’

  ‘I couldn’t.’

  ‘If you’re meant to go off the island the opportunity will come when you least expect it,’ said Catherine. ‘I suppose you’ve got some savings, haven’t you? From what I’ve gathered most Shetlanders have got a long stocking.’

  ‘Now you’re speaking in riddles.’ Billie laughed.

  ‘Well, you know what I mean.’ Catherine got up. ‘I’d better go; the midges are beginning to bite. I’ll see you again. Bye now.’

  ‘Bye, Catherine.’

  TWENTY THREE

  ‘I HAVE A bone to pick with you,’ said Catherine the next time Norrie walked through her door. Sewing-box in front of her, she sat at the table darning socks.

  ‘Ay, and what’s that?’

  ‘Why are you visiting and making me think you might have feelings for me when you already have a girlfriend?’

  ‘Where on earth did you get that idea?’

  ‘Sheila McKechnie,’ said Catherine. ‘Does the name ring any bells? It should, because she told me in no uncertain terms that you were not available.’

  ‘That one? You should not have believed her.’

  ‘Why not? She seemed very sure of herself’

  Norrie was sitting opposite Catherine. ‘I can assure you she means nothing to me at all,’ he said. ‘I felt sorry for the lass when she came here first. She didn’t know anybody and I took her to the dances a few times. I’ve told her I’m not for her and to find someone else, but she’ll not leave me alone.’

  Catherine continued to darn, weaving her needle in and out as she listened. ‘Do you expect me to believe you?’ she said when Norrie stopped talking.

  ‘I wouldn’t lie to you.’

  “I do not want to be mixed up in a triangle,’ said Catherine. ‘That girl was very threatening, so you’d better sort it out.’ She stuck the needle into a ball of wool and folded the sock she had been darning together with its partner.

  ‘What good would it do me to deceive you? I would be the loser,’ said Norrie, ‘and I’ve no intention of being that.’

  ‘Well, it’s up to you then, isn’t it?’

  ‘Why won’t you believe me?’ asked Norrie.

  ‘I would like to, but please just do as I say, will you?’ Catherine picked up another sock, pulled it over her hand and looked for the places that needed darning. She bent her head, hoping that Norrie wouldn’t see the silly tears that wanted to fill her eyes. Why did being angry make her cry?

  ‘Well,’ said Norrie, ‘I don’t know what I’m going to do short of buying the girl a ticket and putting her on the boat, because I’ve tried everything else. She can’t object to me coming to see my godson and neither can you.’

  ‘No that’s true. Not that you come very often.’

  ‘I do have a job to go to and a croft to run.’

  Catherine broke off a length of wool, threaded her needle, began to darn again, hesitated, then put it all down. ‘Be completely honest with me. Is there anything between you?’

  ‘Nothing at all. If there was I would not be here.’

  ‘I don’t want that girl to accost me again, so make her understand.’

  ‘I will.’

  She looked at him and wanted to be sure of him, but thought of the confident way Sheila had spoken. A sudden twinge of jealousy made her realize that she felt more for him than she had thought. ‘You’ll have to prove what you say,’ she said. ‘You can see Robbie, but don’t think you’re coming to see me.’

  ‘You’re being too hard.’

  Catherine folded the socks together and put wool, needle and scissors in the box. ‘I have no way
of knowing the truth,’ she said. Norrie did not reply and for a few moments there was silence between them. ‘Aren’t you going to leave?’ said Catherine.

  ‘Where’s the bairn?’ asked Norrie. ‘Couldn’t we take him to the beach?’

  ‘It’s nearly his bedtime,’ said Catherine.

  ‘I would like to see him.’

  Catherine hesitated. ‘Well, as you’re here now, all right,’ she said.

  Robbie was lying on the hearth rug playing with his toys when they went to Kay’s to fetch him; he looked up at his mother then went on pushing a toy car around. Kay lay back in a chair, her eyes closed; she didn’t move when they went in, seemed not to hear them or know they were there. Catherine thought it unusual for her friend to be sitting so still and was concerned; she went swiftly to her side. ‘Kay, are you all right?’ she asked.

  Kay opened her eyes and with a blank stare looked at Catherine, then she smiled. ‘Yes, I’m all right,’ she said. ‘I was miles away and I was dreaming.’

  ‘Is it too much for you having Robbie?’ asked Catherine.

  ‘No, no, I love to have him, he’s no trouble.’

  ‘Well, if you’re sure. Norrie and I were just going to take him down to the beach before he goes to bed.’

  ‘That’s a good idea, he’ll settle to sleep more readily afterwards.’ Kay started to rise from her chair.

  ‘You don’t have to get up,’ said Catherine.

  ‘I’ll be back in to see you,’ said Norrie, ‘you take it easy, Auntie.’

  It had taken Catherine a long time before she could look at the sea without hating it and even longer before she could bring herself to walk beside the bay from which her husband had sailed away never to come back. She had hated it then. But how long can you hold on to hate? To her mind had come the tales told her of the many fishing disasters when when women lost sons as well as husbands and whole families were devastated. Did they hate the sea? Or did they accept that their loss was the price to pay for being married to fishermen? But time does pass. Catherine had accepted her lot and turned her mind to being glad she had been loved and to have her son as proof.