Waters of the Heart

by Doris Davidson

  ‘Wouldn’t it be wonderful if Da married Phoebe?’ Cissie asked Marie when they went to bed one night.

  Marie pulled a face. ‘It’d be all right for you, you’re her pet.’

  ‘I am not,’ Cissie said, indignantly. ‘She treats us all the same.’ Nevertheless it gave her a warm glow to think Phoebe liked her best.

  The months flew past, the trees shedding their leaves, the falling snow making a screen in front of the windows so that nothing could be seen until it stopped, then the lovely, Christmassy mantle of white lying over everything, until the thaw came and the streets were awash with grey slush.

  Cissie pulled the collar of her coat up as she went to work, humming a little tune under her breath she was so happy. Miss Birnie had put up her wages, and Phoebe wouldn’t take any more for her keep, so she had another one and six to herself. She would go up George Street as soon as she finished work next Saturday afternoon, for Isaac Benzie had a sale on, and she might see a blouse she could afford.

  It was good to have a job, especially one she liked so much. She felt important standing at the marble counter and weighing out quarter-pounds of butter to make into round pats with the wooden boards. Then there was the measuring of half-pints of cream and putting them into little cardboard containers with lids – not that many women in the area could afford cream, only sometimes on a Saturday for the weekend. The milk itself was kept in large drums shaped like chessmen, and she had to use metal half-pint and pint jugs to pour it into whatever type of receptacles the women brought in. She had discovered the knack of judging exactly how much to cut off with the wire when anybody asked for a quarter or a half-pound of red cheese. The crowdie was weighed out beforehand and sold in small cartons.

  Most of the customers were very friendly, passing on any gossip, especially if it involved a scandal, although they weren’t malicious. Of course, there were some who wouldn’t be pleased by anything anyone did for them, and Cissie took their grumbles philosophically. They probably had husbands who ill-treated them, or were widows with little money. She would remember what she was told about their families, and would ask if little Jackie had got over the measles, whether Jeannie had got a job yet, or if the twins’ rickets was any better – the human touches which had prompted her employer to give her the increase in pay.

  On Saturday at teatime, Marie looked jealous when Cissie brought home a new blouse. ‘Wait till I start working,’ she sneered. ‘It won’t be in a poky wee shop, that’s one thing, so I’ll be able to buy lots of new things.’

  Seeing the older girl’s sunny smile fading, Phoebe said, ‘Cissie’s happy in the dairy, and it’s a beautiful blouse. Maybe she’ll give you one of her old ones, and I can add a frill for you?’

  ‘Yes, Marie, you can have the pink one, and Isaac Benzie had a lot of cheap lace in the sale.’

  ‘I’ll get some on Monday,’ Phoebe smiled, ‘and we can all have new-looking blouses.’ This did the trick, and Marie forgot her jealousy, for the time being.

  When Big Tam was shown Cissie’s purchase and was told what they were planning, he said, ‘I’ll give you money to buy a blouse for yourself, Phoebe. You haven’t had anything new since you came here.’

  Her pleasure at this made Cissie’s heart go out to her. The woman was utterly dependent on him for every ha’penny, but she didn’t seem to mind.

  ‘I’m tired hearing about girls’ blouses,’ Pat complained. ‘What about our supper?’

  At one time, Cissie thought, her father would have given Pat a wallop for speaking like that, but he just laughed. Having Phoebe Garden there had changed him, and hopefully, her last name wouldn’t be Garden for much longer.

  Chapter Five

  1914 was into its second day when Rosie complained that she didn’t feel well, and Phoebe, thinking that the child had eaten too much rich food the day before, gave her a dose of castor oil that night. By the following morning, the effort of running up and down the stairs to the outside lavatory so many times had left the little girl pale and sweating, and she was put to bed with the instruction to use the chamberpot if she had to.

  Still on holiday from school, Marie screwed up her face in horror when Phoebe, preparing the midday meal, asked her to empty it. ‘Somebody else’s shit? Not me!’

  So Phoebe carried out the unpleasant chore herself until Cissie took it over from her in the late afternoon. ‘She’s awful white,’ she said, when she was scrubbing her hands.

  Phoebe had also been alarmed by the nine-year-old’s waxen skin. ‘Should we send for the doctor?’

  ‘It’s maybe nothing. Bairns get over things quick.’

  In the evening, Rosie’s nose started to bleed, and Phoebe strung the cold door-key on a string and hung it down her back – her own mother’s remedy for bleeding noses – which did make it stop for a short time.

  Big Tam looked worried when he came through from seeing his youngest daughter. ‘It’s not like Rosie. She’s always been quiet, but she’s lying there like – she’s given up.’

  Unwilling to make the decision, Phoebe looked across at Cissie, who said, ‘If she’s not any better in the morning, Pat’ll have to go for the doctor.’

  Rosie had a restless night, but Marie made no complaints about being kept awake, and when Cissie saw that there was blood in the chamberpot next morning, she was shocked and alarmed. Deciding that she had better not go to the dairy, she despatched Pat to ask the doctor to call as soon as he could. Big Tam also wanted to stay off work, but Phoebe reminded him that they couldn’t afford to lose his wages.

  After the doctor’s visit, Cissie said, ‘I’ve never heard of leukaemia, and what does fatal mean?’

  Phoebe shook her head sadly. ‘It means she – won’t get better.’ Marie bursting into tears at that, she went on, ‘We’ll have to keep cheery in front of her so she won’t know how ill she is.’

  For the rest of the day, they took it in turns to sit with Rosie, even when she was asleep, and each one went back to the kitchen in tears, it was so painfully clear that she was steadily weakening.

  When Big Tam came home, he blanched when he was told what the doctor had diagnosed. ‘Oh, God, not my wee Rosie?’ he moaned, his hands clutching at his hair in his distress.

  His children watched his torment uncomfortably, but Phoebe rose and put her arms round him. ‘Don’t let go, Tam,’ she urged. ‘You’ve your other bairns to think of.’

  He straightened up then and took out his handkerchief to blow his nose. ‘Aye, you’re right, but I’d like to be with her this night; it might be her last.’

  ‘No, Tam,’ Phoebe said, gently. ‘If she sees you, she’ll know something’s wrong.’

  That night was not Rosie’s last, and Phoebe made Cissie return to work the following day. ‘She could linger on for a while yet,’ she pointed out, ‘and it’s better we all carry on as usual.’

  Phoebe attended to the little girl during the days that followed, ignoring the housework and preparing quick meals when she got the chance, not that anyone felt like eating, but, as she said, ‘We need to keep our strength up.’

  Aggie Robertson, who had offered to sit with Rosie to let Phoebe do some shopping, and who had been a little offended when her offer was turned down, came up every morning to ask if she needed anything from the shops. The other neighbours came to enquire after the little girl, and so the days went by, with Rosie sinking lower and lower until, on the Sunday, with all her family around her, she slipped into a coma from which she never emerged.

  She had always been so quiet as to be hardly noticeable, yet her passing left a far bigger gap in the household than even Tommy’s departure had done, and it took a long time for them to come to terms with it. Phoebe, who had looked after her so lovingly, did her best to hide her own grief, and it was her calming influence that helped the others overcome theirs.

  Just before Joe left school, Mr Morrice from the top floor, a welder with Hall the shipbuilders, told him there was an errand boy’s job vacant. ‘They alwa
ys take the young lads on as apprentices when they’re sixteen,’ he added. ‘It maybe wouldn’t be as a welder, maybe a riveter or something else, but it would be a trade for you.’

  Joe pulled a face. ‘I wanted to go to sea.’

  ‘Building ships is an important job, and you’d see them being launched when they’re finished.’

  Joe’s eyes widened as this carrot was dangled. ‘Tommy’s on a trawler, would he ever get to see a launching?’

  Mr Morrice laughed. ‘No, nor your father, either. Not many folk see a launching.’

  Joe went to the shipyard to apply for the job, and with Mr Morrice’s recommendation that he was a quiet, reliable boy, he was told to start on the Monday after he left school.

  Big Tam smiled when he learned this. ‘You’re set for life now, Joe. Ships’ll never go out of fashion.’

  Phoebe took only half the boy’s wages for his keep, and he confided to Cissie, some weeks after he started work, ‘I know I’m only fourteen, but I feel like a man when I jingle money in my pocket.’

  The weather grew warmer and warmer, and by the beginning of August it was so hot that the grass in St Nicholas Kirkyard – which Cissie looked out on from her bedroom window – was turning yellow, and she was glad of the marble slab in the dairy to cool her constantly perspiring hands. Big Tam and Joe came home each night with their shirts sticking to their backs with sweat, and Pat went out to play in his bare feet, wearing only his breeches. Marie appeared one morning with the top two buttons of her blouse undone, but it was so immodest that Phoebe told her to fasten them before Pat saw her. Life in the McGregors’ flat was more placid than it had ever been, and even the outbreak of war on the fourth had no adverse effect on them.

  One forenoon in September, when Cissie turned to serve her next customer, she gave a cry of joy when she saw Tommy. ‘It’s my oldest brother,’ she told Miss Birnie, who allowed her to go outside to talk to him for a few minutes.

  ‘I’m going into the Merchant Navy,’ he said, proudly. ‘I thought I’d better let you know, for I’m putting you down as my next of kin in case anything happens to me.’

  ‘Nothing’s going to happen to you, Tommy.’ Cissie’s heart was fluttering wildly at the very thought.

  ‘I didn’t know you were working, and I went to the house first. That wouldn’t have been the same whore Da was taking home the night he put me out, though?’

  ‘It’s the same woman,’ Cissie said, carefully. ‘Her name’s Phoebe and she’s awful nice.’

  ‘Once a whore, always a whore,’ Tommy retorted, then his expression changed. He had been impressed by Phoebe’s appearance and gentle manner when she told him where Cissie was, and he added, grudgingly, ‘Maybe not that one, though. Now, what’s been happening since I’ve been away?’

  Cissie gasped in dismay. ‘Oh, Tommy, you won’t know about Rosie. She wasn’t well just after the New Year, and when we got the doctor, he said it was leukaemia.’

  ‘Never heard of it. Is she all right now?’

  ‘She died not long after.’

  He shook his head, unable to believe it. ‘Little Rosie? No, she can’t be dead? Oh, Cissie!’

  His stricken face made her stroke his cheek. ‘I don’t know what we’d have done if Phoebe hadn’t been there. She nursed Rosie like she . . .’ Cissie couldn’t go on.

  They looked at each other for some time, each drawing a little comfort from the other, then Tommy said, with a catch in his voice, ‘I wish I could have seen her again. Next to you, it was Rosie I liked best.’

  ‘I think Da liked her best, and all.’

  Tommy’s face hardened now. ‘He’s never liked anybody but himself, and he never will.’

  ‘He likes Phoebe; he’s been different since she came.’

  ‘He’ll never change, Cissie. Oh, maybe for a while, but he’s got a wicked streak in him, and if she gets on his wrong side, he’ll throw her out, the same as his own son. I still haven’t forgotten that.’

  To get his mind off it, and because she didn’t want to think that their father would ever put Phoebe out, she said, ‘Tommy, you’ll come back to see me?’

  ‘Maybe, but I’m not writing in case he sees the letters. You’d better get back to work now, Cissie.’ He clasped her hand then walked away, his rolling gait suggesting that he was still unsure of solid ground under his feet.

  Cissie returned sadly to her duties. Would she ever see Tommy again? He was her favourite brother, and if anything did happen to him, she would never forgive Da for making him leave home.

  Chapter Six

  1915

  Even before the end of the year, Phoebe had sensed a change in Big Tam. At first, she had put it down to the weather, for the icy coldness and the steadily falling snow were enough to make anyone depressed. On Hogmanay, she noticed that his face was strained, but it was another few days before it dawned on her what was troubling him. It was only natural for him to remember the death of his daughter, but he would consider it a weakness in himself, and she deemed it best not to say anything.

  On the actual anniversary, it was Cissie who came out with it, when she rose to clear the supper dishes. ‘It’s a year today since Rosie died.’

  Looking at Tam, Phoebe could see his tense mouth, his tortured eyes, and wasn’t surprised when he jumped to his feet muttering, ‘I’m going out.’

  There was a short silence after he left, then Cissie said, ‘I bet he’s going to a bar. I shouldn’t have reminded him.’

  ‘He remembered himself, days ago,’ Phoebe assured her.

  Hours later, waiting for Tam to come home, Phoebe was indulging in her favourite dream: being a proper part of his family. She loved his children as much as she loved him, and was almost sure that he loved her, but she was still only an outsider. Oh, the bairns treated her as a mother, and Tam treated her as a wife, most of the time, but it wasn’t the same as really being his wife. If only she were, she could face the neighbours without wondering if they were sneering at her behind her back. What was more, he wouldn’t just walk out without telling her where he was going, though she could excuse him for it tonight.

  When he came in, steady on his feet, he sat down to take off his boots. ‘They’re all in bed?’

  ‘Ages ago,’ she smiled. ‘Tam, I didn’t like to say it in case it upset you, but I know how sad you must be just now.’

  ‘It’s like it’s happening again, tearing my heart out.’

  She went over to him and laid her hand on his bowed head, wondering if this was the right time to say what was on her mind. She decided to risk it. ‘Maybe you’d feel better if we got married. I’m willing, if you are.’ She stepped back in surprise as his body jerked up and he looked at her coldly.

  ‘I’ll have no woman tell me what to do, especially one I picked up off the streets.’

  Recoiling as if he had struck her, she murmured, ‘Tam, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean . . .’

  ‘I can manage without you.’

  ‘Are you – are you telling me to go?’ she faltered.

  ‘I’ll leave it up to you.’

  Phoebe’s heart had slowed down when he reminded her of what she had been, but now she felt angry because he had thrown it in her face when she was trying to help him. She had thought he loved her, and she wouldn’t demean herself by begging to him. ‘I’ll pack my things.’

  Turning away, she thought that she could discern a flicker of dismay in his eyes, but she must have imagined it.

  Cissie wished she knew what had happened. Last night Phoebe had said goodnight as usual and yet in the morning she’d been gone. Cissie had heard nothing, for her job made her so tired it would have taken a barrel of explosives to waken her, and she had puzzled over it all day.

  She was pleased to find Phoebe waiting for her outside the dairy at half past four. ‘I had to see you, Cissie, to tell you why I left.’

  ‘Has Da found somebody else?’ Cissie’s voice was flat – this was what she’d been dreading for some time.

&
nbsp; ‘I don’t think he has. It was my own fault. I suppose I was stupid, but I loved you all so much, your father, too, that I told him I’d be willing to marry him, only he wasn’t willing to marry me.’

  ‘Oh, Phoebe, I’m sorry. Did he throw you out?’

  ‘As good as. I’m sorry, too, Cissie, but don’t let him make you give up your job. Keep your independence, you might need it yet. Oh, Cissie, I’ll never forget any of you.’

  ‘We’ll never forget you, either, Phoebe. Will you keep in touch with me and let me know where you are?’

  ‘I don’t think I should, but I’ll tell you this – I’m finished with men. I’ll find a proper job this time.’ At the foot of Schoolhill, she said, ‘This is goodbye, Cissie.’ She kissed the girl’s cheek and walked on into St Nicholas Street, her eyes streaming.

  ‘Goodbye, Phoebe,’ Cissie called after her. ‘Good luck!’

  Her spirits were so low that she did not look in any of the shop windows on her way up the hill, and, climbing the tenement stairs, she felt that the whole weight of the world was on her shoulders. She couldn’t even face telling Aggie Robertson that Phoebe was gone, but she was determined never to give up her job, no matter how angry her father might be.

  As it turned out, he didn’t ask her to stop working, it was Marie he turned to. ‘You’ll soon be fourteen, and you don’t like school, so you can stay at home and keep house.’ He offered no explanation for Phoebe’s absence, and Marie didn’t ask.

  Cissie was glad he wasn’t going to take in another woman. She couldn’t have stood it, because she would miss Phoebe, miss all their confidential chats. Still, she’d be sixteen in three months and could leave any time after that. She had a wage – and a mind – of her own.