Waters of the Heart

by Doris Davidson

Aggie looked grave. ‘A bairn born oot o’ incest sometimes turns out to be an imbecile, but we’ll not let it get that far. I could sort you out if you tell me quick. You ken the signs?’ At Cissie’s slight nod, she went on, ‘The longer you leave it, the worse it’ll be to get rid o’.’

  Cissie’s eyes jerked wide in shock. ‘Kill it, you mean?’

  ‘Well, aye, but it’s not really . . .’

  ‘I couldn’t let you kill an unborn baby.’

  ‘It’s the only way, in case it’s not right in the head.’

  ‘I don’t care. I couldn’t let you . . .’ Cissie started to weep again.

  After considering for a moment, Aggie said, ‘Maybe we’re getting worked up for nothing, but for God’s sake, never let him touch you again.’

  Cissie sat down on the stairs to think before she went up to her own house. It hadn’t crossed her mind that she might be in the family way, and she would have to wait in secret torture until her next show came . . . if it came. She wished now that she hadn’t stopped Hugh on Saturday night. If she had let him do what he wanted and he had made her pregnant, they would have had to get married.

  But he hadn’t come to apologise – he likely didn’t want to see her any more – and she didn’t think she could face him again, in any case.

  Chapter Nine

  Three weeks later, Cissie’s mental agony had increased. She had prayed for a week that she was wrong, but she had never been this late before, had hardly ever been more than a day out. She couldn’t bear to think about it, especially today, when Joe was leaving to join the Royal Navy.

  At breakfast, Marie eyed her with concern. ‘Is something wrong, Cissie? You’ve hardly said a word since you got up.’

  ‘It’s just . . . I’m going to miss Joe when he’s away.’ Cissie couldn’t stop the tears from springing to her eyes, excusing them by saying to her brother, ‘You’ll be put on a boat when your training’s finished, and you’ll be . . .’

  ‘I always wanted to go to sea,’ he reminded her.

  ‘A lot of boats have been sunk, Joe, and if you wanted to fight, you should have joined the army, it’s safer.’

  ‘I don’t want to fight, I just want to go to sea. Any road, the army’s not any safer than the navy. Look how many soldiers have been killed.’

  ‘I don’t want to lose you,’ she sobbed, and ran through to her bedroom. Her own plight was bad enough without having to worry about two brothers instead of one.

  When it was time for Joe to go, he shook hands with Marie and ruffled Pat’s hair, then went to take his leave of his older sister. She had drawn the curtains and was lying in semi-darkness when he knocked and went in. ‘Don’t be upset for me, Cissie,’ he said, sitting down on the bed. ‘I want to go. Da’s boiling mad at me now, so I’d better not come home again till I’m sure he’s got over it.’

  She fought down the nerve-ball that had gathered in her throat. ‘I’ll be praying for you, Joe.’

  He laughed self-consciously. ‘Oh well, I’ll be all right, then. God’ll answer your prayers, Cissie, for you’ve always been a good girl.’

  If she had been capable of speech, she would have told him that she wasn’t a good girl any longer, that she was in terrible trouble, but she could only shake the hand he held out. ‘Goodbye, Cissie.’

  It wasn’t until fifteen minutes after he left that she was able to pull herself together, and she had to run because she was late for work. Somehow, Cissie got through the day, but when she left the dairy at half past four and saw Hugh Phimister waiting for her, she could have screamed.

  ‘I wanted to come before this,’ he said, quietly, ‘but I was giving you time to get over what I did. I’m really sorry about it, Cissie, and I’ll never do anything like that again. Please say you’re not going to stop seeing me.’

  She had let him go on until she regimented her thoughts, but now she tore her eyes away from his beseeching face. ‘I can’t go out with you any more.’

  ‘Please, Cissie? I’ll never put you in a situation like that again. I love you, and I thought you loved me.’

  She loved him more than he would ever know, but it was impossible now. ‘I’m sorry, Hugh.’

  Grabbing her hand, he cried, ‘You do love me, I can see it in your eyes. Why won’t you come out with me?’

  ‘I can’t. Please, Hugh, leave it. There’s a reason why.’

  ‘Tell me, then. You owe me that.’

  ‘I can’t. It wasn’t you, it’s something I’ve done.’

  His eyes darkened. ‘Is there somebody else?’

  She bit back the denial she longed to make; it was easier to leave him believing it. It would pain him for a while, but the truth would be even worse. ‘Yes, there’s somebody else. Now, just let me go home.’

  ‘Is there no chance for me at all?’

  ‘No.’ She walked away, hot tears stinging her eyelids.

  ‘I’ll never forget you,’ he called, softly, ‘and if you ever change your mind, let me know.’

  She walked as quickly, and as steadily, as she was able, but as she turned the corner into Schoolhill, she couldn’t resist a backward glance. Hugh was still standing looking after her, a forlorn figure in the gathering dusk.

  Cissie had finally accepted it. She had prayed it was the shock of her father’s assualt that had made her miss the first time, but there was no doubt now. In her torment, she went back to Aggie, who took one look at her woebegone face and said, ‘So he did it? You should have come back before this, though. Will you let me get rid of it?’

  ‘No, Aggie.’ Cissie had turned it over and over in her mind and was still sure it wouldn’t be right.

  ‘Aye, well. I’ll send my Jim up when he comes home, for he wants to ask you something.’

  Hurt that Aggie had given her no sympathy, Cissie went up to her own house, where Marie, with a face like thunder, was rolling out pastry for a pie, and Pat was sitting with a huge smirk on his round face. ‘Have you two been quarrelling again?’ she sighed.

  ‘Tell him to stop complaining about my cooking!’ Marie burst out. ‘If he helped a bit, it wouldn’t be so bad.’

  ‘I haven’t the strength to help,’ Pat grinned. ‘I need proper food.’

  Marie waved the rolling pin at him threateningly. ‘What you need’s a wallop with this.’

  Cissie covered her ears and screamed. ‘Stop it, the pair of you!’

  Astonished, Marie laid down the rolling pin and went over to put her arm round her sister. ‘I know something’s been bothering you for a while. Can you not tell me?’

  ‘There’s nothing to tell. I’m tired, that’s all, and I can’t stand you two always fighting over nothing.’

  ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t think, but he drives me up the wall with his complaining.’

  ‘It’s only in fun,’ Pat mumbled. ‘Sorry, Cissie. I like to see her getting raised, but I won’t do it again.’

  She drew a deep breath. ‘I’m sorry for shouting.’

  Peace restored, Marie returned to her pastry-making, Pat took his jotters out of his satchel to do his homework and Cissie went to the sink to splash her hot face with cold water. She shouldn’t have lost her temper – Pat and Marie were too alike in their natures and would always rub each other up the wrong way – but her nerves were nearly at breaking point.

  When someone knocked at the door about an hour later, she said, ‘It’ll be the Humphy. I’ll go.’

  ‘Come out to the landing a minute,’ Jim Robertson said, quietly, and when she shut the door behind her, he went on, ‘Ma told me about the bairn, and I’m willing to marry you so it can have a name, and I swear nobody’ll ever learn from me who its real father is.’

  This was the last thing she had expected, and her legs wobbled dangerously. But he couldn’t be serious? How could he think she would marry him? He was ancient, and his back – and his bandy legs? Oh, no!

  Her silence made him persist. ‘I’d look after you, and the bairn. I’m maybe not your idea of a husband, but it
would save your face, and you’ll not be able to bide in your own house once you start to show. If we get wed quick, folk’ll think it’s mine.’

  Everything he said was true, Cissie could see that, and she had lost Hugh, anyway, but . . . marrying Humphy Jim? Folk would laugh at her, and they’d think she’d let him . . .

  His rather sad eyes were regarding her seriously. ‘I don’t know if it’ll help you to make up your mind, lass, but I’ve loved you for years.’

  ‘But I don’t love you,’ she whispered, sorry to hurt him, because he had always been so kind to her.

  ‘I know that, I’m not stupid. Think about it, Cissie.’

  Marie looked at her inquisitively when she went inside, and she flushed to the roots of her hair, but, thankfully, Pat kept talking until their father came home. Later, when Marie returned after an evening with Wilfie Lewis, she had forgotten her curiosity about Jim’s visit and Cissie did not remind her. She wanted peace to think over what he had said.

  All night, and all the following day, she considered his suggestion, and came to the conclusion that it was the only way out of the mess she was in. She would be away from her father, and she had always liked the Humphy, though not in the way a girl should think of her husband-to-be. Waiting until she knew that he would be home from work, she went downstairs and gave a small tap on the Robertsons’ door. He opened it himself, his eyes, red-rimmed beneath his glasses from all the close work in the tailor’s shop, filling with a radiant hope at her timid smile.

  ‘I’ll not come in,’ she said, quickly. ‘I just came to say yes, I’ll marry you.’

  He ran his hand across his thinning hair. ‘Thank you, and you’ll not regret it. I’ll never do anything to you that you don’t want me to.’

  She had given some thought to this side of it, too, and murmured, ‘No, Jim, when I’m your wife I’ll let you do what you’re entitled to do. It’s only fair.’

  Cissie waited until they were in bed before she told her sister, who was shocked into crying out, ‘Oh, no! You can’t marry the Humphy!’

  ‘Whisht, you’ll waken Pat,’ Cissie murmured, ‘and it’s not a case of what I can or can’t do. I have to.’

  ‘You’re not . . . you haven’t been . . . not with him?’ Marie was even more horrified at this. ‘I know you stopped going with Hugh Phimister, but carrying on with the . . . Oh! I know! It’s Hugh’s baby, and he’ll not stand by you.’

  ‘No, it’s not Hugh’s. I wish it was.’

  Marie was silent for a few minutes, digesting the facets of the situation, but unable to believe that her sister had let Jim Robertson touch her. It was too distasteful to dwell on. ‘Have you told Da yet?’ she asked, at last.

  ‘Not yet.’

  ‘I wouldn’t like to be you when you do.’

  ‘I’m not telling him till the day before the wedding, so if he throws me out, I’ll just go downstairs a day earlier than I meant to.’

  Having been involved in her own troubles, Cissie had forgotten that her going would leave Marie in great danger, but it struck her now. ‘You’ll watch yourself with Da when I’m not here?’

  Marie grinned. ‘Oh, aye, I’ll never let him touch me. It would be different if it was Wilfie.’

  ‘Don’t let him touch you, either.’

  Giving a little giggle, Marie said, ‘I let him feel my titties last week, and I could see he liked it as much as me, though he got all red and said he’d have to stop.’

  ‘Oh, Marie, don’t let him do it again, you maybe won’t be able to stop him if he tries anything else.’

  ‘I don’t know if I’d want to stop him,’ Marie laughed, and added, childishly, ‘You didn’t stop the Humphy, did you?’

  Longing to say that it was their father she couldn’t stop, and that Marie might land in the same boat with him or with Wilfie, Cissie kept quiet. Marie would not take her advice.

  On the eve of her marriage, Cissie waited until her brother and sister went to bed before she told her father, ‘I’m getting wed tomorrow.’

  Big Tam’s eyes, which had darkened as soon as Marie left the room, hardened now. ‘Wed? For God’s sake, that’s a bit sudden, isn’t it? But I suppose you’re in the family way. Who’s the father? Did that lad you went with manage to come to the boil after all?’

  Cissie was amazed that he seemed to have forgotten what he had done. ‘It’s not Hugh I’m getting married to,’ she said, carefully. ‘It’s Jim Robertson.’

  His lower jaw dropping, he jumped to his feet and roared, ‘Humphy Jim? You surely haven’t let him . . .’ He raised his hand to strike her, but her unflinching eyes made him pause long enough for the brutal truth to dawn, and groaning, he thumped back in his chair. ‘Oh, Christ, Cissie, you’re not telling me it’s mine?’

  ‘You’re the only man that’s ever been near me.’

  ‘Does Jim Robertson know?’

  ‘Aye, that’s why he’s marrying me, so folk’ll not know the kind of father I’ve got.’

  His anger flared again at this. ‘You little bitch! Telling him about that when I couldn’t help myself? Does his mother know, and all?’

  ‘It was Aggie I told, for I had to tell somebody.’ Cissie brought her courage to full pitch. ‘One thing before we’re finished, though. If you ever lay a finger on Marie after I leave the house, I’ll get the bobbies on you. It’s what I should have done before, if I’d had any sense. Remember, I’ll just be down the stair, and I’ll soon know.’

  His face crumpled. ‘Oh, Cissie, I’m sorry. I’d never have done it if I hadn’t been drunk, and it was you saying your lad had tried it that got me going, but I swear to God I’ll never touch your sister.’

  He sat for a few minutes with his head bowed, then brought it up smartly, as if he had come to a great decision. ‘Maybe you’ll not believe this, but I’ve missed Phoebe something terrible since she went away, and I thought I would never see her again, but about three weeks ago I went into a bar in King Street and there she was, behind the counter. I’ve asked her every night to come back to me, but she always refuses – not that I blame her – but maybe, if I ask her to marry me, she’ll change her mind. I think an awful lot of her, and she’d be a good wife to me.’

  Cissie covered her astonishment by saying, ‘So she would.’

  ‘But she’ll not need to know about what I did to you. She wouldn’t look at me again if she thought . . .’

  ‘Don’t worry, I’ll not tell her. Once I leave this house, I’ll never be back.’

  Next day, three months pregnant, Cissie stood, trembling, in the register office in her Sunday clothes, the blouse straining a little across her fuller bosom, the waistband of her skirt just a fraction too tight. Her light brown hair was drawn into a bun at the nape of her neck; it had lost its bounce and sheen now and wouldn’t sit any other way. Her lips were almost as pale as her face, which made the dark circles round her eyes even more pronounced. Before the ceremony began, she glanced briefly at Jim, her heart aching when she thought how happy she would have been if Hugh had been standing at her side instead of this sweating stranger in a high stiff collar and a suit that had fitted him before he had a hump on his back. But she had chosen to do this for her child’s sake, and she would go through with it.

  In less than fifteen minutes, Mr and Mrs James Robertson walked back to Schoolhill, Cissie almost making the mistake of going past Aggie’s door and carrying on up to the second floor, but she remembered just in time. Aggie shook hands with them both when they went in, but there was no rejoicing, no wedding jokes. The three of them sat quietly for hours after they had supper, until Aggie said, smiling a little, ‘Will I have to throw the pair of you out? I’m that sleepy I’ll need matchsticks to keep my eyes open.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ Cissie gasped. ‘I forgot you slept in the kitchen bed.’

  Jim having told her to go to the outside lavatory first, she was undressed and under the blankets before he came into their room, and she averted her eyes as he took off his clothes, but
her stomach churned when she felt him lying down beside her. She had primed herself to succumb to him, but now the moment had come, she wasn’t sure that she could. All he did, however, was to lay his hand over hers for a moment before he turned away, and her heart filled with gratitude to him for his understanding.

  Four weeks later, Tam McGregor married Phoebe Garden, who came back to live on the floor above, thus removing Cissie’s fears for her sister – as far as their father was concerned, at least. Wilfie Lewis was a different matter, and she could do nothing about that.

  Chapter Ten

  1917

  His ‘grandmother’ was in sole attendance when young James Robertson was born, and she could see, as soon as he made his speedy entrance into the world, that her fears had been justified; his head was grossly misshapen, flopping like a rag-doll’s, and even at this early stage, it was quite clear that he would never be like other children. ‘It’s a boy,’ she murmured, tempted not to smack life into him, but Cissie’s eyes were fixed on her in silent entreaty, and, in any case, he gave a weedy wail with no help from anyone.

  ‘There’s something wrong with him, isn’t there?’ the girl demanded. ‘I know by the look on your face.’

  ‘Aye,’ Aggie sighed, ‘he’s not right.’ It was on the tip of her tongue to say that it would have been better to do as she had suggested months before, but it was too late now.

  ‘I hope Jim’s not angry,’ Cissie said, miserably.

  ‘It’ll not do any good if he is.’

  Jim was not angry. His heart was sore for Cissie’s sake, and he held the infant in his arms as if James were the most beautiful baby he had ever seen.

  Phoebe, who had gone down to see Cissie every day since her own wedding, called in that afternoon. ‘He’s maybe not perfect, but babies like him bring love with them.’

  This was true, as Cissie soon found out. She could not hate the slavering little thing, he was so dependent on her, and would be for much longer than a normal child, probably for as long as he lived, for bairns like him never grew to adulthood. They all doted on him – Jim, Aggie, Phoebe, Marie and even Pat – and there was not a more loved infant in the whole of Aberdeen. Big Tam did not come to see him – Cissie would have died if he had – but by scrimping drastically on her household expenses, Phoebe bought a lovely Moses basket which she said was from both of them, and from its luxurious depths, ‘King’ James ruled over his enslaved subjects. Of course, Phoebe had no idea that her husband was the actual father and imagined that Tam was angry at Cissie for getting pregnant to Jim Robertson, and the girl would never have dreamt of telling her otherwise.