Shoulder the Sky (Drumberley Book 3)

by D. E. Stevenson

  “The boy wasn’t killed, in fact nothing happened to him except that he grew up a bit and came to his senses. He was away for more than a year and then he got leave and returned to Glasgow to his wife and child. Things were much better between them; he had given up all idea of training her and although he didn’t love her — and realised now that he never had — he was fond of her and much more tolerant. Elizabeth was good with the baby and seeing them together, his wife and his child, he felt a great tenderness for them.

  “By this time he was very anxious indeed that his parents should be told and did all he could to persuade Elizabeth to let him tell them. She was a soft little thing in some ways, but she was terribly stubborn about this. She was afraid they would insist on her leaving Glasgow and going to live with them at Drumburly and she couldn’t bear the thought of it. She would be miserable, she declared. They wouldn’t like her. She would die of fright if he made her go. He knew she ought to go, he wanted her to go (Glasgow was being bombed sporadically and she would be safe at Drumburly), but what could he do? He couldn’t force her to go against her will. The only thing he could do was to write a letter to his parents and leave it with Elizabeth so that if anything happened to him she could use it. He explained everything in the letter, he asked his parents’ forgiveness and commended Elizabeth to their care. His leave was over now, and he rejoined his ship.”

  25

  HENRY ROSE and walked to the window; he pulled aside the curtain and looked out. He said, “There isn’t a great deal more to the story. I was on convoy duty for several months and then, on the fourteenth of March, nineteen forty-one, my ship docked at Portsmouth and I heard that the Luftwaffe had bombed Glasgow the night before. I had a feeling about it — perhaps because I had been dreading it — I had a horrible, hopeless, sick feeling …

  “I asked for leave and went north at once and my worst fears were realised. I shall never forget that morning. The street where our flat had been was gone. It had vanished completely. There was nothing left but ruins and rubble and smoke from the smouldering fires, and water from the hoses. People were wandering about amongst the ruins; some of them were weeping but others were too dazed to weep. I felt it wasn’t real. The whole thing was a sort of nightmare and everybody else was sharing the nightmare with me. They were all doing as I was; asking questions, making enquiries, trying to find out what had happened to their relations or their friends. I made every effort possible to discover what had happened to Elizabeth and the child. I spent my leave searching, questioning, asking everybody I met but nobody had seen them or could tell me anything about them. I was forced to believe they had been killed.”

  He paused for a minute and sighed. “It was a nightmare,” he said. “I thought of it constantly, wondering how they had been killed, whether it had been sudden or — or whether they had been — frightened. I dreamt about it at night. And then gradually I thought of it less and less. The war was near and horribly real; the dangers and discomforts and anxieties of war filled my mind and the nightmare got buried. After the war I got that job in the hospital; it was a very responsible job and I had no time to brood over the past. Years passed, years of responsibilities and hard work. Then I met you.”

  He came back and sat down. “Nan,” he said in a low tone. “Nan, I hadn’t thought of Elizabeth for years. I was certain they had been killed. I suppose I should have told you about it, but somehow I never really thought of it. The whole episode was over and done with; it had been a nightmare (part of the nightmare of war) and both were past and gone. That was how matters stood when I met you. You know what happened, Nan. I loved you at once and more every time we met. That day at Kew … But the very next morning I got a letter from Mr. Murray, a young lawyer in Glasgow who had helped me in my search. Quite unexpectedly he had come across a woman who was a friend of Elizabeth’s and had gone to the shelter with them; so they weren’t in the house when the bomb fell. I went straight to Glasgow and saw the woman. She was quite certain about it, there was no doubt at all, she had been with them in the shelter and had helped Elizabeth to get food for the child. She had seen them after the raid was over.

  “That morning the evacuation began and of course it was a bit of a muddle as you can imagine, hundreds of people were being sent away to places where they would be safe from bombing. This woman was sent to Ayr, and Elizabeth was supposed to be going with her in the same bus; but for some reason Elizabeth didn’t turn up and the bus went without her. The woman never saw her again.” He stopped suddenly. “That’s all,” he said.

  There was a long silence.

  “Ten years,” said Nan at last in a faint voice.

  “It’s a long time, isn’t it? It feels longer. In fact I feel as if it hadn’t happened to me at all, but to somebody else.”

  “You can’t find her?”

  “I’ve tried every way I can think of.”

  “She could find you quite easily.”

  “Yes,” agreed Henry in doubtful tones. “You mean she doesn’t want to be found? That’s what Mr. Murray said.”

  “It’s obvious, isn’t it?”

  “It would have been the obvious conclusion if she were like other people, but, you see, I know her. Poor Elizabeth, she’s so helpless somehow.”

  He was speaking as if his wife were still alive and Nan realised this. He had been certain she was dead; now he was equally certain she was not. It seemed strange to Nan. How could she possibly be alive? Surely, however helpless she was, she would have had enough sense to get into touch with Henry through his parents.

  “I could free myself legally,” continued Henry in a level, controlled voice quite different from his usual vibrant tones. “Mr. Murray advised me to do that; he says that if a person disappears and (in spite of every effort to find them) nothing is heard of them for seven years they can be ‘presumed dead.’ He says it could be done quite easily.”

  “But you don’t want to do it?” asked Nan.

  He held out his hands in a helpless gesture. “I can’t,” he declared. “I can’t bring myself to do it! To free myself without finding her — without seeing her and explaining and finding out what she wants! I just can’t do it. Our marriage was a foolish mistake — we both realised that — but she’s my wife and the mother of my child.”

  “I know,” said Nan. “I understand, Henry.”

  “If only I could find her I should know what to do. I could put things right or at least make some amends. I failed her, you see. If I hadn’t failed her — if I had made her happy — if I had insisted on her going to Drumburly and taking the child — and that’s what I should have done! Oh, Nan, what’s happened to her!” he exclaimed. “Where is she? What’s she doing? Perhaps she’s very badly off; perhaps she’s in actual want! And what about my son? How is he being brought up? Nan, honestly, I nearly go mad when I think of it.”

  Nan tried to speak but she couldn’t.

  “It goes round and round,” said Henry wearily. “There’s no way out. I can’t take legal action. I just can’t do it. I daresay it’s foolish. Mr. Murray thinks it’s very foolish indeed, but there it is.” He paused and added in a lower tone, “I shall never be happy till I find her.”

  Nan realised that this was true. He would never be happy until he found her. If she were dead he would never find her … which meant he would never be happy.

  Somehow she managed to find her voice. “I understand,” she said. “I do understand and — and sympathise. I’m glad you told me. You won’t mind if I tell Adam, will you?”

  “I should like Adam to know,” he replied.

  There was a short silence and then Nan whispered. “Henry, please go away. It sounds horrid of me but — but I can’t bear any more.”

  He rose at once and went to the door; from there he looked back. “Forgive me,” he said brokenly. “We could have been — so happy. Forget me if you can.”

  He went out and shut the door. He was gone.

  Nan began to cry quietly, her head pressed
into the cushion. They were not so much tears of grief as the reaction from the emotional tension which she had endured. Henry’s voice, his tragic story, the necessity of appearing calm had upset her nerves completely. It was because she had felt the storm rising within her that she had asked Henry to go away. She was shaking all over and the tears were welling up and running down her cheeks … it was a relief to let them flow.

  Presently the storm passed and the trembling of her limbs grew less. She dried her eyes and pulled herself together. The familiar room looked strange to Nan, it was almost as if she had not seen it before; it belonged to another world, a safe familiar world. All the little intimate things that she and Adam had bought together, and which she had dusted and polished and grown fond of, looked strange. It was as if she had been raised to a different plane where only big things mattered, things like life and death and love and pain. So far she had not really thought about Henry’s story but had felt it emotionally. Now she began to think about it and to consider its implications. She knew now that Henry loved her but the knowledge did not bring happiness. She had thought it would. Often and often she had thought that if only she could know Henry loved her she would ask for nothing more. But now she had this knowledge and she was more unhappy, not less, for Henry was unhappy too and that was worse — because she loved him. His unhappiness was harder to bear than her own.

  26

  RHODA HAD not seen Nan for nearly a week, in fact not since the party, and as there was no telephone at Boscath she could not get in touch with her and find out how she was. Rhoda was worried about Nan; she wondered whether Henry had gone to see her and had told her his secret. If so it was at Rhoda’s instigation and perhaps her advice had been wrong. She wished now that she had not meddled in her friends’ affairs. Then there was Adam. What was Adam doing? Was Holly really pursuing him seriously? The only way to answer these questions and to set her mind at rest was to go and see Nan.

  Rhoda decided to go to Drumburly in the car and James admitted that the expedition was practicable. The bog would be frozen and if Rhoda were reasonably careful there was little danger.

  It was a frosty morning; the ground was hard and powdered lightly with snow. The sky was grey, the land was bleak, yellow and grey, cold and sad and lonely, a landscape in acid tones. As Rhoda drove along she saw sheep all about the moor and on the road. They were seeking their food, moving about, nosing the hard ground in their efforts to find nourishment (James said the sheep did not mind the cold, but how did James know?); it made Rhoda shiver to look at them.

  Drumburly was all grey this morning; a little grey town beneath the cold grey skies. There were very few people about and those were hurrying along with their coat-collars turned up, hurrying from one place to another instead of dawdling in the streets and gossiping amicably as usual.

  Rhoda drew up at the green gate and ran up the path. She did not ring (for she knew that Nan disliked the sound of the front door-bell) but opened the door and shouted cheerfully.

  “Rhoda, how lovely!” cried Nan appearing from the kitchen. “Goodness, how lovely! I thought I was never going to see you again.”

  Naturally this was a slight exaggeration and Rhoda realised the fact, but all the same she had a feeling that her friend had been particularly anxious to see her and was particularly glad she had come.

  “Well, here I am,” said Rhoda. “Old Hornie froze up the bog quite nicely and as long as he doesn’t start thawing it before I get home it will be grand. What has been happening in Drumburly?”

  “A lot,” replied Nan, taking Rhoda’s arm and leading her into the sitting room. “A lot has been happening and none of it very good. As a matter of fact the Forrester family is having a spell of rough weather.”

  “Tell me about it,” Rhoda said.

  “First of all there’s Adam,” said Nan unhappily. “I don’t know what to do about Adam — at least that isn’t really true because I know I can’t do anything.”

  “Holly, I suppose.”

  Nan looked at her in amazement. “How did you know?”

  “I saw it happen.”

  “Rhoda,” said Nan earnestly. “It isn’t that I’m selfish. I wouldn’t mind if it were somebody who would marry Adam and be kind to him. I would just clear out and get a job …”

  “Holly will neither marry Adam nor be kind to him.”

  “That’s what I thought,” admitted Nan. “She isn’t the sort of person who would marry a penniless doctor. Listen, Rhoda, this is what I wanted to tell you: she came to supper with us last night — Adam made me ask her — and she was charming, she really was. Nobody could have been more friendly and kind and amusing. She praised my soufflé and helped me to wash up the dishes; she was just as charming to me as she was to Adam. It was a delightful evening and I couldn’t help liking her.”

  “I told you she was attractive.”

  “Attractive! Adam is quite mad about her. After she had gone he began to talk as if she had promised to marry him, so I asked him if they were engaged. He said no, not really, but he was sure it was going to be all right. The only thing that was worrying him was me.”

  “And you told him not to worry about you.”

  “Of course! I couldn’t do anything else. I did try to hint that Holly is an expensive sort of person but I couldn’t say much because I’m in rather an awkward position if you see what I mean.”

  “Yes, I do,” said Rhoda.

  Nan sighed heavily. “I don’t understand,” she said. “If she doesn’t want to marry Adam why bother with him?”

  “It isn’t a bother to her, Nan. I know it sounds catty but it’s just a statement of fact. It isn’t a bother to Holly to be charming.”

  “Can’t we do something about it?”

  Rhoda shook her head. The only thing she could think of was that Holly should be provided with another swain, not necessarily more attractive than Adam but with a bigger balance at the bank, and she was not going to suggest this, even to Nan. Rhoda hated to be “catty” but there was something about Holly that she could not endure; the mere thought of Holly made her feel uncharitable.

  “What about the other member of the Forrester family?” asked Rhoda, changing the subject. “What has been happening to her?”

  “Nothing very good,” replied Nan.

  “Don’t tell me if you don’t want to,” said Rhoda quickly.

  Nan wanted to tell her. It was a little difficult but she pulled herself together. “Henry came to see me,” she said. “I hadn’t imagined things, he was fond of me. He told me everything, so now I know. It’s over.”

  “It’s over?”

  “Yes, it’s quite hopeless,” said Nan. “I can’t tell you about it because it isn’t my secret.” She looked up and saw the expression of dismay upon Rhoda’s face. “Oh Rhoda!” she exclaimed with a sad little laugh. “Don’t worry about it, and don’t try to guess because you never could. He isn’t a Mr. Rochester with a mad wife in the attic or anything like that.”

  Rhoda blushed. Strangely enough she had been thinking of Mr. Rochester. “You’re very good about it,” she declared.

  “‘Shoulder the sky,’” said Nan smiling. “Do you know A. E. Housman’s poems? I think it helps a lot to find that other people have troubles, and understand what it feels like to be unhappy. Poets seem to know a lot about unhappiness. Here’s something that has helped me.” She hesitated for a moment and then quoted the lines:

  “The troubles of our proud and angry dust

  Are from eternity, and shall not fail.

  Bear them we can, and if we can we must.

  Shoulder the sky, my lad, and drink your ale.”

  “‘Shoulder the sky,’” said Rhoda. “It’s a sort of clarion call, isn’t it? He makes it sound a worth-while job.”

  “It’s a big job, but not too big. ‘Bear them we can, and if we can we must.’ At first I thought he had put it the wrong way round, but the more you think about it the more you realize that his way is right.”
<
br />   Rhoda nodded thoughtfully.

  “‘And drink your ale,’” added Nan with a brave smile. “Don’t go moping about and making everybody else miserable. ‘Shoulder the sky, my lad, and drink your ale.’”

  *

  James had walked up the river. It was the path Rhoda had taken the day she went to Tassieknowe, but James did not intend to visit the Heddles, he intended to make sure that the dykes which bounded the northern limit of Boscath hirsel were in good order and to have a look at his sheep. It was nearly time to bring the tups down from the hills and James was glad of this, for when they were out it made a lot more work. James had Shad out today and was giving him some intensive training, sending him up the hill to round up a stray ewe, and controlling his movements with whistles and gesticulations. Shad did his job none too badly and came trotting back with a self-satisfied air which amused his master a good deal. There was a rakish look about Shad, partly due to a black patch round one of his eyes which gave the impression that Shad had been partaker in a debauch and had got the worst of it in the fight that had ensued. Not a beautiful creature, thought James (as he patted Shad and gave him a small piece of biscuit), but a friendly, intelligent, humorous creature. He was beginning to like Shad quite a lot.

  It was frosty and cold; the hills looked bleak beneath the grey skies, the river looked leaden and the ground was hard as iron; but James enjoyed his walk all the same. He climbed up one hill and down another, counting his sheep. At first he had found it exceedingly difficult to count a group of sheep upon the hills for they were pearly grey like the rocks and boulders, but now he was getting used to it and could cast his eyes over the hills, pick out sheep from boulders and compute their numbers with astonishing accuracy.