Couldn’t help it? He should have had the sense to stick to his guns and not let himself be talked into going to the Boar’s Head with his friends. He’d been a weakling, and he despised himself, as Elspeth would despise him when she found out why he had never appeared. He would have to do something to make it up to her, for he couldn’t bear the thought of losing her.
As soon as Geordie set off on his Sunday afternoon walk, his wife took out her knitting – she had to wait until he went out because he disapproved of even this harmless occupation on the Sabbath. Elspeth pretended to read, but could not concentrate for worrying. John hadn’t been in church, but Blairton had seemed normal enough, and Mrs Forrest – her cloche hat, just like Queen Mary’s, fitting closely on her head – had smiled to the Grays when she went out. She couldn’t have known that her son had been invited to the cottar house for supper, otherwise she would have told them why he hadn’t gone.
Her hands going like shuttles, Lizzie glanced across at her daughter with a rush of tenderness and wished that she could do something to soothe the girl’s wounded feelings, she looked so miserable. ‘He maybe had a cold.’
Elspeth shook her head. ‘A cold wouldn’t have kept him away.’ John had said he was leaving in the forenoon, she thought, mournfully, so he would be gone now and he hadn’t even come to say goodbye.
When Geordie returned, Lizzie put a small kebbock of home-made cheese on the table, and some of the oatcakes she baked every Friday, but, as on the previous evening, he was the only one with an appetite, and was quite oblivious to the fact that his wife and daughter hardly ate a thing.
Elspeth, who generally chattered on during the long Sunday evenings, sat morosely looking into the fire for over an hour, and when her father at last noticed her silence, he cursed John Forrest for hurting her. The uncomfortable situation lasted until just after eight o’clock, then Elspeth stood up. ‘I think I’ll go to my bed, for I’m ...’ Putting her hand to her mouth to stifle a sob, she ran out.
Geordie was about to vow vengeance on the young man, but one look at his wife’s face – her lips compressed, her eyes daring him to swear – made him tone down his words. ‘I’ll tell him what I think o’ him the next time I see him, the ... scoundrel that he is.’
Lizzie gave him time to simmer down, then said, softly, ‘Leave it be, Geordie. If the laddie’s as decent as I think he is, he’ll write and let her ken why he didna come last night, and if he’s not ... well, she’ll just have to get over him, for she’d be better off without him.’
Making her way cautiously along the icy road on Monday morning, Elspeth was dreading being questioned by Nettie and Kirsty about Saturday night, but when she entered the back room of the dressmaker’s shop, her puffed eyes told them that she had been weeping and they remained sympathetically silent. She knew they were thinking that John hadn’t asked her father about courting her, or that her father had refused his permission, and it was best to leave it at that.
About eleven o’clock, Mrs Taylor, wife of the cattleman at Upper Mains, came in with a skirt to be let out, and was full of what she’d just heard. ‘Donald Stewart’s mother was telling me he got blazing drunk in the Boar’s Head on Saturday morning. Mind you, there was other five besides him that had to be taken home helpless – Alex Paterson, Willie Anderson, Dougal McLeod, John Forrest and Davie ... mercy on us! What’s wrong wi’ the lassie?’
Elspeth had let out a low moan, and was hanging on to the bench, her face chalk-white, her eyes like saucers. ‘I think I’ve got a touch o’ the flu,’ she whispered.
Grace Fraser looked quite concerned, peering at her over the top of her steel-rimmed spectacles. ‘Yes, you don’t look at all well, Elspeth. You’d better go home.’
In a daze, Elspeth went to get her coat, feeling worse than ever when she heard Mrs Taylor saying, ‘They’d to leave wi’ the first train on Sunday, and God kens when they’ll come back, if they ever come back at all.’
As she stumbled unseeing along the road, the girl tried to come to terms with what she had just learned. John had got drunk – that was why he hadn’t come to supper on Saturday – and she’d been worrying herself sick in case he was ill. She was trembling with hurt at his thoughtlessness, with anxiety for his future well-being, with annoyance at herself for having reacted so badly in front of Mrs Taylor and Miss Fraser. And Nettie Duffus and Kirsty Tough would be laughing at her for believing him when he said he loved her. But he did love her, and now be was gone, and she didn’t know when, or if, he would come back. And nothing would ever be the same again.
Lizzie was taken aback when Elspeth dragged herself into the kitchen. ‘Eppie! What ails you, lass?’
Her mother’s concern made the girl burst into tears. ‘It’s John! He went to the Boar’s Head on Saturday morning wi’ some of the other lads, and they ...’ She couldn’t go on.
‘What is it? What happened? Was he in a fight?’
‘Oh, no. He got drunk and had to be taken home!’
‘Is that all?’ Lizzie couldn’t help laughing.
Elspeth was put out by her mother’s insensitivity. ‘I don’t know if I’ll ever see him again, and you ask me, “Is that all?”’
‘Eppie, lass, it’s not as bad as that. He’ll write to you, and he’ll be back on leave – maybe in just a few month.’
‘Just a few month?’ It was an eternity to a girl in love.
‘It’ll soon pass, Eppie, and don’t blame him too much. Like your father, I’ve aye been against strong drink, but I can excuse the laddie for trying to drown his troubles at such a time. It was daft, but he’s young, and he’ll be home in no time. You’ve had too much excitement lately, that’s why you’re so easy upset, and you’d feel better if you took a lie down for awhile. Wait, I’ll make a drop tea for you first.’
When Geordie came home in the middle of the day, his wife explained the situation to him, doing her best to make him keep his voice down when she saw that he was about to explode over the boy’s thoughtlessness. ‘Eppie’s up in her bed, and she’s miserable enough already without listening to you going on.’
‘Aye, and it’s all young Forrest’s blame.’ Geordie did keep his voice low so that the girl would not hear. ‘He’s near a man, but he’s still a bairn, getting drunk without a care in the world.’
‘Bairns don’t get drunk,’ Lizzie said, caustically, ‘and he wasn’t the only one. I’m not denying they were all fools to do what they did, but they’re on their way to France now and God knows what lies in store for them. They were only trying to forget about it for a wee while.’
‘Aye, well.’ Geordie fell silent for a moment, then asked, ‘Is she terrible upset?’
‘What else would she be? He broke his promise to her and went away without saying goodbye, and she doesna ken if she’ll ever see him again.’
Although he had always been a strict father, Geordie Gray loved his only child more than even Lizzie could guess. ‘I suppose I’d best go up and say something to her?’
‘As long as it’s nothing against John Forrest,’ Lizzie warned.
Ever since she came to bed, Elspeth had wondered if this was God’s way of showing his displeasure at what she had done. Had He set the Devil out to make John turn from the straight and narrow path so that he wouldn’t be fit to come to supper at her house? Had Lucifer himself urged the other boys to make John go drinking with them? It must have been something like that, for surely John wouldn’t have got drunk willingly, knowing that he was to be seeing her in the evening. It must be her that God was punishing, and she wished that she had never gone to Blairton ... no, she didn’t wish that. At least she had all the hours of bliss with John to remember until he came back.
At dinnertime, she heard her father coming in, and prayed that he would not come upstairs – she couldn’t face him just yet – but in a few minutes he walked in, looking very ill at ease. Standing at the foot of her bed, he murmured, rather awkwardly, ‘The war’ll be over by Christmas – the Gordons’ll make short work o’ Kaise
r Bill and his Huns.’
Looking at her sympathetically, he turned and went back to the kitchen, leaving Elspeth considering what he had said. She had heard other folk in the village saying the same thing, now that she came to think of it, and Christmas was less than five weeks away. John would be home ... and they would be married ... and everything would be all right.
Chapter Seven
The hostilities were not over by Christmas – only an English festival and an ordinary working day in Auchlonie, even the bairns waited until the last night of each year to hang up their stockings. Nettie and Kirsty had commiserated with Elspeth when she went back to work the day after learning what John had done, but had forgotten about it in the anticipation of Hogmanay, and she felt that no one understood her misery at being denied the opportunity to say goodbye to him and to wish him luck.
She was unable to enter into the spirit of the festivities to bid farewell to 1914 and to welcome in a new, hopefully better, year, although the neighbours ‘first-footed’ the Grays with the traditional gifts of shortbread or lumps of coal, taking their own whisky bottles in with them because they knew that Geordie never had any spirits in the house. Her New Year’s Day off was like another Sunday to her, apart from not having to go to church.
In the workroom next day, Nettie told the other two what had happened at her house after the clock had struck midnight on Hogmanay. ‘Everybody was singing, and Johnny Low was that drunk by the time he got to us, he was going round kissing all the lassies.’
‘Did he kiss you?’ little Kirsty asked eagerly.
‘He tried, and I wouldna have said no if he’d been sober.’ Nettie’s laugh was rueful – Johnny Low was quite handsome in a rough sort of way. ‘I can’t stand the smell o’ drink on a lad, and that’s a fact.’
Elspeth reflected sadly that she would have let John kiss her supposing he had hardly been able to stand, but he hadn’t given her the chance that Saturday in November.
On January 3rd, having had to unpick the lining of a costume jacket because she had inserted a right sleeve into a left armhole in her distraction, Elspeth was doubly dispirited and wondered why her mother seemed so excited. ‘A letter come for you second post, Eppie,’ Lizzie burst out.
Her dejection falling away like magic, the girl picked up the buff-coloured envelope addressed in a flowing hand to Miss Elspeth Gray, The Cottar Houses, Mains of Denseat, Auchlonie, Aberdeenshire, Scotland, with ‘Army Post Service’ stamped at the side. Her fingers trembled as she feverishly tore it open and Lizzie watched with amusement as her daughter skimmed over the page, then went back to the start and read it again out loud, her face wreathed in smiles.
My Dear Elspeth,
I am very sorry for not coming to supper that night, it feels like years ago. I suppose you had heard that I got drunk that forenoon, and I am really ashamed of it. I should not have let the other lads talk me into going drinking. I was still not right sober when it was time to catch the train on Sunday morning, and I did not have time to come to see you anyway. I could not manage to write to you before we sailed, but I often thought about you. Please forgive me for leaving you waiting, it must have been terrible for you, not knowing. Remember, you are my whole life and I promise to wed you when I get home next time. Thinking about that is what keeps me going in this awful place. Once again, I am very sorry for what I did, but I will make it up to you some day soon. Yours forever,
John
P.S. I love you
This written avowal of his love made Elspeth’s brimming eyes spill over, and Lizzie’s sniff sounded suspiciously as if she were on the verge of weeping, too, but she said, brusquely, ‘Stop your nonsense, lass, or you’ll make your-self ill.’
Nettie and Kirsty, however, joined in her rejoicing as soon as she had the opportunity to tell them, the letter being shown proudly and inspected with great interest.
‘Oh, I’m right happy for you,’ Nettie burst out. ‘I didna believe you before, for I thought you was just making it up to make us jealous.’
‘It’s that romantic,’ sighed young Kirsty. ‘And it’s really real, not a story. You’re awful lucky, Elspeth.’
‘I ken,’ Elspeth said, blissfully.
At suppertime, when Geordie was told that John had sent a letter of apology, he muttered, ‘Saying he’s sorry doesna excuse him for keeping you waiting like that, and he’s not worth bothering wi’. Thank God you didna ken him long enough to get fond o’ him.’
Knowing that it had been love at first sight for both boy and girl, Lizzie’s heart sank as she saw her husband’s tightly-gripped, disapproving mouth. Even if Forrest of Blairton agreed to let his son marry, Geordie Gray would definitely not let Elspeth be the bride.
The letter became crumpled and barely legible over the next few weeks with the girl reading it so often, but Lizzie shook her head each evening to show that no second one had come, her own heart as sore as her daughter’s, perhaps even sorer, because she foresaw more heartache in store for Elspeth when Geordie forbade the marriage.
‘It’s weeks since we’d a letter from John.’ Meg Forrest voiced the thought for the first time, though it had been uppermost in her mind for ages. Her husband had no patience with worrying women, but he must surely understand what their son’s silence was doing to her. If she had only known, he was as concerned as she was, but thought it unmanly to admit it. To reassure her, he said, ‘The Huns’ll not stop fighting to give our John time to write home.’
His sarcasm was wasted. ‘I keep praying he’s safe,’ Meg murmured. ‘Are you not worried for him?’
His Adam’s apple rose and fell as he swallowed. ‘Aye, lass, I am worried for him, but I try not to think about it. We can do nothing except wait for word.’
‘Aye.’ Meg laid her hand on his sleeve to let him know that she understood what he felt, and when he went out, she washed up the breakfast things and put the kettle back on in case Willie Mavor had something for her.
Twenty minutes passed before she saw the postman cycling up the dirt road, whistling as he always did, so she masked a pot of tea for him. She was not superstitious as a rule, but as she opened the door, she crossed her fingers that there would be a letter from France today.
Willie knew how anxious Meg must be to hear from her son, and handed her the envelope as soon as he went inside. ‘It’s been a while since your John wrote,’ he remarked, sitting down at the table and helping himself to a home-baked scone. ‘It’s a worrying time, especially for the mothers, for they seem to take it harder than their men.’
‘Aye.’ Although Meg knew that he was waiting for her to open the letter so that he could pass the news on, she wanted to be on her own when she read it; she might give way and weep, and she couldn’t let Willie have that to pass on.
At last, the postman pushed away his cup and stood up. ‘I hope young John hasna been in the heart o’ the fighting.’
‘I hope no’.’ She felt guilty at not satisfying the man’s curiosity, but closed the door and hurried over to pick up the letter, fatter than the only other one John had sent.
‘Dear Mother.’ The words danced on the page and she had to rise to get her spectacles. She had been having trouble reading anything other than fairly large print for some time now, and had seen the optician on his last monthly visit to Auchlonie. It was only a week since she had collected the glasses he had prescribed and she still forgot to put them on before she started to read anything.
Dear Mother,
I am sorry you have had to wait so long for this letter, but we do not have much peace to sit down and write, as you can imagine. We are back off the line just now, so I want to tell you something I meant to tell you that last Saturday but I was in no state. I took Geordie Gray’s daughter to the Masonic Hall dance when I was on leave, and to cut a long story short, we love each other and I am going to wed her when I come back. I don’t want to go to Canada now, so I am sure Father will be pleased. When I was in their house, I saw a grandfather clock with Geordie and
Lizzie’s initials engraved on the pendulum. It was the most romantic thing I had ever seen, so I’ve written to a clockmaker I saw in Perth, asking him to make one exactly the same, but with Elspeth’s initials and mine. It will be delivered to Blairton, but it’s for Elspeth. I can hardly wait to see her face on our wedding day when I give it to her. I hope you and Father are both keeping well, your devoted son,
John
Meg sighed as she laid the letter down. She was happy that he had found a lass – the Grays were a decent family, and he could do a lot worse – and that he was intending to settle down at Blairton after the war, but it must be terrible out there in France. One of his friends had been reported killed in action already, and another one was missing.
‘Dear God,’ she prayed, ‘please don’t let my son be taken from me for good. I’ll be happy to share him with Elspeth Gray or any other girl if he comes through the war safely.’
Rising to carry on with her housework, Meg’s mind kept going over what John had written. She knew the lassie by sight, a pretty wee thing sitting with her parents in the kirk, but she couldn’t be more than sixteen or seventeen, if she was that. It wasn’t likely that Geordie Gray knew about her attachment to John, so it would be best not to say anything about it to him or Lizzie.
When Blairton read the letter, he smiled. ‘I was feared he had no interest in lassies, and I’m pleased he’s not like that, for a man needs a wife.’
‘Elspeth looks a sober enough creature,’ Meg observed, ‘and I’m sure Geordie Gray’ll not be against the match, though he’ll likely want them to wait a year or so, for she’s still a bit young.’
‘She’ll not be so young by the time this war’s finished.’ He looked serious. ‘It’s going to be a long, hard struggle, for we’ll have our work cut out to beat the Huns.’
‘As long as our John doesna get killed.’
‘Don’t let your mind dwell on that.’ He sat for a few more minutes, then said, ‘Stop worrying, Meg, everything’ll come out all right. Elspeth Gray’s put Canada out of his head, thank goodness, and though I’d hoped he’d pick a farmer’s daughter for a wife, she comes of good enough stock. I’ll have no objection to him marrying her when the time comes, and maybe they’ll have sons to carry on Blairton, like I’ve aye wanted. Now, is my dinner ready?’
Time Shall Reap Page 6
