Beyond Reason

by Gwen Kirkwood

  It was true, Wull Foster was restless and frustrated. In his opinion, he had a useless wife, but under his own roof he had a young, spirited girl on the threshold of womanhood and he meant to teach her what it was like to be a woman. Meanwhile, he was fully aware of the constant temptation Lily presented to any red-blooded man. He knew she could satisfy even his lust but he was mindful of the midwife’s warnings. He took to going down to the nearest inn on the outskirts of Molden. There were always wenches there, and if he got too drunk, the pony knew the way home and brought him back. Many a night it was left to Joe to wait for his father’s return and unyoke the pony from the trap and feed the weary animal. Lily longed for a man like Wull Foster to satisfy her yearnings but so far he had resisted all her wiles. Meanwhile she was glad to have a roof over her head and enough to eat each day, as well as a bed beside the dying fire instead of under a hedgerow. She bided her time and sure enough, as winter settled over the land, Wull Foster lost the urge to venture forth and brave the elements after a hard day’s work outside.

  Janet’s small room was off the kitchen so she heard the scuffles and grunts taking place and she knew that Wull Foster had succumbed to Lily’s attractions. She shuddered as she imagined what they must do. Lily hummed now as she went about her work and her generous hips swayed even more than before.

  Hannah Foster knew her husband had not chosen to sleep in the loft out of consideration for her, nor even because of Mrs McClure’s warnings about her health. She guessed he was spending the nights with Lily Bloddret. She no longer cared about his infidelity but she did worry about the diseases he might bring to her when the woman moved on. Mrs McClure had told her it would take a long time to regain her former energy after the excessive loss of blood she had suffered, but nothing had prepared her for the feeling of perpetual exhaustion. She kept to her bedroom when her husband was likely to come into the house. If he did not see her he would neither growl orders nor make his demands.

  Janet guessed how she felt in spite of her youthful innocence. She kindled the bedroom fire each morning to make her mistress as warm and comfortable as she could. Hannah did her best to ease the burden of the young girl who worked so hard and so cheerfully for a mere pittance. She took to ironing the clothes in her room, heating the flat irons on the bedroom fire. She did the mending and darning, much to Janet’s great relief for it was neverending, and by night she was always exhausted and ready to fall into bed.

  Janet knew Mrs Foster was doing her best and she was always ready to advise when Janet encountered a problem with the cooking or any other task. Joe often crept into his mother’s bedroom for a chat when he knew his father was occupied outside. His brothers rarely did more than put their head around the door to call goodnight. Their father didn’t even manage that since he had taken to joining Lily on the rag rug in front of the fire.

  Janet longed to see her mother and Peggy Baird. She wondered whether Fingal came home often at the weekends. None of them had been to the kirk since Molly’s death. There had been no word from the Reverend Drummond but Janet didn’t know whether Mistress McClure had managed to pass on her message. Even if she had, the minister could not procure jobs out of the sky for all his parishioners. Janet knew she was fortunate to have a roof over her head and enough food to eat. Even so she hated the way Wull Foster watched her, and she took care not to go into the yard if he was there alone. Even going out to the privy was difficult if he was around the buildings. For such a large man he seemed to move with stealthy silence.

  Christmas came and went but still Janet heard nothing from her mother. Slowly Hannah Foster felt her strength returning, though she had no desire to draw her husband’s attention to the fact. She crept around like a mouse in her own home, Janet thought, but Lily Bloddret was aware that the mistress was gradually taking command of her household again. It was she who made her wash the boys’ shirts again when their collars and cuffs had not been rubbed on the ridged rubbing board, or made her scald the milk jugs and cans when the milk went sour in midwinter.

  An unexpected spell of good weather at the end of February cheered all their spirits. Lily Bloddret sang at the top of her voice as she rubbed at the washing, then as she hung it on the line to dry beneath the high white clouds floating slowly across the blue of the sky. She made no mention of her urge to set out on her travels again, though, so it was a shock to Janet when she went out to the orchard with a second big basket of clothes intending to bring in the first lot and help Lily hang the rest. There was no sign of her. Janet hung the clothes herself then went to see if Lily was in the closet, wondering whether she was ill. Still no sign of her. Janet returned to the wash house, and then to the kitchen.

  ‘I can’t find Lily anywhere,’ she said to Mrs Foster.

  ‘I noticed her bundle was not in its usual place beside the big press,’ Hannah replied. ‘I thought she had decided to wash her clothes since it is such a lovely day.’

  ‘She never washes them,’ Janet said. ‘She says a bit of dirt keeps out the wind.’ She went to look beside the press herself. ‘The two blankets you gave her have disappeared too.’

  ‘Perhaps she has decided it is time to set out on the roads again.’ Hannah sighed wearily. ‘I have heard of people who get the wanderlust and canna settle in one place for long. Mistress McClure warned us that Lily Bloddret was like that. She is a foolish woman if she thinks a couple of days of fine weather in February mean spring has come. I have no doubt we shall pay for this with cold March winds and possibly floods.’ She gave an involuntary shudder and they both remembered Molly.

  Two of the younger boys still wetted the bed frequently and Janet sighed. ‘I had better make sure she made the beds before she left.’

  Lily had not. Something in the spring-like morning had called to her and she had simply tied a string around her bundle and gone. The meal was barely ready when Wull Foster and his sons came in for their dinner.

  ‘It will not be long,’ Janet said. ‘Lily has left us without warning. It has made me late with the cooking.’

  ‘What?’ Wull Foster bellowed. ‘Gone? She can’t have gone. She was happy here. She had made up her mind to stay!’ He sounded like a spoiled child who had been thwarted, Janet thought. Nevertheless, she was wary of his swift temper, and so were the boys. They ate in silence and went back out to work as soon as they had cleared their plates. Wull Foster slurped up his gravy, pushed back his chair and strode into the bedroom where his wife was finishing her own meal from a tray. She was almost hidden by the two wooden clothes horses already hung with freshly ironed clothes. Foster pushed one aside, knocking it to the floor and the shirts and clothes with it, oblivious of the work and care it had taken to get them cleaned and ironed.

  ‘What are ye doing hiding in here, woman? Are ye still pretending tae be poorly? What have ye done wi Lily? Did you send her away – you wi’ your lady’s airs and graces?’ he snarled, reaching down to grasp Hannah’s shoulder and yank her to her feet.

  ‘Of course I have not sent her away. I was content to let her stay as long as she wished to bide here.’

  ‘Then why has she gone? Tell me that!’ He heaved Hannah’s slight body across the room with such force that she almost lost her balance and Janet saw her wince and the tears spring to her eyes, as her shoulder caught the doorpost with a resounding crack.

  ‘I-I don’t know why she has gone. Mistress McClure warned us she did not stay in one place for long. Maybe the spring day made her restless. Maybe she will be back by night.’

  ‘Maybe? Maybe my arse!’ He kicked a small wooden stool out of his way and went to the big press in the kitchen. ‘Her bundle has gone. Ye ken fine she’ll no be back.’ Janet went on quietly washing the pile of dishes, shrinking inwardly, hoping he would not notice her. He was frightening when he flew into one of his rages. Although she had remained wary and tense when he was anywhere near, she realized now that the winter had passed in relative peace while Lily Bloddret had kept him happy – or as happy as a man of h
is nature would ever be. His eyes narrowed and his lip curled as he looked at his wife.

  ‘Well ye’ll regret getting rid o’ Lily Bloddret,’ he bellowed. ‘I’ll make sure you carry out your marriage vows whatever the McClure woman thinks. “Love, honour and obey”; aye, I’ll see ye obey at least,’ he sneered. He was about to stride across the kitchen when his eye fell on Janet washing the dishes with her wooden bowl on the stone slab in the corner. ‘Aye, and as for you, young miss, it’s time you learned what it is to be a real woman. What life is all about. Ye’ve been here long enough now.’ He made a rumbling sound which was half gloating laugh and half a bellow of frustrated anger as he headed out into the farmyard.

  ‘Oh, lassie,’ Hannah whispered, coming across to where Janet was working. ‘There’ll be no pacifying him until he gets Lily out o’ his head. Make sure ye lock your bedroom door when ye go to bed at night.’

  ‘The door does not have a lock,’ Janet said, all her fears rising in her so that her voice ended in a squeak of fear.

  ‘Then I will ask Joe to bring a lock next time he is down at the store. He will fix it for ye. Meanwhile wedge it as best ye can for he can be a beast of a man. Although he is my own husband, there’s no denying it.’ It was the first time Hannah Foster had spoken so frankly to Janet, speaking to her as to another woman and no longer as a child, but this only added to Janet’s fears, both real and imagined. She shuddered in silence. Would Joe protect her if his father tried to – to…. What exactly she didn’t know, except that she didn’t want him near enough to touch her.

  That evening, Wull Foster set out for the inn as soon as he had finished his meal.

  ‘Here we go again,’ Joe groaned as he struggled to make himself comfortable on the old settle, which lay in one corner of the kitchen. ‘I’d best wait to tend the pony or he’ll leave it in harness all night and without a drink or a bite to eat.’

  ‘Surely he would not do that, Joe,’ Janet protested. ‘Your father always cares for the horses. You told me so yourself.’

  ‘Aye, he knows we depend on the horses for all the farm work, but when he’s drunk he doesna remember how much we need poor old Tommy.’

  ‘I see.’ Janet tried to suppress a yawn. ‘Well I’m going to bed. I – your mother said she would ask you to bring a lock for my door.’

  ‘Aye, she did ask but they didn’t have one at the store. Mr Jacobs has promised to order one for us, though. I’ll fix it for ye, Janet, never fear.’ His young face looked tired and troubled. ‘It will be Mother who will suffer this night,’ he muttered almost under his breath, ‘unless he finds Lily and brings her back.’

  ‘Surely she was foolish to take to the roads so early in the year?’ Janet said. ‘Everyone knows there’s still half the winter to come – either snow or rain.’

  ‘Ye’d think so but folks like Lily Bloddret dinna stop to consider tomorrow, or what the weather might do.’

  ‘She took the bread that was left and a lump of cheese, but that would not last her long.’

  ‘I suppose she’s used to finding food for herself. Ye gang tae bed, Miss Janet. Ye look tired out. And dinna worry. He’ll not trouble ye when he knows I’m still up and about tending to Tommy.’ He shook his head despairingly. ‘Poor Mother,’ he muttered softly.

  Wull Foster asked every man who came into the inn if they had seen Lily.

  ‘Aye, I saw her just before noon,’ Geordie Smith grinned. ‘Singing like a wee linty, she was. I asked her where she was going but she shook her head and laughed. “Off to find ma fortune,” says she.’

  ‘Where was she headed?’ Wull Foster asked.

  ‘Doon through Molden and on the road tae Dumfries. There’s no use worrying about Lily Bloddret: she knows all the roads for miles around, aye and beyond. But I did warn her there’s the worst o’ the winter tae come yet, so she might turn around and come back, at least as far as that old shack she stayed in afore ye took her in at Braeheights.’

  ‘Where is the shack?’ Wull demanded. Geordie looked from him to Jim Sparks, the innkeeper, and it was he who answered.

  ‘Why, ’tis no more than a broken-doon hen hoose, next tae the burn on auld Bowman’s bit o’land. A good March wind will blow it doon in minutes. I dinna think she’ll go back there. Anyway, how is your ain wife these days, Wull? Mistress McClure said she was a very sick woman the last time she was up at your place.’

  ‘Och, she’s fine.’

  ‘Glad tae hear that. Sent Lily on her way, did she then?’ Sparks asked innocently, but with a sly wink at the rest of his customers. Wull Foster slurped at his drink and chose not to answer.

  Hannah Foster remembered Mrs McClure’s warnings about the troubles a woman like Lily Bloddret could bring, but no amount of feigning sleep or trying to reason with her husband would make him see reason and she was forced to submit to his brutal demands.

  After a few unseasonably mild days, the weather turned bitterly cold again. Each night since Lily left, Wull Foster had gone to the inn but no one there had seen anything of her since she left Braeheights. Even the sauciest of the girls who hung around refused to have anything to do with Wull Foster when they knew he had been with Wandering Lily. This added to his frustration and it was his wife who suffered. Joe, coming in from tending the pony, heard his mother’s muffled sobbing and his young fists clenched, but he knew he had neither the strength nor the right to stand up to his father, even for his mother’s sake. Janet now had a bolt on her bedroom door but Joe admitted he was disappointed that it was such a slender affair and the door was so warped he had only managed to fix it near the top where the door met the frame.

  Janet grew increasingly tense and nervous – jumping whenever she heard Wull Foster’s voice. She took care to keep the table between them when she served his meal for even in his wife’s presence he did not hesitate to touch her.

  Then came a morning when Janet wakened to find the whole world transformed.

  ‘The snow looks so beautiful,’ she said to Hannah when she returned from the log shed with her basket piled high. ‘It is a pity we have to spoil the perfection.’

  ‘Aye, beautiful it might be,’ Hannah sighed, ‘but it makes a lot of extra work watering the animals and trudging through it to feed them. There will not be many hens laying either if it stays as cold as this.’

  ‘No, I didn’t collect many eggs yesterday. They were all too busy fluffing out their feathers to keep warm.’

  ‘Was the snow still falling when you were out?’

  ‘Yes, but it’s already quite deep and it is getting worse.’

  ‘So Joe will not be able to take the pony and trap to the store today, think ye?’

  ‘I doubt it, but we are fairly well stocked except for paraffin, which Joe uses for the storm lanterns he uses in the byre when he’s milking.’

  ‘Aye we shall have to make do with tallow candles inside until he can bring more for the lamps. There’ll be no trip to the inn for himself tonight either,’ she muttered, more to herself than to Janet. Even his own wife dreaded Mr Foster staying at home on winter evenings. A shiver of fear shook Janet’s slender frame. If only she could be sure of locking him from her own small room.

  ‘I wonder where Lily Bloddret is now and where she will find shelter?’

  ‘I don’t know, lassie, but she was a foolish woman to take off so early in the year. She could starve to death beneath the hedge and no one would know.’

  It was still snowing on and off when Foster and his sons came in for their dinner. They were cold, hungry and bad-tempered but the meal was ready and Janet served them ample portions of potato and cabbage with a little of the fat pork from the pig which was hanging from the iron hooks in the pantry. Hannah had made a suet pudding and some jam sauce.

  The snow was deep by evening and a cold wind was beginning to blow small drifts against the buildings and hedges. Janet was glad to step in the footprints which Joe had left when she made her last visit to the privy. Even so, the hems of her dress and her
mother’s old cloak were powdered with snow and clinging wet and cold about her ankles by the time she returned to the house. Janet was thankful to get to her room, cold though it was, with its tiny, ill-fitting window with bits of old duster stuffed in gaps to keep out the draught. She pulled on her thick flannel nightgown which covered her toes and warmed her feet if she curled up small. Her prayers before sleeping were always for her mother and Fingal. She often read a poem from his book before going to sleep. Tonight it was too cold to keep her hands above the blanket and she had only a small stub of candle left. It was a bitter night. She got up again and groped for her thick woollen drawers and her socks, pulling them on in the darkness, then spreading her damp cloak over the bed. She fell into an exhausted sleep as soon as she was warm.

  She never forgot to slide Joe’s flimsy snib into place and wedge the small trunk between the door and her bed. The trunk had belonged to Molly, and Joe had carried it downstairs, along with Molly’s pitifully few clothes, her treasured hairbrush and a small mirror. She hadn’t even had a room to sleep in, only a curtain across a corner of the loft, screening her from the boys.

  ‘I reckon she’d want ye to have these,’ he had said gruffly over the ache of grief in his chest. Janet’s room was so small she often knocked her shins on the edge of the chest, but since Mrs Foster’s warning she had been doubly glad of it to use as a wedge between her door and the bed. She had witnessed Foster’s strength, and his fury, so she knew it would not keep him out for long, but at least it would warn her of his presence.

  Janet had been deeply asleep when a thump on her door disturbed her. She yawned and blinked in the darkness, turned over and prepared to sleep again. Another thump and loud curses brought her wide awake, her heart thumping with fear.

  ‘What have ye done to this bloody door?’ Foster growled. ‘Open it up, you silly wee bitch.’

  Janet began to tremble. She clutched her blankets close to her chest. ‘G-go away,’ she called nervously. ‘I shall scream for Joe if y-you don’t g-go away.’