by Dee Yates
‘When is she arriving?’
‘Christmas Eve.’
Ellen glanced at him in time to see the look of pleasure that flitted across his face.
‘I think she would have waited until Christmas Day itself until I told her that there were no trains. She’s been very busy in the hospital, tha’ knows.’
‘Aye, I guess so. She must be very important. I’m surprised she finds time to come and visit the likes of us,’ Ellen said forlornly.
‘Oh, we’re old friends. We’ve known each other since we were seven years old.’ Tom laughed. ‘It’s grand that she’s found time to come. Nine months is a long time to wait.’
Ellen frowned. ‘Nine months? Have you seen her this year already then?’
There was a momentary pause. ‘Aye. I visited her in the college. I wanted her to come in the summer but… but she was too busy.’
‘Oh.’ They walked on in silence until Ellen said, ‘I suppose she better have my bed.’
‘Well, I don’t suppose she’ll consider it right to stay with me.’ There was a hint of embarrassment in his laugh.
‘And shall we be together for the meal?’
‘Of course! Everything will be the same as it’s always been.’
‘I hope you’re right.’
*
The short winter day was already drawing to an end as Ellen wearily retraced her steps into the valley. Her feet and legs, painfully cold from sitting in the unheated carriage, grew numb and heavy and her shoulders ached from carrying the heavy baskets. In the small of her back she felt a nagging pain.
Perhaps Clara’s arrival would be a good thing. It would force her to put away the listlessness and heart-heaviness that were so unlike her usual sunny temperament. Duncan, whose daughter had been his sole companion for sixteen years, had put his finger unerringly on the reason for her dejection.
‘Dinnae fret, lassie. He’s bound to have his head full of the visit. After all, she’ll be a very high and mighty lady one day, no doubt.’ He sniffed. ‘You’ve been a good friend to him since his arrival and he’d be daft if he didnae see that. But he’s bound to have acquaintances from his younger days. After all, the lad’s a grown man. We’ve only known him for such a short time.’ He gave her a sideways look. ‘And don’t you go getting any fancy ideas about him. You’re too young to be thinking about such things.’
She cheered up as she thought about her father. He would no doubt have the kettle simmering in readiness for her return. She could not imagine life without him. And if her father thought Tom too grown up for her, well, he would soon come to see how much Tom thought of her. She looked at the bulging packages in the baskets. She had bought him a new pipe and a couple of twists of his favourite tobacco for Christmas. Also in the basket, were a quarter-pound of Tom’s favourite sweets and a small bottle of lavender water for Clara. There were provisions too – flour and oatmeal, sugar, tea, dried fruit. It was no good Tom saying he would pick them up later. He might well forget and then where would she be, especially if they had another spell of bad weather? She must bake the following day. Clara would expect seasonal delicacies on the table, and her father and Tom would need the usual bread and oatcakes and buns.
Ellen rested her baskets on the ground and stretched her arms to ease the aching in her shoulders. She could just make out the cottages at the other side of the valley. The sky had cleared since morning and a scattering of stars winked in the darkening blue. One of them was larger and brighter than the rest. She could smell frost on the air. Even now, the cold was sharp on her cheeks and her breath clouded in front of her face. As she watched, a light flared in the cottage. Her father must have finished his work. In a few minutes he would have stoked up the fire and put the kettle on to boil. Bending to her baskets, she picked them up slowly and went on again.
The brightest star seemed to bounce along on the horizon of the hills as Ellen walked. She felt like one of the wise men in the Christmas story. But they at least found what they wanted at the end of their journey, and they had each other’s company on the road. Unlike her, she thought, left to struggle back to the farm alone. Tom’s mind was full of the Christmas visitor and Ellen might as well not be there, for all the notice he took of her.
9
The Christmas Visitor
On the night before Clara’s arrival, Ellen woke from a particularly troublesome dream. The bedcovers were this way and that and none of them covering her. She struggled to untangle her legs from her twisted nightdress and gingerly put her feet onto the cold floor. Striking a match, she held it to the candle and the flame flared and guttered in the draught. By its flickering light she could see that the hands of the clock showed half past two.
Tiptoeing through to the kitchen, Ellen poured herself a cup of water and sat down at the table with a shiver. She suspected that she had caught a chill during her trip to market at the start of the week. Her body ached all over and she was not comfortable either in bed or out of it. She stood up and pushed her hands into the small of her aching back. Quite unexpectedly a spasm of nausea overwhelmed her and she spun round to find the bucket that always stood on the floor at the side of the stone sink. She crouched over it, clinging onto its sides.
When the retching had stopped, she raised her head slowly and wiped the perspiration from her brow. She was shivering violently and a dull ache had started low in her abdomen. Dragging herself up from the floor, she sat at the table until the pain subsided. She took a tentative sip of water and then another. It tasted delicious. Through the bedroom door she could hear her father’s regular snores. Her young sixteen-year-old self longed for his comfort, but she felt better than she had. Maybe she had eaten something that did not agree with her and the worst was now over. She would wake him up if it came again.
The bucket clanged as Ellen lifted it from the floor and rinsed it with water. Opening the door, she stepped outside and threw the contents onto the garden. The hill at the back of the house loomed dark, the clear skies that had characterised the last few days having given way to grey sheets of cloud that hid the stars, even the Bethlehem one that had guided her homeward footsteps on market day. As her eyes scanned the sky for any sign of brightness, a few desultory snowflakes fluttered slowly down in front of her face.
It was all going wrong, her friendship with Tom. She had been so looking forward to them spending time together. Clara might, of course, have trouble reaching them, if the snowfall was as heavy as earlier in the month. The thought brought her no joy though, for she knew how Tom would be if he were disappointed. She could picture him sitting in silent misery at the side of the fireplace and nothing she could say would make any difference. Or he would prefer to be on his own and take himself off up the hillside and she would be deprived completely of his company. With a last glance at the falling snowflakes, she stepped inside, closing the door as quietly as she could, as the aching in her abdomen started up again.
*
Tom heard the door of Duncan’s cottage being opened, and the rattle of the bucket, and wondered what was happening. The noise had startled him, for though he was awake, his mind was miles away and he did not at first realise where the sound was coming from. He slipped out of bed and crossed to the kitchen window, craning his neck to see who was awake at this hour of the night.
Ellen stood on the grass at the back of the cottage. In the darkness, her nightgown billowed around her small figure. She looked like a ghost. He watched as she gazed into the sky, then he saw her turn and disappear from view. A second later the clunk of the kitchen door indicated that she had gone inside.
He stared at the spot where she had been standing. Guilt niggled at the back of his mind, as it did so often when they met. He suspected… in fact he was sure… that her feelings for him were strong and genuine… as genuine as the feelings of a young girl of sixteen could be. That she would get over him he was certain, but he still felt that he had taken advantage of her innocence, even if, on that second occasion, she had given h
im ample encouragement. He had avoided being alone with her since that evening, not wanting to encourage her, when it was Clara he loved, and Clara who he hoped would eventually love him in return. He had to admit though, that Ellen was a desirable lass. Her body was filling out nicely… a bit too much for some men’s liking perhaps, though he himself appreciated a woman who wasn’t all skin and bone. Added to this, she had a pleasant way with her. In fact, her very kindness irritated him at times because it forced him to be less sullen and moody than he often felt.
He started and stared out into the darkness, sure that he had seen snowflakes. Yes, there they were again. He crossed the kitchen and wrenched open the door, searching the sky. Swearing softly under his breath, he slammed the door and made his way back to the bedroom. Throwing himself onto the bed, he pulled the covers up to his neck and gave an agonised groan. If it were to snow as it had at the beginning of the month, the trains would be disrupted and all his plans would come to nothing. He had written to Clara twice before she had agreed to spend Christmas with them. He felt sure that her agreement to come for the holiday meant that she had thought about his previous offer and relented. She would agree to their marriage, even if she insisted they wait until her course of study was at an end.
Perhaps he was worrying unnecessarily. The flurry of snowflakes might be nothing more than that. She would be here, as planned, the following afternoon. In his mind’s eye he watched the train slowing and stopping at the station and Clara stepping down onto the platform, looking around in anticipation. He saw himself stepping up to her, kissing her cheek, taking her arm in his, feeling her closeness to him. He would seat her next to him in the wagon and they would drive into the valley together and there would be no need for words because they would understand one another, just as they always had.
He rolled onto his stomach, closed his eyes and endeavoured to sleep.
*
Ellen turned onto her side and sat up cautiously. She could hear her father’s characteristic morning cough and his quiet movements around the bedroom, interspersed with grunts as he pulled on his clothes. She felt better than she had done three hours ago. The nausea had gone and she was no longer shivering. Her back still ached, but that too would ease as she busied herself with the day’s preparations.
Her father knocked cautiously and put his head round the door. ‘Is that you still in your bed, lassie? Could you no’ sleep?’
‘No’ so well, Feyther. I was dreaming. And I took a pain in my stomach. But I’m a deal better this morning.’
‘That’s good, lassie. We can’t have you sick when we’ve a guest to look after.’
At this reminder of the Christmas visitor, Ellen crossed to the window and peered through the curtains. It was still as dark as it had been when she stood outside the door in the early hours. A light covering of snow whitened the ground, but the air was clear. There would be no disruption to the railway as long as it got no worse than this.
She stooped to pick up her dress from the floor and was conscious that the nocturnal aching in her back was returning. Still, if it got no worse than this, she would cope, and all the preparations would be completed by the time their visitor arrived.
‘Tom and me, we have to check on all the ewes today.’ Her father raised his voice as she riddled the grate. ‘I’m walking the far hills and he’s walking those behind the cottage.’
‘Well, be careful, Feyther. There’s been snow in the night. It’s Tom’s job to walk the far hills.’ She paused, guessing the reason for the change in their habitual routine. ‘I heard him up in the night,’ she went on. ‘I don’t know whether that was him up for good or if he just couldnae’ sleep. Perhaps he’s too excited about seeing Clara again.’ She turned away abruptly and begun fiercely raking out the ashes.
‘Let me do that, lassie. You look done in… and we’ve only just started the day.’
‘I’m fine, Father,’ she bit back. ‘Let me come past, or I’ll drop these all over the floor.’ She ignored Duncan’s look of concern and crossed to the kitchen door. A cold wind funnelled down off the hills and the ashes spiralled in a dense cloud off the top of the ash pan.
Once the fire was blazing she filled the kettle and hung it on the hook to warm. Duncan, who always fed the dogs and did other bits and pieces of work before returning for breakfast, left the cottage and she could hear him chatting amiably to Tom, as they set off down the hill together to the barn.
*
The snow had been falling for nearly an hour when Clara’s train pulled in at the station. It was enough to give a chocolate-box prettiness to the village but not enough to inconvenience the final part of the journey into the hills. With any luck, Tom thought, it would continue to fall and might delay Clara’s return to Glasgow at the end of her stay.
It was all that Tom’s nocturnal imaginings had predicted. She stepped from the train and stood on the platform smiling. She was less serene, perhaps, more animated than he remembered her. If her face registered embarrassment, it must be because of that unfortunate letter, now, doubtless, regretted. She stepped across the intervening space and kissed him before he had the chance to do so to her. Then she secured her arm through his and they left the platform and strolled jauntily to the wagon. He apologised that there was no proper carriage for her and she said that the wagon was what she had always been used to when she was young and she expected nothing different. He dusted the snow off the seat before she sat down.
‘I’m looking forward to meeting Duncan and his daughter,’ Clara began when they had left the station and were making their way through the village.
‘They’re all ready for you.’ He gave her a grin. ‘Duncan and me, we were out on t’ hills this morning, checking that the sheep were all behaving for your visit.’
‘Poor sheep… out in all this weather!’
‘Nay. They don’t think owt of it. They’re a tough breed up here.’
‘Ellen must be growing into quite a young lady now. How old is she… fifteen or sixteen?’
‘Aye,’ said Tom self-consciously. ‘Summat like that. Aye, she’s bonnie.’
‘Thomas Fairclough, I do believe you’re beginning to speak Scottish!’
‘Nay, lass, I’ll never do that. I’m as Yorkshire as Blind Jack of Knaresborough.’
They both laughed, swaying together as the horse crossed the railway bridge and descended the sharp hill to the river.
‘It’s good to be out here.’ Clara sighed deeply and looked around. ‘Glasgow is so full of people and incredibly dirty and smoky. Sometimes I feel I can’t breathe.’
‘You should come more often. It would do you good to get away. And you know how much I want to see you,’ Tom added boldly.
Clara flashed him a look of warning. ‘I can’t, I really can’t. We are expected to spend most of our time in the hospital now. There are so many things to learn about… and not enough time in which to learn them.’
‘Not enough time to see your friends.’ Tom’s voice was sulky.
‘Oh, Tom. I told you. You have your life here and I have mine there. Aren’t you happy, doing what you’ve always wanted? You’ve all this land to roam around on, all those sheep to care for…’
‘…And no one to share it with.’ He looked ahead through the thickening snowflakes. ‘Still, you can always come down this way to work when you’ve taken all those fine exams.’
‘Perhaps, Tom. I don’t know where I’ll end up. I may get a job at the other end of the country.’
Tom didn’t reply. She was here now, wasn’t she? Not so long ago he had thought it was all over. Anything could happen in the future. Much against his nature, he refused to be despondent.
Duncan was at the door of his cottage as they drew up outside. Tom handed Clara down and reached into the wagon to retrieve her case. She walked to where Duncan was standing and introduced herself.
‘How are you, Duncan? I’m Clara. It’s lovely to meet you.’
‘I’m fine. And yoursel’?’
‘Very well. Glad to have a break from work.’
‘Aye. Come away in then.’
She followed the shepherd slowly into the kitchen. It stood in disarray. Unwashed dishes filled the sink. On a floury table, oatcakes were heaped in small circles ready for baking. Dried fruit for a cake had been weighed and put to one side on the dresser. A smell of yeast emanated from two loaves of unbaked bread that were overflowing their tins and spilling onto the hearth.
‘Where’s Ellen? She looks as if she’s gone somewhere in a hurry,’ Tom said, following Clara into the room.
Duncan shook his head and frowned. ‘I dunnae ken where the lassie is. I went oot this morning to check on the sheep and when I came back, she was away. I tried to find you, Tom, but you’d already gone to the station.’
‘Didn’t she tell you where she might be going?’
‘No. I didn’t even know she was away oot. She said she had baking to do. She’s maybe forgotten some messages and walked to the village, though if so, it’s strange she didnae leave me a note.’
‘I’d more than likely have passed her in the wagon, any road.’
A wave of irritation swept up and over Tom. He had planned to sit down with Clara and enjoy a good tea and an evening’s relaxation after he had finished one or two necessary jobs. He glanced out of the window. The snow was heavier now and already its flakes were floating an unnatural silence over the valley. With this kind of weather, the daylight hours would be even shorter than usual. ‘I’d best go and check the barns,’ he said with ill grace.
‘I’ll come with you,’ Clara said at once and Tom’s mood lifted immediately.
‘Aye, all right, if you don’t mind.’
‘She’s quite well, is she, Duncan?’ Clara asked, turning to him.
‘Aye, quite well… though, now you mention it, she did tell me she’d took a pain in her stomach during the night… but she telled me it was gone this morning.’ Her father rubbed his chin thoughtfully.
