A Last Goodbye

by Dee Yates

  Tom looked at Ellen. She was lying with her head partly turned away and he could see that she was weeping. He had fallen into a trap of his own making and there was no way out. His eyes came to rest on Clara and the fretful child, and he wished that the ground would open and swallow him up. Then, with a huge effort of will, he smiled at Duncan, before walking purposefully to the side of the bed and taking Ellen’s hand between his.

  ‘Will you marry me, Ellen? I promise to be as good a husband to you as I can be and to look after you and our baby. What do you say?’

  Her pause was momentary. ‘I say yes,’ she replied, wiping a hand across her eyes, and his last glimmer of hope faded with the words.

  Tom leaned over and kissed her forehead and she tilted her face up to his and kissed him on the mouth, as if to seal the promises they had made.

  ‘And now,’ said Clara, taking charge and forestalling any more discussion on the subject, ‘I need to see to the patient and to the baby girl. Duncan, I would be glad of that hot water. And I suggest you refill the kettle and make us all a cup of tea… and then the patient needs to rest, so if you’ve any more discussing to be done, I suggest you go and do it next door.’

  11

  A Lucky Man

  It was a relief to Tom that Clara was occupied in caring for Ellen and the baby. Now that the die had been cast and there was no way out of it, her continued presence was a torment to him. He did his best to avoid her whenever he could. This was not difficult, as she insisted on staying in Duncan’s cottage, although the presence of a small baby meant that there was very little space.

  What does she think I’m going to do to her, Tom thought bitterly, as he sat staring at an empty hearth. As things stood, the idea of making advances to her or anyone else could not have been further from his mind.

  Clara busied herself caring for Ellen and the baby who had come through the ordeal unscathed. Ellen too, despite any lack of care during her pregnancy, rallied quickly and was soon taking to her maternal responsibilities with remarkable maturity. Duncan, despite his continuing anger with Tom, seemed besotted with his granddaughter, having been denied the opportunity of further children of his own by his wife’s untimely death. Tom, uncertain what the older man’s reaction would be, decided to stay away from the cottage as much as possible, but it would have been churlish to refuse the offer of dinner on the three days of Clara’s stay. They were awkward occasions and he had no appetite for food and still less for celebration. Although he did not admit it to anyone, he was, however, anxious to hold his daughter and see for himself the miracle that was partly his. Still, that would have to come later, when he made sure there was no audience present.

  Clara was due to catch the first train back to Glasgow on the Monday morning after Christmas. The snow of Christmas Eve had frosted over and for two days the land lay glittering in the slanting rays of the winter sun or the cold white of the moon. Now, though, it had turned warm and a thousand rivulets had sprung to life and were making their tinkling way down the hillsides to join the swelling river in the base of the valley.

  Tom sat rigid, clasping the horse’s reins and thinking about their ride to the farm less than four days earlier. It belonged to a different time, a bygone age… one that would never return.

  ‘You’re a lucky man to have Ellen,’ Clara said, after several minutes’ silence had elapsed. ‘She’s a lovely girl and a very good mother. And she will make you a wonderful wife.’

  ‘Aye. Happen she will. Any road, I must make the best of it, mustn’t I?’ He looked at her sadly.

  ‘Aye, you must. You know something? The baby has Ellen’s eyes… and I’m sure she’s going to have your hair.’

  ‘I’ve not had much of a chance to see her for myself. If the truth were known, I’m more than a bit wary of Duncan and what he might say next.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t think you need worry about Duncan. He’s delighted with his granddaughter. As long as you do the right thing by his daughter, I think he'll come round, given time.’

  ‘It doesn’t look as though I’ve got much choice, does it?’ Tom said bitterly.

  ‘No, Tom, you haven’t. You’ve got responsibilities to fulfil.’

  ‘I was hoping eventually that you would be my responsibility. Now that will never happen.’

  ‘It never would have happened, Tom. It would never have worked, you and me, married.’

  There was little else to say and the remainder of the journey was undertaken in silence. They stood unspeaking on the platform, until the train pulled into the small village station. Then Tom, suddenly fearful of losing her forever, stammered,’ You will come and see us again, won’t you, Clara? I couldn’t bear it if you didn’t come.’

  ‘Of course I’ll come. Why do you think I wouldn’t?’

  ‘Well, you seem so disapproving about my behaviour…’

  ‘You’re doing the right thing by Ellen and that’s what matters. She’s a lovely girl and you can’t help but grow to love her. And don’t think you can keep me away from the wee girl, when she was my very first unsupervised delivery!’

  She climbed into the carriage and Tom stepped in after her and swung her suitcase onto the rack above her head. When he turned to go, she put a hand on his arm to detain him and they embraced.

  ‘Look after them, Tom… and be happy.’

  He stumbled onto the platform, unable to speak, and slammed the door shut as the guard blew his whistle and the train eased out of the station. Clara was carried slowly away from him and back to the life she had chosen.

  He thought of their conversation as he turned his back on the village and steered the wagon across the bridge. He was never one to shirk his responsibilities and he would not do so now. Besides, Ellen was a lovely girl and she had borne his baby. Now was the time to establish his rights. And if what Clara had said was true, and Duncan did come round in time, there should be no problem in making it clear who was the head of the household.

  The sun was climbing to the tops of the hills on the northern side of the valley. He watched the colour wash slowly downwards until the slopes were bathed in light as the sun reached the horizon. It had stirred him with its beauty when he had first arrived, and it did so now, setting a seal on his resolutions. And as the farm buildings became visible around the bend in the road, he flicked Archie’s rump with the reins and they covered the remaining distance with enthusiasm.

  *

  Duncan put his foot down. No daughter of his was going to live in sin. There would be no alteration to their current living arrangements until a wedding had taken place.

  ‘You need to make an appointment with the minister,’ Duncan insisted to Tom, ‘and the banns must be read for three Sundays in a row. Then there can be a wedding.’

  Tom, whose early religious life had been at the hands of the Quakers and had failed to attend anywhere since completing his education, knew little of matters ecclesiastical, and bowed to Duncan’s ultimatum. It seemed illogical to him, however, that Ellen and her baby could not be with him when there was incontrovertible evidence of their having been together already, and in a far more intimate way than he was at present proposing. Duncan, however, was adamant.

  On the first available opportunity, the young shepherd rode back to the village and called to see the minister of the kirk. It was a difficult meeting, for throughout the questioning Tom was uncomfortably aware of the unspoken and untimely fact of the baby girl’s existence. It was only at the end of the interview that Tom admitted there was a baby and could they please arrange a time for his daughter to be christened. He waited with bated breath for the expected diatribe, but it never came. The minister smiled, congratulated him on the birth of a daughter and suggested that they combine the wedding and the christening in one service, adding that he hoped he would see the young couple in the congregation in the future and their daughter an enthusiastic member of the Sunday School.

  A date having been set, the next problem was to decide on a name for the baby. E
llen said immediately that she should be called after Clara, in recognition of her help, without which neither of them might be here. But Tom shook his head and could not be persuaded. While they were arguing, Duncan announced that he would be very honoured if the baby were named after his wife.

  ‘We’ll call her Netta,’ Ellen said.

  ‘I thought your mother’s name was Janet.’

  ‘It was too. But Netta is short for Janet. It’s a pretty name, don’t you think?’

  ‘Aye, happen it is.’ At least it was better than Clara. Now that his friend had gone from his life, he could not bear constant reminders of the future he had hoped would be his.

  From the first moment Tom was allowed to hold his daughter, he was entranced. The baby had the same dark hair as him. Her eyes were as blue as Ellen’s and, if early appearances were anything to go by, Ellen’s sunny temperament would be hers too.

  As soon as the wedding service was over, Tom moved his wife and baby daughter into his own cottage, ignoring his father-in-law’s mutterings of things being done with indecent haste. He considered that he was the one who had been made to suffer as a result of Duncan’s insistence that Ellen stay where she was until after the wedding. He had no intention of waiting any longer.

  Elizabeth Douglas, the farmer’s wife, had given them a wooden cradle that had long sat gathering dust in the attic room of the old farmhouse. Tom carried it proudly into his cottage and placed it next to the bed. Ellen, in the time that had elapsed since the birth, had acquired items of baby clothing and had been stitching busily to make good any deficiency in her baby’s wardrobe. There had also arrived a parcel from Glasgow containing a beautiful cream-coloured woollen cot cover with a message from Clara to say that she never again wanted to see the baby suffering from the cold.

  Tom reached down and took the slumbering baby from Ellen. She had fallen asleep at her mother’s breast and Tom could see that Ellen too was struggling to keep her eyes open. He had sat watching his daughter feed with a mixture of contentment and longing. It was many months since he had known the pleasures of a woman’s body – the last time had been at the end of shearing, the previous July, when Ellen had tantalised him until he had been crazy with desire for her. And now it was the night of their wedding and there was nothing to stop a repetition of the wild passion of that evening on the hilltop.

  Netta gave a small whimper of complaint as her father laid her in the cot and tucked the covers round her, and then she slept again. Tom turned to Ellen. She was still propped against the pillows, but her head was drooping and her eyes were closed.

  ‘Ellen! Don’t go to sleep. This is our wedding night, remember.’

  Ellen did not so much as stir. Her husband went up to her and shook her arm gently. She opened her eyes and gave him a weary smile.

  ‘Is that Netta asleep then?’ she murmured.

  ‘Yes, and you as well, by the looks of it. Come on, wake up!’ He shook her arm again and, when she did not move, he set the candle down on the bedside table and climbed in beside her. He removed one of the pillows from behind her head and pulled her gently down the bed so she was lying flat. Then he began to kiss her, softly at first and then more urgently. Ellen moaned and half opened her eyes.

  ‘I’m tired,’ she murmured.

  ‘And so am I… tired of waiting. Come on, lass. You weren’t like this before we were married.’ He reached down and took hold of her nightdress, pulling it slowly up to her waist.

  ‘What are you doing, Tom? I told you… I’m too tired tonight.’

  ‘Nonsense. It won’t take long. I’ve waited months for this,’ he muttered into her ear, as he lowered himself onto her and swiftly and painfully claimed his rights as a husband. When he had finished, he threw himself onto his back and stared at the ceiling, ashamed and dissatisfied. He had been looking forward to this evening and now he had ruined it. He cursed under his breath and turned to look at his wife. Her eyes were closed but a tear escaped and ran slowly down her face, followed by another… and another. He watched them fall and reached out to brush them gently away with the end of his fingers. Then he turned and extinguished the candle flame with a hiss, and the room was plunged into darkness, just as the baby took a deep breath and began to wail.

  12

  The Outsider

  Spring was late in coming to the valley. The snow that had fallen to welcome the baby’s birth returned and stayed, blanketing the valley thickly and softening the rough edges of barns and water troughs. In the distance it was difficult to see where hills ended and sky began. Sheep, customarily the brightest objects in that green backdrop, showed yellowish grey against the unsullied fields.

  It had been snowing all night when Duncan knocked on the door of Tom and Ellen’s cottage. Dawn was still an hour away. His daughter heard the rattle of the latch and the stamping of feet as Duncan attempted to dislodge the impacted snow from his boots. Ellen was pouring tea. She had dressed, but a dishevelled plait of hair still hung over one shoulder and puffy eyes hinted at another disturbed night. Duncan, nursing a cold, drew out a large handkerchief and blew his nose loudly. Then he sniffed the air, full of the aroma of frying potato cakes.

  ‘Sit you down there, Feyther, by the fire and have some breakfast here with us. You need the warmth before you go out and work in this weather.’

  The older man frowned. ‘I’m no’ looking forward to being out there with this chill. But I’m worried, I don’t mind admitting.’ He stared gloomily out of the window. ‘There’s nae chance of checking on the sheep when it’s like this.’

  ‘Happen I can get up the hill behind the cottage,’ Tom said, coming quietly into the room and sitting down at the table. ‘It’s not so deep up there.’

  ‘Nonsense, man. It’s too risky. You’ve a wife and child to look after, ken. I’ll no' have you taking unnecessary risks.’

  ‘I’m well aware of my responsibilities.’ Tom diverted his gaze to the fire. ‘But I can’t sit here all day doing nowt while the sheep may be suffocating up there under the snow. And them not so far off lambing an’ all.’

  Duncan shrugged. ‘Do as you please, pal, only take care.’

  The baby started to whimper and Ellen fetched her from her cot into the warmth of the kitchen.

  ‘Here, let me have her for a minute before I go.’ Tom held out his arms and cradled his daughter to him, but the crying only grew stronger.

  ‘She’s likely wanting fed again,’ Ellen sighed, taking the baby back.

  ‘There’s no one like a woman when there’s a baby to be comforted.’ Duncan said pedantically. ‘Not that there was any choice in the matter when you were wee, Ellen.’

  ‘Seems there’s no choice in the matter now,’ Tom sighed. ‘I’m off then.’ He scraped back his chair and rose quickly, snatching up his coat from the hook at the back of the door and checking in its pockets for gloves.

  ‘Take care, Tom.’ Ellen was behind him now with her hand on his shoulder. ‘Kiss Netta before you go.’

  Tom bent down and kissed his daughter gently on the forehead. He ran his finger down the softness of her cheek and reached for the door handle.

  ‘Don’t you have one for me?’ Ellen turned her face up to his. Tom glanced back along the passage to where Duncan was still intent on his breakfast, and bent to give his wife a quick peck on the cheek. He turned the handle and a blast of snowflakes swirled in before the door closed behind him.

  Ellen, chilled as much by the coolness of his manner as by the snowflakes, stared at her coat swaying to and fro on the back of the kitchen door. And then her daughter renewed her whimpering and she switched her thoughts to Netta.

  *

  Tom snatched up a spade and, whistling to Nell to follow him, trudged across the field behind the cottage, making for the gate. Before he had gone many yards, he realised that he had underestimated the depth of the snow. Common sense told him to turn back… but stubbornness drove him on. He felt himself excluded by that little scene in the kitchen and irritate
d that he should feel that way. After all, he knew well that he was unable to satisfy the physical needs of his baby daughter. But it was not just that. In some indefinable way, he felt himself to be the outsider. And his mind returned again and again to the cosy kitchen with Duncan eating the breakfast that Ellen had prepared, as she must have done ever since she was old enough to be allowed near the fire.

  It was impossible to open the gate, the uprights barely visible above the snow. Tom felt for the bars and swung his leg over, jumping down into the softness on the other side. It stood waist high here and it was tiring work to plough a furrow across and upwards, where one group of sheep were hefted. With her light frame, Nell’s progress was easier and she barely dented the white covering over which she bounded. Eventually a line of stones could be made out, indicating the wall between their land and that of the next farm. As they neared the wall, Nell began to bark and scrabble in the snow. He stopped her with a command and listened. Yes! He could hear the sound of bleating. His spirits rose. So, he had been proved right. There were sheep to be saved out here… sheep that would doubtless die if they were denied fresh air for much longer.

  He and the dog started to dig. By the time the first of the sheep struggled panic-stricken out of the airless confines, Tom could feel the sweat trickling down his back. Only his feet remained cold, soaked by the snow that had fallen into his boots and melted there.

  ‘There you go, ladies,’ he said breathlessly, as the last of the ewes joined the rest of the freed sheep. He set about clearing as large a patch of grass as he was able, so that they would have at least a semblance of green on which to feed. Whether or not they survived would depend on further snowfall, but he congratulated himself on giving them a fighting chance.

  Leaving the group to fend for themselves, he made his way next towards the stell, where more sheep were certain to be sheltering. It was a long way off and familiar landmarks were absent. Picking his way carefully across the hill, several times he found himself chest deep in drifted snow. His legs were shaking with exhaustion now and he was beginning to doubt the wisdom of his actions when, unexpectedly, he found himself up against the rounded walls of the shelter.